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His hazel eyes pop open. “And what’s that?”
I lightly squeeze. “This,” I murmur, lowering my head. When I flick my tongue over his engorged tip, Kane drops back on his elbows and huffs out a sharp breath. I love having this power over him. That little ol’ me can turn this huge hulk of a man into a quaking, shuddering mess.
The moment I take him into my mouth, Kane groans long and hard. He’s so flipping big I need to use my mouth and both hands, taking him deeper with each slide of my lips, hoping I can give him as much pleasure as he gave me out in the kitchen earlier. By his reaction, I think I’m doing a pretty good job.
I read a book once about how to give the perfect blow job and there were quite a few techniques in there that I haven’t tried yet. With Kane, I want to try them all. My cheeks hollow as I suck hard, pulling him to the back of my throat. I savor his salty taste, and I can feel him pulsing, getting close to an explosion of massive proportions. But I’m ready.
He threads his fingers through my hair and tugs. It’s my warning that he’s about to come, but I don’t care. I pull him deeper, suck harder and squeeze just a little.
“Sai,” he gasps. “I’m gonna-”
Bam!
“Christ!” he roars, his hips lifting up off the bed as he erupts. I swallow and straighten up, licking my lips, and loving the blissed-out expression on his face that shows me how good I just made him feel.
Grasping his face, I lean in and kiss him thoroughly. When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing hard and I run a hand through his short, brown hair. “I plan on doing that– and several variations– until you’re sick of it.”
“Never,” he rasps.
“Oh, yeah?”
“The day I get sick of your lips wrapped around my dick will never happen. Not in a million, trillion, bazillion years.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You have such a way with words.”
“Not really.”
We don’t move for a long moment, we just sit and look into each other’s eyes, and I wonder why I fought this for so long. Why we both did.
“Kane?” I finally ask softly. “Why did it take us so long to get here?”
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just cups my face, looks deeply into my eyes and presses his lips to mine. Something strong and extremely potent passes between us. I feel it all the way down to my freshly-painted toes, which I’ve probably smudged all up.
When he pulls back, he gives me a small smile. “I’ve wanted this since the moment I first saw you, Sai,” he admits. “But I didn’t think you’d want a cranky, washed-up SEAL covered in scars.”
“I want you,” I assure him. “Despite your tendency to be grumpy.”
Something passes over his features– relief, I think– before he buries his face against my chest and wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly. Kane isn’t one for emotional displays or too many words and my heart squeezes.
I love this man.
The words crash through my head and heart at the same time. I think I have for longer than I care to admit, but saying the words isn’t an option. Not yet, anyway. It feels way too early. And I have no idea where his head is when it comes to his feelings about me.
I know he cares. The question is how deeply? The last thing I want to do is scare him off, but I’m determined to continue getting to know him on a deeper level.
He lays back against his pillows, an extremely satisfied look on his face. Then he snatches my foot and lifts it up. “Your polish is messed up.”
“I know.” I give him a little shrug, having a pretty good idea of where he’s going next. And still not wanting to discuss it.
He slips a finger beneath the anklet and arches a brow. “You never take this off. Someone important gave it to you.” It’s not a question and I merely nod.
I can tell he’s waiting for me to say more and I sigh. I suppose after all he’s shared with me, it’s only fair that I share personal things, too.
“When I was younger, my best friend Meg and I were inseparable.” An overwhelming sadness washes over me. Kane must sense it because he immediately reaches for my hand and squeezes. “We met at summer camp when we were twelve and became instant besties. I’m not sure what it is about that age, but there’s something magical about the bond you create when you find your other half. And Meg was my long-lost soul sister.”
I stare at the anklet that I’ve only removed a handful of times over the almost 15 years I’ve worn it.
“We did everything together. She lived a few blocks away and we’d ride our bikes all over the neighborhood. We’d explore the woods nearby and get lost in them for hours and sleep over at each other’s houses almost every night in the summer.” Memories of Meg and all the good times we had make me sad, but also happy, and my heart overflows with nostalgia. I don’t ever let myself talk about her. Doing it now, I realize that maybe that’s been a huge mistake.
