9. Jason

CHAPTER 9

JASON

My fucking god, he's glorious.

I came out here to talk, to try to force some casual conversation so we can keep trying to get comfortable with this situation. Maybe even join his workout. I thought I could use his home gym to work out some of the tension I've been feeling since arriving here.

But the moment I step into the garage and see him laid out across the bench like a fucking snack, muscles bulging, arms covered in ink, I'm frozen.

Fucking hell, those tattoos fill in every inch of space from just above the neckline of his scooped undershirt, stopping just above his forearms. I drag my eyes over his body, seeing him in a new light.

He didn't turn into some boring, buttoned-up stiff after all, it seems. I can see the dark ink through the thin, damp fabric of his white undershirt. There are tiny balls on either side of each of his nipples, telling me he has more than one piercing. Somehow, knowing that he's been hiding all of this under a button-down and a tie makes him even hotter. I wonder how far down that ink goes. If the tattoos are the reason he's been wearing long sleeves, is there more he's covering up? It would explain why he's been wearing pants instead of shorts in this heat.

I watch him as though in a trance, following every rise and fall of his chest, every flex of the muscles that all his stuffy clothes cover up. My eyes zero in on the erection that tents his dress pants, and my cock strains against my zipper.

Is that why he left me in the living room? He seemed uncomfortable when he got up and walked out. At first, I thought he'd left to grab another drink, but then I heard the garage door shut. I gave him the space he clearly needed, but the clink of the weights lured me out.

This is absolutely not what I expected to see when I decided to join him.

I wish he'd take off the undershirt so I could see how much of his torso is covered. It's a shame he keeps all of that covered up. Then again, if he'd looked like this the first time I saw him, I probably would have mauled him right there on the spot.

Mik racks the bar and reaches down to squeeze his erection through his pants, and I practically fall over myself to get a closer look. His face twitches to the side, and I think for a moment that he sees me. I flinch back behind the doorway, but he continues touching himself.

You'd think the small scare of getting caught would deter me, but the moment I know I'm in the clear, I lean against the doorframe and watch him as he unzips and reaches inside to pull himself out of his dress pants. He whispers a curse to himself, and my breathing picks up. My mouth waters at the sight of his long, uncut shaft. The front of my boxers grows damp the harder I press against my aching erection. It's not enough. I need friction. I rub myself through the fabric of my pants and take a few small steps forward, lured by the hypnotizing rhythm of Mik stroking his long, hard cock. My steps falter when I'm close enough to hear a low moan over the sounds of his music, a glint of light catching my eye as Mik works his foreskin up and down .

His strokes are slow and unhurried at first, but as the song changes, so does his rhythm. The next song has a faster, angrier sound that has him spitting into his palm and pumping himself harder.

I can't fucking help myself. My zipper is open, my hand thrusting inside my pants. My cock is throbbing when I grip it roughly and pump into my fist.

The wet sounds of us both jerking ourselves overtake the fading music, but I'm too far gone to notice anything more than the movement of his hand and a tantalizing glint of light that keeps catching my attention. I bite hard into my lip when my gaze flits up at his face and his eyes cut my way.

He doesn't even flinch.

How long has he known I was standing here, watching him? Because he certainly isn't stopping. He looks away from me, but his hips thrust into his hand, pumping himself harder.

Fuck me, he's doing this for me. He's putting on a show for my benefit alone.

We lock eyes and I die several slow deaths as I watch his eyes glaze over with lust, and cum explodes from the tip of his perfect cock. My teeth sink into my lip even harder, drawing blood. Mik's mouth is open, his breaths coming in pants, and I have a flashback of what he looked like beneath me when we were young and in love and had our whole lives ahead of us. My orgasm hits me hard and fast, nearly taking me out at the knees.

He stares back at me as we stroke ourselves through the comedown and clarity seeps into the space between us. My breaths are heavy, like I've run a marathon. We're locked in some kind of staring contest, with our dicks out and my hand filled with cum that's slowly dripping onto the concrete floor.

I'm the first one to break, my eyes darting to Mik's lap. There's an impressive amount of cum coating his hand and the front of his pants. His softening cock is glazed with it, and there's a small pool of it on the bench he's straddling. The urge to rush over and lick it up is intense. I think about getting on my knees and licking him clean.

Does he still taste sweet, or has life made his cum as bitter as his mood? His cock twitches, catching my eye. It seems to be aware that I'm staring right at it, because it tries to rally. Mik's hand rubs down his length, like he might coax it back to life. There's that glint of something again, and I step forward to get a better look, but Mik must think better of it. He covers his pretty dick with his hand and presses it down.

Moving my gaze back to his face, I see the emotion in his eyes as clearly as I did the morning all my hopes and dreams died. He doesn't have to spell it out.

We shouldn't have done this. This is wrong.

Before I can prevent myself from opening my big mouth and saying something I can't take back, I tuck myself in my pants and walk away.