Chapter 29 #3
“No.” His voice is wrecked. “No, you don’t.”
My back is against the mattress in an instant, and Warren is kissing me like something in him has snapped clean.
He spreads my thighs, his mouth over mine while his hips settle between my legs and the hard length of him slides against me.
The piercing catches, and I gasp.
His forehead drops to mine.
“There?”
“Yes.”
He does it again, grinding slowly, letting the metal drag through my slick heat.
“Warren,” I moan, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
“I know,” he says. “You get greedy.”
My body tightens.
“I want all of you this time,” I tell him. “We’re both clean. I just need to feel all of you. I’m on the pill.”
He pulls back and looks me in the eye. When he’s satisfied I’m certain, he nods.
His hand comes to my throat, light and waiting.
“Harder,” I whisper, swallowing against his palm. His fingers tighten, and the weight of his hand makes my body go loose. “I like your hand here.”
Warren pushes into me slowly, checking to make sure I’m not in pain. It hurts a little at first. It often does, but I want him so badly that I breathe through it, and once the initial discomfort passes, pleasure fills my entire body.
“I’ve been starving for you,” he says, nipping at my lip.
I feel every inch of him, the stretch and pressure and the wicked drag of the piercing, more intense now that he’s bare. My mouth falls open, and he watches my face, breathing hard, one hand at my throat and the other gripping my hip like he’s holding himself back.
When he’s fully inside me, neither of us moves.
Downstairs, the bar is alive.
The first thrust is slow enough to ruin me. My body tightens around him, and he lets out a strangled, low sound, his forehead falling to mine like he needs a second to survive it too.
“Christ, Halston.”
“Again.”
He gives it to me again. Then again. Deep, measured strokes at first, each one making my breath catch, my nails scrape down his back, and my hips lift to meet him. His hand leaves my throat and slides down my body, over my breast, my ribs, my waist, until his thumb finds exactly where I need him.
I cry out.
“That’s it,” he says. “Let me hear you.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re wet, tight, and arguing with me while I’m fucking your cunt. I think I’m being very patient.”
The laugh that breaks out of me turns into a moan when he thrusts harder.
“That was mean.”
His mouth finds my jaw. “You asked for it.”
His pace builds, no longer careful. Every thrust lands deep and angled, the piercing dragging over nerves that make my thoughts scatter.
His hips snap against mine with enough force that the mattress shifts beneath us.
One hand grips my thigh, pushing it higher, opening me wider, while the other braces beside my head.
His breathing turns rough, almost ragged, and every sound he makes seems to vibrate through my bones.
I am loud.
Warren nips at my jaw. “Louder, beautiful.”
He shifts my leg higher, almost over his shoulder, and the angle changes so sharply I gasp his name.
“There?”
“Yes. There. Don’t stop.”
His rhythm turns slower, heavier, filthier, like he wants me to feel every single part of him.
He looks down at where we are joined, and his hips stutter.
I flush. “What?”
“You should see yourself.”
“I’m a little busy.”
“You look like you were made to take me, Hal.”
My body clenches, and his head drops.
“Fuck. What else do you like, Halston?” His thumb presses tight circles against me. “Being opened up like this? Being watched? Knowing I can feel every time your body gives me an answer your mouth is too proud to give?”
I grip his forearm. “Yes.”
“Tell me one.”
My brain is a bonfire. “What?”
“One thing you want.”
“You.”
“That’s not specific.”
“I want you deeper.”
He makes a sound almost like a growl, and then his hand leaves my thigh, slides beneath my lower back, and tilts my hips. The next thrust steals every bit of air I have.
“Like that?” he asks.
I nod frantically.
“Words.”
“Yes, like that. Exactly like that.”
He keeps me there, held open and lifted, each stroke deeper, rougher, my fingers twisting in the sheets.
“Eyes on me, baby.”
I try.
I fail.
His hand returns to my throat, still light, but enough to hold my attention on him.
