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I shoved him back, but only to unzip my coat and fling it. He barely waited, and was back at my jaw, one hand on my throat, tipping my head back. Power, control, leading me.

“God, I’ve missed your hands on me,” I rasped, then showed him how much I’d missed his hands on me by putting his free hand on my dick, through my trousers. His palm immediately ground down. “Yes, fuck!” I clutched at him, fingers knotting in his hair, trying to get him even closer. It wasn’t enough. And now our clothes were getting in the way.

I tore at his shirt, trying to ride it up, but there were buttons and buttons were complicated for my animal brain that wanted just him. No clothes. Just skin.

“Breathe.” He took my hands in his, which meant his hand was off my dick.

I moaned, or groaned, or made a wrecked, impatient noise. His little chuckle brushed my neck, then he eased back and unbuttoned his shirt with precise fingers. I watched each one pop open, dying of Hasegawa thirst. Then his chest was there, and so was my mouth. On him. I nipped, sucked, swept my tongue over a nipple and loved how he came alive under me. I had a free hand now, and dropped it between us, to get a handful of him through his trousers. His groan came out rough, and full of so much raw want that my own dick twitched in sympathy.

This wasn’t going to be some go slow, pretty little romance marathon. Fuck no. I wanted it fast, and it sounded like he did too. The go slow could come later, if there was a later. I didn’t care. I needed the relief of having him, making him come, coming for him. It had been too many goddamn months of just me and my hand and memories of him, so I was fucking having Hasegawa now while I could, because he’d probably snatch it away once he started thinking again.

He lifted me up again, and my legs locked around him, and I was vaguely aware we were moving while I got busy on his shoulder and pec and arm, and anywhere I could reach with my mouth.

He lowered me onto the couch and braced over me, one arm locked, and peered down. Damn, this man. A jawline I wanted to draw, and I couldn’t fucking draw. Lips I wanted to bite. His hair all floppy and out of control. He still looked furious, but in a desperate way.

If he said anything stupid now like, “We can’t do this,” I was going to lose it.

“No thinking?” I suggested. It seemed like a good idea now that he had me on my back.

His mouth twitched around a smile. “No thinking.” He hiked up my sweater, and crawled down my body, kissing a trail lower that had me wanting to crawl out of my skin and climb inside him.

I tore off the sweater, hating that it had been in his way.

His fingers found my fly, made quick work of it, and then his hand was on me through the fabric of my underwear. Then the warmth of his mouth, through the fabric.

“Not enough,” I moaned.

“More?”

“More!”

He tore the underwear off, and took my dick between his lips, into tight, smooth, firm warmth. I arched, moaned, and clutched at the couch, trying not to drive my dick down this throat but also really needing to. I had no idea how the fuck he’d gotten so good at this. Maybe he’d had a whole string of partners? But I doubted it. Maybe he was just good at everything, especially sucking me off, because that mouth was making a mess of my head, heart, and dick. I didn’t want to scare him off, but damn, I needed it deep. And he took it. Repeatedly.

The thrill of seeing Ren Hasegawa going down on me was right up there with witnessing the Olympic flame being lit. I got my fingers into his hair. He had his hand on my hip, holding me back to control my thrusting, which honestly was a good thing. Because left to my own devices, I’d have fucked his mouth like a jackhammer.

Goddamn, I was going to come. Pleasure climbed through me. The relief, right there. But it was too soon. I needed it. Chased it. Not yet!

He pulled off, leaving me scrabbling for words and air and the ecstasy receding, just for a few beats. Then his mouth was on me again, like he knew just when to stop, and when to go hard.

He pulled off again, using his hand to slow things down.

“I’m dying,” I told him. “If you kill me before I’ve beaten you to a gold⁠—”

He took me deep. I arched off the couch, sinking in, and lost control of my thoughts and body, while he worked me higher, toward that peak. Just within reach. So close⁠—

He lifted off, let my aching, leaking dick fall and smirked up the length of me.

“This isn’t fair. If you fucking sneeze right now, I’m coming, you asshole.”

He pressed a finger to my lips. Just like that, like I was meant to be silenced. And maybe I enjoyed it, when his body told me what to do. Then he came up and kissed me to shut me up. His hand went down; fingers clasped my weeping dick. I moaned into his mouth. Goddamn. He shifted, moved, something going on lower, but I was too busy with his mouth to look down.

“Wait . . . hold up.”

He pulled away, stood, and shed his pants in seconds. I got the full NSFW eyeful of Hasegawa in all his beautiful glory, then he was braced over me again. I was mostly naked by now, just my joggers and underwear around my ankles, where they’d gotten stuck. But he was fully naked, and glorious. Lithe, but muscular too. The kinda body that should be painted on canvas and hung in a museum.

He lowered himself, thighs on mine, skin on skin, hip to hip, dicks touching. God help me, I’d forgotten how hot this was with him. Chest to chest, but his full weight still braced. Then his hand dropped between us, gathered our dicks, collected the wetness, and began to stroke them together.

Eye to eye, his hand getting us both off, it was so damn intimate that I saw everything in his eyes. You couldn’t tell me this man didn’t care about this. It was right there, all of it, all the emotion burned in his dark eyes. Hunger, fear, need, restraint. He craved this as much as I did, maybe more.