Drops the drill like it offended him.
“Fuck the third lock,” he growls, stalking toward me with all the focus of a wolf who just spotted his dinner. “I’ll finish it after.”
Laughing nervously, I back away until I hit the wall, hands out like that’ll stop him.
It won’t.
He looks absolutely feral. A predator who just watched his prey beg to be eaten.
“Skip…” I squeak.
“That’s right,” he purrs, caging me in with his body as my back hits the wall. “Say my name real sweet, pretty boy. Stage two starts right now.”
His lips crash into mine, stealing the breath straight out of my lungs. My fingers grip his shoulders on instinct, clinging to him to keep my knees from buckling.
“Fuck…” he groans, licking the corner of my lips. “So fucking sweet. Open for me, baby. Let me in.”
Skip nips at my lower lip…sharp enough to sting, soft enough to make my knees wobble…and my gasp is all the invitation he needs. His tongue slides in, hot and commanding.
I try to kiss him back with the same intensity. To match him. To hold my ground. But Skip just chuckles, low and sinful, and threads his fingers into my hair.
He tilts my head exactly how he wants it and kisses me deeper…so deep I feel it in my spine.
“Trying to top from the bottom, pretty boy?” he murmurs against my lips, his free hand sliding slowly, deliberately, up my chest until his palm is resting right over my throat.
Not squeezing. Just holding. Claiming.
My breath hitches. His eyes darken.
“Careful,” he whispers, thumb brushing the side of my neck. “You keep that up, and I’m gonna forget about stages and take you apart right here.”
A full-body shiver rolls through me so hard I practically melt into him.
He smirks like he felt it. Because of course he did.
“Mm,” he hums, lips grazing my jaw as he presses me firmer against the wall. “That’s my boy.”
He fists my shirt and spins us in one smooth, practiced motion. Suddenly, he’s walking forward, and I’m forced to stumble backward with him, caged by nothing but the weight of his stare.
“As a precaution,” he says, voice thick with intent, “when I take your first orgasm… I want you sitting down. In case your body shuts down.”
My mouth opens…absolutely nothing comes out.
Speech? Gone. Memory of language? Deleted. Motor functions? Barely hanging on.
My legs hit the couch, but his hands clamp around my hips, keeping me upright.
Eyes locked on mine, Skip reaches down, unbuttons my pants, and slides both my jeans and briefs down in one confident tug.
He never looks away. Not once.
Not even when his hand wraps around my cock. Or when he strokes me slowly and deliberately.
He’s reading me.
Satisfied with whatever he sees, he presses gently on my hips until I drop onto the couch.
Then he drops to his knees.
