Hot Boys Kiss Boys #2
"I don't think I'm disposable," he says quietly.
"I'm dangerous. I think that every day I'm with you is another day I'm putting a target on your back. We’ve survived two years out here, but one day The Silent’s reach is going to extend even here, and when it does, they're going to use you to break me.
And I will break, Elliot. I will shatter into a million pieces for you. That's what scares me."
My hands come up, and wrap around his wrists, holding him in place.
"Then let me be scared with you." I hold his gaze, refusing to look away. "Stop trying to protect me from the truth. Stop disappearing into your head, into your missions, into whatever dark place you go when you think I'm not looking. I can take it. I'm stronger than you think."
"I know how strong you are."
"Then act like it."
The timer goes off and I try to move towards the oven.
"The bread," I say.
"Let it burn."
"Jace, I need to take it out. I perfected the boule this time."
"I don't care about the bread." He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone, the touch impossibly gentle from hands that have done such terrible things. "I care about you. Only you. Always you, do you understand that?"
My breath catches. My eyes go hazy, and I blink hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
I know how much I mean to him, he’s done nothing but show me that time and time again, but I love when he tells me.
I love when he’s soft and gentle with me.
When he shows me the side of him that I brought back to life with a lot of love and a lot of patience.
"The bread," I say again, softer this time. "And then you're going to show me how much you missed me."
I slip out of his grip and cross to the oven. Pull out the loaf, golden-brown and fragrant, and set it on the cooling rack, then I turn off the oven.
Before I can breathe, his hands are on my hips, spinning me around, pressing me back against the counter.
His mouth finds my neck, biting down where it meets my collarbone. Not gentle. Never gentle, not when he's been gone this long. His teeth scrape against my pulse point, and the sensation radiates outward, down my spine, straight to my cock.
"Six days," he growls against my skin. "Six days without touching you, without tasting you, without falling asleep with you in my arms."
"Whose fault is that?"
"Mine." He bites down again and then sucks hard enough to leave a mark. I gasp, my hands flying up to grip his biceps, the muscles tense under my fingers. "Let me make it up to you."
"You think you can just come home and—"
He shuts me up with his mouth.
Jace kisses like he wants to devour my soul. His tongue sweeps past my lips, claiming me, owning me, and I melt into him despite my anger. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise through the fabric of my jeans, fingers digging in, pulling me flush against him.
He's hard. The thick line of his cock presses against my hip, straining against his jeans. Six days of want, tight and ready to spring.
"Bedroom," I manage between kisses.
"Too far." He grinds against me, and sparks shoot up my spine. "Need you now."
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, sets me on the kitchen counter. legs wrap around his waist automatically, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him closer.
"The bread is right there," I protest weakly.
"Don't care." He yanks my shirt over my head, tosses it somewhere behind him. His eyes rake down my chest, hungry and possessive. "God, I missed this."
His mouth drops to my collarbone. He traces a path down my chest with his lips and tongue, pausing at each nipple to suck and bite until I'm squirming against the counter. I can feel myself leaking into my jeans.
"Baby, please, stop teasing." I tangle my fingers in his short hair, what little there is of it. "Please."
"Please what?" He looks up at me, grey eyes dark. "Tell me what you need."
"I need you to fuck me to within an inch of my life."
He reaches for my belt, works the buckle open easily, then the button, and the zipper.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans and underwear, and I lift my hips so he can drag them down and off.
The cool air of the kitchen hits my bare skin, raising goosebumps, making my cock twitch against my stomach.
"Look at you." His voice is reverent. He wraps a hand around me, and I bite back a moan. "So hard already. Leaking for me like a good boy."
"It's been six days and I’m going to bust if you don’t stop that."
"I know." He strokes me slowly, his grip firm, his thumb sweeping over the head to gather the precum beading there. "I know exactly how long it's been."
He drops to his knees, pulling me off the counter to stand in front of him.
The sight of him there, this deadly man who has never bowed to anyone, kneeling between my thighs on the cold kitchen floor, makes me weak. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider, and he leans in to press a kiss to the inside of my leg.
"Jace." I'm trembling now, watching him. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." He looks up at me, and his eyes are molten. "I've been thinking about this for six days. About how you taste. About the sounds you make when my mouth is on you. About how your thighs shake when you're about to come."
