The Challenge (2 page)

Dean tasted Jacob on his lips but didn’t go in for another kiss. He shrugged. “Because she thought I couldn’t.”

“Ah.” Jacob tilted his head. “Well, I guess you can’t let her get away with assuming that just because you like cock that makes you, oh, I dunno, GAY or anything.”

“Hey!” Dean didn’t like the insinuation, especially since Jacob didn’t know him well enough to judge him that way. “She knows I’m queer. I never pretended otherwise.”

Jacob gave an exaggerated shrug and made a face. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, sugar. Just wondering if you need to prove it to yourself or something.”

“I’ve known I was queer since the eighth grade,” Dean said flatly.

Jacob’s gaze dropped to Dean’s crotch. “Uh-huh. Like I said. You don’t have to prove it to me. I had your dick in my mouth this morning, remember? Then again…”

“Then again, what?” Dean looked at the door, thinking how he should’ve walked out on this conversation ten minutes ago but hadn’t, and not quite willing to ponder why.

“Even straight guys can be convinced getting head from another dude isn’t gay.” Jacob grinned, showing white teeth just a tiny bit too crooked.

Dean snorted lightly. “Yeah? The fuck you getting at, Jacob? You want me to suck your cock?”

Jacob rubbed at his crotch without breaking the gaze. He knew just how to work this, that little bastard. He’d known Dean all of two weeks and already had his number. Not that Dean was going to admit it, hell no. No guy got under his skin, not that he’d let on. Ever.

“Sure,” Jacob said with a raised brow.

In answer, Dean grabbed Jacob’s belt. Undid the buckle. Then the zipper. He freed Jacob’s dick, stroking it from half-hard to full-on wood in half a minute after that. Jacob swallowed hard, eyes getting heavy-lidded.

“You think I don’t suck cock?” Dean breathed, voice husky in anticipation.

“Well,” Jacob said, feigning a nonchalance made obviously false by the tremor in his tone, “you haven’t sucked mine.”

Dean laughed at that, still stroking until Jacob pushed his hips forward. “Your spaghetti’s going to get cold.”

“I…like…cold spaghetti.” Jacob’s voice broke on a gasp, and that was all the impetus Dean needed.

He went to his knees and yanked down Jacob’s jeans at the same time, baring the other man’s body and gripping his tight ass. Jacob’s cock was thick and hard, bobbing
upward at the release from tight denim. Dean captured it at the base with one fist. His mouth found it next, and he slid Jacob’s cock deep into the back of his throat.

Dean closed his eyes.

Not because he didn’t want to see what he was doing. He liked watching, as a matter of fucking fact, but this was different. On his knees, giving head, was different than looking down at someone in the same place. On his knees, Dean liked to lose himself in the smells and sounds, the taste of whoever he was fucking. He let go of Jacob’s ass to put Jacob’s hand on the back of his head, curling Jacob’s fingers into his hair. Urging him to guide the pace, if he wanted.

Yeah, Dean liked being on top. Fucking. But he wasn’t averse to giving pleasure, either, and it was always, always better when the other person felt comfortable enough to say what they liked. Or show him. Dean wasn’t above admitting he could be an asshole, but never let it be said he was a selfish lover.

“Fuck.” Jacob’s fingers tightened in Dean’s hair and his hips pumped. “Fuck, baby, that’s so fucking good.”

Baby?

Dean paused at the endearment, his fist sliding up to meet his lips as his mouth came down. Jacob didn’t stop moving, fucking into Dean’s hand and mouth. And after the barest moment, Dean went on. Sex talk didn’t mean anything.

Then it didn’t matter what Jacob said, because Dean unzipped his own jeans and pulled his cock free. Now came the complicated dance of hands and mouth, stroking and sucking at the same time. He had to catch up–Jacob was already making the low sound in the back of his throat Dean had come to recognize as his prelude to coming.

“Wait, wait.” Jacob tugged harder on Dean’s hair until Dean looked up.

It took Dean a second to understand Jacob wanted him to stop. Who the fuck ever wanted him to stop when he was blowing him? Dean looked up, one fist still pumping Jacob’s dick, the other his own. “What?”

“I just…want…” Jacob licked his lips and swallowed, then cupped Dean’s cheek. “Stand up.”

