Damn. He didn’t have to say a word to make me aware I was overthinking the situation once again. I set my concentration back on the man himself.
By letting Rett take control of the kiss for a few moments, I realized it would be worth it. Our mouths seemed to be made for each other. They fit perfectly with no awkwardness.
Simply kissing him made the fires deep in my gut burn even brighter and hotter. Made me want to throw him on the bed, climb on top of him and fuck him until we were both nothing but a quivering, sweaty mess.
I didn’t want to make love.
I didn’t want to have “neat” or polite sex.
I wanted to plunge deep into the man, fuck like wild animals—with teeth and nails and audible encouragement—and get us off before leaving depleted and satisfied.
Basic but animalistic coupling.
Once we both got off, we’d shake hands afterward and go back to being fellow authors and…
Possibly friends.
I’d give him that because I couldn’t afford to give him anything more.
However, I’d deal with that later. Right now, I was ready to lose myself in the man I was kissing. As well as use this time to forget everything causing static in my brain on a daily basis.
For a short time, I wanted to shed the chains weighing me down and forget everything else.
I’d have no writer’s block, no smothering family, no Thomas.
Only Rett.
His mouth, his cock, his ass, his positive attitude, even his dorkwardness. I wanted it all.
I fisted his shirt and when I shoved him backward—not to push him away but to move him closer to the bed—I heard the cotton of his worn T-shirt tear.
I ended the kiss, immediately sucking in mouthfuls of air to catch my breath while ripping that shirt up his torso and over his head. I dropped it onto the floor and before he could reach for mine, I reached behind myself to grab my own shirt in the middle of my back and yank it over my head, too, before dropping it at our feet.
“Okay,” I whispered again, my voice as strained as my throbbing cock.
“Okay,” he echoed, also in a whisper, but shaky. His body vibrated against mine when I used my bare chest to bump him backwards. One step… two steps… three steps until the back of his legs hit the mattress.
But I didn’t stop moving until we both tumbled to the bed behind him, my weight pinning him down. Beneath me, his erection was hard and hot, searing my hip, even through my jeans and his boxers.
A rogue thought of taking him into my mouth and sucking him until he was a boneless, whimpering mess ripped through me.
I stared down into his deep brown eyes that went from half-closed to wide open. “What?”
I narrowed my eyes on him and grinned.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “What’s going on? I’ve never seen you grin before. Should I be scared?”
Instead of answering, I slid off him and back to my feet, grabbed his boxers at both of his hips and ripped them down his legs.
Jesus.
His hard cock was long and had a hefty girth. The crown had a shine to it, most likely from me smearing the precum when I yanked off his boxers.
Even though he lay on his back on the bed, his feet remained planted on the floor. I nudged his thighs wider with my knees and sank down onto my own, thankful his bedroom had thick carpet.
I was way past the age of wanting to kneel directly on concrete or wood.
When Rett lifted his head, I noticed a slight flush had risen from his chest all the way into his cheeks. Planting my hands on his muscular thighs, I shoved them even wider and shuffled closer until I was tightly sandwiched between them.
As soon as he reached for his erection, I knocked his hand away and had his cock in my fist, tugging it, milking it, until an almost-clear droplet appeared at the slit.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, watching me watching him.
I kept my eyes on that glistening pearl, tempted to whisk it away with my tongue, and continued to stroke his girth, the skin silky against the roughness of my fingers.
As a writer, my hands never had callouses before. Since moving up to the cabin and chopping countless cords of wood, my hands were now as rough as a lumberjack’s. I didn’t know if that sensation was better or worse for him but he apparently didn’t mind it, since with every stroke upward, his hips mimicked my motion in reverse.
With every upstroke, his hips lowered. With every downstroke, his hips rose.
With a groan, he continued to pump into my fist. “Jesus, Chase. It’s not going to take much for me to come. I’m like a goddamn lit firecracker and the fuse is burning down.”