His breathing is ragged now. I can feel it in the rise and fall of his chest against my arms, in the way his back expands and contracts.
"I want to taste you again," I continue. "I want to take you in my mouth and make you fall apart the way I did this morning. I want to hear you say my name when you come. I want to swallow you down and feel you throb on my tongue."
"Fuck." The word is barely audible over the engine, ripped away by the wind almost before I can hear it.
"And then—" I let my hand brush over the bulge in his jeans, just the lightest touch, barely any pressure. But I can feel him there, hard and straining against the denim. "Then I want you to do the same to me. I want your hands on me, your mouth on me. I want to feel you everywhere. I want to know what it feels like to have you touch me until I can't think straight."
Jay makes a sound that's almost a growl, low and desperate. The bike jerks forward suddenly. "Hold on tight. We're five minutes from the motel. Maybe less."
"Then drive faster. Get us there."
He grins and the bike surges forward with a roar. I hold on tight, pressing myself against his back. My blood is pounding, rushing in my ears. My own cock is straining painfully against my jeans, so hard it aches. Five minutes feels like forever.
When we finally pull into the Vista Inn parking lot, tires squealing slightly on the turn, Jay barely gets the bike stopped and the kickstand down before he's off it. He grabs my hand before I'm even fully standing, his grip tight enough to hurt, and he's dragging me toward the stairs.
"Someone's in a hurry," I say, laughing breathlessly.
"You've been whispering absolute filth in my ear while I was trying to drive a motorcycle." He's taking the stairs two at a time, pulling me along. "You don't get to comment on eager. You did this to me."
We barely make it through the door.
As soon as it closes behind us, Jay spins and pushes me against it hard. The door rattles in its frame. His mouth crashes against mine, andthe kiss is desperate, hungry, almost violent in its intensity. All teeth and tongue and raw need. I grab his hips and pull him against me, yanking him forward, and we both groan at the contact—his hardness grinding against mine through too many layers of clothing.
"Off," he gasps against my mouth, his hands already yanking at my jacket, pulling at the sleeves. "I need this off. I need to feel you. Skin to skin. Now."
I shrug out of the jacket while he attacks my shirt, grabbing the hem and pulling it over my head in one rough motion. He tosses it aside without looking where it lands. Then his hands are on me, running over my chest, my shoulders, my arms, touching everywhere he can reach.
"God, look at you," he breathes, his hands splayed across my chest, his eyes dark and hungry. "Look at what you turned into."
"Take your shirt off," I say, reaching for his shirt. "I need to see you too."
He lets me pull it off, raising his arms, and then I'm the one staring, the one who can't look away.
"Stop staring," he says, but he doesn't shy away from my gaze.
"Can't help it." I reach out and trace my fingers down his chest, over the smooth skin, feeling his heartbeat racing under my palm. Over his stomach, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch.
He pulls me away from the door, his hands on my hips, walking me backward toward the bed. When my knees hit the mattress, I sit down hard, and he climbs into my lap immediately, straddling my thighs. The position puts us face to face, chest to chest, and I can feel his heart pounding against mine. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close, crushing him against me, needing to feel every inch of him.
"I love your body," I tell him, running my hands up his back, feeling the shift of muscle and bone under his skin, the warmth of him. "I love how lean you are, how strong you are even though you don't see it. I love these—" I trace his collarbones with my fingers, following the sharp line of them. "And these—" I run my fingers down his abs, feeling each ridge of muscle. "And especially this—" I grab his ass with both hands, squeezing hard, and he groans against my mouth, his hips jerking forward.
"Ivan—" My name comes out desperate.
"Tell me what you want." I kiss along his jaw, down his neck. "Anything. I'll give you anything you want."
"I want—" He grinds down against me, rolling his hips, and we both shudder at the friction, at the pressure. "I want to feel you. All of you. No clothes between us."
"Then let's get rid of them. Right now."
We separate just long enough to strip off the rest—jeans kicked off in a tangle, boxers pulled down and thrown aside, socks peeled off. Everything. And then we're naked together, and I take a moment to just look at him.
He's hard, his cock flushed dark and straining upward, a bead of clear moisture at the tip that catches the light. It's not as thick as mine, but it's long, curving slightly upward in a way that makes my mouth water. His thighs are lean and muscled, the kind of muscle that comes from years of standing, of working on bikes, of movement. His hips are narrow, his waist defined. He's standing at the edge of the bed, chest heaving with each breath, looking at me with those dark eyes that see everything.
"Come here," I say, reaching for him.
He climbs back onto the bed, and we fall together in a tangle of limbs and heat. Rolling across the mattress, kissing desperately, touching everywhere we can reach. His hands are on my ass, gripping hard, pulling me against him. My hands are in his hair, fisting in the dark strands, tilting his head back so I can devour his mouth, so I can taste him properly.
"You feel so good," he gasps between kisses, his words coming out in gasps. "Your skin against mine—I can't get enough. I don't think I'll ever get enough of this."
