Maybe it’s the tension that could be cut with a knife.
Or the irrational need I have for this motherfucker on the regular.
Or the fact that he’ll leave again, and I’ll be the one dealing with the fallout of the obsession.
As usual.
So I squeeze his wrist tighter as I lean closer, my mouth just a few agonizing breaths from his jaw. He visibly tenses, that brain of his probably conjuring a flight response, but I’ll be damned if I let him slip from between my fingers.
Vaughn has always been someone I’ve never fully grasped, but not tonight.
Tonight, I’ll take what I want.
My voice drops as I speak near his jaw, “You’re the one who removed my clothes, no?”
“Because they were wet,” he says in a firm voice that cracks at the edges.
“Hmm. I’ll take your word for it. Besides.” I lower my voice further, licking my lips. “You can look again, you know. I don’t mind. Unless…” I pause, distracted by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows thickly. “You can’tresistme?”
He jerks his face toward me, his lips pursed, and it’s a shame, because now our lips are so close, if he just parted them a little, I would?—
“I’m looking at you, now what?” He speaks calmly, trying his hardest to sound bored, but the tension beneath his words betrays him.
I lean forward, but he slams his palm over my lips. “Don’t you fuckingdare, Yulian.”
I take his other hand and slide it slowly up the length of my thigh. My cock jumps to life, performing a goddamn standing ovation at the mere promise of Vaughn’s touch.
A rush of endorphins spills into my blood as my skin lights on fire and my heart beats so loud, I think I’m going to have an attack.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Just his hand on me is giving me pleasure I’ve never experienced before.
And I’m ravenous for it.
Forhim.
For fuckingmore.
So I guide his hand higher, closer to where my cock is basically jumping out of its skin for contact.
The entire time, my gaze remains on Vaughn. He drops his palm from my mouth, his hooded forest-like eyes zeroing in on his hand that’s on my cock.
I expect him to fight or try to remove it.
Or worse—punch or curse me or warn me not to touch him, but he’s frozen.
No, not frozen.
Riveted.
He’s completely caught in an unreachable focus zone.
His eyes darken and his nostrils flare as I plant his palm on my cock. He must feel it, too—the way it throbs as if vibrating with the same tension coursing through his body—because his pupils dilate and his hand twitches.
It’s as if he’s waiting for something—what, I don’t know, and I don’t give a fuck because my head’s on cloud nine and my heart is spilling into my throat with how crazy it’s beating.
“Fuuuck,” I groan, breathing heavily. “You feel how hard I am because of you, baby?”
