“Well, now, I wouldn’t go that far.” I stepped directly in front of him and stripped off his bow tie in one swift move. “I’ve been fucking astonished.”
Mal grinned—a bright, shining thing—and pulled me down to kiss him.
The pieces of my suit and his tux went flying around the room like confetti, and before I knew it, I was groaning against Mal’s mouth, both hands clutching his ass to pull him against me. The skin-on-skin of our chests touching was aching perfection, and after all of the teasing in the car, I was primed, when I’d promised myself that tonight I’d take my time and savor him.
I broke the kiss to coast my mouth down the side of his neck, and he shuddered against me, his hands grabbing at my hair as he tried to direct my mouth back to his. Instead, I stepped closer, forcing him to bend backward. I held him firmly at the waist and leaned down to lick his nipple.
Mal grabbed the footboard of the bed to brace himself. “Jesus, Brooks.”
I took my time moving down his chest and abs, alternately licking and sucking and scraping him up with my teeth. He tasted seriously fucking good.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “You’re gonna kill me. Suck me off, already!”
“Is this you begging for mercy?” I demanded, my voice hoarse with lust.
“What? Never.”
I bit at the muscle just above his hip hard enough to leave a mark, and he cried out. “You will,” I promised him. “Turn around.”
He stared down at me like he’d lost his English vocabulary. “A-around?”
I would have smiled if I hadn’t already been hard as a fucking rock, but seeing him losing his control now just made it harder to maintain my own.
“Around,” I repeated. I pushed lightly, and he bent over the side of the bed, exposing his gorgeous bubble butt.
Holy fuck.
I groaned as his piercing caught the light. Every once in a while, I managed to forget it was there, which made it exponentially hotter when I remembered, like a treasure I kept discovering. I couldn’t hide how damn enthusiastic it made me to finally see it up close and personal.
I tugged gently at the tiny ring while I teased his opening with my tongue. And judging by Mal’s garbled noises of ecstasy and how he rubbed himself against the bed in a way that made me fucking envy that old quilt, it seemed like he approved.
“Oh, that… oh, no… oh, mother… oh, my fuck… ohhhh yesssss,” he cried into the quilt, and I was torn between laughter and orgasm, which was a whole new plane of existence for me.
I gave him one last lick and stood up shakily, thanking whatever deity had allowed the lube to move right next to Mal’s hip, because my brain was so consumed with the need to be inside him. I could only think in one word phrases—Lube. Prep. Hot. Yes. Fuck. More. Malachi, and I just hoped that the sweet kisses I pressed into his skin conveyed all the shit I was unable to get out, like how hot he was. How special he was. How fucking perfect he was.
Mal writhed on the bed beneath me and cried out my name, and my dick literally throbbed against my stomach, I was so hard. I’d wanted to go slow, to tease both of us, to see what would happen if I played with the piercing while I gave him just the tip… but I couldn’t do it. I wanted him too much.
Next time, I promised myself.
“Turn over?” I said. It was a plea, not a command. Mal was always ducking his head, hiding his eyes from me, but I wanted to watch the expression on his face as I took him apart. Wanted to commit it to memory. But I wanted him to want it too, and if he didn’t…
Mal turned over without a protest, and it made my chest seize up, swamped by feelings that were way too big for a guy I’d known so short a time, but were so fucking real I couldn’t deny them.
His hair was stuck to his face, sweaty tendrils across his forehead. I leaned over and brushed them away, and his eyes locked on mine, impossibly tender for a moment.
“Please, Brooks.” He spread his legs wider, his blue eyes imploring.
I wanted to give him everything, promise him everything, but what we had right now was this. So I rolled a condom over myself, lined myself up, and pushed inside him, where both of us needed me to be.
It felt like coming home, which was fitting in a way, because Malachi Forrester was the guy who’d made Licking Thicket feel like home for the first time in my twenty-eight years.
“Move, baby,” he begged.
I braced myself over him and thrust slowly, in tiny little nudges that didn’t satisfy either of us. “Like this?”