Slade stared at Atticus’s smoothly muscled stomach. He was small, and there wasn’t much definition, but he was all muscle. And his cock … it was long and thin, and Slade imagined himself taking that cock deep in his mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything as sexy before.
“I’m gonna enjoy you so much,” he whispered near Atticus’s ear.
Slade stroked Atticus’s cock slowly, firmly, watching Atticus watch him in the mirror. It was insanely hot, but not hot enough. He wanted this man on fire. He wanted him to feel the same firestorm in his blood that Slade felt.
“Don’t move.”
A thrill shot through him when Atticus remained perfectly still.
Chapter Eighteen
Atticus didn’t move a muscle when Sladereleased him. He instantly missed his warmth, but he remained where he was. Somehow, he even managed to stay upright, although every muscle in his body was weak. He couldn’t remember being this turned on before, seeing himself like this. Half dressed, eyes dilated, beard burns on his chin from Slade’s kiss. He looked well-used, and they hadn’t even done anything yet.
He was mesmerized, watching Slade in the mirror as he grabbed Atticus’s shirt, lifted it over his head, and then tossed it to the floor.
Who would’ve thought that watching himself could be so hot? He’d never done anything like this, and he was eager to find out where Slade intended to go with it.
With a rough hand, Slade pushed Atticus’s head down until his chin touched his chest. Then Slade’s mouth was on the back of his neck, sucking, licking, making Atticus gasp. His breath caught in his lungs when Slade began kissing his way down Atticus’s spine as he went to his knees behind him.
Lifting his head, he watched, fascinated by Slade’s bronzed hands sliding over his pale skin as he touched him everywhere. He gasped when Slade bit his ass cheek hard, then tugged his jeans down his legs. He moaned when Slade massaged his ass cheeks while Atticus kicked his feet free of his jeans. And he grinned when Slade took the time to pull Atticus’s socks off his feet, leaving him naked while Slade was still mostly dressed.
Atticus whimpered when Slade kissed the divots at the base of his spine, then let his lips wander higher as he returned to his feet.
This time, when he leaned against Slade, he felt the full heat of his body. They were skin to skin, Atticus’s bare back against Slade’s bare chest.
He could feel Slade watching him as he stared at their bodies in the mirror. Atticus’s chest was heaving with every labored breath as Slade’s fingers drifted lightly across the skin of his hip, then down the sensitive crease of his thigh. Those big, callused hands cupped Atticus’s cock and balls gently, teasing him by lightly caressing with his thumbs.
“I’ve imagined this,” Slade said, teasing the head of Atticus’s cock with his index finger, spreading the pre-cum until his cockhead glistened.
Clearly Slade had a vivid imagination because this was beyond the realm of Atticus’s imagination. Or it had been. Now, he would likely rely on this memory to get him off when he was alone.
Atticus pressed his head back against Slade’s shoulder when the man’s big fingers curled around his cock once again. He stroked him slowly, firmly, as though he knew exactly how much pressure would cause intense pleasure.
“If you can come more than once, I’ll let you come now,” Slade whispered against his ear, gently nipping his earlobe.
Atticus nodded. He had a feeling Slade could make him come a dozen times in one night, and Atticus would suffer through it because even a dry orgasm would be pleasure at this man’s hands.
Slade stepped back, pulling Atticus with him while he continued to stroke him. Atticus managed to keep his feet underneath him, trying to figure out Slade’s intention.
He no longer had to wonder when Slade released him long enough to grab the padded weight bench and drag it forward a few inches. Once again, he grabbed Atticus and pulled him down with him, Slade sitting behind him on the bench.
“Spread your legs.”
Atticus did, allowing them both to watch Slade’s hand as it pumped up and down Atticus’s painfully erect shaft. As more pleasure slammed into him, Atticus put his hands on Slade’s thick thighs, holding on, enduring the onslaught until his spine was tingling.
It was so fucking sexy, seeing Slade, feeling him like this. The man’s warmth at his back, those thick muscles in his arms shifting and flexing as he continued to stroke him.
Slade’s warm breath fanned his ear, but the man didn’t speak. The soft rumble in his chest sounded almost like a purr as he drove Atticus closer and closer to the tipping point.
His slow pace turned fast.
His light grip turned firm.
Atticus felt the tension coiling inside him.
“Yes … oh, fuck … Slade…”
Slade growled, jacking Atticus’s dick furiously.
