Chapter 13 #2
He blinked at me, eyes darker in the half glow of indirect lights around the space. His words carried barely a trace of his usual lightness, seemed shadowed rather than flirty. “That so?”
“Manners are sexy.”
His response turned into a shaky exhale as I shoved his dress pants down his hips.
They hit the floor in a quiet rush, pooling around his feet, boxers bunched awkwardly around his thighs.
He should have looked ridiculous—shoulders against the wall, hips tilted forward, half-trapped in his own clothes. But, God. He looked…
Like something I would reach for in the dark when he was gone. Something I would miss so fucking much.
The room was fuzzy around the edges, booze and lingering snatches of music all caught up in my head. His voice brought me back from some kind of brink.
“Dean?” Quiet and breathy, his thighs shifting apart.
Like a dare, an invitation to look at him, and I did.
Couldn’t help it—tracing the path of tanned skin down his chest, the soft curve of his waist and subtle bumps of his abs, the cut of his hips.
The dark trail of trimmed hair leading down. He was fully hard now.
For me. When I’d barely even touched him.
I thought about dropping to my knees. Instead, I leaned into him, the fabric of my pants whispering against his bare thighs—still dressed while he was stripped bare, gorgeous and open in front of me, impossibly beautiful.
I wrapped my fingers around him and felt the silken heat of his cock like a zip of electricity along my spine.
“Okay?” I asked, and he laughed a little, then groaned when I twisted my wrist, hips jolting forward into my grip.
“Very.”
If I’d met you in a club, if this was some stall in a public bathroom, I’d want you to be loud.
Not sure where that had come from. I shoved it under a blanket in the back of my mind and stroked him—slow, exploring the weight of him, the drag of skin on skin.
He was watching me, almost startling in his intensity, mouth parted around the hitched breaths he took, lips a little damp and swollen.
Here, with me. No one else got to see him like this—not the girls he’d danced with, not some strangers in a club. Not tonight.
I licked my palm before tightening my grip. It drew another gasp from him, lamplight hugging the edges of his jaw, glitter still dusting his temple. His lashes were charcoal smudges against his flushed cheeks.
“Dean, I—” He broke off, one hand gripping my shoulder. I might have marks tomorrow, and yes, good. Something that lingered, something to take home with me even if it was bound to fade within days.
“I’ve got you,” I said, the words sliding rough against my tongue.
“Yeah.” He said it like it was a reply to a question I’d asked, and I moved my hand more quickly on him.
In the silent space, the soft slap of skin and shallow breaths, his and mine—it was almost obscene, a little filthy, and he just kept watching me.
Barely blinking, eyes so very dark that I felt it all the way down to my toes.
My thumb brushed over the tip of his cock.
He jerked into it, fingers clamped around my shoulder, completely open and laid out for me like a feast.
Mine.
I kissed him to silence a claim I didn’t have, emotions too close to the surface tonight.
Just the wedding and the booze and the music, high on someone else’s love.
Tasted half-formed sounds he made against my lips before I pulled back enough to see him.
He didn’t shy away from my attention, let me memorize every small twitch, each subtle shift in his expression.
His hips rolled into my grip, eyes nearly shut now but still trained on me.
“Jesus,” I whispered. “Look at you.” As if this was a first, as if I hadn’t done this dozens of times with other people, as if it was all new to me. It felt new. “God, Tay, you’re…”
I didn’t know how to finish.
“Fuck,” he mumbled, and I fanned my fingers out along his side, kissed him deep and rough.
“Can you…” I went still, breathing, not sure where the thought had come from, but now—God, yes.
Something to take home, something to remember.
I pulled back so I could look at him, and the sight shook something loose inside of me.
“I want you to fuck me.” The words tasted heavy on my tongue. “Will you?”
“I…” His lashes bobbed drugged-slow before he focused. “I kind of assumed you didn’t do that.”
“Not with anyone else.” I swallowed around a bump of nerves. “Just my own fingers. Toys. I like it, just never trusted anyone to… be on the other side. So to speak.”
Jesus, awkward.
But Tay didn’t seem to mind, didn’t even seem to notice. He reached for me, something gentle and cautious about the way he circled my wrist. “I really want to. But we’ve both had a few. You sure about this?”
