Chapter 10 #2
I licked the blood off his lip. He opened for me, and I shoved my tongue in his mouth. He bit me back, caught my lower lip between his teeth and pulled until my eyes watered. I yanked my head back, and he came with me, teeth still locked, and laughed against my mouth when I cursed.
"That all you got?" he said.
I grabbed his shirt and pulled. The buttons gave up in a scatter across the floor.
He shrugged out of it and dropped it. I went for his belt and he went for my jaw, sucking hard at the underside of it, finding the place where my pulse beat and biting down.
I felt the skin break. I felt his tongue come over the bite to taste it. I let out a low growl.
"Goddammit, Winston —"
"Mm." He pulled back enough to look at his work. "That'll show in the morning."
I shoved him off the wall and toward the bed.
He went, but he went slowly, dragging it out, walking backwards with his hands at my waistband, working my jeans open as we went.
His knuckles dragged against my cock through the denim, and I caught his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back and walked him the rest of the way like that.
He laughed, breathless. His ass came up against the edge of the mattress and I shoved.
He went down on his back. I came down with him.
The kiss got messier. Wet, sloppy, too much tongue, both of us tasting blood and whiskey and each other. He spit in my mouth and I swallowed it and bit his bottom lip again on the way back up. He hissed.
Winston's hands were everywhere: down my back, scoring lines into my shoulders with his nails. When he got to the bruise on my ribs, he pressed, and I gasped and bit his shoulder for it, and he made a sound like I'd done him a favor.
"Off," I said against his throat. "Pants. Off."
He kicked his boots off. I yanked his zipper open and he lifted his hips so I could pull his jeans down and I threw them somewhere. His cock sprang up against his stomach, dark at the head, already wet at the tip.
I dragged my mouth down his throat to his collarbone and sucked a mark there, hard, holding it until I knew it would bruise dark.
He swore at the ceiling. I moved an inch and did it again.
And again. By the time I worked down to his nipple, his throat was bright red, and when I bit the nipple, he arched off the bed and his cock smeared pre-cum across my stomach.
"Christ," he panted. "Christ, Ransom —"
"Shut up."
"Make me."
I crawled back up his body and shoved two fingers in his mouth.
He took them, sucking like he was practicing for my cock, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. I worked them in and out of his mouth and my cock throbbed against his hip. When I pulled them out, his lips were red and slick, and a thread of spit followed my fingers.
I reached down and shoved my spit wet fingers into his hole.
He gasped and arched, and I caught his hair with my free hand and held him still.
"Quiet," I said.
"You said —"
"I changed my mind."
His spit wasn't enough, and we both knew it.
I worked him a minute anyway, watching his face, watching him try to be quiet and fail, before I leaned over him and got the lube from the drawer.
I slicked my fingers properly and went back in, three this time, and he cursed and shoved back onto my hand.
"Fucking hell, that's —"
"That's what?"
"More."
"Greedy."
"Yeah."
I pulled my fingers out and took my jeans the rest of the way off. He watched me do it from the bed, his chest heaving, his cock leaking on his stomach, the marks I'd put on him already coming up purple.
I climbed onto the bed and slid a hand under his thigh and pushed one knee up to his chest. His other leg I hooked over my shoulder. He grabbed the sheets above his head with both hands. I spat in my palm and slicked myself with it and lined up.
"Look at me," I said.
He did, eyes widening as I pushed in.
He groaned and his head went back, and I caught his jaw in my hand and turned his face back to mine.
"I said look at me."
His eyes came back green and blown wide. I bottomed out and held there, watching him, and his mouth fell open and I leaned down and spit in it.
He swallowed.
"Good," I said, low. "There's my Ranger."
I pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in.
He cried out and grabbed the sheets harder, and I did it again. The bed frame hit the wall. The flowers on the nightstand jumped. I set a pace that was mean from the first stroke, no easing, no warming up, just all of it, every thrust, and Winston took it and asked for more between his teeth.
I leaned down over him, chest to chest, my hand still on his jaw. "Tell me what you came up here to do."
"Already told you."
"Tell me again."
"Came up here to kill him." He spat the words out as I drove into him. "Crossed state lines. No badge. No case. No backup."
"You're a filthy liar, Ranger."
"Fuck you."
He hung there, full of me, panting, his hands locked white-knuckled in the sheets. I stayed there and watched him decide. His cock pulsed against my stomach untouched.
