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I breathe through my nose. Let him see me giving in.

“That’s what you want?” he asks, but it is not really a question anymore. It’s his control fraying. “You wanna take it?”

I hum around him. His hips jerk.

“Fuck, Paul.”

He pulls free with a wet gasp, cock shining, jaw tight.

“I’m gonna fuck you right here.”

It isn’t a question, and I don’t treat it as one.

My hands go to my belt, then my button, then my zipper. I push my pants and underwear down to my knees, fast and clumsy, the fabric catching at my thighs. I grab the nearest throw pillow from the couch and drop forward, face against it, knees spread as far as my clothes allow.

“Condoms are by the bed.”

“Fuck.” He turns toward the hall. Then, lower, almost to himself as he goes, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I hear drawers open in the bedroom.

I wait, ass up and face down. Knees aching. A position so plain that there’s no room for misunderstanding.

For one reckless second, I imagine telling him to forget the condom. Imagine feeling him bare. Nothing between us. No polite line. Taking him all the way and keeping what he gives me.

I want it with a hunger that scares me.

Then Clint is back behind me. The lube bottle clicks open. I feel his heat before his hand touches me.

I look over my shoulder.

He is already wearing the condom, cock hard and dark and swinging between his thighs, his face flushed, his chest moving fast. He sees me looking and his expression shifts.

“Jesus.”

I turn my face back into the pillow.

“Fuck me,” I say, and that’s the last command I’ll give.

His hand closes on my hip. He slicks his fingers, and when he touches me, there is no cautious little circle, no clinical patience. He presses. Finds the place. Pushes in.

I gasp into the pillow.

His breath shudders out of him. One finger slides deeper, curling, working me open while his other hand holds me down. Not mean, or soft—just certain.

He adds more lube, then a second finger, and the stretch burns sweet and sharp. My cock presses against the fabric trapped beneath me, aching and useless. I could reach for it, but I don’t. I want this need to have nowhere to go.

“Look at you.” His voice is lower than I have ever heard it. I almost come from that alone. “Paul Benton is on the floor waiting for my cock.”

I push back against his fingers.

“Yes.”

“That the rich-boy word for please?”

A laugh tears out of me, half-wrecked.

“Yes.”