YULIAN
Vaughn is mad.
And that gets my rocks off. I’m so fucking hard, it’s not even a joke.
But who am I kidding? I’m always in a state of arousal around this guy. I’ve grown tired of questioning it, and I’m just embracing it now.
Been embracing it since the first time I saw him again in that restaurant, if I’m being completely honest.
And no, it’s not too much in my humble opinion. I’m just apparently attracted to someone who’s totallynotmy type.
Well, he was the first guy I had a crush on, so that could be the reason behind the madness.
Or the kissing.
God damn, I’m near bursting with lust, because how the fuck does he kiss this well?
A rush of unease spills through me at the thought of others who’ve experienced the feel of his hypnotizing mouth.
Where I’m always impatient, going for the power of it, Vaughn kisses like he walks, talks, and fucks—with control. He forces me to slow down, kissing me into enchantment, licking the inside of my mouth, tasting me.
Bleedinginto me.
All I can do is follow his lead, allowing him to swallow me whole.
He flips us around so that my back hits the mattress and he’s on top of me, his fingers in my hair, his knee jammed between my legs so close to my aching cock.
Listen, don’t judge. A week is so long.
And I’m weirdly into the fight for power, surprising myself by how prepared I am to let him do whatever the fuck he wants to me.
“You need to learn how to stop provoking me,” he whispers in hot, raspy words against my lips, his voice dripping with lust and anger.
My favorite combination.
Fuck, I love how grumpy he is. How that precious control of his bursts at the seams the moment he touches me.
“Do I?”
His gaze zeroes in on my mouth as I dart my tongue, licking my lower lip. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “You do.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“This mouth.” A growl rumbles from him before his lips seize mine again.
This time, the kiss is brutal and punishing. He sucks hard at my mouth, biting down on my tongue like he wants to eat me the fuck up.
“Why do you taste like the best thing I’ve ever had?” he grunts, sounding half in awe, half annoyed.
“It’s a superpower,” I’m gasping, my tongue dragging over his lips, while my fingers tear across him—slipping beneath his shirt, tracing the sculpt of his chest, the planes of his back. I touch himeverywhereI can.
“Why does it have to be you?” His voice drops to a hushed murmur, more to himself than to me.
“That’s what I’m asking myself as well,” I whisper back.
His eyes flash to mine, plunging deep, so colorful and dark with lust, but the moment passes, and so does the strange look he had.
I’d give anything to be a fly in his brain and know what he thinks.
