“You feel so fucking good, baby,” I breathe out against his lips, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside.
“How good?” His whisper falters a bit as he yanks my shirt off, nearly ripping it.
“So good, I’m going to burst.”
“So good, you won’t look at anyone else but me?”
“Mmm” is the only sound I can release, because now that my shirt is off, scattered somewhere beside us on the floor, I can clearly see his chest hovering close over me.
God fucking dammit.
I knew he was built, but I hadn’t expected this. Every line of muscle is defined, his chest smooth, scarred in only a handful of places—unlike mine, marked like a battlefield.
His gaze locks on me, brow furrowing more with each second, no doubt because of what he sees carved into my skin.
Then his hands move over me, stroking every healed line with a slow, relentless caress of his fingers. He’s not tentative like the first time he touched me, but there’s still an edge of exploration, like he’s learning me scar by scar.
I don’t feel any form of humiliation, because I’m downright salivating at the view of his naked chest.
I lift myself on my elbows and lick his pectoral muscle, my tongue swiping over his light-brown nipple before I bite down. Hard.
He grunts, both hands gripping my waist. “Fuck.”
“That feels good, baby?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me try the other nipple. Can’t have it feeling left out.” I swipe my tongue, rubbing it all over his hard nipple, then bite, sucking on it.
Vaughn shudders against me, and when his gruff moan echoes around me, I think I come a little.
It doesn’t help that he keeps stroking my cock with his, the maddening friction shooting straight to my head.
He rises just enough to strip his pants and briefs, kicking them and his shoes aside, before turning to me. My hips lift to help him tug mine off, my sneakers scattering across the floor. Still, I don’t let go and keep sucking, biting, dragging my teeth over his perfect nipples, relishing his little sounds of pleasure.
I could stay here forever, please and fucking thank you.
I immediately change my mind when he tosses away my pants and boxer briefs.
Because now, our cocks are touching, and I’m leaking all over the fucking place.
“You’re making a mess,” he muses, his voice husky and low, tinged with wonder.
“You do that to me.” I thrust against him, and he lets out a gruff rumble.
“Stay still.”
“Can’t.” I do it again, rubbing my aching cock against his.
This time, he wraps both his hands around our lengths, pressing our cocks together. “I said. Stay still.”
“Mmff,” I groan against his chest, stealing a look at his hands on our cocks.
I’m drenching him with my precum, but his is glistening at the top as well, both of them veiny and angry. I see glimpses of the tattoo on his inner thigh, but I don’t get to observe it properly as he rubs us roughly, using the precum as lube.
“Fuck, baby. You’re getting so hard.” I moan, wrapping my hand around his, guiding him to jerk us faster.
“That’s because you’re making a mess.” His words are hushed, heavy with want, and they’re undoing me.