He licks a stripe up the underside of my cock, base to tip, and my hips jerk. I let out a groan and my head falls backwards, eyes closed as he teases me.
"That's it." He holds me in place, fingers pressing into my hipbones. "Let me hear you."
He takes me into his mouth and I open my eyes to watch. His tongue swirls around the head, dipping into the slit, tasting the precum that's been leaking steadily since he first put his hands on me. I moan, loud and shameless, and I feel him smile around my cock.
He sinks down, taking me deeper, until his nose is pressed against my pubic bone and I can feel the flutter of his throat around the tip. He holds there for a moment, breathing through his nose, and I nearly come from the sight alone. His grey eyes lock onto mine, watching my face.
Then he starts to move.
He pulls back slowly, cheeks hollowed, suction perfect. Then down again, fast, swallowing me whole. Up, down, up, down, a rhythm that makes my thighs shake and my fingers grab tight to his hair at the base of his skull.
"Fuck." I'm panting now, chest heaving. "Fuck, Jace, your mouth—"
He hums in response, and the vibration shoots through me. My hips try to buck up, but his hands hold me pinned to the counter, completely at his mercy. He controls the pace, the depth, the pressure, taking exactly what he wants and giving me exactly what I need.
His hand slides between my legs, fingers brushing against my hole. I gasp, spreading wider, giving him access. He circles the rim with one dry fingertip, teasing, while his mouth continues its relentless work on my cock.
"Jace." My voice cracks. "I'm close. I'm gonna—"
He pulls off.
I whine at the loss, my cock slapping wet against my stomach. "What? Why do you torture me so?"
"Because I can." He stands, and his bulge strains against his jeans. "I want to feel you when you come."
"Then stop teasing and fuck me."
"Bedroom."
"You said it was too far."
"Changed my mind." He pulls me towards him, catches me when my shaky legs threaten to give out. "I want you in our bed. I want to see you spread out on the sheets. I want to watch your face in the mirror when I push inside you."
He doesn't wait for a response. He bends and lifts me over his shoulder, one arm across my thighs, and carries me down the hallway like I weigh nothing.
My bare ass is in the air, my cock trapped between my stomach and his shoulder, and I should probably be embarrassed but I'm too turned on to care.
He kicks the bedroom door open and tosses me onto the bed.
I bounce once, twice, then settle into the sheets. They're rumpled, unchanged since this morning. The room smells like sleep and laundry soap and the faint vanilla of the candle on the nightstand.
Jace stands at the foot of the bed, looking down at me.
"Fuck." His voice is rough. "You have no idea what you look like right now."
I prop myself up on my elbows. "Show me what I do to you."
He strips off his shirt, revealing the scars I’ve come to know intimately. Old wounds, white and raised, crisscross his chest and stomach. The fresh cut on his cheek isn't the only new injury, new bruises bloom along his ribs, dark purple against pale skin.
"Jace—"
"Later." He reaches for his belt. "You can fuss over me later."
He shoves his jeans down, taking his boxers with them, and kicks them aside. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, curving up toward his stomach. A bead of precum glistens at the tip.
My mouth waters. "Come here.”
He crawls over me, caging me in with his arms. Our cocks brush together and we both groan. His forehead drops to mine, breath mingling, noses bumping.
"I missed you." His voice is husky. "Every second. Every fucking second."
"Show me."
He reaches for the nightstand, for the bottle we keep there. I watch him slick his fingers, watch the lube drip down his knuckles. My hole clenches at the sight.
"Open for me."
I let my legs fall wider, knees bent, feet flat on the mattress. He settles between my thighs, one hand braced beside my head, the other reaching down. When his slicked finger circles my asshole, I force myself to relax, to breathe, to let him in.
"That's it." He presses inside, and my body yields to him. "So good for me, Elliot, always so good."
One finger becomes two. He scissors them, stretching me, crooking them to find that spot inside that makes me see stars. When he hits it, I arch off the bed, a broken sound tearing from my throat.
"There it is." He does it again, watching my face. "There's that sound I've been dreaming about."
"More." I push back against his hand, trying to take him deeper. "I can take more."
He adds a third finger. The stretch burns, just right, and I moan into the hollow of his throat. He works me open, never rushing, making sure I'm ready for what comes next.