The Benefits of Having Horny Straight Roommates | E3 (Patreon)

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

Previous part here

Jackson Showed Me I Could Count on Him Too

There were mornings when I woke up rock hard, with tension in my body and calmness in my head. This was one of those mornings. The air in the room smelled of night and warm sheets, and my body was telling me clearly: I need to unwind.

I was sure I was alone. I had heard the door earlier, a quiet knock, quick footsteps. I thought Mike and Jackson had already left. They had a habit of disappearing at dawn: one to the gym, the other for a jog. It gave me freedom. Those rare, lonely moments in the apartment... I loved them.

I threw off the covers and got out of bed without hesitation. There was no point in putting anything on. I walked down the stairs slowly, feeling that pleasant, throbbing tension between my legs. My cock swayed heavily with each step, hard, ready.

The floor was cool under my feet, but the warmth of my skin and the tension in my hips completely offset that. The kitchen was still dark, only a soft light from outside the window shining through the blinds. Quiet. Peaceful. My world.

I stood at the counter, leaning my forearms against the marble. I took a deep breath. My body knew what to do. I was fired up, tense. My thoughts slowly began to shift to my hands, to the rhythm I knew and loved. I smiled to myself. Maybe I'll be able to relax before the coffee is ready.

I heard a quiet movement behind me only when I was already leaning against the counter. Not footsteps, more like a soft rustle, as if someone had entered without haste, without the need to make their presence known. I turned my head instinctively, before I even had time to think.

Jackson was just entering the kitchen.

Naked. Calm. Relaxed in his characteristic, almost too composed manner. As if he wasn't at all surprised to see me, naked, hard, with my hand resting on the counter. His cock was half-hard, but it reacted immediately when our eyes met.

For a brief moment, no one spoke.

"Oh, fuck..." I whispered. "I thought I was alone."

Jackson smiled slightly. Not broadly. That calm, quiet smile of his that always had the strongest effect on me. His gaze slowly slid down, resting on me without embarrassment. Without judgment. Without pressure.

"I see," he said softly. "You're hard."

There was no surprise in it. More like an acknowledgment of fact. He took one step toward me. Then another. He stopped close enough for me to feel his warmth, but he still had space. He always left space.

"If you want..." he began calmly, looking up at me. "I can help. With my mouth."

I didn't need a moment to think.

"I'd love to," I replied immediately, honestly.

"Lean against the counter," he added quietly.

I did so without hesitation. I placed my hands wide, allowing my body to settle naturally. Jackson was already very close. Calm. Focused. Protective in his quiet way.

And right then, I knew that this morning would not be lonely at all.

I spread my hands wide, feeling the coolness of the stone beneath my fingers and the tension in my hips, which settled comfortably on their own. Jackson just watched for a moment. He didn't touch me. As if he wanted to give me another second to make sure this was really what I wanted.

Then he knelt between my legs.

He did it slowly, with an attentiveness that immediately disarmed me. His hands rested on my thighs, warm and steady. His thumbs moved slightly, more soothing than provocative. Only then did he lean closer.

His lips were soft. Warm. They closed around me gently, as if he were testing my reaction. He sucked lightly, without depth, without pressure. I could feel his breath, calm and steady.

Only after a moment did he take me deeper. Slowly. His lips moved down sensually, and his tongue worked softly, carefully, responding to my every breath, every slight movement of my hips. He didn't try to rush me. He didn't force me to the finish. He allowed me to be exactly where I was.

I looked down.

The view was mesmerizing. My cock disappeared between his lips, and Jackson looked at me from under his eyelashes, calm, focused only on me. There was no hunger in that look. There was care. As if he wanted to do it right, not fast.

The difference between him and Mike was clear. Mike was energy, movement, confidence. Jackson was silence. Focus. Tension that built more slowly but more deeply. His every move was deliberate. Every breath synchronized with mine.

I was breathing harder and harder, but I didn't feel rushed. Just that pleasant, dense feeling that someone knows exactly what they're doing and is doing it for me.

One thought kept returning stubbornly as I looked at him kneeling in front of me:

No one does it like Jackson.

Jackson didn't change his pace. That was the most striking thing about him, that consistency, that calmness, as if he knew exactly that nothing needed to be improved. His lips moved steadily, softly, sensitively. One hand still rested on my thigh, the other moved higher, to my hip.

I was breathing harder and harder. Each exhalation was longer, deeper. My hips began to respond on their own, not violently, but rather instinctively, searching for the rhythm that Jackson was already keeping. When I pushed reflexively, he didn't pull back or speed up. He accepted the movement, adjusting to me, as if he were guiding me through something he knew by heart.

I looked down again. His eyes were calm, focused. He didn't take his eyes off me even when he took me deeper. He did it slowly, carefully, giving me time for each breath.

"It's okay," he murmured softly, more felt than heard, and that one sentence was enough for me to relax completely.

The tension built up inside me suddenly, thick and heavy. My fingers dug deeper into the edge of the countertop. My back arched slightly and my hips stopped at one point, as if my body knew that this was the moment. Jackson sensed it immediately.

I let out a quiet moan as a wave of pleasure rolled through me, from my lower stomach all the way up to the back of my neck. The orgasm was intense, long, unstoppable. I felt every contraction, every pulse. Jackson didn’t pull away for a single second. He took everything calmly, without haste, as if this was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

Only when the tension subsided and my body began to soften did he slowly withdraw. He swallowed, wiped his mouth with his thumb, and just looked at me for a moment. No smile, no comment. As if he was checking to see if I was okay.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, not yet having the strength to speak. He smiled slightly. The same calm, warm smile.

"Coffee?" he offered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I leaned against the counter, relaxed, my legs soft and my head full of silence. I watched Jackson reach for the mugs, turn on the kettle, and the morning return to its normality.

And I thought only one thing:

I have a kitchen. I have a cock.

And I have Jackson, who knew exactly what I needed.

Next Part