“And how do you feel about me?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I love you,” I said simply, the words spilling out before I could second-guess them. “I’m completely, hopelessly in love with you, Eamon O’Rourke.”
The effect of my words was immediate and devastating. Eamon’s face crumpled with something that looked like grief, and for a moment, I thought he might actually cry. “Charles,” he said, and my name sounded broken on his lips. “I?—”
But instead of finishing the sentence, he kissed me. Desperately, frantically, like a drowning man grasping for air. His flour-dusted hands were in my hair, on my face, pulling me against him with a hunger that bordered on desperation.
I kissed him back with equal fervor, pouring all my love and trust and hope into the connection between us. Whatever he was struggling with, whatever secret he thought was so terrible, I would help him through it. We would figure it out together.
The kiss turned heated quickly, Eamon’s mouth moving against mine with increasing urgency. His hands roamed my body like he was trying to memorize every inch, and when he backed me against the kitchen counter, I went willingly.
“Need you again,” he murmured against my neck, his voice rough with emotion and desire. “Need to feel you.”
“Yes.” I was already reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Always yes.”
Clothes disappeared with efficient desperation. Eamon lifted me onto the counter, the cool surface against my bare skin making me gasp, but then his mouth was on mine again and nothing else mattered.
He was beautiful in the morning light streaming through the kitchen window, even with flour on his face and in his hair—all lean muscle and warm skin, his eyes dark with want and something deeper. When he looked at me like that, like I was something precious and perfect, I felt like I could take on the world.
I pulled Eamon closer, needing to feel every inch of his skin against mine. His hands were everywhere at once—inmy hair, skimming down my sides, cupping my ass to grind our hips together. The heat of him, the hard planes of his body pressed against me, made my head spin with want.
Eamon’s mouth latched onto my neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin until I was sure I’d have another mark. I didn’t care. I wanted his claim on me, wanted evidence that this was real.
“Fuck, Charles…” Eamon trailed open-mouthed kisses down my neck. “You drive me crazy.”
“Good.” I arched into his touch. “I want you crazy for me.”
His only response was to crush his mouth to mine in another bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim me. I surrendered to the onslaught, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I tried to pull him impossibly closer.
We were both too far gone for slow and too impatient to get the lube from the bedroom. Eamon only let go of my mouth long enough to grab the small bottle of olive oil I’d bought before the snowstorm. That would work. His now slick fingers found my entrance and pushed inside. I cried out at the sudden stretch, my head falling back as he worked me open with quick, efficient strokes. It bordered on too much too fast, but I craved the burn, the undeniable proof that this was real.
“Need you inside me. Now, Eamon. Please.”
He swore under his breath, the desperation in his voice making me throb with need. I whimpered as his fingers withdrew, my body clenching around the sudden emptiness. But then he was there, dragging me forward until I was right on the edge of the counter.
No more words were spoken as the blunt head of his cock pressed against my slick entrance. Our eyes locked, a moment of perfect understanding passing between us, andthen he was pushing inside, stretching me, filling me, completing me. The stretch and burn of it made my eyes water, especially since my ass was already somewhat sore from before, but I welcomed the pain. It meant this was real, that he was real, that the connection between us wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
“Christ, Charles,” Eamon groaned, his forehead pressed against mine. “You feel so fecking good.”
My head fell back on a moan as he hilted himself fully, my legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper. He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed against mine, both of us trembling from the intensity.
“I love you,” I whispered again, the words a sacred vow. “I love you, Eamon.”
Eamon’s eyes squeezed shut, and for a moment, I thought I saw a sheen of tears. But then he was moving, pulling out almost fully before slamming back in, and coherent thought became impossible.
He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against mine with each powerful thrust.
The force of his thrusts rocked me back, pleasure spiking through my body with every slam of his hips. I clung to Eamon’s shoulders, my nails digging into sweat-slicked skin as I tried to anchor myself against the onslaught. But it was impossible to do anything but surrender to the raw, primal rhythm he set, to the exquisite stretch and drag of his cock inside me.
“Eamon,” I panted, my voice breaking on a particularly hard thrust. “Oh god, yes, like that…”
He growled against my neck, his teeth scraping over my racing pulse. One hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise while the other snaked between our bodies to wrap around my aching erection. I cried out sharply as he strokedme in time with his thrusts, the dual stimulation almost too much to bear.
My head fell back, thudding against the cabinets, but I barely felt it. My entire world had narrowed to Eamon—the heat of his skin, the brush of his hair against my cheek, the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex and something uniquely him.
The pleasure was exquisite, overwhelming, all-consuming. Each powerful thrust of Eamon’s hips drove me higher, pushing me toward a precipice I had no desire to step back from. I wanted to fall, to shatter, to lose myself completely in the feeling of him moving inside me, claiming me, branding me as his with every roll of his hips.
“Eamon,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
