CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jarrod’s mouth was slipping and sliding beneath mine and I could hear how breathless Jarrod was. As for myself, breathless wasn’t an adequate description, but there was no way I would lift his mouth off Jarrod’s until one or both passed out.
I couldn’t remember kissing a man like this before. Women liked to kiss, men thought it was an annoying thing you had to do to get women to have sex with you.
But, Jarrod… Jarrod was kissing me like he was trying to eat my mouth, all tongue and lips, and teeth, pulling on my lips, chasing my tongue.
And I was kissing him back, following his lead, letting Jarrod guide me down onto the couch, closing my eyes as Jarrod’s hands pulled my robe open.
When Jarrod slid his mouth away from mine and down my neck, I took a shuddering breath in and said, “Yes.” Jarrod’s mouth settled on one of my nipples, making me twist a little and pull at Jarrod’s towel.
Teeth nipped at me, biting and pulling, no doubt leaving my skin sore and marked, then Jarrod’s mouth moved to my other nipple, sucking hard. This was too hard, too soon, too fast, and it should hurt like hell, but the way my body was feeling about it, there was no way I would stop Jarrod.
Just when I thought I’d need to push Jarrod away, ask him to stop, Jarrod lifted my mouth and licked my lips, then slid down my body. I pushed myself upright and watched.
Jarrod took the head of my cock into this mouth, and this time his mouth was gentle, and I exhaled and let myself relax. My nipples were still stinging, the delicate flesh purple and red, and Jarrod’s mouth was so wet and hot and slippery on my cock that the contrast was almost more than I could bear.
And every moment, it got better and better, Jarrod’s mouth just got wetter and wetter, and I could feel saliva trickling down the creases of my groin and soaking into the fabric of my robe. Jarrod’s finger slipped down the same folds and pressed against the entrance to my body.
Jarrod didn’t push his finger in, he circled the ridged skin, leaving me trembling with expectation, so much more erotic than if Jarrod had just slid it in.
Between my ass being teased, and the long slow suck and slide of Jarrod’s mouth on my cock, I could not do anything except spread my thighs wider and let his head loll against the back of the couch while I clutched at the upholstery. “God,” I groaned, and Jarrod chuckled, catching at the skin of my cock with his teeth, and making me wince.
The gasp I made must have given Jarrod ideas because he alternated the slick slide of his mouth and with gentle scrapes of his teeth. The effect was electric, with each down stroke alternating with soothing suction, and I groaned.
When I came, I gripped Jarrod’s curls hard and thrust up, no longer able to hold back. Jarrod let me, keeping his mouth open and loose for me to drive into over and over, until I slumped back on the couch, breathing hard.
My own taste was strong when Jarrod kissed me, and when Jarrod flopped onto the couch beside me, I reached for the fly of his jeans.
Jarrod’s hands pushed me away, and Jarrod said, “Later, babe. You make me come now, we’ll never make it out of the flat.”
“And this is bad?” I asked.
“Hey, these are our nights off,” Jarrod said. “We’re going out.”
“It’s one in the morning,” I said, checking the time. We’d crashed out as soon as we’d got back to Jarrod’s apartment, had slept for a few hours, then Jarrod had woken me, demanding that we go out. The blow job was Jarrod’s apology for waking me. but I still felt much more like crawling back into bed than partying.
“Yeah, and the clubs will just be getting going. We can grab something to eat, sink a few beers, then dance until dawn.”
Jarrod looked so eager that I couldn’t stop myself from grinning back. “OK, but if we’re sinking beers, I’m not taking the car, and you’re paying.”
That night, the nightclub was packed solid with people, and Jarrod had a firm grip on my hand as he pushed his way through to the bar. Jarrod held up four fingers to the bartender, and he pushed four Coronas back across the bar to him when he handed over a bill.
Jarrod handed two of the beers to me and shouted, “Saves coming back so often.”
I nodded, took the beers, and pushed my way back through the crowd until I found a wall for us to lean against. The first beer went down, then the second. I couldn’t talk to Jarrod, not with the deafening boom from the dance floor, so I watched the surrounding people instead.
It was smoky and dark, though the music was worse, and nobody was wearing leather, in all the essentials it was still a gay nightclub, just like all the bars I had been to as a young man.
Despite all the pierced nipples on show, all the eyebrow and tongue studs and labret piercings, the short haircuts and lip gloss, cruising was still cruising, and there was a steady stream of guys attempting to pick up either Jarrod or myself and sometimes both.
