The kiss was different than before. Harder. His teeth caught my lower lip, his hand fisted in my shirt, his body pressing against mine like he was trying to leave a mark. Like he was trying to make me remember this when he was gone.
“Jamie—”
“Don't.” His voice cracked, rough and desperate. “Just—no talking. Not tonight.”
I didn't argue.
We stumbled through the dark apartment, shedding clothes as we went. His jacket hit the floor by the door. My flannel in the hallway. His sweater somewhere between the bathroom and the bedroom. By the time we hit the mattress, I had him pinned beneath me, his wrists above his head, his chest heaving.
The streetlight through my thin curtains cast everything in shades of gray. The snow outside made the light softer, diffused.His face. His body. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.
This might be over soon.
The thought surfaced and I couldn't push it away. Saturday was coming. Valentine's Day. And after that, our arrangement was done. He'd walk out of my shop and my life, and I'd go back to the quiet I'd built around myself like armor.
But right now he was here. Right now he was mine. And I was going to make it count.
I kissed him again, slower this time, deeper. Let go of his wrists so my hands could map his body. The planes of his chest, the curve of his waist, the sharp cut of his hipbones that fit perfectly under my palms. He shivered under my touch, arching up into my hands like he was starving for it as much as I was.
I kissed my way down his throat. His collarbone. The hollow at the base of his neck where his pulse was hammering. Lower, my mouth dragging across his chest, finding his nipple and flicking my tongue against it until he gasped. His hands found my hair, gripping hard, and the sting of it went straight to my cock.
“Holden.” My name came out wrecked. “Please.”
I kept going lower. Mouthed at his stomach, at the trail of hair below his navel, at the sharp bones of his hips. When I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his briefs, he lifted his hips without being asked, desperate, needy.
He was hard, his cock straining against the fabric, a wet spot already darkening the cotton. I pressed my mouth to him through the briefs first, breathing hot against him, and felt him twitch. The broken sound he made was worth memorizing.
Then I stripped the underwear off and took him in my mouth.
“Fuck—” His whole body jerked, hips bucking up. I pinned him down with one hand flat on his stomach, took him deeper. He was thick on my tongue, hot and salty with precome. I hollowedmy cheeks and sucked, finding a rhythm that made his thighs shake.
His hand found my hair again, gripping hard. I let him guide me while my other hand found the lube on the nightstand.
I worked him open while I sucked him. One slick finger pressing inside, feeling him clench around me, then slowly relax. I curled my finger, searching, and when I found that spot inside him his whole body arched off the bed.
“There—Jesus, right there—”
I added a second finger. Worked him open while his hips stuttered, caught between fucking up into my mouth and pressing back onto my hand. Our rhythm was familiar now after just a few days, but tonight felt different. More desperate. Like we were both trying to memorize each other before the clock ran out.
“Holden—” His voice pitched high, cracking. “I'm gonna—I can't—”
I didn't pull off. Took him deeper, worked my fingers harder, pressed against that spot inside him until his whole body locked up. He came with a cry that he tried to muffle with his fist, spilling hot across my tongue. I swallowed everything he gave me, worked him through it until he was trembling and oversensitive and pushing weakly at my shoulder.
When I finally pulled off, his chest was heaving. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, that beautiful green-brown gone dark.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Holden, that was—”
I kissed the inside of his thigh. “I'm not done with you.”
His breath caught. “Yeah?”
I added a third finger, stretched him slowly while he was still loose and pliant from his orgasm. He made soft, broken sounds, not hard again yet, but his cock gave an interested twitch as I worked him open.
“You're so tight,” I murmured against his hip. “So fucking perfect. You take me so well.”
“Holden…” He was panting now, his fingers twisted in the sheets. “I need—I want you inside me. Please.”
That word again.Please.It undid me every time.
