Adam wasn’t thrusting. That was better somehow. Instead he held himself all the way inside, and rocked their hips back and forth. Jared’s hole, not used to being stretched to this dimension, wasn’t forced to bear the indignity of a thorough pounding. Not the first time, anyway.
The head of Adam’s cock lined up with Jared’s prostate and oh fuck, was that making things feel good. He whimpered, then cut off the sound with a cough.
Adam kissed up his neck, reassuring with soft lips and tender bites that drew out the pleasure, taking it away from his lower half and spreading it throughout his body. While Jared’s hand moved up and down his cock with a familiar whoosh of skin on skin, Adam started to move in and out, in and out, the tiniest increment at a time.
There was no hiding any more. Jared felt like he’d been stripped bare, inside and out, and Adam could see all the way inside. No secrets now, just the new pleasure of this act, being fucked, being the passive partner for the first time in his life.
Adam was clearly doing something right because Jared’s cock was leaking a steady stream of pre-come, something he didn’t do all that often. He rubbed just under the head of his cock with his thumb, the most sensitive part that was almost guaranteed to make him horny. He was more than horny now: the pain in his ass had faded to a pleasant hum, and the combination of his hand on his dick and Adam’s lips on his neck was turning this into an altogether good experience.
“I’m not sure,” Adam said, his voice low and rough, “how much longer I can hold on.”
“Do it,” Jared growled. “Come inside me.”
“Oh, fuck.”
Adam pressed his face into the arch of Jared’s neck and trembled hard. His arms tightened around Jared’s shoulders, and he could feel everything. It was like a fire had been lit underneath them, inside them, and all Jared could do was hold on and come too.
Every last inch of him was singing with the sheer, overwhelming intensity of a bone-deep orgasm. The weight of Adam’s body on top of his was nothing, not important, even though he was finding it difficult to breathe. And think. And function.
So, that was sex.
The first thing he became aware of was Adam’s hand searching for his on the bed, and Jared couldn’t help the stinging in his eyes when Adam tangled their fingers together and squeezed gently. It was something more than sex now.
Adam laid a very, very careful kiss on the side of Jared’s neck before he pulled away, and the rush of pain and discomfort and loss choked Jared. It was more, somehow, than in those first moments.
As his fingers and toes curled in pain, he gritted his teeth and kept his eyes shut while Adam padded silently to the bathroom. The pain was a dull ache inside, and he knew by some instinct that this would linger.
When Adam came out of the bathroom, Jared was fully dressed, his boots on but unlaced. Adam gave him a look of hazy confusion, smiling softly, asking with his expression why Jared wasn’t snuggled up in bed.
Jared grabbed Adam’s wrist and dragged him forward until they were toe to toe, Jared dressed, Adam wearing nothing but another expensive pair of underwear.
With great precision, Jared leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Adam’s mouth.
“There,” he said softy, keeping their faces close together, his eyes closed. “You can go and collect on your bet now.”
Chapter 13
It was only when Jared got out of the Hemlock house that he realized he’d been driven here, and he had no way of getting home. With a sigh, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and called a taxi, managing to get to the end of the long, winding drive as the car pulled up.
He kept his eyes on the road, concentrating on the feeling of his damp clothes sticking to his skin and not the raw ache he would forever associate with losing both his virginity and his heart.
By the time he found himself back in his bed again, it was close to dawn. Jared hadn’t showered again, not possessing the energy to wash Adam’s smell from his skin, and had changed his clothes to something dry.
After ten minutes of lying in bed, he knew there was no way he was going to sleep without chemical assistance, and reluctantly dragged himself back to the bathroom, stepping over his white clothes on the floor.
The party seemed like days ago now, weeks maybe.
In the cabinet he found Tylenol, sleeping pills, and a teeny tiny, airline bottle of scotch. He took two each of the pills and chased them with the liquor, pissed, then stumbled back to bed.
Jared woke at two the following afternoon, pissed again, went to the kitchen and made a grilled cheese sandwich. He took it back to bed, set re-runs of Buffy the Vampire Slayer to play on Netflix, and went back to sleep.
He woke again at seven, checked his phone, plugged it in to charge without looking at any messages or Facebook notifications. Went back to sleep.
He woke at midnight screaming, sweating, throat raw.
This time he pulled himself out of bed and to the shower, turning off Buffy as he went. It took a while to properly cleanse himself, inside and out, washing sticky residue from his skin that had been there for almost twenty-four hours.
The white clothes were still on the floor, and after dressing in cutoff sweatpants and a tank top, Jared decided it was time to clean up.
There was an in-house music system he could set up, so his hard, angry rock music blasted in every room he was in. While Alanis Morisette screamed about things that people oughta know, Jared
