Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Declan

I woke up groggy in the weird not-quite morning, not exactly night hours, but remarkably, I wasn't in pain. My headache had retreated, my leg wasn't throbbing, and apparently, I'd found a sleep position that worked because I had none of my usual aches and stiffness.

Well, something was stiff. Very stiff, indeed. I was immediately and acutely aware of Jonas lying beside me, asleep with soft, even snores. The low bedside light was still on, allowing me to take stock of the situation. When Jonas had first sat on the bed, he'd left a good three feet of space between us on the queen mattress, but sometime after we both drifted off, our bodies had migrated.

We'd found each other, and the dog had found a new resting spot under the window. Like Jonas, Oz was sprawled out and fast asleep, but I was way more concerned with Jonas's nearness.

We were facing each other on our sides, my head tucked near his neck, close enough so each inhale brought another intoxicating dose of Jonas. My bare stomach rested against his shirt-covered belly, making it so I could feel his every breath. My hand was resting on his biceps, and the smart thing would have been to remove it—and the rest of me—as soon as I was awake.

But as my high school grades clearly showed, I wasn't that smart.

Instead, I lightly stroked his arm, measuring the curve of his muscle, tracing it down to where his hand lay loosely against my waist. His hands were larger than mine, wider with hairier forearms that had me wondering how fuzzy his chest was. I set my hand on his, comparing, then stroked back up his arm so I could coast down his shoulder and back.

Part of my curiosity was the novel opportunity to explore another guy outside of the confines of my own brain, and even that, I'd tried to limit. But this was also Jonas, and I'd spent the last twenty-four hours battling attraction and arousal both. I wasn't simply curious about how any male chest would feel. I liked his. The fuzziness turned me on in a way nothing else ever had. Apparently, I had a thing for hairy? Who knew. But I liked everything I was discovering about Jonas.

Continuing my exploration, I tried deepening my breath so I could feel even more of the flex of his belly against mine. My cock was growing harder by the second, and I instinctively rocked my hips.

Oh.

Jonas was hard too. Did he like me touching him in his sleep or?—

"What are you doing?" he mumbled into my hair.

Experimenting . The word was right there, but something told me Jonas wouldn't take kindly to it. Instead, I went for the truth.

"I don't know, but it feels good. Right ."

"Declan…" Jonas sighed but didn't move away, which I took as a major win. "How is your head?"

"Better. Lots. Check my pupils." I tilted my head so he could gaze directly into my eyes. Holy fuck. Looking deep into Jonas's hazel eyes, centimeters away from mine, lips so close I could feel the warmth of his exhale was heady stuff.

"Your eyes look good." His voice was husky with more than sleep. " Fine. They look fine."

Continuing to hold his gaze, I did what I'd been longing to do for days and ran a thumb down his beard. I hadn't intended to bring his face even closer, but I wasn't about to argue with that result either. In fact, the easiest thing in the world was to try a barely there kiss, the lightest press of my lips against his.

"Oh." We made the same sound at the same moment. Jonas's eyes went wider and darker, surprise replaced by heat. He tightened his grip on my waist, holding me firmly against him.

"Can I do it again?" I whispered, wanting the chance at another kiss more than any holeshot or victory lap.

"We shouldn't," he murmured, staying exactly where he was.

"That's not a no." I leaned up for another soft kiss, letting myself linger this time. His beard was ticklish against the edges of my mouth, but his lips were soft and full. My tongue darted out without permission to lick along the seam of his mouth.

"It's not a no." He groaned low before returning the kiss. He matched my feathery intensity, little brushes of his lips until we were both groaning. I cupped his jaw to encourage more but got distracted by the rasp of his beard against my palm.

"Your beard feels good," I whispered. The early hour encouraged cozy secrets and lowered voices, and the last thing I wanted to do was spook either of us back to the land of logic.

"So does yours." Chuckling, he dragged his fingers down my cheek.

"Guess I need to shave." My skin heated under his caress. I'd been more than a little lax on the shaving and hair styling front since the accident. To my mind, there was no point in looking good without cameras nearby, but I suddenly wanted to look red-carpet-ready for Jonas. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." He kissed my chin, tongue tracing the dimple lurking there. "Stubble looks hot on you."

"You think I'm hot?" I couldn't resist preening.

"You own a mirror." Jonas rolled his eyes at me as he dropped his hand to my side, lightly tickling my ribs.

I squirmed against him. "So that's a yes?"

"It's a yes." He groaned and claimed my mouth in the boldest kiss yet. If our first kisses had been all sweet, fluffy bites of cotton candy, this was a cannoli with layers of flavor and texture, an experience I couldn't get enough of. My lips parted on a gasp, welcoming his tongue tangling with mine. Along with desire, a calm certainty settled over me. This. This was what kissing was supposed to be.

I'd waited years for anything to feel this right, and now that I was here, I was going to kiss Jonas as long as humanly possible. In fact, if there were any kissing records, I was down for breaking every last one. The sun could come up, and I'd still be happily kissing him.

As Jonas's tongue retreated, I followed it, exploring his mouth, thrusting my tongue against his until he released a groan that had a pained edge.

"Am I doing this correctly?" I asked, rubbing our cheeks together. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Trust me, you're killing me, but I'm hardly in pain." Jonas chuckled, holding me close in a way that made me feel more content than I could ever remember. "And there's a wrong way to kiss? News to me."

