It went on for what felt like hours but was only minutes before Slade had the presence of mind to pull back.
“I don’t want you here because Carson told you to,” he said, meeting Atticus’s lust-hazed gaze.
“Good. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why?”
Atticus leaned forward and nipped Slade’s chin. “This.”
Slade felt that bite of pain through his entire body. It stirred his blood, made his cock throb in rhythm with his heartbeat. It also triggered the dark hunger that he’d had to repress so often in his life. He often found himself with dominant lovers … his ex-wife, Carson … they had both wanted control, and Slade had given in too easily. It wasn’t like that with Atticus. Here, now, Slade was in control.
“I hope you know what you’re doin’,” Slade warned, grabbing Atticus’s arm and spinning him around.
The next thing he knew, he had Atticus in his arms, his chest pressed to Atticus’s back, one arm draped across Atticus’s torso. He held him there with minimal effort because Atticus wasn’t trying to get away.
Slade nudged Atticus’s head with his chin, urging him to tilt it to the side. When he did, Slade dipped his head and latched onto the sensitive skin of his neck.
“Oh, fuck,” Atticus hissed when Slade sucked hard, leaning into him, gripping his arm as though needing to hold on.
Slade didn’t care that he was going to mark him, that tomorrow, Atticus would walk around with a hickey on his neck.
Atticus’s free hand curled behind Slade’s head, forcing him closer, giving him permission to mark him.
“Slade … oh, fuck … oh,fuck.”
Slade didn’t hesitate; he jerked at the button on Atticus’s jeans, forcing the zipper down. He shoved his hand inside, sliding beneath the soft cotton of his underwear until he found his cock, hard and eager.
Atticus pumped his hips, his grip on Slade’s arm tightening. “Fuck yes.”
“I’m in charge,” Slade growled against his ear, tightening his grip on Atticus’s cock. “I control your pleasure. Not the other way around.”
“Yes,” Atticus panted. “God, yes.”
Slade slowed things down, easing up on his grip as he stroked Atticus from root to tip. “Kick off your shoes.”
Atticus shifted in his arms as he did, but he still held on.
When his last shoe thudded on the floor, Slade started walking backward, keeping his arm securely across Atticus’s chest, the other fisting his cock. Atticus stumbled along with him.
Rather than take him to his bedroom, Slade detoured to his home gym. He paused in the doorway.
“Turn on the light.”
Atticus flipped the switch, the LEDs in the ceiling brightening the space.
Slade backed up a few more steps until they were in front of the wall of mirrors. The sight of them like this, with Atticus in his arms, his eyes glazed with lust, his kiss-swollen lips parted … it was so fucking hot.
“Look at you,” Slade mumbled, staring at their reflections. “I hope you like it rough.”
Atticus’s gaze met his in the glass. “Yes.”
“Good.” Slade stroked him again. “Push your jeans down.”
Atticus shoved at the denim until his jeans circled his thighs.
“Lift your shirt.”
He did.
