Before I’ve had a chance to think it through, my shirt is over my head and on the floor. My pants get shucked off with all the attitude of a guy who’s about to get laid and is both excited about it and mad as hell.
“Woah. You wear lacy boxers?”
Hooking my thumbs in the boxers in question, I pause. “What, because I kill people, I’m not allowed to feel pretty? Fuck you. Anyway, you saw me take my clothes off at your place.”
“To be fair, it wasn’t my most observant moment. I was in a strange place because some guy almost fucking killed me.Youalmost fuckin’ killed me. Remember?”
“Hey now. No need to beat a dead horse. I saved your ass. Remember a few minutes ago when you were all, ‘Milo, thank you so much for saving me, you’re my hero’?” I’m saying that last part with a high-pitched damsel in distress type of voice, which, if you ask me, is hilarious.
But Rowan seems unamused. “You trying to make my dick go soft?”
“I don’t see any danger from where I’m standing.” No, siree. That thing is long, thick, and standing proud amid its neatly trimmed ginger bush. Not to mention the way it’s blushing like a virgin Mafia princess on her wedding night.
I don’t bottom often, but if I’m going to cave on my morals, I’m sure as hell riding that rocket into the sunset. My insidesare goddamn quivering at the prospect of getting thoroughly rearranged. I’ve got saliva pooling in my mouth for fuck’s sake.
“Fuck you.” Rowan rolls his eyes. “Lose the lacy shorts and get over here.”
I tease the waistband with my fingers. “Sure you want me to do that? Seems like you like them. Your eyes are all dark and you’re drooling a little.”
He’s not really drooling, but do I feel more satisfaction than I should when he swipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand? You bet my sweet, lacy ass I do.
He makes a very manly grunting sound. “They look hot. They’d look better on the floor.”
Well, fuck. That’s the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard, yet here I am shoving my favorite red lace shorts to the floor.
In another second I’m on the bed, gripping his sweats and pulling them the rest of the way down, hating us both a little for being weak-willed, horny idiots. Mostly. The blood rushing in my ears and the slight chill in the air that makes my nipples hard is doing a lot to overpower the self-loathing. Once I’ve got him naked, I crawl across to open the drawer of the bedside table, pleased to find lube and condoms.
Rowan’s forehead creases. “How’d you know that would be in there?”
“According to Jalen, this is less a safe house and more your boss’s favorite fuck pad. Had a feeling.”
Rowan chuckles, but then his face turns back to serious. “I meant what I said earlier. You can say I’m trying to get something from you, but the truth is I want you. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone because I really wanted to be.”
Not one to shy away from saying uncomfortable things, I’ve got the condom open and rolled down his dick before I remindus both of one important thing. “You know, there’s still a chance I’ll have to kill you later.”
He takes the lube from my hand and pours some over his fingers. He strokes his dick some before reaching for me and pulling me so I fall forward, hovering above him on hands and knees. He’s acting as if he didn’t hear me, but I know he did. He must have.
Two lubed fingers slide over my entrance. On a low moan, he says, “Let’s let later be later, okay?”
“Let later be later.” Sure. Fine. I can do that.
He slides those two slippery fingers into me, pumping gently in and out. Too gently. As nice as his fingers are inside me, I’m impatient for more. So I straddle him and line up, letting gravity do the work.
“Oh fuck. Christ, you feel good. It’s been a long time since I—ohmyfuckinggaaahd.” His eyes roll back into his head. His lips part on a sharp exhale. “How are you so fucking tight?”
I rock my hips. “You know bodies are pretty elastic, right? You’re probably tight too.”
A low groan. His hips buck, making him thrust up into me. “Not like this. No way. Not possible. Guaranteed, nothing in the world feels as good as your ass. How can anything possibly feel this good?”
Why in the ever-loving fucknuts does his stupid goddamn question make my chest feel gooey and warm?
“Guess we’ll have to switch and find out next time.” Oh shit. Why did I say that? In trying to deflect the question, I’ve gone and implied this is going to happen again.
It’s what I get for trying to think when I’m fucking. What a mess.
But apparently it’s time to double down on stupidity. To avoid the way his eyes widened at my previous statement, I lean forward and I kiss him.
And oh, fuck, that’s good. They’re not the fullest lips in the land, but damned if they aren’t soft as hell. Pliant.
