“You smell like hunger.”My cock kicks, jabbing into his fist as I climb the high.
“It’s Old Spice body wash.”
“Ah.Vintage daddy issues.”
“At least mine washes off.Yours is permanent.”
“Mine is dead.”
“And you’re next.”Every tendon in his neck pulls tight.Shadows carve down his arms, flexing through the fabric of his shirt, biceps thick and knotted as if he’s trying to hold himself back.
Fuck, he’s beautiful like this.Sex-crazed and cracking.Nothing exists beyond his heat, his hand on my shaft, and the taste of his hunger.
He sucks at my mouth, biting hard enough to break skin.It’s as rough and greedy as his stroking fist.He’s trying to split me open and wring me dry, and it’s pissing him off that I’m not spilling all over him yet.
Good.Let him work for it.
“You’re fucking toxic.”He deepens the kiss, suffocating me with it, pressing in with teeth and tongue.
“Then let me kill you slowly,” I rasp against his mouth, drawing him back in, surrendering fully to this irresistible, destructive force between us.
Our gazes lock as we kiss, sparks igniting, a silent war of wills and desires.The air between us grows hotter, charged with secrets, threats, and unstoppable attraction.I’m everything he despises, and he’s everything I crave.
Blood pounds in my ears as he releases me to shove a hand down his pants.Popping the button, he frees himself.And just like that, his hot, swollen, massive erection is out of the closet and leaking all over me.
He’s frantic with it, his gasps spilling into my mouth, and his fingers fumbling like his body is moving faster than his brain.
A few clumsy adjustments, and he has both our waistbands shoved past our knees, our lower legs tangled, and our cocks bumping, dripping, and rubbing together.
His long fingers circle our dicks, joining us in the hot stroke of his fist.The feel of his burning hard length against mine sets my skin on fire as he works us into a consuming rhythm.
He’s as thick as me.And longer.With each brutal pump, his grip struggles to keep us fused.I want to help him.I want to take control.But I made a promise.
No touching.
Opening his lips, he feasts on my mouth and swallows all my air.My fever rises to scalding degrees.His thigh painfully rubs my tattoo, and I don’t fucking care.
Bent over me, he gives me the pace I crave, working me with his hand, his tongue plunging and taking.
I’m gone, drowning beneath the coiled power of his body, the wild force of it.He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to me, and that’s the worst part.He’s a loaded weapon, and I’m the target.
We grind together, flexing, panting, and working ourselves up, harder, closer, faster…
“Oh, fuck, yeah.”I feel the sudden, explosive spill of release.His.Mine.We come at the same time, groaning into a sloppy, frenzied kiss.
My eyes roll back in my head, and for a second, I pass out.Until a hand smacks my face, wrenching me back to consciousness.
“Don’t die yet.”He climbs off me and straightens his clothes.“I need answers first.”
Boneless, I can only lie there, arms trembling and vision sparking with aftershocks.
I feel high.Quiet in my head for the first time in forever.No noise.No rage.No guilt gnawing at my ribs.Just floaty and fucked-out, every inch of me humming with the electric shimmers of a really intense orgasm.
He stands over me, trying like hell to pull his pretty mask into place, but it’s useless.His body gives him away.The shifting muscles, twitching jaw, flushed skin… It’s all there.His desire to repeat what we did.The urge to deny his attraction to men.The trauma he doesn’t talk about.And the ever-present impulse for violence.
He’s a ruthless, sexual creature, and he hasn’t scratched the surface of what he wants.Or who he wants.Men.Women.Pain.Pleasure.He’s tasting it all for the first time and doesn’t know he’s starving.
Breathtaking.Addicting.He’s my new obsession.
