We kiss until we need air, and then a funny thought occurs to me. He lifts his chin, as if he’s noticed that my expression has changed and he’s curious.
“Wanna really piss my dads off?” I ask, popping my brows.
“I’d like to survive my next encounter with them, but right now, I really don’t give a fuck what they think of me kissing you.”
“Me either,” I say breathlessly, retaking his treacherous mouth.
Minutes later, we pull apart again, sucking in oxygen, and I can’t rip my eyes from his. They really are the most beautiful shade of whisky.
“I need inside you right fucking now,” he grits out. “Need to fuck you dirty, right through my mattress.”
“I don’t have any condoms on me…”
“My place,” he says, grabbing my hand.
Panting, I follow him like a willing puppy, out the back of the shop to the attached studio apartment. We’re barely through the door before he slams it shut and pushes me against it, kissing and grinding into me like he means to make me part of the door itself.
These are not good logistics for getting naked, but we’re pretty fucking motivated and manage to disrobe with only one errant elbow to ass cheek. I suck in a sharp breath as the last articles of clothing fall away from his rough-hewn body. Up to this point, I’d been only vaguely aware of the tattoos on his body—I’d been too obsessed with his hands and cock—but his body on full display is a thing of beauty. His tattoos run across his chest and down both arms, with more of the American traditional artwork swirling up his calves and shins, decorating his muscular thighs.
Unlike Silas, whose tattoos cover nearly every inch of skin in a manic cacophony of styles ranging from beautiful to horrific, True has been consistent with the style and precise in the placement. He wants his body to be seen—appreciated—in a certain way. And I definitely—oh shit.
Almost lost in the ink is one extremely important detail: hisnipples are pierced. The burnished silver rings sway with each inhale and exhale, and I might fucking pass out.
I swear, this man is trying to kill me.
I reach out, touching one with the tip of my finger, mesmerized.
“Like that, do you?”
I grunt because what are words.
Running his nose along my jaw, just like he did at the gun range, he whispers, “I’ll let you play with them if you’re good for me.”
I nod, loose and unfocused. Somehow, I’m able to tear my eyes away from him long enough to take in my surroundings. As the testosterone fires through my body, I spy old-school gay erotica on the walls and note how the mattress fits perfectly in the small alcove draped with sari material.
I’d normally judge a grown man for basically having a mattress on the floor, but this isn’t some college dorm situation. The queer art and Moroccan pendants hanging in a spiral cluster from the alcove ceiling, lit by high, narrow windows that send sunlight through the colorful sheers…
“You have a magical sex cave,” I say, breathless as he bodies me toward the floor.
He bites my lip. “Yes, I do. Now, shut up.”
I do as he says, unable to consider another option. Lying on our sides, we French while he hikes a leg over my hip so that we can grind against each other. The smell of his skin and expensive incense is making my head spin. I carefully sneak my fingers between us, unable to hide my interest in his piercings.
Dipping my head, I push the tip of my tongue through the small nipple ring while cupping his balls, letting my fingertips brush his sexy guiche.
“You don’t have to be gentle,” he says, his voice rough.
Switching it up, I tug at the nipple ring with my teeth, flicking the flesh with my tongue as I twist the piercing on histaint. He growls and pulls my hair, his cock twitching between us.
“Flip over,” he demands. “Face down.”
Despite needing more time with those fucking piercings, I comply without a thought in my head. He covers me with his hot body, kissing my neck, sliding his velvety fat cock between my cheeks as I bury my face in his pillows, inhaling his scent. My neck heats when I remember our first encounter.
Such a pretty little cock.
I love that he’s taking charge, and I have no intention of trying to figure out why this is so good for me.
He reaches above us into a small basket hanging on the wall and comes back with condoms and lube. I watch over my shoulder as he rolls down the condom, flinching when the cold lube hits my hole.