"I dunno. I always feel clumsy," I whispered my confession into his neck. "More than one ex said I'm a bad kisser."

Jonas made a rude noise. "Screw them."

"They might be right." I shrugged. "Before this, kissing always felt like I was missing some key ingredient that would make it feel…better. More spectacular. More like the movies and stuff. But this feels way different."

"Think you found the right ingredients?"

Or the right person. That thought was far too big and scary, so I said nothing. Instead, I kissed him like my life depended on it, like this was the last-chance qualifier for the championship round. And amazingly, wonderfully, Jonas returned my enthusiasm, meeting me kiss for kiss. Far from complaining when I clutched his shoulder and back, he held me every bit as tightly.

Being squashed against another person had never felt so good. And that it was Jonas made it even better. The kissing and touching were almost too much, too good, yet not nearly enough. My hips started to rock, cock pushing into Jonas's erection. I was hard for him, so hard. He matched my motion, and I made a delighted moan.

Panting, he broke the kiss. "We should?—"

I cut him off with a frustrated noise. "Don't say stop. Please. I don't wanna stop."

I tilted my head, trying to earn more kisses, doing everything short of batting my eyes to keep this thing going. Where exactly we were going was as dangerous a question as what was happening next, so I focused on the present moment. More kisses. More touches. More.

"God, you're convincing." Jonas followed my unspoken demand and kissed me. We'd kissed so long that my lips were hypersensitive. Tomorrow, they'd likely be chapped, but that was more of the future thinking I wanted to avoid.

I kissed him back, wanting to imprint myself on him as well, wanting him to know my taste and smell, to feel me every time he smiled or moved his kiss-swollen lips. I hoped I made him feel even a fraction of the pleasure coursing through me. I delved deeply with my tongue against his, starting a rhythm that matched our grinding. A silent beat seemed to thrum between us, urging us on.

"More. I need more." I moaned, not entirely certain what I was asking for, but needing something, some relief from the growing pressure in my balls and tension in my muscles. My whole body was rigid with anticipation. "Jonas. Please. I need…"

"I know." He made a soothing sound as he kissed my ears and neck. He skated a hand down my torso, hovering right above my aching cock. "You want me to touch you?"

"Yes, yes. That ." I thrust my hips upward to meet his hand, and when he pulled my waistband down, my cock sprang into his palm with embarrassing eagerness. He'd barely grasped it when my back bowed. I wasn't sure I could survive a single stroke from his strong grip. "Holy fuck. Gonna…"

And then he did stroke, and I did come, and it was all over in a matter of seconds.

But those few seconds lasted a lifetime, not unlike a bomb detonating or a bike crash, time slowing and distorting, shock waves of pleasure spreading out from my pulsing dick. My throat was raw, my skin clammy, and I shook like a leaf even after my cock was done erupting all over Jonas's fist and my stomach.

"Okay, that was fast." I attempted a laugh, but it came out as shaky as the rest of me.

"You needed it." Jonas stroked my hair with his other hand and kissed my forehead. "Don't ever let someone say you're a bad kisser again."

"What do I do for you now?" I rolled more toward him. I might be epically bad at sex, but even I knew both people were supposed to come. Running a hand down his shirt, I offered a tentative smile, but he captured my hand before I could reach his jeans.

"Nothing." He squeezed my hand and lifted it to his mouth for a brief kiss before releasing it and me. Moving away, he sat up. "That was for you. I'm good, promise."

"But you're hard." I stared pointedly at the rather prominent bulge straining his zipper. I wanted to make him feel amazing too.

"Uh-huh, and you're about five minutes from a heap of regret, and I'd rather not be mid-orgasm when the second-guessing hits."

"That's not fair." I frowned. "I'm the one who started the kissing. I'm not going to regret something I started." I said the words, but my conviction was already wavering. "And like you said, now I know I'm not a bad kisser. Among other facts."

Fuck. There it was. Remorse. Not for what happened as much as what I now knew with startling clarity. All the girlfriends, all the posturing, all the hoping and praying couldn't hide my attraction to men.

"Want to talk about those other facts?" Jonas's expression was kind, eyes soft and kiss-swollen lips gently parted. God, I wanted to kiss him all over again.

"No." I squished up my face, pouting like a little kid. "I don't want to think about any of that. I'd rather not think at all, honestly."

"And here comes regret." Jonas bent to give me a last kiss on the top of my head before scooting off the bed.

"Where are you going?" I sounded entitled, especially given the early morning hour, but I really didn't want him to leave. I wanted more, and I desperately did not want to be alone with my brain.

"You need time to process." Jonas exhaled hard as he adjusted his clothing while standing near the closed door. "As do I."

"Oh." I couldn't exactly argue with him needing a break. Fuck. Maybe I'd overwhelmed the guy by more or less jumping his bones, or perhaps I wasn't the only one with regrets.

"If you want to talk about what happened later, you know where to find me." Jonas paused with his hand on the knob to look back at me, expression hard to read. "And if you'd rather pretend this didn't happen, I'll understand."

If only. I wanted nothing more than to pretend this hadn't happened, that I didn't just have the orgasm of my life with Jonas, but I couldn't. As he left, soft footsteps echoing down the hall and then on the basement steps, I missed him already. I'd never been so fucked in my life.