His hands are in my hair now, gripping tight, pulling hard enough to sting. I groan and grind back against him, my cock straining against my jeans, desperate for friction.
“Is this what you wanted?” I pant against his lips. “Is this what you’ve been waiting for?”
“Yes,” he rasps without hesitation. “Christ, yes.”
I drop to my knees without thinking about it. Without second-guessing.
My fingers are on his belt before my brain catches up, yanking it open, tearing down his fly.
He’s hard. Jesus, he’s so fucking hard, his cock straining against black boxer briefs, a wet spot already darkening the fabric.
I want to say something slick and nasty. But all I can croak out is a breathless, “Fuck.”
“You just gonna stare at it, boy?”
I mouth him through the fabric. The broken, guttural groan he lets out goes straight to my dick. His hips buck, pressing his cock against my face, and I let him rut against my mouth while I breathe in the smell of him and try not to come in my fucking pants.
“If you’re going to do this, then fucking do it already.” His fingers tighten in my hair. “I’ve been patient for much too?—“
I pull down his waistband and take him in my mouth.
He’s big. Bigger than I remember from Halloween. The stretch makes my jaw ache immediately. I want it to hurt. I need something physical to focus on besides the terrifying realization that I’m on my knees for Bastian Rooke…and it’s bymyfucking choice this time.
Every logical circuit in my brain is warning me that this is a bad idea. That I’m unlocking Pandora’s fucking box right now, and I’ll never be able to put back what’s about to escape.
I don’t fucking care.
“Fuck.” The word punches out of him as I take him deeper. “Your mouth is so—Christ, boy, you?—”
I don’t know what I’m doing. Not really. But I know what feels good when Haven does it to me, so I try to replicate that—tongue flat against the underside of his shaft as I gently suck, bobbing my head in a steady rhythm.
And it’s working.
His hips start moving, shallow thrusts that push him deeper down my throat. I gag, eyes watering.
He pulls back with a murmured sound that almost sounds apologetic.
“Mm!” I grab his hips and yank him forward again, taking him even deeper.
Fuck his apology. I don’t want gentle. I want him to lose control like I’m about to.
I want to break him the way he broke me.
“Christ, Kai.” His head falls back against the bookshelf, throat working as he swallows. “You’re—fuck—you’re a natural.”
I pull off him with an obscene pop, fisting his shaft as I glare up at him. “Don’t patronize me.”
“Never.” His eyes are pitch black as he gazes down at me with what might be adoration, if this wasn’t fucking Rooke. “You’re…you’re fucking perfect.”
Before I can respond, he’s hauling me to my feet and spinning us around, slamming me against the shelf. More books cascade around us as his mouth finds my throat, sucking hard enough to bruise.
“My turn,” he growls against my skin.
His hand is down my jeans before I can protest—not that I was planning to. I nearly sob at the contact when his fingers wrap around my cock, my hips jerking into his grip.
“You’re so fucking hard for me, boy.” He’s stroking me slow, too slow, thumb dragging through the precum leaking from my slit. “How long have you been like this? Since you closed the door? Since you followed me up the stairs?”
“Since—fuuuck—since you started talking about self-destruction. Couldn’t stop thinking about you. About this.”
