Page 84 of Loverboy

“Milo,” he breathed.

“Pretend I’m not here,” I begged, afraid he might deny me this closeness.

He fisted my hair, tugging at it once before his grip slackened in permission. I licked a strip up the underside of his cock, flicking my tongue over the tip. His skin raised with goosebumps beneath my fingers, and I took it as encouragement, sucking the warm head into my mouth and holding it there.

“I’m studying,” he said breathlessly.

“I’m helping.” My voice was muffled as I spoke around sensitive flesh.

I couldn’t see him, but I was sure he was rolling his eyes.

At first, I didn’t move. I just held him in my mouth until he eventually began to soften between my lips, and then I’d drag my tongue over him some more, sucking softly to feel it thicken all over again.

“Get up here, you little freak.”

I considered biting him, my teeth sinking into his cock ever so slightly. His fingers flexed in my hair, tugging on my scalp as he urged me to move. Reluctantly, I crawled up his body, blankets stirring.

My inner thighs bracketed his hips, the blanket falling away and pooling at his knees. I squinted at the light pouring in through the bedroom window, a shudder rolling through me as he rested one hand on my waist.

He was sitting upright, his back resting against the headboard, that stupid phone in his hand. His cheeks were flushed, brows creased, and a frown tugged at his lips.

“Take your pants off,” he ordered.

“No.” I folded my arms over my chest.

“What?”

“You’re busy.”

“Milo.”

The demand in his voice gave me a thrill. It took some awkward shuffling around, the bed creaking in protest with my movement, but eventually I managed to get myself bare from the waist down.

“Your shirt.”

“It’s cold in here!” I complained.

“Your shirt,” he repeated.

I begrudgingly followed that instruction, too, pulling my shirt over my head and casting it aside, leaving me completely exposed. I rubbed my upper arms self-consciously, trying to hide all of the raised scars from view. It was instinctive, even though he never seemed to look at them. Surely, he knew they were there. He’d seen and felt them before.

Maybe he didn’t like how they looked.

Didn’t like the way I looked.

Jasper set his phone on the nightstand and took off his own shirt, distracting me from my negative thoughts. He settled back against the headboard and pulled me against his chest, enveloping me in his body heat. I buried my face into the crook of his neck and closed my eyes, breathing him in.

From there, I heard the nightstand drawer opening and closing. There was the sound of a lid popping open, a soft squirt, and then the slick noise of something wet lathering over skin.

I tensed as he grabbed my hips, one hand tacky with what must have been lube. I didn’t stop him from guiding me, his cock smoothing over my ass while he rocked me, catching on tight, unprepared skin with each slide—testing, teasing.

I was bracing for him to press inside with little preamble, but he never did. Instead of his cock, one finger circled where I needed him most, maddeningly slow. I rolled my hips into it, begging silently to be filled, even just a little. My wanton grinding had my own cock rubbing against his stomach, already hard and weeping.

“Stop that,” I whined.

“Okay.” His hand fell away.

I bit his shoulder.