31. Chapter 31
Torin
Braw
Translation: Brave
Usage: To describe someone who is handsome or strong; can also mean great, pleasant, or beautiful
We tumble into the back seat of a car together, the world outside dulling to a blur of streetlights and shadows. The fire in Beau’s eyes tells me he’s struggling not to maul me right here and now.
Christ, I want him.
I’ve been craving this, and now that I know he’s interested in more than just fun, I want him more than ever. My cock is so hard it’s painful. It’s not just want now, it’s need. I need to feel his skin against mine, need him on me and in me, to possess me, and me him. Right fucking now.
The driver’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror; I wait until they return to the road.
I reach over and rub my hand up Beau’s thigh, increasing the pressure as I get closer to his bulge.
He sucks in a breath when I cup him, throbbing against my palm through denim.
I glide my hand along his length, imagining how he’ll taste, how I’ll feel opening up for him, but his strong fingers clamp around my wrist before I can get to the base.
I turn my head and see Beau’s smoldering eyes staring me down, and they tell me two things: Beau is in charge here, and I am about to have the best sex of my life.
He keeps my hand in his lap for the rest of the ride, and I swear I can feel his heartbeat just from his hard-on pressing against my palm.
He releases me when we pull up to his house.
He thanks the driver, and I dive out of the car, rushing to the door.
Beau fucking saunters over, enjoying every second of my torment.
He grabs my hand, thumb stroking as he unlocks the door, then pulls me around to enter before him. Beau turns on the lights while I kick off my shoes, and as soon as the door slams shut, he grabs my hips and tucks me back against him, his cock rock hard as he grinds it against my ass.
“I’ve wanted this for so long.” Beau’s voice is husky in my ear. “Been dreaming about it. Planning what I’d do to you.”
I moan in response, pushing back against his erection.
He pins me in place, one hand splayed across my stomach, while the other unzips my coat.
I want to spin around, kiss him, strip him down and finally see what I’ve dreamed about for months now, but he’s not letting me go anywhere.
His fingers slide over my torso, dipping lower.
“Fuck,” he drawls before his mouth find a new target.
I whimper—I fucking whimper—as he makes love to my neck, licking with his talented tongue, sucking with his beautiful lips.
Never too hard but plenty to keep me gasping.
He peels my coat and jacket off, and I finally break free. Spinning around, I take his face in my hands and crash my mouth against his, our tongues battling as I grind my erection against his bulge. His hands rove over my body with a hunger I haven’t experienced from him before.
“God, you feel good,” he growls, nipping at my lip, cupping my ass. The way he grips me is possessive, urgent, but never too rough, like he knows exactly how much of his strength to use to make my breath catch with every intentional movement of his skilled hands.
I rip off his outer layers and feel up his bulging muscles through his shirt, my movements haphazard and excited as I explore his chest, abs, and back. “You’re a braw fuckin’ man,” I say between kisses. I can’t get enough of him. I need more.
“Take your shirt off,” I huff out through ragged breaths, reaching to untuck it.
He nips my lip harder this time.
“Ask nicely,” he says in that low, commanding voice, teasing me with his tongue before retreating when mine demands more.
I’m quickly devolving from hungry to desperate as his hands skim up my back, then trail back down with firm pressure along my spine, causing my hips to buck into him.
“Please,” I gasp.
Another kiss.
“Please, I need to see all of you.”
Another kiss.
“Please, fuck, please,” I groan.
I’ve never begged a man for anything before, much less while my trousers were still on.
“Good boy,” he purrs, sending a shudder down my spine.
He unbuttons the top of his Oxford with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving mine, then pulls it and his undershirt over his head in one smooth movement, and my mind goes blank at the sight—golden skin stretched over ridges and peaks of hard muscle, light blond hair trailing down from countless abs, disappearing into his waistband, broad chest expanding and contracting with every heavy breath.
His intense eyes watching me. Always watching.
“Fuck, Beau,” I say, unable to find more words before he pulls my shirt up and over my head.
I feel exposed, inadequate compared to Beau, but his strong hands running over my body reassure me, the look of pure lust in his eyes puts me at ease.
He drags his thumb across my bottom lip, then down my neck, over my collarbone. “You’re so goddamn sexy,” he breathes, voice like gravel. “I’m going to taste every fucking bit of you.”
