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But hey, I’ve never had any control over my body when it came to Jason Vega. And that hasn’t fucking changed.
“Here you go,” I call out as I crack the door open and hang the dark blue towel on the hook on the wall. “Everything okay in there?”
Steam is rolling out of the shower stall, and his body is silhouetted against the Plexiglas, a dark, perfect shadow of a man.
The water stops, the shower curtain draws back, and he’s there, naked and wet. Much more handsome than I remembered. My memory can never do him justice, it seems.
That sexy, crooked smirk is back, as if his five minutes under the hot water put together whatever was cracked and broken. As if he used that time to mend himself, glue the pieces back together.
It should bother me, the falseness, the wrongness of it, the pieced-together front that is so obviously a lie—but when he reaches down and wraps his hand around his dick, I forget to get angry. In fact, I totally fucking lose my train of thought and stare like an idiot.
The silver piercing glints
with every stroke of his fist, and the ink on his chest shines, flowers and hearts and exploding stars and faces fading into black. His stomach is tight, his abs clenched, his small nipples hard, the silver hoop in the left one catching my eye before I look up at his face.
Front or not, he’s fucking hot with his lashes wet, his mouth slack and soft, droplets running from his short hair over his nose and cheeks and down his throat and chest.
“You’re overdressed,” he says, that husky voice doing the trick of getting me from hard to aching. “Come here.”
Fuck, I shouldn’t.
And why not? that treacherous voice in my mind whispers even as I kick off my shoes and socks and reach behind my head to pull off my sweater and T-shirt. Goddammit, just a taste.
I step into the fog of steam and pull him to me, put a hand on his face—the unbruised, uncut side—and kiss him.
His mouth opens on a gasp, and he jerks against me. He tastes of darkness, bitter and blood sweet. His hands come to rest on my shoulders, and I push him until his back presses into the tiled wall.
It’s warm in here. Hot. He’s a naked flame in my arms, scorching me, his hard chest against mine, his muscular thighs rubbing on me. My cock is trapped in my jeans, so fucking hard, and sparks of pleasure run down my spine as we rub together, our mouths fused.
I thrust my tongue into his mouth, and he makes a plaintive noise, like a whine, in the back of his throat that has me panting.
Fucking hell, this is crazy. Crazy good.
I need to get naked, too, and I draw back to undo my jeans. His hands are there already, unbuttoning and unzipping and shoving the material down, partly wet from the contact with his body. His dark eyes are so serious, his face set in lines of concentration, his dark hair spiky, his shoulders sparkling with water.
Giving in to the urge, I lean in and lick a line from a strong shoulder to his neck. He stills, his breath catching, fingers still caught on the elastic of my briefs.
“What are you—?” he starts, and I cup his face, using my body to push him back against the wall. I like him there, even more so now that his bare skin drags deliciously over mine, my dick caught between us, slipping over his taut belly.
I rock my hips and crush our mouths together, swallowing a long, deep moan that rumbles up his chest. His cock is stirring against my thigh, thickening, the piercing a sharper counterpoint, and the feel of it, the knowledge he’s turned on, it ratchets up the pressure, turning my hard-on to steel.
“Raine,” he whispers against my lips when I break the kiss to draw breath, then I’m eating up his mouth again, unable to stop. The bitterness is gone, replaced with something spicy that’s lighting up my blood, setting me on fire.
Jase, I chant in my mind, fuck, Jase.
Freak, the familiar demon in my mind howls. You’ll rot from the inside. You’ll rot in hell.
Fuck you, I think. Fuck off, voice.
By now, one of my hands has wandered up to the wall by his head, steadying me as I move against him, the other to the back of his neck as I kiss him.
This isn’t enough, this rubbing together, and it’s everything. Nothing else exists in the world right now but me and him, our slick bodies moving together, our mouths nipping and sucking and tongues warring.
The heaviness in my balls, the burning pressure in my cock are too much. I’m going to shoot, but I need something more. I release his neck to reach between our bodies for my cock.
He beats me to it, those long fingers curling around my hard-on, and he starts sliding down the wall. I stop him. Not sure why. His mouth on me would be fucking awesome.
“Look, it’s okay—” I start, then groan when his hold tightens, and my dick likes that. Too fucking much. “Oh God. I want to try something else.”
