Being able to be honest and vulnerable with him wasn’t something I was totally used to yet, but knowing that he understood that and that I could trust him… well, that was why Percy Champion was my everything.
“Herc’s fine. He can wait a few minutes,” Champ went on. “I want to hear you come.” There was more rustling, and his voice went extra soft. “Touch yourself for me, Quinn. Just like you did the other night.”
My groan was a sound of resignation because just hearing his voice and knowing he was thinking about me that way had gotten me too hard not to want to do something about it.
I fumbled for the lube on my nightstand, pumping some out onto my hand. I kicked the covers down and gave my cock a firm stroke. It felt nice—obviously—but something about it wasn’t quite right.
The other night, we’d jerked off together over FaceTime, and it had been seriously hot. Seeing Champ’s eyes go hazy and unfocused, knowing he could see his own passion right there on the screen, had amped things up, and I’d come in record time.
But in the present moment, without Champ to focus on, imagining him in a storage closet somewhere in Nevada needing me to hurry so he could get back to his mission, I felt strangely shy.
“This isn’t working,” I said in frustration. “Maybe later, you—”
“You remember the first time you jerked off for me?” Champ whispered. “It was the sixteenth night we spent together, back in December—”
The sixteenth night?
“You remember each of the nights?” I whispered back, even though there was no one in my house to hear me except Hercules.
“Every single one,” Champ said. “But that particular night… Fuck, I have thought about that night so, so many times this week.”
“Y-you have?” My heart rate sped up, and I rubbed my thumb over the head of my cock, smearing the precum there.
“Mmm. You were a little tipsy from that holiday punch I brought over, remember? Your lips tasted like cranberries. And when I stripped you and laid you down on the carpet back in your apartment, you gave me the most desperate look—”
Wait, what?
“No, I didn’t!” I paused with my hand still on my dick. There were parts of that night that were a little foggy, but some were incredibly clear. “You’re misremembering. You gave me the most desperate look. And FYI, calling me desperate is killing my vibe. You suck at phone sex.”
Champ huffed out a soft, deep laugh that had me biting my lip and stroking myself again. “I remember that while you were naked,” he purred, “I was fully clothed—”
“Oh, God. Oh, fuck. I remember that.” The details were coming back to me through a haze of champagne cocktails. “The Christmas lights were on.”
“Mmhmm. You were dazzling. And I wanted you so badly, Quinn. So much it scared me to death. I wanted to do all sorts of uncivilized things to you—tattoo my name all over you, paint you in my cum. Ruin you for any other man who might ever come along and want what was mine. Because some part of me knew even then, baby, before I was brave enough to admit it to myself, that you and I were meant to be.”
“Yessss,” I said on an exhale, and it sounded like a whimper. My eyes squeezed shut behind my blindfold. “Fuck, I wish it was tonight already.” In that moment, I’d have given anything to have him with me.
“The next time I see you, I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he promised. “Hope you don’t have much happening this weekend because I’ve been making plans. Gonna take you in the living room, spread out on the rug. And then out on the screened porch after the sun’s gone down, when it’s absolutely still and silent and every little noise you make will carry—”
By that point, I was full-on panting, like I’d been sprinting up and down the whole of Weaver Street. “Oh, God. Oh, fuck. I’m close. I’m actually… Tell me more,” I pleaded.
“More about what I’m gonna do to you? How I’m gonna work you up, get you loose with that toy you used the other night until you’re ready to take me—”
“You don’t have to,” I blurted incoherently. “I… I’ve been playing with that toy every night this week.”
“Quinn,” he groaned loudly.
“That way, when you get home tonight, you can just—”
“Oh, fuck this,” Champ said from someplace far, far closer than a closet in Las Vegas.
Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and I heard his phone clatter to the hardwood floor of our bedroom in stereo before I dropped my own phone.
“Holy shit.” I tore my blindfold off as something—one of Champ’s big, steel-toed boots—thudded against the footboard of the antique bed, and I blinked up at the enormous, rumpled blond with the world’s sexiest blue eyes. He was standing in our bedroom doorway, attempting to shed his shirt and pants at the same time… and somehow succeeding. “You… baby, how…?”