Jagged Edge

A dark past, and those brilliant blue eyes.

Guess I’m a sucker for both.

“What are your dreams?” he asks, and fuck, it’s hypnotic, those eyes, that low voice, and then I shiver when his fingertips trail down to the back of my neck.

“My…” A light stroke, and bolts of sensation shoot down to the base of my spine—and my dick.

Son of a bitch. Whoa.

“Your dreams,” Raine repeats, and I barely hear him, lost in the pleasure of his touch.

“I want…” Another light caress, and I grip him more tightly. “To break free. To get a normal job. Have my own room. Ah fuck…” His hand massages the back of my neck, and I swear, I feel it right in my balls. “My own bed.”

“What job would you do?”

“I dunno. Shit.” Even that thought doesn’t manage to break through the haze of pleasure and need. I press closer to him. I want that hand elsewhere, his mouth on my skin, his dick… inside me, and Jesus F. Christ, Jason, what in the actual fuck?

This is a fucking bad idea. Falling for this guy. Wanting him so badly.

Oh yeah, worst idea ever.

God, I want him now.

Letting go of Raine, I reach down, press the heel of my hand over my crotch, but of course my dick is still not all the way there. How can my mind and body be so out of synch?

“What do you need?” Raine’s hand slides from my neck to my shoulder, his other hand coming up to flick my nipple bar.

More shocks of pleasure.

I’m breathing hard. But I don’t know what I need. Nobody ever asked me that. I never thought about it.

“Like…” He tweaks my other nipple, then trails his hand down my stomach, fingers slipping into my pants just a little, grazing my pubic hair. “When you jack off. When you get hard, when you come… what’s on your mind? How do you do it?”

Thinking is not easy when all your blood is heading south. “When I’m in a safe place. A shower. A bed. I… imagine things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Just… men.” Damn, why is it so hard to talk about this? He’s stroking my stomach now, and even that is making my dick ache with need. It’s harder now, I can tell, from the pressure down below. I dunno why. Maybe it’s because I do feel safe, here, with him.

“You said men don’t get you hard.”

A particular guy does, though, at least in my hot, wet dreams.

I close my eyes.

“Let me touch you,” he says. “Pretend I’m one of those men you think about. Pretend I’m, I don’t know, a hot chef.”

I want to laugh. But I can’t, not when he’s unzipping my pants, and even though he fucked me not half an hour ago, the sound of my zipper going down is sending electric shocks through my system.

He wants to touch me. He’s gonna do it, and my whole body is one big exposed nerve. When he shoves my pants down and grips my semi-hard dick, I gasp.

“This okay?” he asks, and I nod frantically. What’s with this guy? If any john ever asked to touch my dick, I’d have run away—and not only because he’d discover I never got hard in the first place. But with Raine it’s all I want. All the time. For him to touch me everywhere.

He starts to squeeze and pump, and the pressure in my balls soars. He’s lifted his arm off my shoulders to turn fully and grip my dick better, and now his free hand is pushing me back against the cushions so that I’m sprawled there, legs spread, exposed and so hard.

Damn, I’m fully hard, my dick pointing up at my stomach, the piercing on the underside drawn taut, the silver bar pulling on the skin. The sting has me hissing as he strokes me, a good pain, only stoking the inferno.

Yeah, I’m burning up. I realize I’m gripping Raine’s arm with one hand, blunt nails digging in, gripping the back of the sofa with the other. The world has shrunk to my dick and balls and the urgent need to come.