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I moved my mouth down his neck to his chest and sucked on one of his nipples, tweaking the other between my fingers, all the while not letting up with the roll of my hip against his dick. He tilted his hips up into me, seeking more friction, but every time he came close, I pulled back and weakened the press of our bodies.
His breath came in shallow pants, and both of his hands twisted into my hair and tugged. His legs finally wrapped around my back as he arched up into me again.
I reached down to open his pants before shoving my hand inside to feel his long, thick shaft. The fabric of his boxer briefs was damp with precum, which turned me the fuck on even more than discovering the size of his package or feeling the heat of him in my hand.
“You wet for me?” I grumbled as I moved my mouth down his chest to his happy trail. “Leaking all over yourself, hmm? That’s good. I like that. Show me how much you want this.”
“Fuck.” Reagan’s breathing was hoarse, and his hands trembled when he grabbed at my arm. How long had it been since this man had been in bed with someone else? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen someone so desperate for release. “Please, Mr.— I mean, Tha— I mean, mmpfh.”
His attempts to figure out what to call me made me want to laugh despite the need swamping me because I understood his frustration. Despite being very much not a kid anymore, he’d always called me Mr. Pennington—maybe his own way of keeping distance between us—but that felt silly in this moment. Calling me Thatcher, though, made this encounter a little too real.
I did him a solid by making sure he didn’t have to speak in full sentences at all.
I ran the tip of my tongue down through the rough hair of Reagan’s lower belly, admiring the tight, sculpted, youthful abs and inhaling the musky scent of his groin. His pants and underwear came down slowly, only enough to unveil his cock to me little by little so I could tease him with my tongue along the way.
“Fucking fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Masochist. Asshole. Christ.”
I smiled darkly. Looked like Reagan had solved his little name problem.
“Give me… please… just… oh god…”
He writhed on the bed, still running his fingers through my hair. The slight scratch of his nails on my scalp made my skin prickle.
I took his thick cock into my mouth and ran my tongue around it hungrily, enjoying the sound of him choking as he nearly swallowed his tongue. He shouted a deep curse into the room and cupped my head to gently hold it in place.
Good boy.
I gazed up at him and drank in the sight of his open mouth, the divots between his eyebrows as he stared down at me, and the impossibly intense gaze from those fucking incredible eyes.
One night won’t be enough.
The words rushed unspoken through my head as I surrounded myself with the taste and smell and sound of him.
Too bad, I told myself firmly, shoving those thoughts back into whatever dark recess of my brain they’d escaped from. One night is all there is.
Even if it were possible to ignore Reagan’s age, he was my friend’s son… and, admittedly to a lesser extent these days, my son’s friend. He was my employee. He was spoiled and immature, flighty and attention-seeking—or, as Patricia called it, “a bit… temperamental, you understand.” Reagan Wellbridge was the dictionary definition of a bad idea, even if I hadn’t sworn off entanglements altogether…
And I had.
“Fuck me, please,” Reagan begged in a broken voice, drawing me out of my thoughts and right back into a vortex of passion. “Need it. Need this. Need…”
The you was unspoken, but I heard it, and my dick throbbed instinctively.
I sucked him off until he spilled hot and sticky into my throat, and without giving him time to recover—or giving myself time to overthink—I proceeded to tease and finger his sweet ass until he was ready for more.
The rest of our clothes ended up on the floor, and there was nothing left between us but sweaty skin, breathless curses, and pleas. Our hands and mouths searched out every inch and crevice of skin to enflame and devour. I dragged rough fingers over his nipples and sucked a bruise just below the enormous phoenix tattoo on his thigh, marking him… at least temporarily.
In some ways, this was familiar to me: hard cocks, low grunts and moans, seeking release with my tongue in another person’s mouth. But in so many other ways, it was strangely different.
Reagan was tall and muscular, masculine and hard, but he let me move his body exactly where I wanted it. He let me command him, but I also had the sense he wasn’t about to obey me blindly. It was almost like a game, like he was testing the very idea of letting me tell him what to do. At any minute, he could bark out a laugh and throw me over onto my back before becoming the aggressive pursuer.
That excited me in a way that was unexpected. My dick ached for him, for completion inside his tight body. I imagined shoving him onto his stomach and fucking him from behind, feeling the impossible clench of him around me while I came deep inside him. My brain boiled, consumed with the image, but I couldn’t stop kissing him long enough to flip him over.
We ended up frotting frantically, my hips forcing our shafts to slide against each other until I had to fumble in the bag on my nightstand for lube just to ease the way.
The feeling of his hands on me, the little sounds emerging from his throat, the heat of his mouth as he licked at my chin, my earlobe, my neck, my fingers, any part of me he could reach, brought me to the brink faster than I’d thought possible. So much for entering him and making the most of our one and only night together. I couldn’t wait. I gripped us both in a fist and shuttled my hand up and down while continuing to kiss him until my lips were raw from his stubble.
“Come for me,” I growled. “Now.”
