Two Weeks and a Day (Finn's Pub Romance 2)

“Royal would make the Hulk look bad, and he’d probably whistle a happy tune while he was doing it. You, on the other hand, should know better.”

“What about our years of friendship tells you I should know better?”

But I really should. I just couldn’t help myself. I heard Miller pull into the driveway, glanced over at my shirtless, Bunyan-esque buddy and felt the need to step up my game.

Dropping my sweat-soaked shirt on the ground, I reached for the next slab of cedar and imagined Miller looking through the window. He’d see me and not be able to look away. Maybe he’d slip his hand under those easy access sweatpants of his and stroke himself while I worked to build him a deck I could fuck him on.

That fantasy was abruptly cut short when the crick in my neck morphed into the kind of immobilizing pain that would have made a lesser man cry.

No one saw me cry, so it didn’t happen.

“There,” Miller grunts while I feel a firm, painful pressure.

A sudden rush of release, almost euphoria, hits me and I moan out loud. “Yes. Oh, thank God. Damn, I swear your hands should be bronzed for this.”

He chuckles. “Sure, but if they were, they wouldn’t be able to help you when this happens again. And we’re not done yet.”

We’re not? Somebody up there loves me.

“I still need to…” One minute Miller is muttering to himself, and the next he’s sitting on my ass, thighs gripping my hips as he works through the last of the knots in my back.

That causes a whole new kind of pain. But I would suffer through it forever if it means he stays right where he is. “Don’t stop. I’ll die if you stop.”

“If I keep this up too much longer, I’ll do more harm than good. You’ll need to ice the area later and take a nice long shower. If it’s still hurting tomorrow, I’ll give you another rub down.”

I know exactly where I want him to rub me next.

“Mmmhmmm.” I groan my assent, every bit of concentration focused on the delicious weight settled on my ass. My hips pump against the bed to relieve the ache. Just once.

Twice.

I’m trying to be subtle, but when the hands on my back go suddenly still, I know I haven’t succeeded.

“What—we should stop here.”

“Please don’t.” I reach back and clasp his calf with my hand. “I’m not ready for you to stop yet.”

Don’t leave.

Miller lays his palms flat on my back, keeping them still, but not removing them completely. “I really don’t think more would be a good idea.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t think clean slates are that smart either.”

Shit. I said that out loud.

I move then, turning until he falls onto the bed beside me, and then my dick is pressed between his spread thighs, my hands cupping his face. “Why don’t you want to talk about what I did to you last night, Miller?”

The dusting of freckles on his cheeks stands out as he pales. I want to kiss every damn one. “You were drunk. You don’t remember.”

I skim his lips with my thumb. “I remember every second. I’ve been reliving it all day.”

Miller blinks, a deep furrow appearing between his brows. “You’re not—you don’t—”

Frustrated and impatient, I yank down his sweatpants so forcefully he bounces back on the bed, and then my hands are on him again. Silky skin, hard as I remembered and all mine. “I am. I do.”

“Oh fuck,” Miller moans, closing his eyes.

“Look at me,” I demand. “I’m sober and I’m here and I want you to see me.”

He refuses and I push down the shorts I was working in, sliding my cock against his and groaning at how good it feels. “This is how much I want you.”

Eyes wide and dilated are suddenly gazing up into my face with wonder and a touch of trepidation. I wrap my hand around both our cocks and stroke them together, watching his spine arch, hips rocking against mine in reaction.

“Brendan!” he cries shakily. “Oh God that feels so...”

“We’re not erasing this,” I promise grimly, desperate to hold back long enough for him to find his release. “I’m not going to let you forget how fucking perfect this feels.”

His head is shaking back and forth, hands fisting on the bed beside him as I fuck us both with my fist. He’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. And knowing I’m the one giving him pleasure makes me harder than I knew I could be.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” he gasps, his feet planted on the mattress on either side of me as he lifts his hips with every stroke. “Yes.”

“That’s right,” I growl, my hand pumping rough and fast up our slippery shafts. “This is how it’s going to be when I fuck you, Millie. You’ll be tighter than this fist when I finally get inside you.”