Dean did with a quizzical laugh. Two men, pants around their ankles, cocks hard. His laugh slid into a groan when Jacob pulled him by the back of the neck to kiss him. It was a hard kiss, but not punishing. Jacob sucked Dean’s tongue as his hand curled around Dean’s dick.

“Use your hand on me,” Jacob said as he stroked. “I want to make you come. I want your mouth on mine when you come all over my hand.”

This was not what Dean had expected but fuck, Jacob was jerking him just right and the kiss went on and on, getting hotter by the second. Nothing to do but stroke Jacob’s cock, too. They fell into mutual rhythm.

His balls got heavy, his cock impossibly harder. The kiss stuttered and broke as Jacob gasped. Dean didn’t have the breath to gasp. He was going to come….

Jacob came first. Heat and slickness filled Dean’s palm. Pleasure exploded out of him. He found the breath to groan.

Panting, Jacob kissed him again. Soft, this time. He still cupped Dean’s cock, but his other hand came up to hold the back of Dean’s neck. Forehead to forehead, he smiled.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Dean said.

Jacob looked between them. “That was hot.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “It was definitely not what I was expecting when you told me you wanted me to suck you off.”

Jacob reached behind him to grab up a dish towel, wiping his hands and handing it to Dean. “Baby, I am
not
what you are expecting.”

Dean wiped his hands and put himself back in his jeans before stepping back. “Is that so?”

Jacob licked his forefinger and drew a “one” in the air. “That. Is so.”

It was a good cue to leave. After all, they’d both already gotten off. Dean’s stomach was rumbling, but dinner was cold and he could pick up something on the way home. He’d already spent last night with this guy. And the morning.

Jacob looked over his shoulder at the sink and the pot with the now-cold pasta. “This will only take a minute to warm up. You staying?”

Dean leaned to kiss him, relishing the taste of salt and beer on Jacob’s mouth. “Sure.”

Late-night conversations. Katie loved them. Darkness and distance provided by the phone made intimacy, and she loved that, too.

Jimmy was good at late-night talk. Jimmy had a voice like melting butter, all warm and soft and sweet. Rich. It didn’t matter what he was saying, really. He told stories like some men built houses, layer by layer and piece by piece, until Katie realized hours had passed and dawn was breaking.

He’d make love like that, too.

Katie wondered if she’d ever find out. She’d met Jimmy weeks ago. He’d flirted with her right away. Asked for her number. He’d actually called, too, something that had surprised her since guys like Jimmy always said they’d call but never did.

Katie wasn’t sure just how they’d fallen into late-night discussions about old movies, art, books, music. About their favorite colors and foods. All she knew was that she told Jimmy things she hadn’t told any guy in a long time, and nothing she said ever seemed to put him off or be too much. Katie had spilled her guts about a lot of things from her most embarrassing moment to her secret fetish for knitted slippers.

They had become friends, and that was great, but Katie was beginning to wonder if that’s all it would ever be.

“You stand in front of three doors,” Jimmy said. “What color are they, what is behind each, and which do you pick?”

Katie laughed. “Where do you come up with these?”

“I have a book. Two hundred and seven of the most obscure questions to ask a beautiful woman.”

At least he’d said she was beautiful. Katie cleared her throat. “Let me think about it. You go first.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve had time to think about it longer than you have.”

“Tell me anyway,” Katie told him and settled deeper into the blankets.

“The doors are red, blue and purple. I pick the blue one.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Jimmy said, “blue’s your favorite color and I bet you’re behind it.”

Heat twisted through her. “And what about the other doors?”

“I don’t open them,” Jimmy told her, “so I have no idea what’s behind them.”

“Good answer.”

“Your turn.”

Katie couldn’t begin to think about doors and colors and what was behind them. Or rather, she could think, but every door she imagined was glass, each had Jimmy behind it, and no matter how hard she tried, she could open none of them. She sighed.

“Tell me something else, Jimmy.”

“Like what?”

“What’s your favorite poem? Do you have one?”

Jimmy laughed softly, and Katie imagined the brush of his breath against her neck. “Unless you count Jim Morrison lyrics as a poem, no, I guess I don’t. What’s yours?”

