Page 74 of Striking Range

Skylar moans, arching his body into mine like a house cat searching for the hand of its owner. “Do it.”

I bite into the flesh of one of his pecs, hearing his hiss of pleasure and pain, a sexy, sadistic mixture. His nipples pebble, giving me exactly what I need to bite them, lick at them like they’re my favorite flavor of ice cream on a hot, sunny day.

Amidst all of the lust and the bliss I’m feeling there is a part of me that is taking the backseat to my desire—and that part is terrified that I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a dream.

That I never left Rockhill; that I never managed to pick myself up off the ground.

Because the feeling of his skin, the sound of his voice, and the reality that he’s here with me and he wants me is so unrealistic, so far out of my realm of possibility that I think I might be hallucinating. I might be dreaming.

I am so happy right now, so incredibly content that I’m scared of it. But it’s taken the backseat; I can fear it tomorrow. Tonight, it’s just him.

It’s all Skylar and nothing else.

Once his nipples are red and sore, I drag my teeth over them painfully. I have no room for gentleness, not tonight. Not with the liquor coursing through my blood, with Skylar beneath me begging to be torn apart.

“Evie,” he gasps. “More.”

I have his pants and briefs off a moment later, my eyes hungrily taking in his leaking cock and trembling thighs.

“More, puppy? You want more?” I coo. He nods frantically, little curls bouncing with the movement as his hands tangle into my hair. “Say please. Tell me how good you feel.”

He groans as I bite at his hip bones, the tip of his dick rubbing against my face. “Please, more, you asshole. I feel good—so fucking good. You always make me feel so fucking good.”

The choked moan that leaves me is obscene. I suck him down, enjoying the taste of him, the hot weight of his length on my tongue.

Skylar is gasping under me, dick pulsing as the tip hits the back of my throat. Instinctively, I swallow around him as I choke, fingers running up the inside of his thighs, closer and closer to his hole with each pass.

I can feel the building tension inside of him. Never quite close enough to come, but close enough to drive him crazy.

Suddenly, a thought comes to me, and I pop off of him to ask, “Do you have lube?”

Skylar shakes his head. Of course he doesn’t; why would he? For some reason, this makes me happy.

“Well,” I continue, “then maybe we don’t—”

“Spit,” he demands.

“But that will hurt. It’s not a good enough lubricant.”

His glare is a fiery thing, lighting me up and going straight to my painfully hard erection.

And then he opens that sinful mouth and says, “Then hurt me, Everett.”

Chapter Fifteen

Skylar Parish

Everett stares up at me from his spot between my legs, most likely doing his best to judge the situation through his drunken stupor. But if anyone knows my body well enough to make this call, it’s me.

I know how sex between two men works, and Everett seems to know enough to succeed in his goal.

I can see it in his eyes as he makes his decision.

He leans up, shoving his middle and pointer fingers into my mouth far back enough to choke me, watching as my spit coats his skin and leaks out onto my chin.

I’m still glaring at him, but this just seems to excite Everett further. He has this manic look in his eyes, a grin curving his plump lips. He’s pumping his fingers in and out.

“That’s it, puppy. Take it,” he praises.