Page 134 of We Are Just Us

Kieran closed the distance between them, his hands coming up to grip the sides of Rory’s neck, and slammed their mouths together. The kiss was deep and frantic with a fierce kind of weight—all the adrenaline from the driveway instantly turning into pure want.

Without breaking the connection, he guided Rory backward, pressing him down toward the mattress.

Rory unhooked the towel from his waist and blind-tossed it over his shoulder toward the bathroom tile.

Kieran let out a soft, breathless laugh against his lips. “God forbid a wet towel touch the bed.”

“Shut up,” Rory muttered against his mouth, his fingers already digging hard into Kieran’s shoulders as he rolled over and let himself be pinned face-first into the sheets.

Kieran’s hands moved over Rory’s back. Down his spine. Over the curve of his ass. Taking his time.

He grabbed Rory’s hips, pulled him up onto his knees, arching his back.

“God,” Kieran murmured, running his fingers down Rory’s crack, feeling the soft hair against his fingertips. “Your ass is so hairy.”

Rory braced himself. “I know.”

“It’s fucking perfect,” Kieran said, dragging his thumb back up through it. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Rory exhaled, settling back into Kieran’s hands.

Kieran leaned down and breathed in. Rory smelled clean. Soap and skin and nothing else. Then he spread him open and put his mouth on him.

Rory’s face pressed into the mattress, hands fisting in the sheets.

Kieran started slow. Gentle circles with his tongue. Learning what made Rory flinch, what made him open up into it. He was trying to worship. His tongue flattened, licking broad strokes, then pointed, pushing in, testing.

Rory groaned. Raw and broken.

Kieran reached lower, sliding his hand deep between Rory’s thighs. He hooked his pointer and middle finger tightly around the base of Rory’s balls, scissoring them to anchor him and pulled the skin taut. With his thumb perfectly positioned right beneath his fingers, he pressed hard into Rory’s taint, massaging the firm, sensitive ridge in slow, heavy circles while his mouth kept working.

Rory’s whole body went stiff for a fraction of a second before a raw, shuddering gasp punched out of him. His hips twitched violently, instinctively rolling back into the heavy, dual pressure of Kieran’s hand.

Kieran kept going, tongue and thumb working in a synchronized rhythm, building Rory up patiently. There was no rush. No performance.

Rory was making sounds now. Small gasps. Half-formed words. Kieran’s name, repeated like a prayer.

Kieran pulled back to breathe, to look at what he was doing to Rory. This strong, stoic man, shaking and desperate. His.

Then he dove back in, more insistent now. Tongue pushing deeper, hand stroking faster, working Rory from both ends until he was shaking.

“Kieran.” Rory’s voice was wrecked. “I can’t…I need more.”

Kieran pulled back. Reached for the lube on the nightstand with shaking hands. Not from nerves. From want.

He slicked his fingers. Pressed one against Rory’s hole, circling, not pushing in yet.

“Okay?” Kieran asked, voice rough.

“Yes, please. Yes.”

Kieran pushed in. One finger. Rory clenched around him, then opened, yielding to the pressure.

He worked him gently. Adding a second, unrequested finger when Rory’s breathing evened out. Curling them, searching, until he found that spot that made Rory’s whole body jerk.

“Fuck!”

Kieran kept going, slow enough to make Rory soften around him, careful enough to read every place his body gave. He worked him open with patient strokes, listening to the change in Rory’s breathing, the way it went rough and uneven whenever Kieran found the right angle.