“What?” I growl, gripping his hot, hard dick so tightly its imprint will probably show in my hand tomorrow. “What do you want?”
“To suck you off.”
The words take a few seconds to sink in, and then a bolt of white-hot need hits me straight in the balls. “Fuck.”
He’s already dropping to his knees, his blond head level with my crotch, and I have a moment’s terrible doubt—Brylee, is this cheating on her, am I anything to her at all, no matter what Ryan says?—and then his mouth closes around the head of my cock and my brain implodes.
I’m faintly aware of groaning out loud and slamming a hand to the wall to keep from falling, the impact radiating up my arm to join the ache in my back—my other hand dropping to his short, silky hair as he takes me in deeper.
Rough and sweet, his tongue dragging along the underside like fine grain sandpaper, like a cat’s tongue, his lips soft, his strong hands gripping my hips as he starts sucking me in earnest, deep drags as if he’s thirsty, and I’m a long drink he found in the desert.
I’m not making any fucking sense.
And right now I don’t care, not when the guy I haven’t been able to get out of my mind is going down on me with an intensity that’s caught me off guard.
As if he’s been wanting it, too, craving it like I have.
Which is bullshit, but ah fuck…he’s good.
It’s good. So damn fucking good.
My body gives a great shudder, my hand tightens in the short strands of his hair. My hips rock of their own volition, thrusting into his mouth, the pressure in my gut killing me, my balls heavy, my dick unbearably hard.
“Ryan,” I gasp, not sure if it’s a plea or a warning, and I forget to be embarrassed for not lasting for more than two minutes as I come, struggling with pleasure sharp like a knife, slicing through me. “God.”
I slump over him, fighting to catch my breath, and he licks me clean, every sweep of his tongue sending aftershocks through my overloaded system.
It takes me a minute to realize he’s dropped one hand to his own dick and is stroking himself. Fascinated, I stare down at him as he sits back on his heels, jacking off, his fist moving up and down his thick cock in hard, long strokes.
Fascinated by his unconscious sexiness, his golden lashes resting on his flushed cheekbones, his muscular chest rising and falling as he works his dick savagely, pumping furiously, his thighs trembling with the strain through the fine fabric of his pants, the contrast of his long, pale length against the black pants transfixing me.
He hunches over, groaning, his cum splashing on
the floor, cords standing out in his neck as he comes in long, wrenching spasms.
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until it goes out in a gasp.
That was hot.
And this is all so fucking wrong.
Pushing off the wall, I pull up my sweats, tucking myself in. “Get out.”
“Rid.” He’s getting to his feet, leaning against the wall, stuffing his dick back into his pants. His eyes are so very dark, still high on the pleasure of his release.
God, the man’s so fucking beautiful.
“You said it yourself before. This was a mistake.”
“Was it?” he asks.
The hell. “We can’t just fuck every time we fight.”
“I know.”
“And it doesn’t change that we both want Brylee. Nothing changes that.”
“I’m not letting her go,” he says, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, and it comes away bloody. Shit, I almost forgot about our earlier grapple.