In a Fix (Torus Intercession 2)

He lunged at me, arms sliding around my neck before he kissed me.

God, he tasted good, and he smelled even better, his skin and hair clean yet spicy, earthy and salty. I inhaled deeply, breathing him in as I sank my tongue into his mouth.

His moan was loud and aching as he pressed against me, tight, the kiss grinding, not letting me breathe, wanting more. When I had to pull back, his whimper was broken, raw, and as I looked at him, into his eyes, all I saw was surrender.

“Jesus, Croy,” he rasped, his voice cracking, “you look at everyone like that?”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like I belong to you.”

I needed to run because, yes, without question, I was naturally domineering, and it was wildly dangerous to tease that part of myself with someone I wanted. To stare at someone and think…mine…what would that be like?

“Kiss me again,” he whispered, his warm breath on my face.

I knocked him back against the wall, crowding him, caging him there, and ravaged his mouth until he went boneless in my arms.

“My bed,” he gasped, panting as I let him breathe, shoving me back enough to grab my hand and tug me after him.

I was led down a short hall, past a bathroom and a guest room, to the master bedroom, done in cool shades of soft blue and gray.

“Dallas, you––”

“No,” he husked, rounding on me, taking hold of my lapels to yank me close. “Give me this. Give me you, in my bed. I’m all yours, Croy.”

All mine? He was playing with fire, and he had no idea.

I took the kiss, parting his lips, my tongue in his mouth, tasting him all over again as I turned him around and walked him backward into the bed. Toppling him down onto the quilt, I pinned him there, under me, deepening the kiss as his hands were everywhere, pulling my shirt from my pants and running over my bare skin.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful,” he barely got out before I kissed him again.

I swallowed the moan of pleasure that my tongue tangling with his clearly caused. He was wild for me, wanted me urgently, frantically, and that was obvious from how quickly he was undoing buttons to get me naked.

The moment the shirt opened, he tore his lips from mine and slammed his hot mouth over my pectoral, sucking on a hard, pebbled nipple before biting down gently.

Instinctively, I bucked against him.

“Oh, Croy, oh please,” he murmured as he recaptured my mouth.

My belt surrendered next, and then the zipper on my pants before I took control, pulling free of his arms and legs, scrambling up off the bed.

He was staring up at me with his hot, hooded gaze, lips parted, breath catching, and I took a moment to look my fill of him.

Broad shoulders, wide chest, and narrow hips that led to long sculpted legs, his hair a riot of messy sunset-colored waves. He was covered in hard, brawny muscle, and he could have made me do whatever he wanted, because I was taller, yes, but I was built long and lean, sinewy where he was burly.

“Take off your clothes,” I ordered, and watched as he moved fast, tearing at his suit jacket and his shirt, toeing off his beat-to-hell lace-ups before he went to work on his pants.

Unlacing my wingtips, I took them off and was careful with my own Burberry jacket, dress shirt and pants as I set them on the wingback chair beside the window. When I turned back to him, he was naked on his big bed, holding out his lube for me.

“And the condom?” I asked, striding forward to take it from him.

He was staring at me, and his mouth was moving but no sound was coming out.

“Dallas?”

“I don’t—we don’t… I’ve never without––”

“Me neither,” I said, reaching him. “Get on your hands and knees.” He obeyed quickly, moving to the end of the bed so his feet were hanging over the edge. “So this will be a first,” I rumbled, standing behind him, admiring the beautiful lines of the man, all the carved muscle, the miles of smooth skin, and the submission that was plain as day.

When I tapped his thigh, he moved his legs wider apart, and I took that moment to lick over his crease. He jolted under me.

“No? Don’t like that?”

“You can just fuck me, and…you don’t have to––”

“But I want to,” I assured him, loving the taste of him, his smell, how his thighs shook from that single swipe of my tongue. “What makes you think I don’t want to put my mouth on every inch of your skin?”

His whole body shuddered in response, and as I bent and speared inside of him, laving and sucking, pushing deeper, reaching under him to stroke his cock from balls to head, he moaned out my name.