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He smiles against my mouth. “There it is.” Gavin props himself up until he’s kneeling. He grips the back of both of my thighs and presses my legs to my chest again, nearly folding me in half. “Now,” he states, his eyes feral as they lock onto mine. “I’m going to fuck you.”
Holy shit.
Gavin
Mitch stares up at me, his eyes so trusting, and I nearly break down. This man—this beautiful, conflicted, man—trusts me to be his first. He tore down a decade old wall of denial and shame to hand over his deepest secrets to me.
Desperate for more friction, I drag back and snap my hips watching Mitch’s eyes go wide. His mouth drops open to form an ‘o’ and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. I do it again, and the strangled groan he releases lets me know I’ve found the perfect angle.
“God you’re so fucking gorgeous,” I groan, settling into a punishing rhythm. With every hard thrust, Mitch’s body is propelled across the slick sheets and up the bed. He braces his arms on the headboard, his biceps flexing powerfully to hold himself in place.
“Harder,” he demands. Bossy bottom indeed. “Fuck me harder, Gav.”
I pull out, flip a very surprised Mitch onto his stomach and yank his ass up in the air until he’s on his knees. I grab his shoulders for leverage, line up, and fuck him as requested. Hard.
“Fuu-uuck!” Mitch shouts, panting as I drill his ass over and over.
“Is this what you wanted, baby?” I lean over his rippling muscles to lick his ear, my sweat-slicked stomach sliding against his smooth back.
“Yes,” he groans, fisting the sheets and thrusting back in time with my punishing pace. “Jesus, yes. It’s so fucking good. I need to come.”
Sparks sizzle down my spine like a lit fuse. I reach around and grip Mitch’s cock, stroking him in time with each snap of my hips. “So fucking responsive. Come with me,” I groan as the ecstasy builds to the tipping point.
Mitch yells out, spilling over my hand, his ass clenching around my cock. “Fuck, baby! I’m coming!” I shout, thrusting deep one last time with an explosive gasp, lights flashing behind my eyes as I’m momentarily blinded by pleasure. My legs give out and I collapse on top of Mitch, sweat dripping from my temples and running down my cheeks.
Mitch groans from beneath me, his body loose and pliable. I roll off, breathing heavily to catch my breath.
“God, you’re fucking fantastic,” I rasp. Mitch merely grunts in response. I laugh, smacking his ass. “I’ll get a towel.”
I clean up in the bathroom and bring out a wet cloth. Mitch has turned onto his side, his eyes closed. They fly open when I kneel on the bed and gently wipe away the mess.
Tossing the towel to the floor, I climb under the covers and skim a hand down his flank. “You okay?” This time, I’m not worried that Mitch will freak out, but I need to be sure.
“Yeah. I’m tired. You wore me out,” he mutters.
Chuckling, I curl up behind him and throw a leg over his. Mitch puts his hand on my knee, holding me close. I bury my nose in his messy dark hair and kiss the back of his neck.
“I think you have that backwards, Utah,” I whisper. “You wore me out.”
I drift off to sleep and for the first time in a while, I completely forget about the danger that hangs over us every minute of every day.
Instead, I’m thinking of Mitch, of a future, of things I never dared to dream of. I wonder if any of it is possible for me, or if it’ll all be ripped away before I get a chance to find out.
* * *
“No! Fuck no! Mitch, you can’t. I won’t allow it!”
“Gavin, stop worrying.”
I glare at him. “Don’t minimize my feelings, Mitch. You don’t get to make decisions like this alone.”
Once again, I’m freaking the fuck out while Mitch is acting calm, cool, and collected. I fucking hate it. I hate that he can discuss this shit with a straight face. Acting as if he’s not suggesting the most ridiculous bullshit I’ve ever heard.
“Okay, okay. We won’t do anything until the tour is over, Gavin. Maybe we’ll have caught the guy by then.” Ross speaks from across the hotel conference room where he scheduled a staff meeting after the stalker left his most recent gift.
“We’re not doing it, period,” I snarl.
“Gavin—” Mitch starts.
