We stared at each other, breathing hard, so much emotion in his gorgeous blue eyes.
“I’m sorry?—”
He grabbed me, yanked me down, and kissed me right back. My free hand slid down the front of his chest, feeling the way his heart hammered under my palm. His breath came in short gasps against my mouth, and I swallowed every one of them.
Lust flared, and we were in each other’s space, shoulders knocking, hands shoving as we fought for position. It was pure instinct, lust spilling over into something physical, neither of us willing to give an inch. I thought I had him—thought I was the one driving him back—but he twisted, quick and sure, and the world jolted hard. My back hit the wall with a solidthud, the breath punched clean out of me, his body flush to mine, pinning me there as if he’d planned it all along.
Then—fuck—he melted.
Not all at once, but bit by bit, his body relaxing, his lips parting just enough to let my tongue in, and he moaned. I moved him, bending my knees a little so we were the same height, and then huffing at how they ached. In two steps, I lifted him and pinned him to the wall. By the second step, it was perfect. He tasted like coffee and chocolate, and Igroaned into his mouth, my hand dropping lower, fingers digging into the hard plane of his stomach before slipping between us. His cock was already hard, thick, and heavy behind his zipper, and when I palmed him through his jeans, he made this sound—half gasp, half whimper—that went straight to my dick.
My jeans were too tight, the rough denim scraping my aching erection. The friction was brutal, the way I needed it, and I could feel him responding in kind, his hips jerking forward as if he couldn’t help himself. His hands came up, gripping my shoulders, his fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt to hold on.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough, desperate. “Jesse?—”
I didn’t let him finish. I kissed him again, deeper this time, my tongue fucking into his mouth. I owned the kiss, and I owned him. I stroked him through his pants, my thumb pressing the head of his cock hard enough to make him shudder. He was trembling now, and I could feel the way his pulse raced under my touch.
“Stop talking,” I muttered, my lips brushing his as I spoke. My voice was low, rough, the kind of sound that came from deep in my chest when I was too far gone to pretend I was in control. But I was in control. Right now, he was mine, and he knew it.
His breath hitched, his hips bucking into my touch. “Fuck you,” he gasped, but there was no heat in it, only need, raw and aching.
I smirked. “That’s the idea.”
I kissed him again, harder, nipping at his bottom lipbefore soothing the sting with my tongue. My hand kept moving, stroking him in time with the roll of my hips, our cocks rubbing together through the fabric, the friction rough and desperate. He was panting now, little whimpers spilling out of him every time I twisted my wrist just right.
His touch moved down my back, nails digging in through my shirt. “Jesse, please?—”
I didn’t know what he was begging for, but I gave it to him anyway. I kissed him as if I was starving, my mouth bruising, my tongue claiming every inch of him. I worked faster, and I could feel him getting closer, his body tensing, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
“Come on,” I growled. “Let go.”
He groaned, his hips stuttering, his cock jerking in my grip. I could feel him right there, on the edge, and I pushed him over with a rough twist of my wrist.
He came with a choked-off cry, shuddering against me, his cum hot and wet through his pants. I didn’t stop kissing him, didn’t stop grinding, my own cock throbbing, aching for release. His hands clenched in my shirt, his breath coming in ragged gasps as I kept him pinned, my mouth on his, my grip holding him up.
When he sagged, spent and trembling, I pulled back enough to see his face. His lips were swollen, his eyes dark and dazed, his cheeks flushed. He was wrecked. Perfect.
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to.
I kissed him again, slower this time, tasting and claiming him. My hand still moved between us, stroking him through the mess he’d made, my cock pressing hard and insistent against his thigh.
He was pliant now, his hands resting on my chest, and I could see the questions in his eyes, the confusion, the way his mind was racing, but I didn’t give him time to think.
I kissed him until he forgot how to breathe. Until the only thing he knew was the feel of my mouth on his, my hand on his cock, still pinning him to the wall.
And when I pulled away, his lips were red, his eyes wide.
“Lucas?” I murmured, my voice rough, my cock still hard.
He swallowed, his gaze flickering between my eyes and my mouth. “I?—”
I kissed him again before he could finish, pressing my hands to his throat, my thumb on his pulse. He gasped, his body arching into mine, and I knew—he wasn’t thinking about the ranch anymore. He wasn’t thinking about anything but this. Us.
And for the first time in a long damn time, neither was I, as my orgasm hit me so hard I saw stars.
The air between us turned to ice.
He went stiff with realization and horror. He shoved me back so hard I stumbled, and he scrambled away, his shirt still unbuttoned, his belt undone, his cock still wet with the proof of what we’d done.
