Mouth on my neck, he spasms, and I wish I could record the noise he lets loose. That hoarseness, that grind.
He pulls upright and it still feels like he’s one thought from comingto his senses, but I can’t be senseless alone. I know I should talk him through whatever is keeping him restrained, but in the wreckage of the past twelve hours, all that’s left when his hands and mouth are on me is Edenic need.
I’ve been trying to let myself be selfish.
He is the pinnacle of that, pure living wish-fulfillment.
His forehead rests on my shoulder. Water pounds down on us, cooling slightly, but the warmth between us stays cosmic, the wild collisions in deepest space that create their own heat, create their own suns.
Feather-light kisses trail up my throat. When he gets to my ear, he exhales, and I feel it over me, in me.
“I’ll prove myself to you, Kris,” he promises. “I’ll be worthy of you now.”
He nuzzles the side of my head and groans, rutting against me in the wash of the water and the interstellar intensity. We’re both steel-hard and the water eases the grind somewhat, but it’s not enough, not now.
“Dry off and get on the bed,” he commands, and every nerve in my body swerves online, a ruthless plunge of attention that banishes all other awareness.
The water squeals off behind me and I stumble out of the shower, grabbing the nearest towel and drying myself in half-assed obedience. We spill into the bedroom, both mostly drenched, but the bed swallows me up as he pushes me down on it and his body is there, stretched over mine.
He’s not just wish-fulfillment, he’s an intoxicant, and I’m blackout drunk on him.
Our dicks align and we groan simultaneously, riding the motion of a need that never went away last night, was never satisfied, the sweetest eternal decay.
“Christ,Kris.” Loch pushes up over me and his look is so dark with need I can see galaxies in him. “Supplies?”
I squirm out from under him and he leans back on his heels to let me go.
But as I crawl off the bed, a sharp crack cuts through the room.
I yelp.
“Did you—” I gape at him. “Did you smack my ass?”
His eyes sparkle. “Lightly.”
“Lightly?”
“To get you tohurry your arse up.”
“How is that going to make me want to do anything other than dive right back into bed?” But I’m already rummaging in my suitcase.
Loch makes a strangled noise. I glance over at him, and he’s watching me with narrow amusement.
“I canna tell if you’re serious. Is that something you want?”
I shrug. “Not anything too painful, but I meant what I said earlier. I want whatever you want to do with me.That”—I motion towards the floor, back to his studio—“that was perfect.”
It’s a heavy admission. I hear it as soon as I say it, the power I’m giving him with this knowledge.
He’s quiet. Eyes searching mine.
I’m worried I’ve fucked up the mood again when he smiles.
“I meant what I said too,” he whispers. “I will prove myself to you. You give me too much trust.”
That’s so obvious I don’t even have to agree. We both know it, feel it deep beneath whateverthisis.
I toss a condom and a small bottle of lube on the bed next to him.