“I like e.e. cummings. My favorite starts off ‘the boys I mean are not refined.’” Katie thought of the girls who bucked and bite, the boys who shake the mountains when they dance. She recited it to him from memory, and Jimmy was quiet for a moment after that.

“I never liked poetry,” he said. “I had a…teacher…in school who made me recite lots of poetry. It was a way to…well, it doesn’t matter why. I hated poetry because of that teacher. I never thought I could actually like a poem. But I like that one.”

She heard him yawn and frowned, safe in knowing he couldn’t see her. She was already making a face in anticipation of him ending the conversation, but her voice was neutral in reply when he told her he had to hang up.

“Yeah,” Katie said. “It’s late.”

The invitation was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. She didn’t want to invite him out, not even to the coffee shop where they’d first met. He might say no. Worse, he might stop calling her.

“Night, Katie. Sleep tight.”

“You too,” Katie said and clutched the phone tight in her fingers after he’d disconnected before she did, too.

She was still thinking of that conversation when she got home with Dean in tow.

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Dean said as he flipped through a magazine she’d left on her coffee table. He tossed it down and looked at her. “What? Maybe he knows too much about you already. Destroyed the mystery.”

“So then why does he keep calling me?” Katie nudged off one shoe with a sigh and then the other before flopping onto her couch. “Do men often call women late at night just to chat because they long to hear the sound of another voice? I think not.”

“You’re asking the wrong guy about that.”

“Do you ever call
someone
late at night just to hear them talk?”

“Only if I’m jerking off at the same time,” Dean said.

Katie made a face and wriggled her toes, free of the high-heeled pumps. “Maybe he’s jerking off.”

Dean shot her a grin. “Do you?”

“That,” Katie said, “is none of your business.”

Dean slid onto the couch beside her. “You do.”

“Maybe. Once or twice.” Katie curled her feet underneath her, looking at him. “He has a very sexy voice.”

“So why not invite him over? Put on some soft music, make him dinner. Guys love that sort of shit.” Dean tweaked her knee through her soft skirt. “Make the first move.”

Katie shrugged. “I don’t know. I like him. Maybe too much. I don’t want to fuck it up, Dean. If he was into me like that, don’t you think he’d have asked me on a real date or something instead of just calling me and talking for hours?”

“Maybe he’s afraid, too. Guys can be afraid,” Dean said.

“Are you?” She tilted her head to study him.

“I’m not afraid of anything.” Dean frowned.

She let it go. She knew him better than that. After Ethan left, Dean hadn’t said his name again. He’d erased Ethan from his life as thoroughly as though his lover had never existed as part of it. In some ways Katie admired that about Dean, his commitment to forgetting the past. On the other hand, she knew there had to be fond memories among the bad ones. She never regretted remembering relationships, even ones that ended.

So why was she so afraid to take a chance on one with Jimmy? Even if it didn’t work out, she wouldn’t have lost anything and might be missing something great. Katie sighed.

“Hey.” Dean squeezed her again. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“Huh? About Jimmy?”

“Focus,” Dean said. He pulled out a strip of condoms from his back pocket and unfurled them, dangling, before tossing them onto the coffee table. “About us. This.”

“Oh, the challenge.” Katie drew out the word, then smiled. “No. I’m up for it.”

Dean smiled too. “Good.”

Katie was used to Dean encroaching on her personal space. He was a hugger, a toucher, a stroker. Working together on projects, bent over a computer screen, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stand behind her with his chin on her shoulder to see what she was doing, or to put an arm over her shoulders while they walked someplace. Dean’s physical affection was constant and casual.

This was going to be something totally different.

She wasn’t sure what to expect when Dean kissed her. It was nothing like the New Year’s Eve smooch. That had been rough and teasing, both of them a little drunk and laughing. Not serious.

She should’ve known better than to think her experience with that kiss could’ve prepared her for the sensation of Dean’s mouth for real. He slanted his lips over hers as his hand came up to cup the back of her neck. The couch gave as he moved, dipping under his weight as he braced his hand on the back of it. His knee moved between hers. His mouth opened. He tasted of mint.

She’d closed her eyes automatically when he kissed her and opened them when he pulled back. Dean blinked, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth wet. He slid his tongue over his lips.

“That’s a start,” Katie said.

Dean laughed, low. “You’re not going to give me one fucking inch, are you?”