Jarrod drained his second beer, put the empty on the ledge behind us, and tugged on my hand.
I followed Jarrod onto the dance floor and Jarrod wound his arms around behind my head and ground against me. The floor moved a little underneath my feet, disconcerting me until I worked out why. It was a sprung floor, mounted for impact absorption, and it made no sense until I noticed the rest of décor. There was floor to ceiling mirrors to one side, and empty weight racks on the other. This place had either once been a gymnasium, or the owners had decorated it to resemble a health club. Whatever the cause, the dance floor was fun to dance on, moving under the writhing crowd.
It had been a long time since I had danced, and then it had been the on-the-spot up-and-down jiggle the crowds at Daniela’s concerts had preferred. The music was just as loud, but the beat was a little slower, and I ground up against Jarrod.
I could do this, dance wrapped around Jarrod, cocooned by the crowds and the darkness, do this for longer than I could have thrashed around to a different type music relieved him. A boisterous mosh pit session would have left me with many aches and pains, and a desperate need for a chiropractic session I couldn’t afford.
This, well, this would leave me hard and horny and deaf, with sore knees, and chapped lips from kissing Jarrod too much, but at least I wouldn’t need a spinal change afterward.
Jarrod was hard against me, and I could feel him moaning when we kissed. We weren’t the only people making out on the dance floor, but I still knew that we were attracting attention. Jarrod was gorgeous, it was no wonder people were watching us, and for a change, other men wanting Jarrod felt good to me. At work, Jarrod’s desirability was something I tried hard not to think about. Here, in a crowded nightclub, I could cup Jarrod’s ass, and be smug that I would take Jarrod home at the end of the night, no one else.
When Jarrod unwound his arms and led me back to the bar, a dawning realization hit me. Men were looking at me too. I was scruffy in my faded jeans and boots wore down at the heels, hair long enough to hang down past his shoulders now, and a good 50 pounds over my pre-separation weight and men were definitely looking me over.
At the bar, someone groped me, having a fantastic feel of my ass, and I had to remind myself that I was in a gay bar, a different set of rules applied and this was not an invasion, just a courtship ritual.
The guy had melted away into the crowd when I turned around, then Jarrod pressed another two beers into my hands, and we worked our way back through the press of bodies to find something to lean against.
I shoved one of the Coronas into my jeans pocket and wrapped my free arm around Jarrod’s shoulder and pulled him close for another kiss. Jarrod was sweaty from dancing, and I could smell him over the pervasive cigarette smoke. It wasn’t the beers making me feel intoxicated, I had a far greater alcohol tolerance than that, it was Jarrod. He was laughing in unheard rumbles against my mouth now, hugging me back, his beer cold and damp against my back through my borrowed T-shirt, and I identified what I was feeling.
I was happy, I was having fun. I hadn’t had fun for years, not like this. I’d simulated this feeling with beer and joints and sex when I was with Daniela, but I hadn’t felt like laughing like this for the longest time.
“What’s up?” Jarrod shouted at him when I pulled back from the kiss to down more of my beer.
“I’m happy and I love you,” I whispered, sure Jarrod wouldn’t be able to hear him.
“What?” Jarrod shouted back at him.
I grinned at Jarrod and shouted, “I’m having fun!”
Jarrod clinked his beer against mine and grinned too. “Atta boy!” he shouted.
One advantage of working nights was that on your nights off, you could dance until dawn and not feel tired, I discovered. We stayed at the nightclub until the lights went on, then stumbled out onto the streets in the early morning light, our ears ringing in the sudden silence. There were no taxis in sight so we found a café and joined the other drunken nightclub patrons sitting there. We ate blueberry pancakes and drank coffee, and I was pleased to find that the happiness persisted, it was helped along by Jarrod’s sweat-damp hair curled on my neck as it dried and the feel of Jarrod’s hand in mine.
We were able to arrange a taxi from the diner, and made our way to Jarrod’s flat. Tired, we barely made it up the stairs and to unlocking the door, before we fell into bed.
All the stuff wrong with my life was still there: not being able to see Billy, being broke, but it all seemed bearable now, at least while Jarrod was wrapped around me, snoring and smelling of beer and sweat and cigarette smoke.
I smiled, pulled Jarrod a little closer in my arms, and closed my eyes, ready to sleep.