I ran my thumb over the ink, then up his forearm, feeling the tension knotted under the skin. He reached for me, but I caught his hands and pinned them behind his back, just for a second, letting him feel the power of it.
“Missed you,” I said, voice rough as sandpaper.
He smiled, the old mischief flickering back for a second. “I’ve been with you all night.”
“Doesn’t matter.” I said it into his hair, my mouth pressed to the crown of his head. He smelled like lemon soap and the faint, metallic edge of adrenaline.
I kissed him again, slow at first, then harder, letting the need catch fire. My hands roamed down his spine, over the sharp rise of his shoulder blades, down to the waistband of his jeans. I slid my fingers under the denim, palms cupping his ass, and he made a noise that was half-laugh, half-moan.
He tried to tug at my shirt, but his hands fumbled, shaking, so I peeled it off myself. My own skin was hot, slick with a thin sheen of sweat from the walk, from the way my body had been wired since dinner, every muscle waiting for this moment.
I pressed him back until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He fell, landing on his ass, and looked up at me with those wide blue eyes, pupils blown wide in the dark.
“Take off your pants,” I said.
He grinned and shimmied them down, then lay back, one arm thrown over his face in mock-shame. “I look ridiculous.”
I stood over him, unbuckling my own jeans, and let him watch as I shucked them and my briefs in one go. My cock was already half-hard, standing out against my thigh. The cool air of the room made it twitch, and Levi’s eyes locked onto it, greedy.
“You look perfect,” I said, and meant it.
He kicked free of his socks, then scooted back on the bed, spreading his arms out and waiting. I crawled over him, my weight pressing him into the mattress, pinning him in place. I kissed a line down his neck, tasting the salt and the faintest hint of the pecan pie Ma had forced on us at dinner. I sucked a bruise onto his collarbone, and he arched up, fingers digging into my shoulder blades.
“Quiad,” he whispered.
I answered by sliding my hand between his thighs, palming his cock, which was hot and damp at the tip. He gasped and bucked up, pushing into my grip.
I jerked him slow, the way I knew he liked, thumb circling the crown just enough to make his eyes roll back. My other hand went to his mouth, tracing his lower lip, and he sucked my thumb in, eyes never leaving mine.
There was nothing delicate about the way I wanted him. All the anger and fear from the week, all the helplessness, poured into every touch, every kiss. I wanted to mark him, to make sure nobody ever doubted who he belonged to.
He twisted under me, breaking the kiss, and bit my jaw hard enough to leave a mark. “Fuck me,” he said, voice breaking. “Please.”
I groaned, head spinning. The air in the loft was thick with sweat and the scent of cedar from the shop below. My hand shook as I fumbled for the lube on the nightstand, slicking my fingers and working one between his cheeks. He hissed, then melted, legs spreading wider, body eager.
I lined myself up, the head of my cock pressing against his entrance. I paused, forcing myself to breathe. “You want this?” I asked, the question more for me than him.
He nodded, wild-eyed. “Need it. Need you. Please, Quiad.”
That did it. Every last bit of control snapped.
I pushed inside, just the tip at first, then a little more. He was tight, always so fucking tight, and the heat nearly broke me. I took my time, inching in, letting him adjust, feeling the tremor in his legs and the way his hands gripped the sheets.
He moaned, loud, no hesitation. “More,” he gasped.
I bottomed out, hips flush against his ass, and held there, just breathing.
He looked up at me, eyes wet and wild. “Don’t stop. Not ever.”
I started to move, slow at first, then building, each thrust deep and purposeful. The bed creaked under us, the headboard knocking a rhythm against the wall. I watched the way his cock bobbed with every push, leaking onto his stomach, the sight of it spurring me on.
He reached down, trying to jerk himself, but I batted his hand away. “That’s mine,” I growled, and took over, matching my strokes to the pace of my hips.
He came first, back arching, cum striping his stomach in messy lines. I fucked him through it, not slowing, chasing my own release. He moaned, louder, the sound almost desperate, and I felt myself go, hot and electric, spilling into him in waves.
When it was over, I collapsed on top of him, both of us panting, sweat slicking our bodies together. For a long minute, neither of us spoke. I just lay there, my weight pinning him, feeling his heartbeat racing against my own.
He ran his fingers through my hair, gentle, then laughed, soft and happy. “You’re insane,” he said.
