Page 63 of Show Me 1

Sam:You were freaking. You still are. It’s okay, I kinda am too.

22

Sam

Jesse picked up his laptop, scooted his chair back in, and came around the other side of the library table where I was sitting as we did homework. Or tried to. I’d read one page of trigger point therapies in the last ten minutes because we kept getting sidetracked. Most recently because Jesse turned his laptop in my direction and pointed at two recipes on screen, one for a red velvet cake and one for angel food cake. That had devolved into a whispered discussion about a recent episode ofGBBOand why angel food cake sucked, in my opinion. Except I had no business weighing in on baking matters in the first place. If I walked into our house and there was an angel food cake sitting out on the counter, I would eat it with gusto. Cake was cake at the end of the day. But for the sake of argument—because Jesse was especially sexy when he got indignant over baked goods—I picked a side.

“Hi,” he said, plopping down next to me with a grin that made me suspicious.

I eyed it warily. “What…” I trailed off as he closed a hand over the top of my thigh, his palm warm and the gentle squeeze he gave my quad oddly provocative.

He planted an elbow on the table and angled toward me. “Trust me?”

I swallowed as he squeezed again. “Kind of. I’m at about 80 percent and dropping. Is this about angel food cake? I can change teams and go to bat for it. Apparently that’s something I do lately.” That last part came out under my breath.

“Eighty percent is good enough for me. Put your phone under the table and hit Record.”

Oh. So we weren’t going to be discussing baked goods anymore. “Jesse.” He moved his hand higher, gripping my nuts through my pants, and in spite of my misgivings, they were clearly on board. I sucked in a slow breath as he flicked my button open and lowered my zipper.

“Look around,” he said softly. “What do you see? Is anyone paying us any attention?”

There were a couple of solo studiers at a bank of study carrels that weren’t paying us any mind. Another wide table with lamps on top like the one we were sitting at was filled with what looked like a study group. And there was a cluster of armchairs a dozen yards from us where one guy was sleeping and a girl sat with her laptop perched on her knees and earbuds plugged into her ears.

“Not really?”

“Exactly.” Jesse stroked his fingers over my crown and then traced his thumb in a firm touch up the thick vein that ran the length of my cock. I held back a shudder. Jesse followed my sightline to the study group.

“They’re not looking.” He pressed his thumb to my slit. “God you’ve got a fantastic cock.” He grinned. “The rest of you is all right, too, I guess.”

“Jesse…” I didn’t know where I was going with that sentence, and then it didn’t matter anyway because Jesse did the crazy-making thing where he twisted his fist down my shaft and the rest of the breath in my lungs exited with a quiet whoosh.

“Not gonna be able to do the full onslaught—too much shoulder movement might catch someone’s eye—but…”

“This is good.” I bit back a groan as he twisted over my head. “Fuck. This is fine.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded slowly, nerve endings singing with pleasure, and my whole body strained with effort to keep still and not buck into his hand. “You were right. You’ve truly nailed the dry jerk.” This was my second go round with it, and it was every bit as good as the first.

“Told you it was an art form.” He flashed me a saucy little wink that made my dick jump in his grip, then squeezed tightly, and I let out a groan. I couldn’t help it. My eyes widened in alarm, and I glanced over my shoulder again as Jesse chuckled softly.

“No one’s looking. It’s all good. Relax. Damn, you’re leaking like crazy now. I got this idea from a vintage video where this guy gets a beer in a restaurant surrounded by people.”

“I think you need to stop talking.”

“I think I need to keep talking—it’s clearly having a positive effect. Think you can come over my fist in under five minutes?”

“Definitely,” I gasped. “If you keep doing that.” He concentrated on my head again, doing some combo with his palm and thumb that made me want to arch out of my seat. My balls tingled. “Fuck, maybe under three. How do youdothat?”

“Many years of practice. Jesus, I wore the wrong underwear for this. Again.”

Jesse removed his hand briefly to adjust, and I bit my lip to see the tip of his cock peeking out just behind his waistband.

“No,” I hissed when he started to pull his shirt down over it. “Leave it like that. Let me see it.”

His tip was glazed with precum, and as I spoke, another drop of the clear fluid emerged from his slit. He shifted around, head rubbing against the denim, and let out a slow breath.

“Fuck, I think I might actually come like this.”