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“Soon.” I wriggle up to press my face to his throat.
He chuckles, then reaches for my other nightstand and pulls out a fresh pair of my underwear. He uses it to clean us up and then pulls me against him again. “That will buy us a bit more time.”
24
Ford
Oh,yeah, my mind is blown. I’m still struggling to catch my breath as I hold Orson close, not wanting to break contact for a second.
For the first time in my life, I understood what he was talking about. That desperate need for someone, not only in my cock, but my chest as well. Seeing him ride me in all his muscle-twitching, thigh-tensing glory, I was hit with this moment where it wasn’t enough. I wasinsidehim, and it wasn’t enough.
I get the feeling I’ll always want more when it comes to him.
He kisses my throat softly, lazily, spiky scruff rubbing the skin below my beard. It’s so nice I could up and fall asleep, no worries, even though I’m sticky with sweat and my gut is starting to niggle with hunger.
My hand runs along his back to his hip, where there are angry red marks there.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Yes,” he says dreamily. “It was perfect.”
I rub the spot gently, and this weird, possessive satisfaction rises inside of me at him being covered in my marks. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I hope it bruises.”
I hesitate for a moment before confessing, “Me too.”
He chuckles softly.
“I don’t want to hurt you though, just … mark you up a bit.”
“When I’m that turned on, you could probably punch me in the face and it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Well, we won’t be doingthat, but good to know I didn’t ruin things.”
“Far from it.” His voice has a soft, dreamy quality to it, making me think he’s close to sleep himself.
My hands keep exploring, touching, kneading his muscle. I work my way from his shoulder down to his forearm and pause, thumb grazing one of the scars. They’re smaller and shiny white, all up and down both arms.
I’ve asked him before about them, and he shut me down, but I can’t help but be curious.
He shifts, turning his arm over so I can see them better.
“You have a lot,” I say, hoping he’ll catch on to the thoughts running through my head.
“Yep.”
I laugh. “Fine, keep your secrets.” We fall quiet while I continue to trace them.
“I don’t want you to think less of me,” he finally says.
“Less of you?” I’d shake my head if I could. “There’s no way.”
“Eh, I was out of control for a while there.”
“Not surprising considering what you went through.”
I take a deep breath, brushing his scar again, and say, “Just because I’m curious doesn’t mean you have to tell me. I like who you are—more than like, if I’m honest. The other stuff doesn’t matter; I only want to know so I knowyoubetter.” I kiss his head. “But I understand keeping things to yourself.”
