He drops his gaze. “I said from the start that this needed to stay casual. Neither of us have time for anything more, and you need time to figure yourself out.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what I fucking need,” I snap. “You have no idea what’s going on in my fucking head.”
Wes takes a small step forward, which is damn brave considering my chest is heaving with anger and my fists are clenched.
“Why don’t you tell me, then?” he says, his voice frustratingly calm. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you.” My body is trembling with barely contained rage. How can this man make me so fucking angry but so happy at the same time?
He steps closer. “Come on, Sol. Get it off your chest. What do you want? To carry on sneaking around? To see other guys? Did you want to shout at me for walking out on you? What is it?”
It’s impossible to think with him so close, his rich woody smell making me dizzy. I reach up and plant my hands on his broad chest, shoving him out of my space. “Maybe I didn’t come here to talk.”
He staggers half a step but stays back. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” I say, sounding so out of breath it takes me by surprise. “Maybe I came here to fuck. After all, that’s what this is, right? A hook up. No strings?”
Wes makes a rumbling sound that sounds almost like a growl, and then he’s in front of me, his body pressing mine to the back of the door as his hand grips around my throat.
“Is that what you want?” he grits out against my ear. “A quick fuck?”
No. “I know better than to ask for anything more than that from you.”
Wes pulls back, his fingers squeezing around my neck tight enough to make me squirm. We stare at each other through narrowed eyes, breathing hard, and just when I think he’s going to pull away, he crashes his mouth against mine.
None of this has gone the way I wanted it to. I came here to get answers and to tell him that I want more. That I’m ready. But as I match his kiss with equal desperation, my hands gripping the sides of his sweatshirt, pulling him closer, none of that seems to matter.
Wes presses me harder against the door, his dick pressing against my hip as I moan against his tongue, tugging at his clothes, wanting them gone. He releases his grip on my throat, and I shrug off my jacket as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head. We undress each other in a frenzy of desperate hands and when we’re finally naked, Wes shoves me toward his bed.
I shove back, pushing him down first and straddling his hips as I claim his mouth again, but he only lets me for a matter of seconds before flipping us so he’s on top. Pressing a splayed hand to my chest, he slides down my body and swallows my aching cock, causing me to cry out. His other hand pins my hip, keeping me steady as his head bobs, sucking and teasing with ruthless efficiency. I force my head up so I can watch him, the dark skin across his shoulders tight over his flexing muscles. Reaching down, I palm the back of his head, forcing my cock deeper. As I hit the back of his throat, I jolt, but Wes holds me in place with bruising force, his eyes watering as he lets me fuck his mouth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I groan. “Close.”
In answer, Wes pulls off me with a gasp and grips my hips, flipping me onto my stomach. My insides swoop at the ease he handles me, and before I can try and turn back over, he takes hold of my thighs and lifts me onto my knees. Then all I can feel is his tongue. I shout a strangled cry into his pillow as he spears my hole, lapping and sucking until I’m trembling, a slew of half-formed words spilling from my lips.
My body is thrumming, and I barely register the sound of a cap being flipped. But when one of Wes’ thick fingers replaces his tongue, I groan, long and deep.
“You want more?” he asks.
I’m dizzy with need, rocking my hips back to meet his fingers as he strokes my prostate on every second pass, my head pressed into the pillow. “Yes. Fuck. Please.”
When he adds a second finger, his other hand moving around to stroke my cock, not tight enough to relieve the aching need, he scrapes his teeth against my hip. “Tell me what you want, Sol.”
Somewhere deep within my brain is a coherent answer—the reason I came here in the first place—but as he adds another finger and my fists grip his comforter tight enough that my knuckles ache, I shake my head. “Fuck me. Please. Fuck me.”
Wes’ exhale is warm against my skin, and I feel him shift behind me. Then his fingers are gone, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my hole, and I push back against him.
“You want this?” he asks, his voice low.
“Yes,” I grit out. “Fuck. Please.”
He gives a small thrust, pushing past the ring of muscle and I suck in a breath. Over the past week, I’ve swung like a pendulum between being angry with Wes and missing him like fucking crazy. But one thing that never altered, was how much I enjoyed what happened between us. As he rocks his hips, easing deeper, my eyes roll back at the fullness I’ve longed to feel again.
“Yes.” I groan. “Wes. Please.”
I’m not sure if I imagine the gentle brush of his lips against my spine, but I hear the quiet words he breathes against my skin. “I’ve got you, baby.”
As he sinks into me, up to the hilt, I exhale, my stinging eyes falling closed as I choose to ignore the blatant lie.