He’s still arched, his head thrown back, eyes closed, his throat exposed. His broad chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I’m hit with a devastating need to push up his shirt and lick my way up that flat stomach to his pecs and then to his throat, to bite until I leave a mark, to press my chest to his and rock against him.
Taste him.
I wish I could chuck this condom away and suck on his bare dick, taste his salty flavor, suck him until he comes down my throat, until he howls with pleasure and loses all control.
My breathing is choppy, my pants suddenly too tight and my head too light, but instead of drawing back, I take him deep once more, tonguing the underside of his cock, sucking on him as if my life depends on it. As if I can taste him through the latex.
“Oh God.” He arches again, straining, his hands scrabbling to grab hold of something and failing. “You’re trying to kill me.”
I hum, chuckling inwardly at his desperation, and aching. Aching with the pressure behind my balls, in my cock. In my chest. My groin throbs in time with my racing heart. I put my free hand between my legs and find my dick half-hard.
The hell. This never happens. I almost choke on his cock, unsettled, and graze the head with my teeth as I come up for air. That has him moaning, long and loud, and reaching for me.
“If you do that again,” he wheezes after a moment, during which I struggle to gather my wits, “I’ll come.”
“Well then,” I pant, sweat drenching my back, my dick getting heavier with every sound and movement he makes. “That’s the idea.”
My dick twitches, arousal making my balls heavy, and I dunno what the fuck to do with that. Not with the hard-on—fuck knows I’m an expert in that—but with the realization I’m hard for Raine. No, for a customer.
Never happened before.
So I take his hard-on back into my mouth and finish him off with my lips and tongue and fingers, dragging, stroking, massaging, until he’s crying out from between clenched teeth and pulsing in my mouth, a hot spill inside the condom.
I groan around his cock, the pressure in my balls too fucking much, a fine line between pleasure and pain.
What I want is to take my cock in hand and jack off until I come.
What I want is to run away from here, to deal with this new shit.
Fact is, I dunno what to do with myself right now.
And it only gets more confusing when he lifts his head, his eyes glazed with pleasure, and says in that rough post-sex voice of his, “I wanna touch you.”
Chapter Eleven
Raine
My thoughts are floating on a sparkling cloud. My body is heavy, but my head is light. Pleasure is still singing through my blood, my nerve endings, my limbs, but I want more.
I want him. I have from the moment I saw him. Right now I can’t think of one good reason not to have him.
“Jase,” I say and my voice slurs. Christ, this is funny. It’s like I’m drunk off my ass. On him. “Jase.”
“Jason,” he mutters and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, scowling at me.
He’s still hot when he scowls.
Hotter, even.
I wish I’d thought to turn on the overhead lights, get a better look at him. Kneeling there, between my legs, bare-chested, with his dark hair and the dark lines of this tats winding around his chest and arms, he’s so damn fuckable my cock makes a valiant effort to regroup and harden.
Too soon after an orgasm that wrung my balls dry. Still… I manage to sit up, and take his chin in my hand. He jerks his head to the side, and arousal flares in my belly. I trace the line of his long throat, his rough jaw, caress the silver hoops in his ear, and then tangle my fingers in his silky short hair and tug.
He gasps, but doesn’t jerk away like before. When I tug again, he moans, eyes fluttering closed.
Fascinating. Mesmerizing. So fucking sexy.
I let go of his hair and trail both my hands down his taut arms, over hard, ropey muscle and all that ink. Bruises, too, I think dimly. And then my fingertips find raised skin.