“Love it,” he shot back, biting my lower lip, hands tugging me even closer, grinding against me. “Love knowing I drive you wild.”
I let my hands roam, greedy and shameless, grabbing his ass, squeezing, pulling him up so our cocks slid together again, trapped between our bodies. He groaned, wrapping a leg around my waist, grinding down until we were both shaking.
“You feel what you do to me?” I rasped, thrusting up, letting him feel every inch through the denim. “You make me lose my mind, Michael. I’ve been thinking about this every night. Waking up hard, wishing it was your mouth, your hands, your cock against mine.”
He bucked hard, eyes going wide, breath stuttering out. “You’re filthy,” he managed, voice half-laugh, half-moan.
“You have no idea how filthy I can be.” I pressed my mouth to his ear, licking the shell, then whispered, “Want to feel you ride my thigh. Want you to rut against me until you make a mess in your pants.”
His hips jerked and he moaned, rutting helplessly, so desperate now I thought he might come undone just from the friction. I shoved my thigh between his legs, grinding up hard, feeling how soaked he was, how close.
“Is this what you wanted?” I taunted, rutting up against him, hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head back so I could see every wrecked, beautiful expression. “You wanted me to pin you down and use you like this? You wanted to know how it felt to be wanted, to be claimed?”
He nodded, eyes blown, lips swollen. “Always. Wanted you to fuck me up. Wanted to know you’d fight for this. For me.”
I kissed him hard again, letting my hands roam, pinning him, owning every gasp and every desperate grind of his hips. “I’m not letting you go, Michael. Not tonight. Not ever. I want you ruined. I want you so used to my hands and mouth that you can’t think about anyone else.”
He let out a broken sound, grabbing my ass, grinding us together until we were both panting, hips stuttering.
“We’re a mess,” he breathed, laughing into my mouth.
“The best kind of mess,” I growled, licking into his mouth, rocking my cock against his, chasing that desperate, filthy friction, both of us hanging on by a thread.
And for the first time, I didn’t care how needy I sounded. I wanted him to know—every filthy, honest part of me.
I couldn’t wait any longer. With one last bruising kiss, I hooked my hands under Michael’s thighs and lifted him in one swift, desperate motion. He laughed—a wild, breathless sound—wrapping his legs around my waist, arms around my neck. The weight of him felt perfect, grounding, as I carried him across the room, barely seeing through the haze of need.
I dropped him onto the bed, making the mattress bounce, then clambered after him, hands already working at his shirt, impatient, rough. He yanked at mine too, fingers trembling as he dragged it over my head. Buttons popped, fabric tore, but neither of us cared. We stripped each other down, tearing at clothes, shoving denim down hips, until we were both left in nothing but underwear, bodies already flushed and sweating, cocks straining against thin cotton.
Michael’s hands roamed my chest, tracing every scar, every hard line, like he was memorizing me by touch. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured, awe in his voice, thumbing over my nipples, watching them harden under his fingers.
I shuddered, grabbing his hips, pinning him down, then dipping my head to his chest. I dragged my tongue over his nipple, circling it slowly before sucking hard, teeth grazing, earning a ragged moan that shot straight through me. He arched, pressing into my mouth, clutching my head, desperate for more.
“Yeah, you like that?” I teased, voice thick, nipping at the sensitive skin, then moving to the other nipple, worshipping it just as hungrily. “I want you to feel this for days. I want everyone to know who made these marks.”
He gasped, twisting beneath me, already writhing with need. “I want your marks everywhere,” he whispered, voice rough. “Want to be covered in you.”
I worked my way down, licking a stripe across his chest, teeth scraping over ribs, then pressed my face into his armpit, inhaling deep. The scent—clean sweat, salt, Michael—made my wolf howl inside me, possessive and hungry. I dragged my tongue alongthe coarse hair, lapping up the taste, then bit gently, sucking a mark into the soft skin.
Michael trembled, hands fisting in the sheets. “You’re filthy,” he managed, but his hips rolled up, cock grinding into my stomach, leaving a wet trail across my skin.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, grinning against his flesh. “You love it.”
He groaned, then shoved me onto my back, straddling my hips. He ran his hands over my chest, tracing every line of muscle, every scar, then leaned down, licking over my nipples, biting just hard enough to make me hiss. He mouthed along my pecs, kissing every mark, every faded wound, worshipping me like I was something sacred.
“You’re mine,” he breathed, kissing lower, pressing his face into my chest, breathing me in. “All this—yours and mine, Daniel. No more hiding, no more waiting.”
I arched into him, fingers in his hair, guiding him where I wanted, grinding my cock up into his heat. He rocked down, underwear to underwear, both of us leaking, the fabric soaked, the friction maddening. He slid his hands under my arms, nosing into my pits, licking and kissing, drawing out noises I didn’t know I could make.
“Fuck, Michael,” I groaned, hips jerking. “That’s—shit, keep going—don’t stop.”
He worshipped me there, tongue and teeth, breathing in deep, moaning as he tasted my sweat, my salt, everything raw and unfiltered. I rolled him under me again, pinning him, grinding our cocks together, rutting like we’d never get enough.
I pressed open-mouthed kisses all over his chest, his sides, his belly. I licked down to his hipbones, nipping, then back up, finding his pits again and burying my face there, letting myself drown in his scent. He shuddered, legs splayed wide, whole body begging for more.
We writhed together, underwear grinding, the fabric nearly see-through with wetness. Our hands roamed, gripping, squeezing, nails scraping over skin, marking each other. Every sound was filthy—moans, growls, the slap of skin, the slick press of sweat-soaked bodies.
“I want you ruined,” I whispered against his throat, biting down. “Want you to remember this every time you close your eyes.”
