Holy shit holy shit holyshitholy—
He sucks me down again and I manage one more labored breath before my body disintegrates, a rapid, relentless fire. He doesn’t slow his rhythm, doesn’t let up the suction so I can’t help the wail I make, painfully taut. My hands collapse down and I jam my fingers in his hair, holding him in place to drag out the reverberations. He swallows obscenely and hums, content,greedy.
Slowly, he stands, a satisfied grin on his face. I haul him into me and kiss him, needing to taste him, the proof of what he did on his tongue. He opens for me, hands clamping to my hips until he pushes me back against the wall and tips his head away with a long, vulgar lick over his bottom lip.
“One,” he says. “How many will it take to shut up that mouth after all?”
“God, you’re a cruel ass.” But I’m yanking at the strings on his sweatpants.
“You love it when I’m a cruel arse.”
“Fuck you.” I shove him back a step and topple to my knees, boxers and pants caught around my ankles, but grace was never meant to be a part of this. The wounds on my knees are barely healed, but the pain of dropping down on them is minimal—I’m a tunnel-focused creature of will and yearning, shelled out in a way I know I’ll be craving for the rest of my life.
There is only this moment.
There is only me having to kiss every one of the freckles on his hips, lips smearing through paint to leave a trail of clumsy marks across the plane of his stomach.
His smug-ass look burns down at me, drives me faster, harder,until I yank his pants to his knees and I’m there, at the root of him, sucking his long, thick cock down without pretense.
One of my hidden talents: a complete lack of gag reflex, and even with how long he is, I have him all the way down my throat on the first thrust. I swallow, hold the muscles tight, and he actually, finally, gasps.
“Shite,Kris—”
The high of his gasp sculpts my focus to getting more of that noise out of him, which is a much-needed lighthouse.Realizingwhat I’m doing to him—the taste of him, the feel of him in my mouth, the warmth and the musk and the way he’s rocking subtly into me—has me on the edge again, and I’ll be damned if I give him another one from me so easily.
He grips my hair, at first gently twining it in his fingers, then wrenching it tight when I swallow on each bob of my head.
“Christ, Kris. So good, so fucking perfect on your knees for me.” His panted words are juxtaposition, coarse silk, his thumb coming to rest on the edge of my mouth. “I knew your lips would look sexy wrapped around me like this.”
I moan.Fuckdo I moan, and I’m glad his studio is buried so damn deep in the castle.
My eyes water as I gaze up at him, his muscles writhing over me, his freckled skin coated in paint gone to wine-dark streaks. I understand in watching him, in memorizing the flow and twist of his body, why he paints. It’s this, that’s what he’s trying to capture, the collision of ardency and rigidity in the way a body can be both wound to strain and sparking with motion.
His breathing escalates. Redness seeps across his chest, a brilliant cherry contrast under that paint, and he cradles my jaw.
“You gonna finish me off?” The question is a breathy gasp, a warning.
I don’t stop, can barely nod, so I hum assent, take him all the way down, and hollow my cheeks.
A final shuddering gasp, his hands twisting in my hair, and he comes, the sensation of his release and watching,feelinghim, shunting me into orbit.
I pull away, the back of my hand dragging over my swollen lips, and his eyes have gone glassy, half-lidded.
Emotions fight to surface, too many, too much, hitting me haphazard and making me aware of my bare skin.
“One for you,” I say instead of anything real, and I cock my head, feigning listening. “Is that… silence I hear? All it took wasonefor the mighty Lochlann to—”
He dives down on me, brute force pushing me flat out on the drop cloth, our bodies connecting in a wave of delicious heat.
“Are you backtalking me, boyo? See how that works out for you, go on.”
“Oh, I’m terrified.”
He kicks his sweatpants off and I work my shoes and clothes away too, then he’s back on me, the tarp cold against my spine. I kiss him and my body lights up in pyrotechnics when he splays himself over me, skin on skin that makes us both tremble. He alternates bites and kisses down across my chest, working in such a skillful rhythm of pain and pleasure that I thrust involuntarily against him, grasping, driving, and his weight bears down and digs right back.
He’s brutal and he’s sweet and he’s one talented motherfucker in absolutely everything he does, and I relent and tell him that in some sort of fever. And he tells me, too, he talks until I swear the murmur of his voice is enough to shove me over the cliff.
But I’m off the cliff already, body and soul tumbling into cloudy ether. I’ve been falling for some time, helpless and weightless, a plunge in the moments where our eyes connect. I’m falling, falling, and he glides his arm under my back and braces me and I think, maybe, the final landing won’t hurt.
