“Mmmffffuuuck!” He nodded feverishly. “Yes. Please.”
I planted one hand on the mattress over his shoulder. He did something that nearly unraveled me. He leaned his cheek against my wrist like a cat craving affection, his lips leaving a damp kiss against my hammering pulse.
My free hand swept up his back, rubbing a line with my thumb along the valley of his spine until I came to the base of his neck. I tangled my fingers in his hair, briefly massaging his scalp until he was practically purring.
“And you warned me you might be a tragic lay,” he whispered, his voice husky.
I untangled my hand and instead wound his plait around my fist, silky andright. “I haven’t made you cum yet.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s about the journey, not the desti—NAY—tionnghh.”
I pulled his hair, forcing him to crane his neck and look at me, his freckled cheeks tinged pink. I started moving again just to see his eyes roll back and his mouth fall open. He looked better than I’d envisioned.Felta lot better.
Leaning down, I indulged in putting my mouth to the vein that stood out on the side of his exposed neck. I could taste his heartbeat, the salt on his skin. I wanted to bite down. Leave a mark. Like a lover’s graffiti to say,I was here.
I didn’t normally have those inclinations. Maybe it was the stress of the day, or the length of time I’d gone without a solitary, passing touch, or maybe it was the proximity of the strid, its waters singing just outside the window.
I didn’t care. I’d needed this.
Kessian said, “Yes. Bite me.”
If he’d somehow read my mind, I was too turned on to ask. I opened my mouth against the column of his throat and let him feel the graze of my teeth before applying pressure. He shuddered under me, clenching around my cock, and I could tell from the desperate way he threw his hips back, the way he said, “Don’t stop,” that he was close.
I chased that finish, but by then each of my hedonistic urges had been well-received, and now I only had one more: I wanted his mouth on mine while I brought him to the brink.
I loosened my grip on his hair, palming the back of his head with his plait still looped around my hand. He had to crane his neck and angle his mouth against mine. It should have been awkward. Uncomfortable. But his lips parted for my tongue, and his moans tasted sweet, and his body went buttery under mine as he shuddered with climax.
When he melted into stillness, I said, “Roll over.”
He did. His body welcomed me back inside. Both his arms and legs wound around me as I worked up to my own orgasm.
It didn’t take long. His eyes were dark with pupil, hooded, and holding my gaze, until I kissed him again and finally, finally let go.
My loud current of thoughts went blissfully quiet, but not for long. Kessian’s fingers ran through my hair while we kissed.
Usually, when we’d both gotten what we needed, me and my rare, ill-fated encounters would end.
I needed to roll over. Clean myself up. Get ready to go. I could indulge in hair pulling and neck biting and even kissing while we both came, but I couldn’t risk cuddling and pillow talk. Not whengoodbyeswere the universal conclusion to any brief moments of intimacy I could scrape out of the cracked road I’d been running on most of my life.
But he kissed me like he was savoring the taste of something new.
Rain tapped on the window as if to say,Stay a while.
I said, “I should go.”
In doing so, I’d broken the kiss. Kessian tilted his head, looking at me through his lashes. “I was going to ask how long before you’re up for round two.”
His tongue dipped between his lips, still tasting me there, and I must have gone mad. I had to be mad. Because I kissed him again. I let him pull me back down, all that sweaty, flushed skin against mine, and I forgot—idiot, you can’t ever forget—what I was running from.
Then I noticed it. It was admittedly difficult to notice anything but the satin of Kessian’s mouth moving against mine, but a frisson of unease worked its way through.
The tapping on the window. It sounded too even, too punctuated, too sharp for rain.
Kessian started kissing my jaw, working his way toward the spot he’d marked. I risked a glance toward the window.
A dark branch of a sapling splintered like black lightning across the upper-right corner. It didn’t move with the erratic rhythm of a tree caught in the wind, though. It tapped evenly against the window.
One, two, three.