Then his mouth is on mine again, tongue demanding entrance, his chest warm against me as his hands massage their way down the bare skin of my back and grip my ass.
I moan when he lifts me off the floor, his hands sweeping under my thighs, pulling me to him, my hands wrapping around his strong neck. My cock grinds against his hard stomach as he slams me against the door, his own rigid length pressing between my legs, and I shudder.
“Beau,” I pant, breaking the kiss, “please take me to your bed.”
His praise, “Good fucking boy,” sends a jolt straight to my dick.
He kisses me, grinning, secures my legs around his waist, and carries me up the stairs like I weigh nothing. I drag my teeth along the salty skin of his neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks, my fingers tangled in his hair.
By the time he sets me on my feet in his bedroom, I’m almost light-headed, his hands still on me, holding me in place against him in the low lamplight.
My hands move over his body again, this time less frantic, more exploring, enjoying the feel of every sculpted ridge, tracing the V disappearing into his jeans.
He pulls back and holds my gaze with his, his hands on my hips. “I’m on PrEP,” he says, “and I’m tested every three months. Other than a blow job I gave a few weeks ago to this total stud on Burns Night, I haven’t had sex since September, so I’m good to go.”
Even as his words make my dick throb harder, jealousy flares hot in my chest.
“Aye, I’m on PrEP,” I say. Then my curiosity gets the better of me. “Who did you sleep with in September?” A grin spreads across his handsome face. I must’ve sounded more bothered than I intended.
“I bent an American tourist over the kitchen island when I first moved in,” he says. “I was stressed, he was there… and he asked me nicely.”
“Oh,” I say, my gaze falling to his chest where a light sheen of sweat makes his skin glisten. I want to lap it up.
He thumbs my chin up so I’m looking him in the eyes. “That was the day before I met you. Since then, I’ve gotten off thinking about you almost every night,” he says, then he kisses me with so much intention that I believe him.
“I haven’t had sex since James,” I say, cheeks burning.
“After tonight,” he growls, kissing me again, “you won’t even remember his name.”
I groan as he pushes me back on the bed, his powerful thighs straddling me, and presses his chest to mine.
I’m breathless from the pressure of Beau’s perfect body on top of me, but I almost hyperventilate when his lips start to trail down my torso, open-mouthed kisses that leave cooling trails on my feverish skin, his deft hands working open my belt, button, and fly as he goes.
He grips my hips and pulls me to the edge of the bed, and I lift up as he slides my jeans down and off, then removes my socks, tossing them to the side.
“Fuck,” I say, my whole body trembling as this beautiful man kneels in front of me again.
One of Beau’s large hands glides along the fabric over my barely contained cock, and I shudder from head to toe.
“Please,” I say, finding it hard to breathe.
“Please what?” he asks, but I can’t process specifics once he starts nuzzling that gorgeous face against my bulge. He restrains my hips so I can’t buck against him. I think I might actually die of anticipation.
What a way to go.
“Please what, Torin?” he asks again, hot breath teasing through thin cotton. He drags his tongue along the outline of my shaft, sucks at the wet spot where my tip strains against the fabric. I nearly sob with need.
“Please make me feel as good as you said you would,” I say, my body jerking as he nuzzles my crotch. “I need your mouth on me. I need your throat. Please swallow me. Bring me to the edge like you did before.”
“Good boy,” he purrs again, the words vibrating against my inner thigh. He tugs at the waistband of my boxers, exposing my aching cock to the cool air.
Then his hot, wet mouth engulfs me, and all is right in the world.
I surrender to the exquisite sensation as he swallows me down, my fingers running through his hair, encouraging him to take me deeper.
He presses his tongue harder to the vein underneath, squeezing me perfectly; my hips buck, my spine arching when he begins to massage my balls, Beau giving a masterclass in pleasure and wonder.
He hums his approval, his tongue swirling as he pulls back, mouth gliding up and down the first few inches, stroking me slowly.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Then his lips, those fucking perfect lips, take me to the root, and I feel the back of his throat constrict around me.
I bite my lip to keep from crying out as pleasure floods every nerve ending.
I shuffle, managing to get my elbows underneath me so I can watch his gorgeous face. He looks up at me as he hollows his cheeks and sucks harder, reading me, an intense stare that dares me to try to resist him.