Nope. No words. My mind’s stuck, because good lord, this boy is ridiculously hot. Absurdly hot. Nobody in real life should look that sexy. Jesus.
His stomach muscles contract, abs tightening, pecs shifting as he leans further back, splaying his muscled legs. The huge bruise in his side darkens his glorious ink. His erection bobs, long and thick and wet, the piercings glinting. His balls are drawn up, large and heavy.
He’s breathing hard, eyes hooded, sitting still as a statue. Waiting.
I want to take him in my mouth again, taste his saltiness, make him writhe. But above all, I want to feel him inside me, come undone with him, look into his eyes when it happens.
Slow down. This is about him, not me.
“Lie back,” I hear myself say. “Fold your arms behind your head.”
One golden brow lifts, and those bright eyes widen. He didn’t expect this, I bet.
Neither did I. He makes me want things I never wanted before.
His mouth twists into a lazy half smile. He lies back on the pillows, folds his thick arms behind his head and spreads his legs wider. Inviting me closer. Trusting me.
But although the view is mouthwatering, his cock is not all I’m interested in. I’ve been dying to kiss my way down that ripped chest since I first saw it, and those dimples are very, very lickable.
Never drooled over a man before, but I bet I’m drooling now, as I crawl between his legs and straddle his hips. The base of his cock is trapped underneath me, its solid mass making me catch my breath where it presses between my folds. I hear him gasp as well as I shift on top of him, and his hard-on trembles against his stomach and twitches, leaking on his smooth skin.
“Fuck,” he mutters, looking down at himself, his arms shaking under his head, biceps bulging. Every muscle, every dip and ridge on his chest stands out sharply as he struggles not to move. So handsome. Spectacular.
Heart-stopping.
I shift onto all fours, planting my hands on either side of him, sliding my breasts over his pecs, and he hisses, his cock jumping where it’s crushed between us.
“Shit,” he mutters, teeth grinding, “I can’t hold—”
I silence him with an open-mouthed kiss and he presses up into me, moaning. I love that, that he’s unable to stop himself, that he’s so close. His tongue dances with mine, and I slide up and down his erection.
He lets out a muffled cry as I keep kissing him, his hips rocking, lifting me up.
I break the kiss, look up at his flushed face and smile. “No moving. And no coming.”
He groans, then grins and licks his lips. “I’m in your hands.”
God… That grin should be outlawed, and those dimples… Unable to resist any longer, I lean in and I do what I’ve wanted to do since I met him: I lick his dimples with the tip of my tongue, one by one, taste the salt of his sweat and the sweetness of him.
He laughs, his chest shaking with it, jostling me. “Tickles. Ow, my ribs.”
“I’ll tickle you more when you’re better.”
I sit up, rubbing on his hard-on, and he gasps, not laughing anymore. “Shit, you’re killing me, girl. Christ.”
“No moving.”
He stills, his cock throbbing underneath me. “I want to touch you.”
“Not yet.” I wink at him and bend over, kissing the jagged scar on his shoulder. “I want you to say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you deserve this.”
“What…?” He’s staring at me, brows arched.
“Say, I deserve to come.”