Page 104 of The Tartan Thesis

I’ve never begged a man for anything before, much less while my trousers were still on.

“Good boy,” he purrs, sending a shudder down my spine.

He unbuttons the top of his Oxford with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving mine, then pulls it and his undershirt over his head in one smooth movement, and my mind goes blank at the sight—golden skin stretched over ridges and peaks of hard muscle, light blond hair trailing down from countless abs, disappearing into his waistband, broad chest expanding and contracting with every heavy breath. His intense eyes watching me. Always watching.

“Fuck, Beau,” I say, unable to find more words before he pulls my shirt up and over my head.

I feel exposed, inadequate compared to Beau, but his strong hands running over my body reassure me, the look of pure lust in his eyes puts me at ease.

He drags his thumb across my bottom lip, then down my neck, over my collarbone. “You’re so goddamn sexy,” he breathes, voice like gravel. “I’m going to taste every fucking bit of you.”

Then his mouth is on mine again, tongue demanding entrance, his chest warm against me as his hands massage their way down the bare skin of my back and grip my ass.

I moan when he lifts me off the floor, his hands sweeping under my thighs, pulling me to him, my hands wrapping around his strong neck. My cock grinds against his hard stomach as he slams me against the door, his own rigid length pressing between my legs, and I shudder.

“Beau,” I pant, breaking the kiss, “please take me to your bed.”

His praise, “Good fucking boy,” sends a jolt straight to my dick.

He kisses me, grinning, secures my legs around his waist, and carries me up the stairs like I weigh nothing. I drag my teeth along the salty skin of his neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks, my fingers tangled in his hair.

By the time he sets me on my feet in his bedroom, I’m almost light-headed, his hands still on me, holding me in place against him in the low lamplight. My hands move over his body again, this time less frantic, more exploring, enjoying the feel of every sculpted ridge, tracing the V disappearing into his jeans.

He pulls back and holds my gaze with his, his hands on my hips. “I’m on PrEP,” he says, “and I’m tested every three months. Other than a blow job I gave a few weeks ago to this total stud on Burns Night, I haven’t had sex since September, so I’m good to go.”

Even as his words make my dick throb harder, jealousy flares hot in my chest.

“Aye, I’m on PrEP,” I say. Then my curiosity gets the better of me. “Who did you sleep with in September?” A grin spreads across his handsome face. I must’ve sounded more bothered than I intended.

“I bent an American tourist over the kitchen island when I first moved in,” he says. “I was stressed, he was there… and he asked me nicely.”

“Oh,” I say, my gaze falling to his chest where a light sheen of sweat makes his skin glisten. I want to lap it up.

He thumbs my chin up so I’m looking him in the eyes. “That was the day before I met you. Since then, I’ve gotten off thinking about you almost every night,” he says, then he kisses me with so much intention that I believe him.

“I haven’t had sex since James,” I say, cheeks burning.

“After tonight,” he growls, kissing me again, “you won’t even remember his name.”

I groan as he pushes me back on the bed, his powerful thighs straddling me, and presses his chest to mine.

I’m breathless from the pressure of Beau’s perfect body on top of me, but I almost hyperventilate when his lips start to trail down my torso, open-mouthed kisses that leave cooling trails on my feverish skin, his deft hands working open my belt, button, and fly as he goes. He grips my hips and pulls me to the edge of the bed, and I lift up as he slides my jeans down and off, then removes my socks, tossing them to the side.

“Fuck,” I say, my whole body trembling as this beautiful man kneels in front of me again.

One of Beau’s large hands glides along the fabric over my barely contained cock, and I shudder from head to toe.

“Please,” I say, finding it hard to breathe.

“Please what?” he asks, but I can’t process specifics once he starts nuzzling that gorgeous face against my bulge. He restrains my hips so I can’t buck against him. I think I might actually die of anticipation.

What a way to go.

“Please what, Torin?” he asks again, hot breath teasing through thin cotton. He drags his tongue along the outline of my shaft, sucks at the wet spot where my tip strains against the fabric. I nearly sob with need.

“Please make me feel as good as you said you would,” I say, my body jerking as he nuzzles my crotch. “I need your mouth on me. I need your throat. Please swallow me. Bring me to the edge like you did before.”

“Good boy,” he purrs again, the words vibrating against my inner thigh. He tugs at the waistband of my boxers, exposing my aching cock to the cool air.