Page 60 of Reckless

“If you like.”

I did like, very much.

I pinched the other thigh. He gasped again, but this time the gasp turned into a laugh, low and rough in his throat, and the sound of it—Robbie Finch laughing in my bed—was the best thing I’d heard in years.

I worked the lotion between my palms and spread it down his back, his thighs, his arse. I took my time, allowing my hands to learn the landscape of him—the dip of his lower back, the curve of muscle, the places that made him arch and the places that made him still. When I pressed one slick finger inside him, he let out a breath that was as soft as a prayer.

“All right?”

“More.”

“Greedy.”

“Yes.”

I gave him more. One finger became two. I bent over him, my chest to his back, my mouth at his ear, and whispered the things I was going to do to him—low and specific, in the quiet but firm tone he always responded to. Robbie’s hands fisted in the sheets. His breathing went ragged. When I crooked my fingers, he made a moaning sound I felt in my own chest.

“Please,” he said.

“Please what?”

“Please. Alastair.”

I withdrew my fingers. Turned him onto his back. His cock was slick with his own wetness, his pupils blown wide, and he stared at me like I was the only solid thing in the universe.

I set the lotion aside and picked up lube and a condom. I undressed.

When I was naked, I knelt between his legs and pulled them over my thighs. I slicked myself, slow, holding his gaze, and watched his mouth open when I pressed against him.

“Breathe,” I said and then pushed inside.

The sound he made went through me like a current. I stopped, halfway, and let him adjust. I watched his face, the flutter of his lashes, the way his jaw went slack and then tight. His hands found my ribs, my shoulders, and finally the back of my neck.

“Look at me,” I said.

He did.

I pushed all the way in and held there. His legs tightened around my hips. He pulled me down until our foreheads touched. A shudder ran through him.

“Okay?” I whispered.

“Yeah.” His voice was wrecked. “Yeah. Move.”

I moved slowly at first, finding a rhythm that made Robbie’s breath catch on every stroke, and his hands grip my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Outside, the rain was still falling. The room was dark except for the lamp in the corner, a pool of gold on the bedside table. And Robbie was under me, around me, sharing every breath with me.

I pinched his nipple. He cried out and arched, and I felt him tighten around me.

“Again?”

“God. Yes.”

I did it again. Harder. His head went back and I could see his pulse beating in the hollow of his throat. I bent and put my mouth there, and he shivered.

“I’m not going to last,” he said. His voice was raw.

“Then don’t.”

“I want⁠—”