You literally couldn’t write this shit.
A horn blares; a car door slams. We break apart, foreheads pressed together, both breathing hard, like we skated laps. The cold of the night is now lost on me because my body is a raging inferno.
I want this man.
As though he can read my thoughts, he cups my cock with his hand, squeezing just enough to rip a broken sound from my throat. “Get in the fucking car, Artemis.”
CHAPTER 16
Xavier
It’s a moment of surrender for a man who never surrenders anything. A split-second decision that ends up with the pie abandoned on the hood of his SUV and the hottest make out session of my life on his back seat.
The second the SUV door shuts, Artemis is on me like he’s been holding his breath for weeks and finally cracked.
Thank fucking god, because if he’d denied us both again, I’d have spontaneously combusted on the spot. The way he sauntered across the parking lot eye-fucking me, like he couldn’t believe his eyes that I was standing in front of him, is etched in my core memories for the rest of my life.
My cock strains against my jeans, heavy and aching. A firm hand pushes my chest back so I’m thrown against the door, while a possessed Artemis claws at my fly. He fumbles, but when I reach to help him, he swats my hand out of the way and growls at me like a feral beast.
Can a person come from being growled at? I might provoke him again to check. For science.
He’s breathing hard—hard enough that for a second, Imight think he sprinted the whole way here if I hadn’t watched him myself.
“Artemis,” I manage, but it comes out more like a sound than a word.
He rises over me, kisses me, messy and unrestrained. It’s nothing like the slow, careful slide of his mouth outside. This is hunger. This is him breaking his own rules and hoping I don’t notice. Maybe even hoping he somehow won’t notice himself.
He pulls back just far enough to speak against my jaw. “Don’t tell me you want to behave.”
“I didn’t drive all this way to behave,” I mumble against his facial hair.
“Good.” He squeezes my crotch like I did to his outside the car, only his touch is incendiary, and my skin lights up like New York City out the window from a descending plane into Newark International Airport.
Fuck. My whole body lights up. As I strip off my coat, my sweater, and my shirt in record time, he waits with poorly contained patience. When my skin’s finally on display, he trails his mouth down my chest, my stomach, and moves to release my aching cock from my briefs as he shunts my pants and underwear down with a frustrated grunt.
He settles between my legs like it’s the most natural place in the universe for him to be. I admit, he looks fucking good down there. My breath shudders. “You’re—Jesus, Artemis—you’re shaking.”
He doesn’t answer but I know it’s not the cold making him tremble. Despite the biting Iowa November temps surrounding the car, the internal temperature is enough to have his fancy tinted windows steaming up like we’re on the Titanic. But I refuse to let us sink.
When he gets my dick free, he just… stares for a second. Like he’s overwhelmed. Like he wants to memorize me. But there’s no uncertainty on his face. He’s not looking at my dick like he’s trying to decide if he wants it, he’s staring like he might be afraid that once he has a bite of the magic apple, he’ll want the whole fucking thing.
And I really wouldn’t be mad about it if he did.
He leans in and licks a slow stripe up my cock, eyes locked on mine the whole goddamn time. My head hits the window. “Fuck?—”
The sounds outside swirl together, distant traffic, muffled bass from a passing car, wind whipping through the parking lot, but it all fades away with one look from the man between my legs.
He takes me into his mouth. All at once. No hesitation, no warm-up. Just a greedy, sucking swallow that rips a groan straight from my spine.
“Holy—Shit—Arte—” It’s not like me to be lost for words—no, to have the words slurped from my body by a tall, dark, and handsome hockey player who’s basically on his knees worshipping my cock in the back of his car.
He moans around me, as if he likes hearing me lose control, likes causing it, likes robbing me of my ability to form coherent sentences.
The cold November air mixes with our body heat—every exhale is misting as I pant loudly. He sucks me like it’s his only purpose in life, like if he stops, his lungs will stop too. It’s sloppy, it’s messy, it’s loud. The wild noises from him, the way he gulps at my cock like it’s his favorite popsicle, the strings of drool, the beautiful gagging sounds he makes when my cock hits the back of his throat.
And that’s when I notice his hips jerking forward. Once. Twice. And again. Desperate. Pressing right into the backseat. Oh my god. Is he…?
He freezes when he sees me seeing him, embarrassed, buttoo turned on to hide it. A slow, wicked grin spreads across my face. “You’re grinding.”
