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.[Back to Table of Contents]Chapter ThreeJason awoke the next morning with the dawn.He had not slept well—his night had been filled with dreams of Diane, of work, and of the young Frenchman asleep in the next room.And when he finally had awakened, it had been to a morning erection that refused to be ignored.Grabbing his robe from the hook on the door (determined not to repeat the free show that he had put on for Jules the day before), he ignored the heady smells coming from the kitchen and headed straight for the bathroom, relieving himself with some effort and stepping into the shower.The water felt good on his skin, the warmth penetrating the tightness in his shoulders.He absentmindedly hummed an Ella Fitzgerald tune as he lathered himself with bergamot-scented soap and closed his eyes.Even here, within the sanctity of the shower walls, his mind wandered once more to his houseguest's enticing face—to the pink lips he had briefly kissed the night before and to Jules's compelling music.His hand drifted down to his chest, pausing briefly to lave the hard nipples there.He closed his eyes and traced a line lower down onto his belly, swirling the slippery bar of soap around until he reached the curls below.His right hand joined his left as he washed the sensitive place between his legs, the distinct ridge that ran behind his balls and farther back to the small opening beyond, teasing it with the bubbles and finally running his other hand down his hard shaft.God.He groaned, careful to keep his voice down.He hadn't had a hard-on like this in months.He began to rub the soap against his erection, then let the bar slip from his hands so he could wrap his large fingers around himself.He began to pull and rub, cupping his balls with his other hand, leaning back against the hard tile of the shower to get a better angle.His eyes closed, and he let his mouth hang open.Fresh water from the shower dribbled over his head and in through his lips in a sensual cascade.That was when he realized that it was Jules's face he was seeing in his mind's eye; it was his face that he imagined looking back at him when his hand began to move rhythmically up and down his shaft.In his mind, he saw that handsome face and those warm brown eyes, imagined Jules naked and soaking wet as the water ran over his youthful body, and pretended that it was Jules who was pulling at his cock and slipping those graceful fingers back over his balls and between his cheeks.He imagined what it would be like, exploring Jules's body with his fingers.He wondered what the other man would taste like all over—not just his mouth, but his graceful shoulders, the soft skin on the inside of his wrists, the taut abdomen.He imagined taking the belly-button ring into his mouth and pulling on it; he wondered if Jules would moan when he did.In his mind, he slipped his tongue into the indentation there and licked at the silver circle, then saw his hands reach around to clasp the tight globes of the young man's buttocks and pull him closer.He wondered what that ass would feel like in his hands.Soft? Smooth?Oh God, he thought, his slick hand reaching a fever pitch now.But it was not the thought of what Jules might feel like that sent him spiraling over the edge—no, it was the memory of those lips upon his own—it was the taste of wine upon his tongue and the echo of music through the small apartment.He came with a low growl, splashing his belly and the wall of the shower, the orgasm fierce and satisfying.In its wake, his legs shook, and he gasped, taking in air as if he had been holding his breath the entire time.Had he?The water was, blessedly, still hot as he washed himself again—this time far more clinically, making sure to erase the evidence of his release from the shower walls as well as his body.The hot water relaxed his muscles, and the shaking in his legs ceased.He waited another minute or two until his breaths came uniformly once more, then shut off the water and toweled himself dry, tossing the robe back on and knotting the belt at his waist.He opened the bathroom door with newfound determination.He needs to leave, he thought, as he walked down the hallway to the kitchen.I need to tell him.Now.He could hear movement—the sound of something frying on the stove, the smell of something like onions drifting out into the hallway—Jules, making breakfast.He looked inside to find the other man, an apron wrapped around his small waist and his hair pulled back from his face, using a wooden spoon to push something around in a pan."Jaz!” he exclaimed happily, his grin nearly as wide as his face.“Did you have a good shower?"Jason's face grew warm, but he managed to answer with a, “Yes, thank you.” Then, steeling himself for what he knew he must do, he began, “Look, Jules, I—""I hope you like quiche,” Jules interrupted with a smile that seemed to light up the entire room.“I'm pretty good at making it.""Jules,” Jason began, determined to stay on task, “I really—""I used to make it for Henri sometimes,” Jules continued undaunted.“But since he's been living with Pascal, I haven't had anyone to cook it for."Shit.Jules was positively glowing.How the hell can I tell him to leave? What kind of crappy excuse could I even come up with? “I need you to leave because I'm having fantasies about you.about touching you.about fucking you?""I wasn't sure what you liked in your quiche,” the young man was saying.“So I decided to make two—one plain and one with spinach."You are so screwed, Jason told himself.And you're definitely not cold enough to do this.He sighed [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]