Page 31 of When The Dust Settles

I knew that too.

“You know as well as anyone that Rand has a very direct way about him that puts people off right quick, and trying to talk to him about it is like tryin’ to walk snakes.”

God, he was beautiful, and listening to him felt so natural, like we’d been doing this forever. I was going to say something, tell him how I felt, when he squeezed my hips with his thighs and I jolted in pain.

“Oh shit,” he gasped and in seconds he had us trading places, me on top and him below me on the thin padding on the cot. “Better?”

I was sitting with his wide, thick cock nestled between my ass cheeks; I was light-headed, with just the feel of him, that’s how much better it was.

“Maclain,” I whispered.

“Lift up,” he directed me. “Push back just a bit and take the lube in your hand and grease yourself up real good.”

But looking at his length standing rigid and dripping between us, I had other thoughts.

“You’re going to need to lift my legs up on your shoulders when you shove inside me, and I need you to be—”

“Maclain.”

“Glenn,” he said playfully, smiling up at me.

“It doesn’t make you feel….” How was I supposed to ask this?

“Talk to me,” he prodded, reaching up to trace over my left eyebrow.

I smiled down at him. “You like my face.”

He nodded. “I do. I trip over things when I’m walking whenever you look at me.”

“No. That’s me. I trip all the time.”

“When you’re tired and worn out, yes,” he agreed. “But not normally. You run at night in the dark, honey. You’re pretty fuckin’ coordinated.”

I glared down at him. “How come you’re only saying nice things to me now?”

He reached behind me and pinched my ass. “Because you’re naked, and I don’t just mean that you’ve got no clothes on.”

“What?”

“I see you,” he said pointedly. “You try so hard at everything. And some of it’s shit like trying to be as big as the other men in your family when clearly you were made leaner, smaller, with them long lashes and big eyes and that mouth that makes my dick hard just lookin’ at it.”

A pulse ran through me, and the lube I’d squirted out and dumped in my palm got slathered on his dick instead of mine. I wanted to stroke his flesh, not my own.

“You try to carry all the people who work for you on your back.”

“How do you—”

“I’ve been in there to eat. I talk to them, but mostly I listen.”

“I’ve never seen you.”

“You’re always running. Literally.”

“Are you stalking me?” I asked hopefully.

“I check on you,” he conceded.

“What’s the difference?” I asked, squeezing his cock, tugging gently, watching as it seeped pearlized drops of precum.