“I’ve been gone on you for months, pretending everything you do doesn’t make me fall that much more in love with you. Yes, I’m a fiend. But not just any fiend. I’m a fiend for you.”
He halted mid-stride.
“What?” I asked, unsure of what to make of the expression that had taken over his face.
“Love?”
Oh.
Shit.
I hadn’t meant to say that. The confession had been torn loose by momentum and my overzealous libido, unable to be contained any longer. And now it was out there, a bell unable to be unrung.
“Yeah. Love. I love you, Luke. I tried not to, but you had to keep being your wonderful self and I couldn’t stop myself from falling.” There. I’d said it twice now. This time on purpose. “You don’t have to say it back. I know this is a newer development for you than for me. I’m sorry if I made things—”
His lips stole the rest of the sentence, as he walked me backward into a lamp post, the kiss a little wild and full of fervent emotion, connection distilled into touch.
“We need to get back now,” he growled. Not a grumble this time. A true possessive growl. Where Vincent’s brand of possessiveness had been, ‘you’re mine, now cut off all contact with everyone you know outside me, and if you dare talk to anyone without my permission, I will treat it as if you cheated,’ Luke’s was, ‘you’re mine, now let me protect you and shower you with attention and affection.’
By the time we made it back home, the head downstairs was hot to go and ready to play, no foreplay required.
We stumbled into the bedroom, mouths connected in passion. We’d exchanged sensual kisses—heated, heavy, hungry, and suggestive too—but these kisses were everything. Christ, and they were hot. So hot. The core of the earth. Volcanic.
As we reached the bed, he began the tantalizing task of undressing himself. I should have been doing the same but I’d become weirdly fascinated by the prominent bluish-green vein I followed from his forearm down to his hand.
His fingers moved to the waistband of his jeans, working the button free with unhurried precision. I didn’t think he meant to tease, but the way his hips shifted and the lazy pull of his zipper, descending tooth by tooth to expose the swell encased in his boxer briefs, certainly felt like it.
I stared, awestruck. That was not just a bulge. It wasthebulge. The stuff of wet dreams and cinematic porn. A masterpiece of suggestion. Of promise.
With torturous slowness, he pulled down the elastic of that last article of clothing covering him. I swear I heard time crack as it fractured around me. Split cleanly into two distinct realities, everything before this exact instance and now. Now, where I stood inches away from seeing him completely.
My breath hitched as he revealed each new section, my focus on nothing but this moment, this view, this unveiling.
And finally, there he was.
His cock jutted upward, proud and powerful, flushed a ruddy hue that made my mouth water. Thick and heavy, veined with that same blue-green that ran along his forearms, it arced toward his navel with exquisite confidence. When we were showering the other night, I’d been too focused on everything else and hadn’t been able to appreciate it. And it was a model cock, worthy of appreciation. Magnificent, commanding, irrefutably beautiful. Of course it was. It belonged to Luke, the most captivating man I knew. It stood to reason that his dick would have the same allure as the rest of him.
I wanted him in my mouth like yesterday. Like last week. This cock, his cock, was made to be worshipped. And I intended to show him how much.
Once I found myself equally bare, I laid him out on the king-sized bed, kissing him as we went, then climbing over him, straddling his hips.
With one hand free to explore his body, the fingertips of my other trailed up the length of him. “I want to take this cock into my mouth and ruin you until you’re exploding inside me. Is that alright?”
“Jesus Christ, there’s no way I can say no when you offer it like that.”
“You’d be a fool to,” I said, my voice dropping. “I told you I love blow jobs. And I’m going to prove it. I’m going to lick you slow, suck you deep, until you forget how to breathe. Until you’re shaking and spilling into my mouth because there’s nothing left of you to give but pleasure.”
Luke’s breath hitched, chest rising beneath my palm. “Uh, yeah, so I think I just became afraid for my life. Because you’re going to do things, amazing, holy-shit things, and I don’t know if I’ll survive it.”
“You’ll survive,” I murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “But you might not be able to get up when I’m done with you, you’ll be so boneless and strung out on bliss.”
His laugh morphed into another hitching breath as I began by placing kisses at the center of his palm and trailed up his arm. Kissing the soft underside of his forearm, I moved upward to the crease of his elbow, then the firm line of his bicep, before continuing my journey to the strong slope of his shoulder.
From there, I moved along the line of his collarbone, marveling at the way he trembled beneath each touch. His breath stuttered, then caught again when I reached the front of his neck. I pressed my lips there, feeling the leap of his pulse beneath my mouth as I kissed up the column of his neck, the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth again, and then both of his cheeks.
Dazed eyes looked at me, his pupils wide, mouth slack.
Leaning in until my breath ghosted over his lips, I whispered, “Close your eyes, honey. I only want you to feel this, everything I’m going to give you.”
