Page 28 of Summer Lessons

“I thought it was ecru,” Jefferson said smugly, and Mason grinned at him and pulled him forward into a kiss.

Slow.

This kiss was a little slower. Mason had time to explore his mouth, to nuzzle his cheek, to cup his jaw and go deeper.

Jefferson sighed, relaxing completely against him. Mason slid his hands along that compact, muscular waistline and palmed the smooth skin at his back before shoving up his shirt to touch itall. Jefferson’s gasp in his mouth told him he wasn’t used to being touched all over, and Jefferson’s hands down the back of his slacks told him he wasn’t patient about new discoveries.

“Shh….” He kept kissing but walked them, one step at a time, to his partially open door. He backed into the room, Jefferson returning kiss for kiss, and as soon as they’d cleared the door, he groaned and shoved his hands under Jefferson’s thighs, hoisting him up so he could wrap strong legs around Mason’s hips.

“Condoms?” Jefferson panted.

“We’re not even undressed!”

“But… butnow!”

Mason turned around and lowered Jefferson slowly to the coverlet, then secured his wrists over his head with one hand.

“Butwait,” he said firmly, and then took his hand away and glared meaningfully.

Jefferson grinned and clasped his hands, a solemn promise to keep them where they were supposed to be.

“This is not kinky,” Mason growled.

“Suuure it’s not.” Oh, his eyes were squirrel-bright, mischievous as a pixie’s, and Mason wondered—not for the first time—who had the upper hand here.

He peeled Jefferson’s sweatshirt off, and Jefferson parted his hands and helped him, and then Mason dealt with the T-shirt as well.

The man underneath was pale, with brown hair starting on the chest. He was muscular, but not defined like a gym rat. No, all of this muscle came from a guy who ran around the soccer field or the track or his own damned head until he was ready to drop from exhaustion.

His ribs showed under his skin, and Mason wondered if he’d take a bagel for sustenance on the way home.

Suddenly Jefferson broke character, holding his hands in front of his chest.

“Not a model.” He blushed.

Mason pulled his hands away and firmly placed them over his head again.

“Quiet,” he instructed. “I’m looking. You’re….” His voice failed. He wanted to saybeautiful—would Jefferson accept beautiful? “You’re awesome,” he said, his eyes burning.

He couldn’t remember ever having to be so careful with a lover in his bed.

“You think so?” That smile—God. For all his precociousness, he was incredibly… innocent, right here. “I mean, not scrawny or—”

“Perfect,” Mason muttered, lowering his head so he could taste that chattering mouth. Mm… he did so love total surrender.

He kissed, and more, and more, until Jefferson flailed his hands a little. Mason pulled back and put them firmly where they belonged.

“But I want to touch you!” he whined.

“Oh, yeah. Hold on. Right there.” Mason stepped back and shucked his shirts—sweat, polo, and tank—and then undid his belt and toed off his shoes and socks before letting his slacks fall down with the thump of his belt and phone and wallet.

Then he went to work on Jefferson’s shorts.

“I don’t get to look?” Jefferson complained. “You spent, like, forever scoping me out!”

“You complain a lot,” Mason judged. “I think maybe you should just hang out and experience.” The cargo shorts had no belt, and the only things in them to thump were the phone and the wallet. Mason stopped for a moment to admire the laundered white of Jefferson’s boxers against the pale peach of his skin, and to cup his calves and circle his ankles, appreciating the slick, coarse hair under his palms.

Jefferson groaned and pointed his toes. “That’s nice,” he hissed. “Mm… I like that!”