“It’s not the booze talking.” I exhaled. “I want that. With you.”
The left side of his mouth curled up. “Then yes. Fuck, yes.”
“Eloquent.”
“Shut up and get naked.”
I barked a laugh, uncertainty falling away. “Just so we’re clear? I’m taking your cock, not your orders.”
“Losing your clothes is only fair, though.” He glanced down at himself—naked, flushed, gloriously hard—then back up at me with a smile like liquid gold. “Please? Let me see you.”
God. I’d have crossed the entire city for him.
“Promise me something,” I said, already backing up to shrug off my shirt. His gaze tracked my fingers, voice distracted.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ever use your powers for evil.”
That got his attention. “My powers?”
I waved a hand in his general direction—everything, all of him. “That smile could start a war.”
His laugh was so soft it barely carried over the waves, a flush to his cheeks that made the back of my throat ache. “Like Helen of Troy?”
“Like I said, I do love a good Greek tragedy.” I let my pants puddle at my ankles, stepped out of my boxer briefs while Tay watched with slightly parted lips and heavy eyes, his attention like a spotlight that made heat crawl up my throat. Hadn’t even touched myself and I was ready to go.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured, and I reminded myself that I’d never been shy.
“Are you gonna do something about it?” I fell back onto the bed and let my thighs splay open in a deliberate move, something I might have seen in a porn clip once.
It did the trick because Tay started forward, grabbing lube and a condom from the nightstand before he settled between my legs.
I dragged him into a kiss—no preamble, no sweetness, just heat and a silvery kind of urgency.
“Want me to go slow?” he asked when we separated.
“No.” I flattened a palm against his sternum and felt his hammering pulse, could sense its echo in my blood—not nerves, though. Anticipation. “I know what I like, and I trust you. If you treat me like a delicate flower, I’m gonna roll you over and ride you into the mattress.”
For a moment, he looked utterly stunned, pupils blown wide and voice like rough-spun silk. “That’s really not the threat you seem to think it is.”
Strange how his reaction hit me—like a feedback loop, lifting me higher.
With other people, I’d cared, sure. Enough to be good.
Gotten them off, said the right things, left everyone satisfied.
But this, with him? It was instinct more than performance.
Immediate, as if we were wired into the same current and every reaction from him pulled something straight out of me.
“Well,” I managed. “Get on with it.”
“Such a sweet talker.” His smiling mouth traced the edge of my jaw, then moved down my throat, teeth skimming along my collarbone. Warm breath fanned across my skin when he paused to uncap the lube, nudging me to bend a leg, foot flat on the bed.
“At least—” I broke off, hips jerking up at the first slick press of a finger against my rim.
Different from having done it myself, none of that awkward angle, no distracting tension in my wrist. Just the stretch, clean and bright and good.
I shifted into it, tried to relax, the linen sheets smooth under my shoulder blades.
“Yeah?” He watched me with a dark kind of focus that fluttered in my belly, made me want to both hide and sink into it, keep him looking at me just like that.
“Yeah. C’mon, more.”
He grinned at me, a flash of brightness in the dim glow that filled the room. “Trying to make this last, all right?”
Make it last—but it wouldn’t. This was borrowed time, a bubble of night that would burst under the stark glare of reality. Stop it. Not over yet. I shoved the thought out of sight and rocked into the touch of a second finger.
He slid deeper with a little twist, flattening his free hand on my hip just as he ducked his head to tongue at my cock.
Jesus. Sparks scattered through my mind.
Felt like time turned strangely elastic after that—some kind of rhythm that hummed through me, as steady as the waves below us.
Three fingers now, Tay’s attention a tether that pulled me in, a counterpoint to the light nip of his teeth along the inside of my thigh, tiny licks of my cock that left me aching.
I cursed him and didn’t mean a word, his laugh feathering over my skin.
Breathless—him or me, couldn’t even tell anymore.
“What’s next?” he asked. “A plague on my house?”
“Remember when”—I drew a sharp breath, words evading my grasp—“you followed me on rounds and actually listened when I told you what to do? Good times.”
“I remember.” He raised his head for a smile, edged in something I couldn’t read. “Had a little crush on you back then.”
It echoed strangely in my chest. Past tense. I twined my fingers through his hair to drag him up. “You did?”