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“I thought of you too much,” he confessed.
The weight of passion on him was beautiful to see. His blown pupils, flushed cheeks, swollen red lips, and rasping breath sent a jaw-clenching shiver through me.
“I don’t wanna do this next to the refrigerator.”
“I just want you. The where hardly matters.”
“It matters to me,” I said, hauling him to his feet, hands under his armpits, yanking my pants up and bumping him as I walked by. “Follow me.”
He did as ordered, and when we reached my bedroom, I rounded on him and shoved him back into the wall.
“What do you want?”
“What can I have?”
“Anything,” he promised, his eyes locked on mine.
“Get the lube,” I directed.
Heart pounding, skin hot, I wanted him all over me because I felt like I was going to fly apart if he wasn’t.
He was silent, moving where I pointed, going to the nightstand and retrieving the bottle as he yanked at his clothes with one hand.
The second he was within reach, I grabbed him and pulled him forward, going to work on his shirt, getting the buttons and undoing them fast.
He leaned as if he were drunk, rubbed his nose along mine and then under my jaw. His hands were on my hips, fingers following the line of my pelvis, licking my collarbone, even as I heard the pop of the cap.
“No condom?”
“No,” I agreed.
I didn’t plan on there ever being anyone else. And it was stupid, romantic bullshit, but I felt it in my heart, and I could barely stand it.
Slick fingers slid between my cheeks, two at once, no gentle opening, but instead the immediate press inside. With the familiar burn, the sound that came out of me—pleading, begging—was but wasn’t me. It was strange, because before the man putting bite marks all over my skin had come into my life, I had never sounded like that. I’d had no idea I would want to submit so often. With the nameless twinks in the bars, I only topped. And when I had been with Nate, I had fought to fuck, not be fucked. But Aaron inside me—moving, filling, stretching—was something I would beg for.
“What do you want?”
I scrambled away from him and gasped when his fingers were gone. I spun and braced my hands on the wall, bending forward, the invitation clear.
“I thought fucking in bed was what you wanted?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” he said, hand around the back of my neck, guiding me to the bed. “You need to see that I—” He wiped his other hand on his leg, the lube stain glistening. “You’re not simply some trick, and I’m not leaving after.”
My heart hurt as I looked at him.
“Come here,” he said gently, drawing me forward, pulling my shirt and T-shirt up over my head and off.
“My feet—” I chuckled because they were still caught in my pants.
His smile was warm, loving. “Get on the bed, Stiel.”
I went face-first down onto it and pulled off my shoes and socks before he un-bunched the slacks gathered around my ankles. “Just fuck me.”
“No,” he growled.
I vibrated under him when he kissed along my spine, sucking the skin inside his mouth, his hands reassuring and tender as he stroked over my sides. He was soothing all the fight out of me, the tension and the worry.
