I tilt my head up and find him already watching me, glasses slipping down hisnose.
“You seem calm.”
“It’s hard not to be around you.” I pat his chest. “That’s what scares me.”
His smile curves, and his nose comes close to mine. “Don’t be scared.”
When he kisses me, it’s soft at first—barely there—but then I sigh against his mouth, and his hand tightens at my waist, and the whole thing tips from sweet into something else. His tusks graze my lips, just enough to remind me who’s kissing me—strong, warm, and all Greg.
I end up half-sprawled across him, my hand on his chest, his fingers tangled in my hair. It’s a little clumsy. I keep kneeing him, and we’re laughing into each other’s mouths, but it feels… right. Effortless.
By the time we break apart, I’m panting, dizzy, and my brain has fully jumped ship.
“C’mere,” I whisper, tugging at his shirt.
“Sean…”
“Don’t start with logic. Just—c’mere.”
He chuckles, low and warm, and lets me pull his shirt off him. His gorgeous skin is a map I could get lost in—broad shoulders, soft freckles, and those two gleaming silver bars through his nipples that make my breath hitch. He reaches for me, tugging my T-shirt over my head with the same reverence that makes my pulse stutter.
For a moment, we just look at each other—half-dressed, breathing hard, too close to think straight. Then I reach in, hands at his waistband, and he nods. Shoes first, then pants, then everything else. We move around each other in the small space, clumsy andlaughing, shedding layers until there’s nothing left between us but heat and the soft rasp of skin meeting skin.
I stub my toe on the foot of the sofa, swear sharply, and he chuckles against my neck, his tusks grazing my jaw. “Occupational hazard,” he murmurs, and I’m pretty sure he means kissing me, not the couch.
His fingers trace my chest, my hips. I’ve never been self-conscious about my size. Short and stout—like a teapot, with a much bigger dick. But Greg makes me feel attractive in a way that’s new to me. Like he sees my body and loves it, but it’s what’s inside me—all of me—that really matters.
I drag my palms up his back, over the curve of muscle and the faint ridge of his spine. He’s back on the sofa, me on his lap, no fabric between us, his enormous, hard cock pressing into my ass as we resume making out.
This couch, unfortunately, is not built for passion. It creaks like a haunted ship every time one of us moves, and I’m pretty sure the armrest just gave up on its will to exist.
We both burst out laughing. “Okay,” I say between kisses. “New plan. Bigger surface area.”
“The counter?” There’s a mischievous glint in his eye.
“It’s barely two feet.”
“Work with me here,” he says.
I shrug, and he scoops me up like it’s nothing, setting my ass down on the cool laminate of my kitchen counter, which is approximately four steps away because, well,studio apartment. We both glance around like we might be breaking some sacred domestic law.
Then he grins, nodding to the bulb that’s out over the stove. “I’m definitely going to fix this light for you later.”
He’s already fixed the cabinet and now the light above the stove I didn’t even realize was out. Right now, I want him to use those strong, nimble hands on me.
“Later,” I say, hooking my fingers behind his neck. “Much later.”
He leans in, kissing me again—deeper this time. His tusks brush my lower lip, just enough to make me shiver. When he pulls back, his voice has dropped an octave.
“Sean, can I…?”
I nod, already breathless. “Yes.”
Greg can do anything he likes.
An orchestra of lips, tusks, and fingers moves down my torso, pausing at my chest—getting lost in the little hair there, pinching, kissing and flicking with deliberate, hungry care. My cock points right at him, and it doesn’t take long for Greg to grasp it with one hand, while the other glides over my stomach.
“Gods, I love your body.”
