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Fuck!
Tristan’s forehead drips with sweat, and the fucking jerk isn’t wearing a shirt to cover his well-defined torso. Those chiseled muscles glisten, making my mouth water with the desire to lick each one of them.
This is torture.
Does he hate me?
I mean, yesterday he threw himself at me, and today he’s half-naked.
A man can only hold himself off for so long. My dick comes to life as I lay my eyes on his full lips. The ones that kissed me with an intense passion and left me breathless for an entire night.
Down, boy, down,I order, but my cock isn’t having it. In fact, he wants him too.
“Feeling better?” I question, stepping inside the elevator.
He glares at me, then switches those piercing eyes toward the closing doors.
“Sorry about… I drank too much.”
“Really?” My eyebrows raised. “I barely noticed. Want to clue me in on what happened?”
Okay, I could’ve been less sarcastic.
The conversation should be over, but my mouth runs with the nonsense. “Next time, I might not be able to control myself, Cooperson. You’re too fucking hot. I’m not strong enough to let a guy like you slip away.”
I’m half kidding and half serious about it. Next time he throws himself at me, I will not stop. Unless he’s too wasted, then, I might call the concierge doctor to sober him up so we can fuck like rabbits.
Listen, I might be a gentleman, but I also have needs. If my theory that I am developing a slight crush on him because he rejects me is true, maybe I’ll be able to purge him before it becomes a problem.
Afterward, we might be able to be friends. That’s possible. I’m friends with Kevin, the keyboardist of my former band. We fucked a lot during tours, but afterward, we could sit down, relax, and drink a beer without making things awkward.
I’m so busy figuring out an angle when Tristansays, “You won’t?” His tone is defying, and he pushes the stop button of the elevator. Then, slams me against the glass wall.
His body presses against me, and his mouth lingers close to mine. My breath hitches in anticipation, and my cock pulsates against his. Fuck, his body wants this as much as mine does. “Is that a promise or a threat, Decker?”
His mouth smashes against mine.
An agonizing grunt escapes me. I don’t waste a second and kiss him back. My lips move hard and fast. My tongue demands access, and I plunge it inside his mouth. My hands hold on to his slim waist, pressing his body against mine. I push him toward the opposite wall, grinding my pulsating dick faster against his. Fuck, I will come fast and hard if he lets me continue this assault.
Tristan doesn’t resist. I savor the moment. Enjoy every second of it. His spicy taste makes me want to do more with him. My cock throbs, begging for more. I run one hand through his hair, and his long dark strands electrify my fingers, energizing them with a current that makes me want to explore him for the rest of the day.
Our tongues dance together while we both touch. I nip his bottom lip and then run my mouth over his powerful jaw until I reach the end and suck his earlobe. Moving back to his neck and onto his shoulder, I suck his tender skin, marking him. Tristan shivers against my body.
He’s about to be mine.
“Let me make this good for you, baby,” I offer as I glide my hand from his head down to the elastic of his gym shorts. I cross that barrier and grab his thick, throbbing dick. “Tell me how you want me to make you come. With my mouth or my hand. I can palm you as I fuck that firm ass of yours.”
I circle the tip of his moist cock with two fingers. As they’re wet with pre-cum, I move them to his behind and thrust them inside his precious hole. They go in easily. He closes his eyes while I move in circles. I knew it; he likes to bottom. Fuck, he’s a bottom. He’s the perfect kind of guy for me.
My mouth waters at the thought of the kinky things I can do to this fine specimen if he lets me. The toys we can use to play around. A vibrating plug in that sweet hole while I take him with my mouth. God, my dick and mouth water just imagining what we can do. That sole picture takes me to the edge of the abyss where we’re about to fall—if he lets me. As I’m about to insert a third finger, he shoves me away from him.
“Fuck, what’s wrong with me?” His raging voice matches the frigid posture.
My body freezes at his words, and I make sure he’s sober. Maybe he’s still drunk or maybe he just plain hates me. Or likes to make me suffer. His dark eyes produce a hate-hurt wave that stares at me for a few long breaths. Tristan shakes his head and taps on the elevator board to let the doors open.
“What is it?” I finally recuperate my breath. “You’ve been driving me crazy since I met you.”
He huffs at me. Trying to reclaim that dark, mysterious glare meant to impose some kind of fear that I don’t have at all.
