This scene takes place after Chapter 18 in Book 2 of the Bad Moon series. If you're not an actual BM reader, please read the actual series - don't just jump to the smut. It does matter.
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Sex wasn't something he enjoyed with Tyler.
In fact Jaylin had hated every moment of it.
It was the sole reason why he'd never slept with another man since. Because Tyler was too crude with him. Too rough, too careless. Jaylin was so young, he didn't know any better. He thought it was just meant to feel that way. Awful. Love wasn't meant to feel awful and Quentin didn't handle him the way Tyler had.
His fingers moved into Jaylin with patience. A slow, mild, pricking pain that was started to ease.
He'd been curled forward, panting against the side of Quentin's neck—moving against those fingers when he felt daring enough. That tide of confidence had ebbed the moment he'd pulled the slacks from Quentin's hips—felt his body so hot and palpable beneath him. And as badly as he wanted to, Jaylin had been so submerged in the feel of his fingers, he hadn't even so much as touched Quentin yet.
He just lingered there at the crook of his neck, feeling that slow push test his limits. Maybe it was perigee that made him so eager, but moving his hips back wasn't enough. His fingers—too much as they were—weren't enough.
"Deeper," he whispered, and when Quentin obliged and Jaylin felt those fingers push in to the knuckle, he muffled his groan away in the gentle bites he left on Quentin's neck.
He noticed something in Quentin easing each time he nipped the skin. So Jaylin bit just a little deeper—dragged his teeth up on the path to his ear. "Keep going," he whispered. Not in a passive moan—not in a plea or a whimper, but a demand. "More."
He bit again. Harder. Fingers dug into the back of Jaylin's hair and he felt that body rise up beneath him. There was something in Quentin's breath that grated with want. Something in his words that shivered. "You're not usually like this, are you?"
"No," Jaylin confessed. He wasn't. He'd never been this way with Tyler. He did what he was told, when he was told to do it. With all the women he'd slept with, it was the same. He did what they asked, when it was asked of him. He'd never been the one to demand. His jaw fell when Quentin pushed in deeper and he let a groan slip, gathering himself with a small tremble. "Is it perigee?" he managed.
"No," Quentin whispered.
Jaylin felt his fingers leave, felt him reach aside for the packet. Then the addition of cold gel as they pushed back in. This time, he didn't wait for Jaylin's orders. His fingers moved faster—faster until Jaylin was crumpled forward again, gripping him by the arm to keep himself together.
"This is what it's like," Quentin told him, his voice pure heat to the ear. Jaylin wanted to melt at the change to his tone—the slightest scrape of aggression. "For us, this is what it's like."