“I’ve got you. Take what you need from me.”
“I—I’m close,” I moan.
The second orgasm hits even harder, rolling through me in waves that make my back arch and my body clamp down around him.
I cry out his name, then something much less articulate.
Probably illegal in several countries. Warren loses the last of his control, his rhythm breaking as his hand fists the sheet beside my head.
His mouth drops to my neck, teeth grazing skin as he drives into me with a rough, helpless groan.
“Halston,” he says, and there’s so much in it. Want. Love. Need. The edge of restraint. “I’m going to come.”
“Yes.”
His hips stutter.
I drag my nails down his back. “Come for me.”
He comes with my name against my throat, deep inside of me, the sound of it rough and beautiful enough to make my eyes burn.
For a few seconds, the only thing I know is his weight, his heartbeat, the heat of him, and the way his body still trembles over mine like I have undone him as completely as he has undone me.
After, he does not collapse.
Not fully, anyway.
He lowers himself carefully, shifting enough not to crush me, and kisses my temple. My cheek, the corner of my mouth. His breathing is still ragged, and mine is worse.
The room smells like sex, warm skin, whiskey, and the faint vanilla of my soap.
Very classy.
Also very slutty.
A balanced brand identity.
“You okay?” he asks.
I take inventory: body, heart, pain, dignity.
“Yeah.”
His hand moves over my hair, smoothing it back from my damp forehead. “Pain?”
“A little ache, but it’s a good ache.”
“I love you,” he says suddenly.
I close my eyes, the words hitting too hard. “I love you too.”
He kisses me once more, then withdraws carefully.
He gets up, goes to the bathroom, and comes back with a damp cloth. He pauses beside the mattress.
“May I?”
I nod.
He cleans me gently, and the contrast makes me tear up.
The same hands that just held me open and made me beg are moving softly over my thighs and the tender place between my hips.
He’s not awkward about it. Maybe that comes with age.
He’s not clinical about it, either. He treats this like it’s part of sex.
When he finishes, I catch his wrist and pull him down beside me. “No clothes.”
He smirks. “Why?”
“I want a naked tattooed man in my bed.”
“I can help with that.”
He settles beside me and lies on his back as I curl into him, settling my head on his chest, one leg over his. His skin is hot beneath my cheek.
I trace the script over his ribs.
“Measure twice, leave once.”
He chuckles.
“I think we need a new one.”
His chest shifts beneath me. “Do we?”
“Yeah.”
“What would it say?”
I think for a moment, and then smile against his skin.
“Room for chaos.”
A laugh bursts out of him.
A real one.
Naked, relaxed, and emotionally available Warren laughter.
I lift my head in triumph. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You laughed.”
“I’ve laughed before.”
For a while, we lie there without filling the silence. Downstairs, the bar hums faintly beneath us. A burst of laughter rises, followed by a soft shout of what I can only imagine is Oliver complaining.
His arms go around me, his heartbeat loud under my ear. His body is warm and solid beside mine. And he wants to be here.
“Warren?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we met at the bar again.”
His hand moves through my hair. “So am I.”
“Better this time.”
“I thought it was pretty great last time.”
“The first time did have its charm.”
I tilt my head up and kiss him because I can, because I want to, and because the door is closed and the lights are low and the man beside me is mine in every way that matters.
When I pull back, he looks at me with that steady tenderness. “What do you need?” he asks.
I pretend to consider. “Water.”
He starts to move.
I throw a leg over him and press him back down. “In five minutes.”
“Hydration is important.”
“So is afterglow.”
He relaxes beneath me. “Five minutes,” he says.
“Ten.”
“Seven.”
“Done.”
He smiles. “Negotiation looks good on you.”
“So does your hand on my ass, but I’m being polite.”
His hand settles there immediately.
The bakery waits downstairs, messy and alive. And upstairs, with Warren’s tattoos under my hands, Warren stays.
Because we chose each other, and because this time, neither of us is running.