Jason finishes
first. A perverse streak of satisfaction shoots through him as he
stands and Wesley looks up—he even permits himself a smile.
What the hell does it matter? he wonders, but he can’t help it. There’s a part of him that
wants Wesley to remember him, to think of him when he’s lying in
his lover’s arms and wonder what it would be like to fuck
him instead of the old
man. And there’s another, equal part that wants Mr. Fordham to take
notice of him, because he’s about Wesley’s age and the guy
apparently likes them young. The next time they have s*x, Jason
wants to be there, if only in their minds. He wants to be the one
who eases into Wesley with measured strokes. He wants to be the
young, fevered flesh that Grey cools with kisses.
He’s sporting
wood, he knows it, he k
