“Not ridiculous.” Sloane’s hand slid higher, fingertips grazing the strip of skin where Jamie’s shirt had ridden up. “You are safe with me. Always.”
The touch sent electricity skittering across Jamie’s skin. His breath hitched, body betraying him by arching into the contact. “This is probably the worst possible time to be turned on.”
“Why?” Sloane leaned closer, breath ghosting across Jamie’s ear. “Your body knows what it wants. Stop overthinking.”
Easier said than done when Jamie’s brain kept short-circuiting between “werewolves exist” and “please touch me more.” But then Sloane’s mouth found that spot just below his ear, lips barely grazing skin, and rational thought evaporated.
“Sloane—”
“Tell me to stop.” The words vibrated against Jamie’s throat. “If you need me to stop, say it.”
Stop was the last thing Jamie wanted. His fingers found Sloane’s arm, tracing the muscle there, feeling it flex under his touch. “Don’t stop.”
Permission given, Sloane’s mouth opened against Jamie’s neck, tongue tracing patterns that made Jamie’s vision blur. Teeth grazed, not quite biting, and the hint of danger sent heat pooling in Jamie’s belly.
“Been wanting this,” Sloane murmured against his skin. “Wanted you since that first night. Wanted to take you apart piece by piece until you forgot everything but my name.”
Jamie’s brain short-circuited entirely. His hips rolled without permission, seeking friction that his jeans wouldn’t provide. “That’s—you can’t just say things like—”
“I can. I will.” Sloane’s hand slipped under Jamie’s shirt, palm flat against his stomach. “Like how gorgeous you looked last night, showing off on those skates. Made me want to press you against the wall and find out what sounds you’d make.”
Heat flooded Jamie’s face, spreading down his neck and lower. “You were barely standing upright.”
“Didn’t stop me from watching you.” Sloane’s fingers traced the waistband of Jamie’s jeans, teasing but not quite crossing that boundary. “Didn’t stop me from imagining.”
Jamie turned in Sloane’s arms, needing to see him, to read his expression. Big mistake. Sloane’s eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide, and all that exposed skin made Jamie’s mouth water. Muscles and warmth and the faint dusting of hair across Sloane’s torso made Jamie desperately want to map that body with his fingertips.
“Kiss me,” Jamie breathed.
Sloane didn’t need to be asked twice. His mouth crashed against Jamie’s, all that careful control finally snapping. The kiss consumed, tongue sliding against Jamie’s, teeth catching his bottom lip just hard enough to make him gasp. Jamie’s hands found Sloane’s shoulders, nails digging in as he anchored himself against the onslaught of sensation.
“Wanted this,” Sloane growled between kisses. “Wanted you under me, riding my cock, any way I could have you.”
Jamie’s dick throbbed, trapped and aching in his jeans. His hips rolled again, seeking pressure, finding Sloane’s thigh between his legs. The friction made stars explode behind his eyelids.
“Too many clothes,” Sloane muttered, fingers already working at Jamie’s shirt buttons.
Fabric disappeared somehow, Jamie’s shirt vanishing, followed by the struggle to remove jeans without breaking contact. Sloane’s hands were everywhere—sliding down Jamie’s sides, gripping his hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows there hard enough to bruise.
Finally, finally, skin met skin. Jamie’s cock pressed against Sloane’s, both of them already leaking, and the contact made Jamie’s vision white out for a second.
“Look at you.” Sloane’s voice had gone rough, wrecked. His hand wrapped around both of their erections, the grip firm but not quite enough. “So perfect. So mine.”
Mine. The possessiveness in that single word should have scared Jamie. Instead, it made his cock twitch, pre-cum beading at the tip. “Please—”
“Please what?” Sloane’s thumb swept across the head of Jamie’s dick, spreading wetness. “Tell me what you crave.”
“You. Just—” Jamie’s hips bucked into Sloane’s grip. “Move. Please move.”
Sloane started stroking, slow and torturous, his grip tightening on the upstroke. His other hand tangled in Jamie’s hair, tugging just enough to expose his throat. “Could watch you like this for hours. Watch you fall apart. Watch you beg.”
Jamie was already falling apart, already past begging, reduced to broken sounds and desperate movements. Every stroke sent fire racing through his veins, building toward something that threatened to shatter him completely.
“That’s it,” Sloane murmured, mouth finding Jamie’s throat again. “Let go. Let me see you.”
Teeth scraped against Jamie’s pulse point, and that was it. Release slammed into him, his back arching, his vision going white as he came across Sloane’s fingers and stomach. Sloane worked him through it, grip gentling but never stopping, drawing out every aftershock until Jamie collapsed against him, boneless.
“My turn,” Sloane growled, but his hand on himself was almost secondary to the way he watched Jamie, eyes tracking every tremor, every gasp.
