“Like this.” Jason’s hand didn’t stop, a ceaseless sweetness that demanded more and more, inexorably coaxing him toward the peak. “Right here, right now, the way you want…the way you’re mine everywhere, in our bed or out here, in sunshine, where you’re going to come when I tell you to…”
Colby couldn’t recall words. Everything shuddered on the brink, afloat in bliss, holy and decadent.
Jason ordered, with glorious firmness, “Talk to me, baby,” and Colby whimpered a bit and managed, “Please, please…Jason, I need, I need to—it’s like the rain, it’s—so much,” which must’ve made some sort of sense because Jason kissed him for it.
He couldn’t help, now, pushing back into each caress, craving, spilling over with it; the slide of Jason’s hand, large and heavy and wet with Colby’s own want, was
