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Eyes open and on his, I will him to keep going. It’s a fine line. I know it is. His worries—his self-perceived shortcomings flash in his eyes even if he hasn’t pulled away yet.
I work him with the hand still held loosely in his grip. I let him slip from my lips, but don’t stop the careful rub of my thumb over his ball. This is important. I’m all in and I want him to be in too—all of him.
“I don’t care.” I swirl the tip of my tongue around the blunt end of his cock. “Don’t overthink this.” I lift its heavy thickness, then press a soft open mouth kiss to the very last place he wants me to.
His pelvis cants, a rough growl ripping from his throat before his fingers find my hair. His lips are parted, his breathing shallow, his face a mask of pain and desire and shame and heat. I kiss the same spot again, then do something I have nevereverfelt the need to do with any other man—I suck his ball into my mouth.
“Shit, Kenzi.” His head jerks back, his thick neck working with his swallow.
I take that as a good sign and do it again. And again. And again. Hollow my cheeks and roll my tongue over him. I suck and lick, working his cock with my hand until his grip clamps around my fingers again and he takes over.
And holy fucking hell if it isn’t the singularly most hot— most scorching moment I have ever been a part of.
Viking-shmiking, he’s everything.Ever-y-thing. His abs are pulled tight, a slither of vein snaking its way over the perfectly formed V of muscle beneath them. His forearm cords tighter with every hard, rough stroke of his—ourhands. And don’t even get me started on his face.
Even in the shade—even in the subtle pinks and oranges of the setting sun beyond the shelter of the trees, when he drops his gaze down to our hands, my face,my mouth,there’s no disguising the fierceness of his stare or the demand in his movements.
Fingers threading through the hair at the nape of my neck, he guides my head back, his ball slipping from my lips to be replaced with the round head of his cock, pushing into my mouth with a slow thrust. Worry gone. Paranoias forgotten. Just Mylo taking over in the most deliciously sure way.
I don’t pull back when he thrusts faster. I push into it. Take him deep. Suck him harder. Watch his face. His eyes. His heaving chest. Ignore the need throbbing in every part of my body and concentrate on him.
His thighs tremble and his grip on my hair tightens, his movements lose finesse, control. His eyes squeeze shut, his mouth falls open on a deep rumble of a moan before he thrusts right to the back of my throat and stays there, finding his release with a drawn-out hiss of my name.
The pie half eaten, and the beers half drunk, I still can’t shift the smug tilt to my lips. I rocked his world, and now he can’t stop his stare from dropping to my mouth.
The sun’s gone, the only light to see by a heavy-duty torch stood up on its side. He seems lighter somehow. Even lighter than he did after we had sex. We’ve talked. We’ve laughed. He’s asked questions no one has ever been interested in knowing the answers to. About my childhood, my family, my wants, and my fears. A comfortableness I don’t think I’ve ever felt with a man makes my heart beat lighter and my insides buzz with happiness. We may have taken our time getting here, but he makes me happy, it’s as simple as that.
I take a long pull from my beer and climb into his lap, knees either side of his hips. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Placing his own bottle on the ground by his side, he smooths his big hands up my thighs and drags his lower lip between his teeth. He pulled his shorts on to eat, but he’s still gloriously shirtless. “Finally full?”
“Mmhm.” I trace my fingers down the sides of his neck, run them along the ridge of his collar bones, then back again. The rightness—the realness of him—of us, settling in. Taking root. “Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before.” I shake my head, my gaze dropping to his shoulder and the ridges of his scars—the tattoos. I absentmindedly tickle over them, around them, trace the lines of the roses that border the clock faces.
“Bought you beer and pie?” He tilts his head to the side and pushes my hair from my face.
“Believed in me. Looked at me and seen more.”
“How do you think people see you, Kenzi?” His eyebrows tip up in the middle.
I chew on my lip. “I don’t know. Easy. Fun. I mean even my own mother thinks I make bad decisions.” The pain of her doubt in me, even if I can kind of see where she’s coming from, stings. No, it hurts.
His chest lifts with his sigh. “Your mom loves you. She just—”
“Thinks I’ll flake out and give up if things get too hard. I mean, I get it. My life decisions haven’t exactly been stellar up till now, but…” I click my tongue against my teeth, lift my gaze to the inky, star-strewn sky above us and breathe in a salty breath. “Can we talk about something else please.” I return my gaze to his face.
His smile is small, but he nods. “Okay.”
“What were you like as a kid?”
“Big.” His lips twitch.
“Big? That’s it?”
He snorts. “I dunno. I liked sports. Hated when my dad went on tour but loved helping my granddad in his workshop when he was gone.”
“Footnotes only, huh?”
He quirks an eyebrow and toys with the fringed denim of my cut-offs. “I had a good childhood. The usual.”
