Oh.
Could it really be that simple?
I stare at the beers in my hand, my body humming and aching for the insanely good-looking man on my couch. The one who has been painfully understanding and respectful of my need to go slow.
Do I still want that?
The hardening of my cock in my jeans says we’ve waited long enough.
“If you’re feeling like you want to try something, there’s a good chance he’ll be down for it too.”
Blake’s words echo in my brain—like I needanotherman in my head—the blood in my veins pumping a little faster as I continue to stand there, rooted to the floor as I angst over what to do. The sounds of gunfire and explosions from the movie echo throughout the open space, bringing me back to the present.
To the weight of the bottles in my hand.
The cold glass against my skin.
His rumble of laughter at whatever the characters just said.
Fuck it.
Forcing myself to move, I pad across the hardwood floor and set the bottles down on the coffee table, the glass rattling against the surface.
But I don’t look.
Pressing one knee into the cushion, I straddle Deacon’s lap, his thick thighs spread wide, forcing mine tight against his unless I want to pull a muscle.
And I don’t…but I also don’t want to think about that right now.
I just want tofeel.
Grabbing the back of my shirt, I pull it over my head and drop it to the floor beside his feet before cupping his face and kissing him. He grunts, his hands moving all over my sides and down over my hips and around to grip my ass.
I moan into his mouth and he squeezes harder, grinding me against his erection that’s nestled between my legs.
“Deacon?”
“Yeah?” he manages as I nip along his jaw with my teeth, forcing his head back to give me better access.
“I need you to get us off. Together. I want…Dammit,”I grunt, working his shirt up enough to drag my hands over his stomach and up his chest.“I need to touch more of you.”
I manage, his body hard and muscular where mine is leaner and more defined. I don’t run as much as Cal does, but I still head out a few times a week and lift weights.
My routine is habit, but Deacon’s is the result of the physical labor his job requires every day.
Strength.
Endurance.
And God, I want to know what it’s like to have all of him focused on me.
“Give me your mouth,” he growls and I obey, letting him take control as he grinds me against his lap. He tastes like beer and mint and smells like wood and soap, and fuck, I just want to lick up the column of his throat, maybe sink my teeth into his shoulder.
The thought is startling and completely out of character, but maybe that’s the point— Deacon brings out another side of me and Ilike it.
I like this.It feel right.
“Please, I need you to touch me.” My hands fumble with my belt and it takes me two tries to pop the button on my jeans, my cock still straining against the denim.
