Jaxon pops off my dick with a chuckle as he stands and presses his body close to mine. “You taste good.”
“So do you. We’ll have to do that again. I’m obsessed with feeling your dick in my mouth.”
“Fuck,” Jaxon groans, resting his head on my shoulder. “You can’t say shit like that. Makes me want to bend over for you right here.”
I cup his ass, rubbing my still wet and exposed shaft along his slowly lengthening dick. “No lube. Or I’d let you.”
He groans again. “Get dressed before I’m tempted to make you come down my throat again.”
Just as I get my clothes together and steal one last kiss, a couple comes up the trail, smiling at us as they step closer to the cliff to enjoy the view.
Jaxon and I look at each other and crack up as we head back to the yurt so we can take a shower.
TWENTY-FIVE
JAXON
Driving backinto the city limits of Tourneville has an unexpected weight settling around my shoulders. We were so free out in the forests of Canada, so happy with the remoteness. Wesley wasn’t a world-famous superstar, and we weren’t afraid to be seen in public for fear he would be swarmed by his fans. We were just Wes and Jaxon, old friends who happened to find each other when we least expected it.
I grip his hand tight as he maneuvers down the streets of my hometown. The thought of him making an entire weekend for me still has me in disbelief. No one has ever been so considerate before. Knowing he tailored it for me makes me feel more loved than I can put into words. I don’t want to go home right now. Being with him makes me feel light, and I don’t want to give that up.
Wes brings my hand to his mouth and kisses the back, making me melt. “Is it strange that I don’t want this weekend to end?”
I shake my head with a grin. “No. I was just thinking the same thing.”
“So you’ll stay one more night with me? We can crash at my place so I don’t feel like I’m defiling Mr. Collins’s son under his roof.”
A hearty laugh bursts from my mouth. “You would not defile me. I think it would be the other way around.”
He seems to think about it, then agrees. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re a bad influence on me.”
He turns down a road that leads to the secluded house that people around town have said is haunted, but it was simply isolated. As kids, we used to ride by on our bicycles and see who could get the closest, but none of us dared venture too far down the driveway.
I chuckle at the memory. “This place isn’t far from my childhood home, but I’ve never actually been closer than the middle of the driveway.”
“It’s nice inside. When Zed rented it for me, I was apprehensive about moving in, but no ghosts have popped out at me yet. But if they do, I’ll keep you safe.”
I roll my eyes playfully as he parks, and we get out of the car. Since the last time I’ve paid this house any attention, it’s gotten a facelift. The previous old blue shutters have been exchanged for black, no longer clashing with the blue paint. The house also got a fresh coat, appearing beautiful and vibrant. The large wood door with the heavy knocker looks welcoming now, not ominous like it did when I was a kid.
We step inside, and I gasp. “It’s beautiful,” I say, stepping farther into the foyer. There is a wide staircase across from me that breaks off in two separate directions when it gets to a middle landing.
To my left is a dining room I’m sure Wesley doesn’t use, a table with place settings for eight. On the right is a family room with a large flatscreen television, comfortable-looking leather furniture, and the most beautifully crafted grandfather clock I’ve ever seen.
Wes takes my hand, and we head upstairs. He shows me to the primary bedroom that he’s claimed and then a room where he put all the musical equipment his manager brought for him.
“It doubles as a workout room.” He points to the corner where his mat and some free weights are.
Surprisingly, he has a stereo system like the one we grew up with. There are tapes, CDs, and records in boxes and cases on the floor beside it.
I point to it and walk over, looking at it in wonder. “Where did you find this?”
“I got it about ten years ago from a yard sale. It was in good condition. It came with most of the tapes and records you see. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.”
“They sure don’t.” Sound bars are set up around the room, connected to his radio and his amp. I’m sure the acoustics in here are fucking phenomenal, the perfect place for him to make music.
All around the room are his guitars and other instruments. I gasp when I see the old Fender I gave him, propped up on its own stand.
Tears fill my eyes as I walk over to it. “Wes. You kept it. I thought…I don’t know, I thought you’d have gotten rid of it.”
