“Last night,” I let out breathlessly, flashing him a smile to lighten the words.
There’s nothing light about them. They’ve already settled in the pit of my stomach, a lead weight as I anxiously finger my shirt in my hands.
He stares at me, his lips parted. I wait with bated breath, wondering what he thinks about the subject. If he’ll say something to set me free of this anguish that I don’t want and know I shouldn’t have.
“Yeah,” he concurs.
That one honest word signifies what I already suspected. I can’t decide whether he looks somber or uncomfortable. I decide to go with somber, that he has respect for our time together. It’s enough for me. I promise myself it’s enough. He never promised me the moon after all.
Stepping forward, he moves into my space, angling his body between me and the door. The heat from his skin warms mine. It’s the welcome comfort of a favorite old, worn coat, wrapping around me. His chest touches mine. Then our stomachs. Our pelvises. He moves forward, pressed against me, gaze hungry with intention. I move with him, snared by the heat in his amber eyes. It’s like being hunted, but in the best way possible, our favorite practiced dance. With each step he takes, I take one back, living off the same breath and obeying his silent commands.
My ankle connects with my mattress, making me lose my balance. I latch onto his arms, but they move around me, and then we fall. I land with anooffrom his weight covering me, which is immediately swallowed. There’s no preamble to the kiss that owns my mouth, as I let out a moan. No hesitation in his hands as they roam and grip me.
Breaking away, he moves to my ear. “I needed this,” he rasps, kissing the sensitive flesh there. “Fucking thought about it for weeks.”
He’s always carnal and unrelenting, but, God, this is another level. He’s never been big on kissing. Whenever I try, I get a wary look like he’s wondering if I’m getting too attached and trying to break our rule. It’s for the best, I know, but if he’d always kissedme like he did a second ago, I’d probably be hanging onto his ankle while he tries to flee out the door, begging him not to go.
I try to keep up, raking my hands over the cords of muscles in his back and tasting the skin at his shoulder. The rough fabric of his jeans, accentuated by his erection, is pressing into the juncture at my hip through my thin shorts. I grind against it, hoping for more delightful confessions.
“Me too,” I admit, and because you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, I add, “Going to miss this.”
Maybe if he knows I won’t be clingy, he’ll give me another kiss like that. What I really mean, though, isyou.I’m going to missyou, Chris Mightener.
His hand moves to the waistband of my shorts and yanks them down. Palming a scoopful of my ass, he squeezes it and sucks in a breath as he stares at my mouth. Grunting, as though he’s battling with the urge to connect our mouths again, he buries his face in my neck and grinds up against my cock. I guess my confession was a bad idea.
Just live in the moment, Remy.Savor it.
I catch the soft stream of light filtering in from the living room, pooling on the floor as I hang on to him. It reflects off his muscles, highlighting his mesmerizing shape. It’s the first time the door has ever been left open. It makes it feel like we’re lovers—reallovers. Like two guys who live together and just barreled into bed after having been curled up on the couch, watching a movie. It’s what I imagine being boyfriends would feel like and inspires my determination to not be the passive one this time. If it’s just sex to him, I want him to know what he’s going to miss. You’re supposed to fight for the things you want, right?
Pushing to get him off me, his weight makes the feat difficult. I give up and slide out from underneath him instead.
“What?” he asks, turning onto his side, confused.
It’s the perfect angle to give me the leverage I need to move a man of his size. Pushing at his shoulders, I cover his lower half with my body as he falls onto his back. I probably look like Jamie when he’s raiding our cabinet on one of his snack binges with the way I attack his zipper. I want to blow his mind. I want him to stay or regretnotstaying. If I can’t have either of those scenarios, then I want him to at least remember me.
There’s one problem with my plan, however. I’ve never sucked his cock unless he’s fed it to me, so I’m not entirely sure he’ll be receptive to my boldness. I love his commanding presence. It makes my knees weak with every word, every unspoken message, and each firm nudge to drop to my knees or flip over on all fours. Yet, I want him like this just once. Tonight, I don’t want to abide by the unspoken rules we’ve created.
I hear a soft chuckle as I finally yank his zipper down. Amused Chris is better than annoyed Chris, so I don’t stop. His hips rise, making my heart flip. I grab the denim and the band of his underwear, yanking them down over the thick globes of his ass. The silky, warm flesh brushes against my knuckles. It’s so soft, unlike the rugged image of him from a distance.
His cock springs free, looking as strong and solid as the rest of him. It fills me with pride knowingIdid that to him. I stop when I get his pants down to the tops of his thighs, unable to wait any longer.
“You want that, huh?” he taunts, gripping his base, just as I lower my mouth and take his tip in. “Oh, fuck,” he hisses. He arches his hips up, his muscles going rigid beneath me.
I made the Dean’s list and don’t give a damn right now.This—laving my tongue around Chris’ head and hearing his sounds of approval—is an achievement I’ll take to my deathbed.
His fingers graze my scalp, weaving through my unruly mess of brown hair and turning my flesh taut. His familiar saltyessence has my tastebuds salivating, so I use it to my advantage, lathering him up as I take more of him in.
I don’t realize I’m moaning until I hear his voice. “You like sucking a football star? Seeing me on TV and knowing you had your mouth on this cock?”
I can’t say I blame him for being hyped up over his achievement, but it’s the corniest bedroom talk I’ve ever heard, and sonotwhat I was thinking. Yet, it draws an embarrassing groan from me as my cock knocks against his thigh. What is wrong with me?
Jamie’s right. Idohave a problem. He’d better not come home early. Problem or not, I will cut him if he interrupts us because I don’t want to stop. Either Idohave a famous football player kink, or Chris can just say nothing wrong in my eyes.
The hand in my hair moves to the back of my head and is joined by another one. My pulse skitters, hopeful and curious. I know how to give him the perfect blowjob because he’s taught me exactly what he likes.
‘Just like that.’
‘Lick it.’
