Scoring With Him (Men of Summer 1)

I settle between his thighs, sliding my hands under his legs, yanking him toward my face. Then I draw his cock into my throat. I moan against his shaft, loving the taste of him.

“Yes, you’re so fucking good at that,” he says as I lick and suck and show him how much I want him. After a hot, heady minute, he grabs my face. “Stop. We need to fuck. Now.”

Best. Words. Ever.

I let him go with a loud, wet pop, then I move up his body, kiss his lips, and give him a command. “Then get me ready.”

Declan blows out a long stream of air and reaches for the lube as we shift positions.

I raise my knees, setting my feet on the bed. He drizzles lube on his fingers, strokes me slowly, presses a finger against my hole.

My body twitches with pleasure.

His lips twist into a wicked grin. “Love watching you. Love your reactions,” he says as he pushes in more, playing with my balls with his other hand.

I push down on his hand, asking for more. “Yeah? How do I look?”

“Turned all the fuck on,” he says, as he lets go to add more lube to his fingers.

Then he adds more fingers in me.

And holy hell, it’s intense.

Mind-bending too, as Declan finger fucks me for a long time, opening me up.

After several delirious minutes, I’m panting and moaning.

Ready, so damn ready. Hell, I’ve been ready for him for a long time.

I push up on my elbows, my mouth dry, my body on fire, then I say, “Can I sit on your dick now?”

A slow, wicked grin spreads on his face as he eases out his fingers, grabs my face and hauls me in for a wild kiss that ends quickly as he reaches for a condom.

We shift positions, so I can be on top. “This should be easier for your first time,” he says. “You’re in total control. You set the pace.”

I nod, barely able to respond with words because the sight in front of me is too sexy.

Too erotic.

Too carnal.

Declan Steele covers his long, thick cock with protection, then coats himself in lube, and holds the base of his dick for me.

Holy fuck.

This is happening.

Him and me.

I straddle him, rising up on my knees, gazing down at the filthy sight before me. His gorgeous dick, thick and hard and hungry for me.

I angle forward slightly, press my hands to his abs, and close the distance between our bodies.

“Yessssss,” he grunts as I lower myself just the slightest bit, pressing against his shaft.

He’s hardly in me. And he already looks enrapt in pleasure. It’s a good fucking look, so damn good it helps me breathe.

Helps me relax.

Helps me lower myself onto the tip.

I grunt as he breaches me, pushing past the first ring of muscles.

And it’s tight. Really fucking tight.

And completely strange.

And I don’t know how he’s going to fit in me.

Don’t know at all.

I grit my teeth. Suck in a harsh breath.

“How you doing?” he asks, his voice all gravelly.

I love that he’s looking at me.

Love that he cares.

But I don’t love how I feel.

Not yet.

“I’m good,” I bite out, as I breathe in, out. Then as I drop down more, my breath hitches.

In pain.

Carefully, he sits up, one hand on my face. “I can stop. We can stop,” he says, so damn concerned that it makes my heart thump harder for him.

Wilder for him.

“Just kiss me,” I beg.

“Anytime,” he says, bringing me closer, kissing my mouth gently.

I barely move. I just sort of hover there in this in-between space where he’s an inch or two in me.

I kind of want to stop because it’s uncomfortably tight, and it hurts, and this isn’t a baseball hurt. This isn’t someone slamming into me at home plate. This isn’t an I can take it because I’m tough hurt.

This is letting a man into my body.

But it’s not just any man.

It’s this man.

The man who looks at me the way I look at him.

Like it’s not just sex for him either.

Not at all.

He lets go of my face and travels his hand down my arm, his touch surprisingly erotic for how soft it is.

A light brush of his fingers—that’s all. But the way he touches me sends a rush of warmth through my body. As I wait to move, his fingertips travel over my stomach, making me feel so damn good. It’s almost that sensation of getting a massage, when you first let go under someone else’s hands, when your body relaxes and sinks into the feel-good moment.

“Say the word, rookie,” he whispers against my lips. “I’ll stop anytime for you.” Then, a few seconds later, he adds in an even softer voice, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

I release a breath, relaxing, picturing what I want this to be. “Don’t stop.”

I laser in on the stretch, on the burn.