"Off," he growled against my lips, and I yanked his shirt over his head, needing to feel him, all of him.
We collided with the dresser, sending something crashing to the floor—a lamp, maybe. I didn't care. His skin burned against mine, every point of contact electric. I pressed him back against the wall, my mouth closing over the fluttering pulse in his throat.
"Rafael," he breathed, and hearing my name like that, rough and desperate, sent heat flooding through me.
His hands fumbled with my belt, and I helped him, shoving my pants down while he quickly discarded the last of his clothes.
He looked like something from a painting in the dim light, all golden skin and serpentine tattoos that seemed to writhe as his muscles moved. I couldn't get enough of him, couldn’t stop touching him, wanting him.
"Bed," I managed, but we only made it halfway before I had him pressed against the wall again, my teeth finding the junction of his neck and shoulder. He cried out, his nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood.
"Harder," he gasped, and I bit down until I tasted copper, marking him as mine. His whole body shuddered against me, his cock hard and leaking against my stomach.
I pulled back to look at him. His lips were swollen, neck already blooming with bruises, eyes glazed with want. "Turn around."
He obeyed instantly, bracing his hands against the wall. I pressed against his back, my cock sliding between his thighs as I bit the nape of his neck, then lower, leaving a trail of marks down his spine.
He pushed back against me, trapping my cock between his thighs, the heat and pressure making my vision blur. I groaned into his shoulder as I fucked the tight space between his legs. His muscles flexed with each thrust, drawing desperate sounds from my throat that I couldn't hold back.
"Christ," I gasped, my control fraying. The friction was maddening, so good but not enough, never enough. My hands gripped his hips hard enough to bruise as I chased the sensation, feeling him tremble against me with each slide.
I couldn't take it anymore. I hooked an arm under his chest and another behind his knees, lifting him easily despite his surprised yelp. "Bed. Now."
"Impatient," he murmured, but his voice was breathless.
I laid him on his back, drinking in the sight of him marked with my teeth, his cock flushed and hard against his stomach. I grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand, then hooked my hands behind his knees, pushing them up and back until his ankles rested on my shoulders.
The position left him completely exposed, vulnerable in a way that made my chest tight. I slicked my fingers, watching his face as I circled his entrance.
"Where did a priest learn such a kinky position?" Lorenzo asked as I pressed one finger inside.
"I'm a sinner," I admitted, working a second finger inside him, watching his muscles flutter and adjust. "Always have been. Even before... this. Before you. I've seen things. Watched things. The collar doesn't blind you to the world."
His laugh was breathless as I crooked my fingers. "Fuck—Rafael—"
"I know what I want," I said, adding a third finger, stretching him carefully, thoroughly. "And right now, I want to fuck you."
His hands fisted in the sheets as I worked him open, his cock twitching against his stomach with each press of my fingers. I could have done this for hours, just watching him, learning every sound he made, every way his body responded.
But my own need was becoming unbearable. I slicked myself with trembling hands, then lined up, his ankles still resting on my shoulders. The position folded him nearly in half, and when I pushed inside—slow, so slow—I could see everything on his face.
This wasn't like before. Before had been desperate, frantic, all sharp edges and violence barely contained. This was something else entirely. I sank into him inch by inch, watching his mouth fall open, his eyes flutter closed and then snapped back open to meet mine.
"Look at me," I whispered, bottoming out. "I need to see you."
Lorenzo held my gaze, his eyes wide and dark. The angle had him completely at my mercy, and when I pulled back slowly, I watched his throat work as he swallowed a moan.
"Don't hold back," I said, rolling my hips forward again. "I want to hear you."
His next breath came out as a whimper when I found the right angle, the right rhythm. His hands reached for me, fingers digging intomy biceps as I fucked him harder. The bed frame creaked with each thrust, a steady percussion that matched the pounding of my heart.
"Harder," he gasped, and I complied, driving into him with enough force to push him up the bed. His cock bounced against his stomach, leaving wet streaks of precum on his skin that caught the light. The sight made my mouth water.
I leaned forward, changing the angle, and bit down on his collarbone hard enough to break skin. He cried out, his whole body clenching around me, and I had to still my hips to keep from coming right then.
"Mark me," he panted. "Everywhere. Want to feel it tomorrow when we—"
I silenced him with my mouth, not wanting to think about tomorrow, about what we'd face. Instead, I focused on now—on the taste of blood on my tongue, on the way his body opened for me, on the desperate sounds he made when I bit his shoulder.
