It wasn’t even my junk keeping me awake this time, it was my stupid brain. It flitted from topic to topic, and every time I managed to lull it into something approaching slumber, I’d think about something that would make me open my eyes wide again and stare into the darkness.
That thing was always Angelo, of course. It was torture to just lie there next to the guy.
He seemed perfectly relaxed, his breathing even and his body still, until I rolled over for the fifth time and he let out a sigh.
“Bax.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, flopping onto my back. “Maybe I should go for a run. Burn off some energy. My brain just won’t shut—”
And then suddenly, Angelo put his hand on my thigh, and my braindidshut up.
There were no words between us; he asked a question with his body and I answered with mine. His hand rested on my upper thigh until I moved, encouraging him. His fingers trailed up to my hip, gripped it. He slid his other arm underneath me and guided me onto my side, facing away from him. For a moment I feared it was his way of softly rejecting me, but then I felt his warm body sliding up against me, his chest against my back, his thighs up against mine, my ass nestled into his crotch.
His hand soothed up and down my flank like I was a startled animal, pushing down my track pants until I kicked them off eagerly. He brushed my nipples and they went hard at once, two little attention-seekers, but his hand had already moved on down my chest, my belly, curled into my bush. He took a handful of hair and gave a little tug. I arched, gasping, my dick filling out.
At my shoulder I could feel his breath, but it seemed much calmer than mine. For a very brief moment I wondered about that, wondered whether the way he did this was less about lust and more about…aboutdominance.
Villiershadwarned me that Messina would use his sexual appeal against me.
Maybe that’s what it was, but it was hard to give a damn when his fingers were tapping along the underside of my dick, making it bounce for him. He pressed his lips against my shoulder and I could have sworn they curled up. Almost as though he were distracting me from his smile, he rolled my cock under his palm, then took it into his hand and gave a firm tug.
“Fuck.” The word escaped me in a groan and I pressed my face into the pillow to stifle anything else. I didn’t want to break the spell by speaking. Every ounce of blood in my body had rushed to my dick; I was shaking and all he’d done was give me one stroke. My balls throbbed, my cock leaked, and his hand on me was the only thing in the world worth caring about.
He’d already trained my body to respond to his, utterly and completely.
He uncurled his fingers and cupped me, cradling between my legs in a gesture of care and intimacy. I reminded myself, or tried to, that this hand was red with blood, but it only made me hotter.
I reached a hand back to his hip, tentative. That touch he allowed, but I remembered his hand around my wrist last night, unmistakably refusing anything mutual. He did nothing as I pulled him closer to me, as I bumped my ass back and wriggled it into him until I felt him, warm and heavy and full under the thin cotton of his boxers, pushing up against my crack.
I thought about him pushing me over, spreading my ass wide and shoving that hot dick into my hole, no prep, no finesse, just taking what he wanted, driving in balls-deep. My asshole clenched on itself, hungry and needy, and I rubbed harder against him, pulling his hips into me. He let me do it, but he didn’t move, stayed still and unhelpful. Only when I let out a little moan of protest did he move again.
He took my wrist, pulled my hand from his hip and bundled me up, my arms folded over themselves, one caught under my own weight and the other immobilized in his grip. For a second, just a second, I bunched my muscles, to see what he would do.
He did nothing.
I understood it then. He wanted me to concede to him, to give up my strength willingly. He and I both knew I could fight if I wanted to. But he wasn’t interested in a fight; he was only interested in surrender.
So I relaxed, letting out a long, slow breath, and he made a noise of approval that shot straight to my nuts. He let his free hand wander back to my cock, took it up and started to jack me softly. “Come on, then,” he murmured. “Is this how you like it?”
I gave a grunt of approval, not trusting myself to reply with words. He’d been silent the previous night, and it still felt like words could break the bubble, the barrier between the outside world and what we were doing there together.
But we couldn’t exist in a bubble, could we?
This safe house, this time we were spending together, none of it was reallyreal.
I pulled away from him, rolled onto my belly, and propped myself up on my elbows. My dick pressed between me and the mattress and I had to shuffle a little to get comfortable. “So,” I said conversationally, “Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, but I’d kind of like to know what the hell’s going on.”
I didn’t turn my head to look at him; it was too dark, anyway, but I didn’t want to chance seeing his expression.
“Angelo?” I asked, as he remained silent.
“I’m sorry if I misunderstood,” he said, clipped. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You make me horny as hell, and you know it,” I pointed out. “And I can separate sex and emotions as well as anyone. If this is just some light relief after a tense day, that’s great. But I don’t like feeling indebted to anyone.”
He took in a breath and let it out. “If you don’t want to—”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” I turned again onto my side, but facing him this time, my hands free. “I’m saying I’d like to return the favor. But if that’s not something you want, we can just forget the whole thing. Go to sleep.” He was quiet so long that I started speaking again. “Not being able to touch you last night was hot, don’t get me wrong. And I don’t mind if you get off on that sort of dominance. Hell, I’m down for it. But twice in a row where you don’t want me to touch you? You make me start thinking there’s some block there for you.”
