Safe and scared shitless. Horny and hurtling into the unknown.
Desperate. Desperate to see him. Desperate to be close to him.
Fixated.
Possessed.
Obsessed.
Completely and utterly obsessed.
Jesus, how long is this going to take?
I swipe my hand across my forehead and look at my watch again. It would be more useful if I knew what time it was when Connor went into the bathroom, but I didn’t think to check the time then. So now I don’t know how long he’s been in there, or how long I still have to wait.
I know what he’s doing, obviously. He’s cleaning out. Getting ready so I can eat him and fuck him to my heart’s content. I know that, and fuck, it only makes the waiting more intense. More torturous.
Minutes tick by and my dick gets harder with each one. My heart beats harder. The space between me and the room he’s in throbs and aches.
When the bathroom door finally opens, I jump despite the fact that I’m expecting him. Connor is still out of eyeshot, so I think I got away with it. I cross my legs quickly, one over the other, ankle on knee, in the hope of affecting a laid-back demeanor.
Just chill,I tell myself.You’ve got this. You’ve had sex before. With Connor. It’s no big deal.
It is a big deal, though, because that’s the thing—I have done it before. I’ve done what he’s going to do tonight. I know what it’s going to be like. What it’s going to be like for him. I know what he’s going to feel when I stretch him, and I know what he’ll feel when my cock breaches the ring that usually seals him.
I know how naked he’ll feel. How exposed. How open.
I know what it will cost him to take me. I know how he’ll feel afterward. Wrecked. Spent, with my seed leaking out of him.
And how he’ll feel when he sits down tomorrow. Tender and bruised. Taken care of and laid bare.
He appears in the living room stark naked, and though I’ve been waiting and waiting for him, I must not have beenexpecting him to be naked because the sight of him like this—glistening skin everywhere—shocks the unholy hell out of me. I spring to my feet and try to sit back down.
Thank fuck, my feet take control and trot me toward him.
He smiles shyly at me, a hand hovering over his scar, as though he suddenly feels his nudity too.
My chest aches.
I take his hand in mine and bring it down to his side. My gaze skids over the scar. Over the shiny, puckered skin.
The thought of him sick and weak, cut open and sewn back together, makes my back teeth cold. The thought of him scared and in pain hurts me so much that I can’t stand it.
I take him into my arms and pull him as close as possible to chase those thoughts away.
His skin is hot from the shower, and he smells better than anyone has any business smelling. A delicate hint of musk with a lively splash of citrus.
He holds on to me tightly until our dicks stir against each other, reminding me what we’re here for.
He slips out of my grip and walks ahead of me as we go to his room. As always, there’s a sweetness about him naked, a careful control to his gait, a gentle swing of his arms, that floods me with arousal.
Blood roars in my ears, and my heart punches at my ribcage as if it means to attack it as I watch his ass quake as he walks.
He stops moving and turns toward me when he gets to his bed. His face is sweet and bashful and horny. “How do you want me?” he asks, tilting his head back slightly.
There are about a million ways I want him. A million or more, but the answer comes easily.
“Ass up, face down.”