"You are. Say it."
He swallowed. "I'm a filthy liar."
I rewarded him with a slow grind, deep, watching his eyes roll. "Good boy."
"Fuck..."
I picked the pace back up and he made a noise that broke in the middle.
I bit his lip again. His hand came up off the sheets, got into my hair, and yanked.
I yanked his back. We kissed like a fistfight, teeth and tongue and blood and spit.
Somewhere in there he scored his nails down my back so hard I felt the skin give.
Sierra was going to take one look at us at breakfast and not say a word, and that was fine, that was fine, because right now Winston Valverde had his legs around me, his hand at the back of my neck, and he was saying my name like it was the only word he knew.
"This is the only part of you that's mine," I said into his mouth.
"Take it."
"I am."
"Take more."
I wrapped my hand around his cock and stroked it once, hard, and he came.
No warning. No begging. Just a sound that punched out of him and his cock pulsing in my fist and cum striping his stomach, chest, and my hand.
His ass clamped down around me and I had to stop, jaw locked, fighting it, because I was not finishing yet. Not like this. Not without the rest.
I pulled out.
He groaned. "Ransom, what —"
"Up." I dragged him by the hair. "Sit up."
He came up onto his elbows, dazed, his mouth slack, cum on his stomach. I got my hand around the base of my cock and crawled up the bed and straddled his chest and his eyes focused on what was about to happen and his tongue came out.
"Yeah," I breathed. "Open."
He opened.
I worked myself fast and groaned as I came on his tongue, across his lips, his chin, into the hollow of his throat. He held still and took it with his eyes on mine and his mouth open, and when I was done, his chin was wet and a string of it ran from his lower lip to his chest.
"Don't swallow."
He didn't.
I crawled off him and sat back on my heels and just looked.
Winston Valverde on his back in my bed with my cum on his face, his throat marked up purple, a bite on his shoulder, his cock spent and slick on his stomach, nail-tracks down his thighs from where he'd gripped himself. He looked wrecked. He looked like mine.
I leaned down and kissed him. He kept his mouth open, and let me take it back. I kissed the cum off his chin, his throat, the hollow under his jaw. He shivered when my tongue found the bite marks I'd left.
"Now swallow."
He did.
"Good," I said, against his lips. "Real good."
He let out a breath that shook on the way out.
We stayed like that for a minute. Me half over him, him on his back, both of us breathing hard, the sheets a wreck and the room smelling like sweat and whiskey and what we'd just done. The flowers had survived. Most of them. One was bent.
Then he opened his eyes and grinned at me, slow and mean.
"Round two?"
"Give me a minute, Ranger."
I rolled off him onto my back. The ceiling crack looked wider from this angle. My heartbeat was loud in my ears. The bite under my jaw stung. The scratches on my back stung worse. I'd be feeling all of this in the shower tomorrow.
He turned on his side and propped his head on his hand, and looked at me. There was still a smear of cum on his jaw he hadn't gotten. I reached up and dragged my thumb through it and put it between his lips and he sucked it clean without breaking eye contact.
"Christ," I muttered.
"You're easy."
"I'm forty seconds out from coming, give me a break."
I grabbed his hip and yanked him closer. He laughed against my shoulder. The laugh turned into a hiss when his bruised hipbone hit mine, and I bit his ear in apology, and he bit my collarbone in return.
I gave it ninety seconds. Maybe two minutes.
Long enough to drink some water from the glass on the nightstand and pass it to him and watch him drink, his throat working, the marks on it dark in the lamplight.
Long enough for him to say, "you got something to clean up with, or are we doing this dirty?
" and for me to say, "dirty," and for him to grin at me like I'd given him the right answer.
The second round was slower.
I had him on his side this time, chest to back, my arm under his neck and my hand on his throat, stroking the bite mark I'd put there. My other hand was on his hip, holding him against me. I pushed back into him and he was wet and loose from the first round and the slide of it almost ended me.
"Easy," he breathed. "Easy, darlin'."
"Don't call me darlin'."
"Make me stop."
I bit the back of his neck.
He went boneless against me, and I started moving in long, deep strokes. I had my hand flat over his heart. I could feel it kicking against my palm, and I rocked into him slow and steady and listened to him breathe.
"Ransom."
"Yeah."
"You feel that?"
"What?"
"Cum. Yours. Still in me."
I groaned into his shoulder.
"Like that, huh?"
"Shut up."