And he does. Once. Twice. And a third time.
“God, you’re making my dick hard.” It’s not a lie. I’m harder than I’ve ever been. Even the orgy I took part in last month didn’t get me this worked up.
He freezes, loosening his grip on my wrist.
Bad move, dumbass.
Only when I go to move, my eyes fall on the very defined outline of his erection. “Well, look at that. Color me intrigued.”
Killian’s honey-brown eyes follow my gaze down to his groin, then instantly he scrambles off me, tripping over his feet. “I’ll color you in your own blood.”
His threat has no real bite to it. Not for me, especially as he stands there, posture stiff, his broad chest expanding and contracting rapidly, breath fogging the air. I can’t tell if it's from the chase or me pointing out he’s hard.
But stumbling over his feet . . .The fucker’s frazzled. My money’s on the fact it's from the boner he’s got going on.
My eyes drop again. “And here I thoughtIwas the welcoming party.”
“Shut up.” Blackwell backs up, raking his hand through his mop of thick hair. “I’m not gay.”
I laugh, loudly, throwing my head back and making it a spectacle. “You’re not straight either. Your dick’s practicallytrying to punch its way out of your pants. But hey . . . label yourself whatever you want.”
“What’s your excuse motherfucker? I’m not the only one sporting wood.”
My dick twitches, most likely from the acknowledgement he’s looking at it. So, I push my hips out a bit more, if only to fuck with him. “Like what you see?”
He snarls and steps back, creating more distance between us. “Go to hell, Reed. Find someone who actually likes cock and leave me the fuck alone.”
He turns and runs off.
I spit blood on the muddy ground, wiping my face with the back of my wrist as I stare at that bubble ass of his. No sense in chasing him, not when I know where he’s going.
Reaching down, I give my dick a squeeze to relieve some of the pressure. Never been so worked up in my life, and definitely not by a man.
But fuck, Killian Blackwell has me steeled and on the verge of coming in my pants.
Chapter 4
Killian
The scalding water cascades over my body, steam billowing around me, but it does nothing to calm the raging storm inside. My heart pounds against my ribcage, my blood thrumming with a desperate, aching need that consumes me.
I close my eyes, my hand wrapping around my aching cock, and I lose myself in the sensation, stroking hard and fast, chasing the release that hovers just out of reach.
Images of Jackson flash through my mind—his intense green eyes, his angular jaw, the way his hard muscles flexed as we grappled in the woods, the way his wavy hair morphed from chestnut to mahogany when sweat-soaked.
I should be disgusted, ashamed, but instead, I grow harder, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I fuck into my fist like a man possessed.
The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until, finally, it shatters, and I'm coming harder than I ever have before, my knees buckling beneath me as I ride out the waves of pleasure. I slump against the cool tile wall, my chest heaving, my mind reeling.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
It’s not the first time I’ve jerked off to him. Happened after our fight last week. Wasn’t as intense, but still threw me for a loop.
Tried to pass it off as leftover adrenaline. Frustration, even. But it’s . . . more than that.
Slowly, I straighten up, my legs still shaky beneath me. I turn off the water and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. The bathroom is filled with steam, the air thick and heavy, and I struggle to catch my breath, my lungs burning with each inhale.
I stagger out into the room, collapsing onto the bed. The towel slips loose, but I don't bother to fix it, too drained to care. My mind is a whirlwind of confusion and self-loathing, and I bury my face in the pillow, trying to block out the world.
