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Then he hooked two fingers in the waist of my work slacks and looked up at me, his cheeks flushed and pupils wide.
“And these?”
My fingers shook as I undid the button and zipper. I had to step back to push my slacks down, then step out of them.
“And these.” This time, it wasn’t a question, and his tone hit me right in the abdomen, sending electricity through me. My underwear followed my jeans to the floor, leaving me feeling oddly vulnerable and very naked.
And very aroused.
I wasn’t used to feeling those things at the same time, and my pulse hammered in my chest, uncertain it wanted to stay trapped behind my sternum.
I ran my hands over his smooth skin, my fingers pale against his chest and the dark curves and angles of his tattoo. He let out a slight growl as I ran my hands over his pectorals, and I hesitated.
“Don’t stop.” His fingers closed around my wrist, and he drew my hand toward his mouth, then sucked on two of my fingers, making my knees weak.
“Fuck.”
He smiled around my fingers, then let my wrist go.
“Now my jeans.”
God, the things his voice was doing to me.
I stepped forward so I could undo his fly, my mouth going a little dry at the sight of his erection straining against the denim. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to taste him again. I wanted—
“Val, pants.”
Right.
I pushed his jeans down over his hips and the muscular curve of his ass, wanting desperately to dig my fingers into his glutes and pull him against me.
So I did, then groaned softly in the back of my throat as the heat of his cock brushed against my thigh.
His hand on my chest, Taavi pushed me a step backwards. The backs of my knees hit the bed, and I abruptly sat down.
I had to look up at him, and my hands lifted to his hips of their own accord, pulling him in between my legs. It was very clear to both of us how very interested I was in where this was going, my cock standing stiff between my thighs, a dusty pink against the alabaster of my skin.
His was darker, a dusky coppery brown, flushed with blood and just as hard as I was.
I bent to take him in my mouth, and Taavi growled, deeper and more loudly this time, then sank the fingers of his good hand into my hair, pulling my head back—not roughly, but not gently, either.
The tugging went straight to my groin.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
And then Taavi straddled my lap, and I reached my hands around behind him, the curve of his ass perfectly fitting into my palms as his body pressed up against me.
“Fuck.”
“Not yet,” he replied, his lips close to my ear.
I whimpered.
He let go of my hair to lean away from me, opening the top drawer in the tiny nightstand beside the bed. When his hand reentered my line of sight, he held a small bottle, and I felt my erection throb.
“Give me your hand.”
Oh, fucking fuck.
