But above every screaming strand of logic left in me, drowning out every other sound and feeling and sight, are those silken threads of spun gold. The silver flash of his eyes. The gilded rise of his shoulders. There, the pomegranate pink of his lips.
All I can think about is Robin.
Even this morning, barely awake in my bed with the first rays of a new dawn,Robin.
Robin’s kisses, hungry and desperate. The way he bit down on my tongue. I can still taste him. I can feel his hand on my cock.
Rolling onto my back, the thick linen sheets brush over my hardening dick, so I shove my hands beneath my head to try to calm it.
I swore to keep away from him. I tried, but these endless weeks of training have been sheer torture. All the time I’ve spent watching him… I’ve hit him, knocked him down, been so cruel.
And every time, he gets back up. Every time, he looks at me with that flash of hatred in his fine eyes.
Fuck, it turns me on.
Then, as soon as I go near another man, the way he watches me… Curiosity? Wanting? Jealousy?
When I touch him, it’s the way he holds himself for me, like he wants to see how far I’ll go.
He has no idea.
Or maybe he does now…
I want him. I want those beautiful muscles I felt yesterday all laid out for me, strapped up while I fuck him, rough. I want that spark in his eyes, the one I saw suspended in the moment just before we kissed. I want to see his face when I take his cock in my mouth for the first time.
My hand drifts down. I’m just as firm as when he touched me.
I wish I could go to the dungeon right now, find him alone in the gym again.
I’d never give him a chance to speak. I’d kiss him twice as hard, let him know how he dominates my mind, how training with him is a blessing and a curse. How every time I see him, it’s like pure lava is flowing in my veins. How I’ve wished for this, over and over, just once, for him to put me out of my misery.
My hand strokes over my dick exactly as I imagine his would. A firm, calloused grip, but the grip of a man who knows how to handle cock. Not just his own. A man who was born to take dick deep in that pretty mouth of his.
A moan slips out of me, too loud, hollow in this empty room.
I need the sound of his breath to quiet mine, the taste of him stifling my groans.
He’s fresh air and sea salt. He’s granite and blue sky. He’s Atrea.
Robin’s tongue, tangled with mine. Robin’s teeth on my jaw. Robin biting my nipple hard. Robin’s gorgeous mouth, wide open, and my dick fucking into him.
Fuck. Harder. Faster.
Fuck, he’s taking me so well.
His dark eyes looking up at me, a fist full of that silken hair, and I’d fuck him. Fuck him while his fingers dig into my chest, while he holds on for dear life, tears streaming down his pretty face, and…
A sharp groan rips out of my tight throat, cum spurts all over my abs, bathing the white sheets, and I ride the orgasm out, eyes closed, nothing but Robin. Robin. Robin…
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What’s wrong with me?
Why can’t I get this man out of my mind?
And how can he make me come that hard when he’s not even here?
