“Are you covered up?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I want you to pull the sheet slowly—”
“Blanket,” Atticus corrected, although as soon as the word was out, he wasn’t sure why it mattered.
Carson chuckled. “Slowly pull the blanket down. Let it scrape against your nipple.”
Atticus glanced at the closed door to Slade’s room, praying the man didn’t come out because once he started this, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. The last thing he wanted was to make things weird with Slade.
He pulled the blanket down his torso, leaving his lower half covered.
“Now lick the tip of your finger and drag it over your nipple. Imagine that’s my tongue.”
Atticus did as Carson instructed, moaning as he imagined the man’s mouth on him.
“I won’t stop there,” Carson continued. “Imagine my lips trailin’ down your stomach while I pull the blanket back to reveal your beautiful cock.”
Beautiful? Atticus wasn’t sure his dick qualified as beautiful. Granted, it wasn’t gross or ugly either, so yeah, he’d go with it.
Atticus’s cock flexed and twitched, tenting the blanket. His hand followed the imaginary movement, pushing the blanket aside and shoving his boxers down until he was fisting his erection.
“I’m gonna take you in my mouth, Atticus. I’m gonna suck and lick until you’re beggin’ for mercy. Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “God, yes.”
“Is your cock hard?”
“So fuckin’ hard.”
“Mine, too. I’m strokin’ it, Atticus. I’ve jacked off three times today thinkin’ about you. It’s drivin’ me crazy. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”
Two months ago, according to Carson’s admission last night. Whether that was true, Atticus didn’t know, but he couldn’t fathom why Carson would lie.
“Wrap your fist tightly around yourself and stroke your dick for me, Atticus.”
He groaned softly, tugging and rubbing while Carson’s smooth, raspy voice sounded in his ear.
“Fuck, I wish you were here,” Carson said, the tension in his voice growing. “I want you beneath me. I want to slide my dick inside you. I want to feel that tight ring squeeze me while I push deeper. I wanna look you in the eye while I do so I can see the pleasure on your face.”
Atticus was going to come. He’d never done this before. Never had a man tell him what he wanted to do to him. Most of his encounters were cut and dry. Fucking for the sake of fucking. Limited pleasure. Nothing like this. The anticipation was building, and Atticus knew even if he came right now, it wouldn’t matter. He would be hard for Carson come morning. He would be thinking about this moment for days.
“I want you to come for me, Atticus. I want you to come when I do.”
He grunted again. “I’m so fucking close, Carson. Oh, God.”
“I wish you were here,” Carson said. “I want you in my bed. Fuck. I need to touch you, to taste you. I wannafeelyou.”
He listened to Carson ramble, loving the sound of his voice, the desperation in his tone. Atticus felt it. The tension was building, drawing his body tighter and tighter until he thought he would snap.
“I’m gonna come,” Carson groaned. “Fuck. Atticus…”
That was it. The sound of his name on Carson’s lips snapped his restraint. Atticus managed to cover his dick with his other hand seconds before he came, warm spurts shooting into his palm.
“Jesus, Atticus. I hope like hell you’re comin’ back soon.”
He grinned into the darkness. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he had someone worth going home to.
