He permitted himself a stroke, a lazy thrust into his own hand, watching the movement, the slickness of the head, the way it dripped to his fingers.
“Colby.” Jason’s voice snagged on want: audible and pure and in this moment unquestionable. “You can have that. You can do that. I would—I’d do that for you, if I could, just keep you in bed all f*****g day and play with you, keep you right on that edge, until you were ready, until you were begging me to finally let you come, because you needed it too badly, and maybe I’d say yes, and maybe I wouldn’t…”
“Oh.” He caught himself in a firmer grip, enough to stop the shuddering swell. Jason had told him not to come. He wanted to be good. And he was dissolving into Jason’s words. A fantasy, of course—Jason had talked about other people once alrea
