Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

“Now? Like, in your van?” I asked. Totally for it, even if I was shaking.

He let my head go and tugged my arm, urging me around his chair. He pulled me onto his lap and breathed me in. I squirmed at the drag of air over my neck.

“Not in the van. Not for that. At least, not the first time.”

The idea we could fool around more than once made me dizzy. I couldn’t forget the expiry date!

He nibbled kisses and I let out a gravely mantra of “fuck” as he rolled us to the van.

Hunter chuckled. “I promise there’ll be lots of that later.”

“Later?”

His laugh zipped directly to my balls. “We have a gazebo to save.”

That. Right. Yes.

Reluctantly, I climbed off him. “How do you feel about stopping for coffee before heading to our ultimate V.A?”

Hunter unlocked the van, lips raw from our kisses. “How about lunch?”

Chapter Ten

Except we didn’t accomplish lunch. Or coffee.

After twenty minutes of me squirming in the van, Hunter swore under his breath. “Yeah, okay. We’ve got to do something about that.”

He swerved into an abandoned parking lot overlooking a torn-down factory and a forest.

“By ‘that’ do you mean the erection that won’t go away?”

Hunter pulled the brakes. “Uh huh.”

“It’s just . . . I tried to think of grannies and giving birth out of my ass and all things unsexy, but you are right there.”

Hunter searched my eyes and snapped open his seatbelt. “Come closer.”

I unbuckled and slid nearer, heart punching up my throat. “So this is it? We’re officially fooling around?”

“Shove your pants down.”

Holy fuck, I got harder. I scrambled to unzip, shoved my pants around my thighs, and squeezed my rigid shaft.

Air stirred around my cock, and Hunter didn’t hesitate. His fingers wrapped around me. I dropped my hands to the vinyl at the exquisite sensation of someone holding me.

He gave me a languid stroke, and there was nothing shy about his grip or his look. He deadlocked my eyes and stroked again. I shook, holding myself from bucking into it, wanting each of his fingers against my silky skin, rubbing over the hardness beneath. Sensation riddled my body.

My hands bore into the vinyl. “That feels so good, Hunter.”

He wrung his hand and I convulsed into curses. I wouldn’t last long.

“Look at me, Marc.”

Hunter’s eyes were bright blue, his lips wide and dark. I hooked the corner of his mouth with my thumb. I leaned in and licked his bottom lip. “Such a mouth.”

Hunter smiled, hot tongue flicking over the pad of my thumb. “Okay, Marc.”

He braced his hand against the dashboard under the Archie tin and descended toward my dick. Hot breath fanned over the head, and his warm mouth suctioned around me.

My toes curled in my sneakers, and I made choking gasps as Hunter consumed me wetly and my dick prodded the tight muscles in his throat.

I rubbed up and down his flank while threading his soft hair. So. Damn. Phenomenal.

Yet I couldn’t figure out why—I’d had guys deep throat me before. But this felt intense.

Spontaneity, perhaps?

The butterflies in my chest thrashed wildly, and I wanted so badly to let go. To give in to Hunter and be.

Hunter’s swollen mouth knew every trick that got me off. My fingers made a mess of his hair, his T-shirt was halfway up his back, and my blunt nails were digging moons into his side.

We were in his van, in a forgotten part of the city, and the surroundings made me think of being lost and alone, except I wasn’t. I was with Hunter, and I was cursing his name. Pleading for him never to stop. Arching my ass off the seat, desperately chasing friction.

Holy fuck, what would it feel like when he fucked me?

When I fucked him?

My dick pulsed and Hunter’s face wrecked with desire as my dick stretched his amazing mouth. “Hunter,” I warned. Begged. Something. “Hunter—”

My orgasm punched through me, and I stiffened, riding the waves of ecstasy as Hunter gulped my come.

He pulled off, sucking every drop; I sagged against the seat, catching my breath. I balled a hand into his T-shirt and urged him closer. “Damn.” I kissed him through hitching breaths.

He pulled back and cocked his head. “Grannies, and giving birth out of your ass?”

“Like omegas? ‘Cause that has to hurt.”

“I’m surprised you kept your erection.” He snapped on his belt and started the car. “I must really do it for you.”

I zipped up, burning, and boldly met his eye. “Fuck yeah.”

The remaining twenty-minute drive, I hummed along to the radio. I’d turned it on to ward off the silence and awkwardness after such a mind-blowing orgasm.

Elton John’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” blared out of the speakers and thanks to Uncle Ben I knew every lyric.

Apparently so did Hunter, because we lip-synced the entire song.

I turned down the volume, laughing. “Jesus Christ we’re dorks.”