Page 245 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

Feels like he’s shaking apart from the inside out.

The thrill of nerves bleeds together with delayed-fuse desperation.

Kade bites his own lip a little too hard and tastes a different kind of salt mingled with iron, but holy fuck, who cares about that, because…

Because Lachlan works his waistband down just enough to wrap a rough hand around Kade’s dick in the flesh, no clothes, no barriers between them. He’s touching him like he knows him and he does. He fucking does. Up and down in a new way, thumb spreading precome and playing with the slit in an almost absent-minded fashion before he bends to lick the head.

Kade’s eyes roll all the way back.

The dark lavender skies roll away with them.

‘Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he moans, fingers digging into gravel.

‘Heaven,’ Lachlan murmurs, running his flat tongue all the way up, and then he swallows it inside that hot, wet mouth with no hesitation or rush. Such confident handling. There’s such a degree of knowing in how he does this that it drives Kade sweetly insane.

It makes fire snakes in his middle, writhing, burning.

A scarred palm planes possessively over Kade’s chest as Lachlan relaxes his throat and takes him deeper, deeper, fuck, oh fuck, until there’s nowhere deeper left to go and the tip of his dick can feel the wet clenching.

Kade makes a weird noise, ragged and weak.

His fingers dig into the rooftop, gathering grit into his palm to crush it.

The stars above are dancing before his eyes when he opens them.

It’s dangerously good.

The kind of thing that could so easily become addictive.

Lachlan’s hand stays firmly over his heart, like he’s measuring each beat.

Kade is babbling nonsense, gone soft inside and rigidly taut on the outside, desperate for more, for anything and everything.

Then Lachlan starts to move.

Kade pretends he didn’t just make a weird, watery squeak, shuddering as if absorbing a pleasurable kind of shock. That scalding mouth moves all the way up and down each time, bottoming out with every deliberate descent. The rhythm is measured, not quite fast or hard enough, but still more than Kade’s ever felt in his life, and the abstract knowledge of what’s happening drives him fucking wild.

He’s getting his dick sucked.

It’s obscene. It’s beautiful. It’s fucking crazy.

This immortal psychopath is sucking his cock so good that Kade’s whimpering like it hurts, and it kind of does. It’s too good, too much, sensory overwhelm that guts him lovingly.

Undone beneath the mouth of a killer.

Kade opens his hands, grit dug deep into his palms, so he rubs it off against his hips before reaching down to touch Lachlan’s hair. The touch draws a low moan from Lachlan that vibrates up the full length of Kade’s cock, resonating at the base of his balls.

Looking down, mouth poised to ask, Kade finds Lachlan’s eyes already on him.

He nods, moans again.

Kade pushes his fingers into Lachlan’s overgrown dark hair, any potential curls dragged loose by their own length. He tangles himself there, biting his lip bloody, so painfully, achingly turned on as he watches Lachlan do what he’s doing.

And Lachlan likes that; Kade can tell.

He likes Kade’s eyes on him.

The former bodyguard smiles around Kade’s dick.