Page 48 of We Are Just Us

Rory groaned low in his throat and kissed him again, desperate now, all pretense of control dissolving entirely. His hips rolled forward, and Kieran felt him through the heavy denim—hard, obvious, and undeniable.

“Bedroom?” Kieran managed to gasp out.

“Now.”

They stumbled down the short hallway, blind and clumsy in the dark, mouths still locked together as feet tangled. Kieran’s sweats were already hauled down his hips by the time the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He kicked them off, sitting back on the bed and looking up at Rory, whose jeans hung open beneath his unfastened belt, his chest heaving as he watched Kieran through the shadows.

“Can I—” Rory started, his voice cracking.

“Yes,” Kieran said before he could even finish the question.

Rory huffed a breathless laugh, stepping closer to the bed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“I don’t care. Yes.”

Rory’s expression shifted, the heat still burning there, but layered now with a tenderness so open it almost hurt to look at. He sank to his knees on the floor.

The sudden change in height made the rest of the room tilt, vertigo washing over him as he looked down.

“These need to come off,” Rory said, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Kieran’s underwear.

Kieran lifted his hips, and Rory pulled them down in one swift motion, tossing them aside. Cool air hit his overheated skin. Kieran resisted the initial, panicked urge to cover himself, hyper-aware of how exposed he was, how hard, how incredibly obvious.

Rory’s breath caught audibly in the quiet room. “You’re killing me, Kieran,” he said. Then he was pressing Kieran’s thighs wider, leaning in, and Kieran’s grip twisted desperately into the sheets.

The first touch of Rory’s mouth was gentle, almost reverent—a light kiss to the inside of Kieran’s thigh that made his entire body shudder. Then another kiss, higher. Closer.

Rory looked up at him through the dark, his eyes searching. “Still good?”

“If you stop, I’ll kill you,” Kieran said, only half-joking, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Rory smiled, his thumb tracing his inner thigh. “Can’t have that.”

He ran his tongue eagerly along the sensitive seam of Kieran’s balls, kissed his inner thigh one last time, and then took Kieran into his mouth.

The world narrowed down to wet heat, intense pressure, and the slick sound of Rory working him with focused, devastating intent. Kieran gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily against the mattress. Rory pressed his hands firmly against Kieran’s hipbones, pinning him down, controlling the rhythm.

It was slow. Torturously, beautifully slow.

Rory took his time, his tongue cataloging exactly what made Kieran gasp, what made him moan, what made his thighs shake against his shoulders.

“Rory,” Kieran choked out, his fingers threading through dark, windblown hair. “Fuck.”

Rory hummed an approval, and the ripple shot straight up Kieran’s spine. It nearly undid him on the spot. Then, Rory’s hand moved lower, cupping him with careful pressure before one finger stroked further back, dragging gently along his opening. The touch was featherlight, it radiated outward through his thighs, his stomach, to the base of his skull. He heard himself make a sound that was closer to a sob than a moan.

Pressure built rapidly, coiling hard in Kieran’s abdomen, spreading through his limbs in a live current. He was close, embarrassingly close, and Rory sensed the shift because he doubled down, hollowing his cheeks and taking him deeper.

“I’m close,” Kieran warned, his fingers tugging at Rory’s hair to pull him back. “Rory, you need to stop—”

Rory didn’t pull off. If anything, he intensified the pace, one palm sliding up Kieran’s stomach, pressing flat against his skin, possessive and anchoring.

The orgasm broke over him deep and total, pulling him under before he could brace for it. Kieran’s back arched off the bed, an unapologetic moan tearing from his throat as he came, his vision whiting out entirely as every muscle in his body seized and released in waves. Rory stayed with him through every bit of it, swallowing, steadying his movements as Kieran shook apart beneath his hands.

When the aftershocks finally subsided, Kieran collapsed backward onto the pillows, gasping for air. Rory kissed his way back up his body—hip, stomach, chest—each press of his lips leaving a trail of intense heat. When he finally reached Kieran’s mouth, Kieran tasted himself on Rory’s tongue. A salty musk. Rory kissed him deeply, hungry for more, as if the taste itself was a prize.

“Holy shit,” Kieran breathed against his mouth, his chest heaving.

Rory grinned, his eyes dark. “Good?”