He smiles and considers me for a heated beat. When he moves, his movements are graceful. Long and smooth. Lithe strides thatend with him on his knees on the bed and then on all fours. Sweetness gives way to sex.
Fuck, it’s a lot of skin. A lot of muscle and sinew. A lot of things that make him, him.
“Like this?” he asks, a single dimple dipping deeply.
“Uh-huh.”
I sound like a caveman. Like someone who grunts rather than talks, so I try not to say more than I absolutely have to. Instead, I run a hand along his back, lightly, not touching him as much as outlining him. My fingers sail over his spine and get knotted in his hair. I curl them and pull back, turning his face up and stealing a potent kiss.
I kneel beside him and arrange him the way I want him. I tug on his arms, stretching them out on the bed until his elbows and palms are flat on the mattress. He nestles his face into the bedding, turning it to the side so he can see me.
I stroke his hair, then his cheek, and then I kiss all over his face until smile lines pleat against my lips.
I grab the lube from his drawer and toss it onto the bed next to him, then I circle the bed, studying him from all angles.
It’s almost impossible to describe how hot he looks, but I try anyway. “Hot,” I slur. “You look hot, Con. You look so fucking hot.”
My hands are on him again, this time working their way down his body as I move into position behind him. I run my hand up a smooth inner thigh and tap it to get him to spread his legs more.
I do the same thing to his other leg.
He makes a soft sound that’s mostly a whimper, but part moan as well.
I run both hands up his outer thighs, changing my grip as I go from light and gentle to firm and demanding. He feels the shift and senses what it means. He must because he shivers a little.
My hands keep moving, tracking so firmly that they leave faint pink smudges in their wake, and when I get to his hips, I dig my fingers into his flesh and tilt his hips hard. His back arches, splaying him open, and the sound he makes is more moan than whimper.
He’s in front of me, on his knees. Naked and ready, a tight hole winking at me. Enticing me. Inviting me.
Everything is hot and constricted. I’m uncomfortable. It’s my clothes. I’m still wearing them, and I don’t want to be, so I tear them off angrily and throw them on the floor.
I want to do everything to Connor. Everything two men can do together naked. I want to make it last all night and all day. I want to drag it out and fuck him forever.
That’s what I’m going to do.
I’m going to lavish him with affection. I’m going to drive him crazy. Make him wild. I’m going to find every button he has and push it. And then I’m going to push it again.
I’m going to turn him on so much that he’s going to cry and beg me to fuck him.
That’s what I mean to do. What I intend to do.
What I actually do is lose control of myself.
I lose it completely.
One second, I’m normal, with semi-clear thoughts and intentions, and the next, my face is mashed into Connor’s ass and my tongue is forcing itself inside him. I don’t mean in a seductive, teasing way. I mean in a hungry, insatiable way. An out-of-control way. A grunting, grabbing, open-mouth kissing, and dying of hunger way.
“Sorry!” I garble, licking and jabbing my tongue as deep as I can get it. “Can’t help it. Can’t get enough.”
He laughs, and the sound floats around the room, a soft, filmy ribbon flicking and flapping at the ceiling and floor.
His laughter drags out, changing from individual bubbles that pop to long trails of sound that vibrate in my knees.
The feel of his pucker clamping on my tongue drives me wild. That little squeeze. That little shiver when I thrust in. The smoothness. The heat inside him.
I can’t think of anything. I can’t remember how to make my brain work or operate my arms and legs.
By some miracle, I get it together enough to reach between his legs and find his cock. He’s as hard as a man can get. Solid steel, dripping at the tip. I stroke him and squeeze what I can from him, catching it on my fingertips and bringing them to my mouth. I lick my fingers, groaning like a whore, and I lick Connor. I lick his crack and his rim. Long, broad upward strokes and gentle little flicks along each tiny line that knits him together, making him hiss.
