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This is the second time this week. I was just here Wednesday night—the first time I folded during the work week. Now, it’sSaturday night. Another weekend night where guys my age are out doing normal things like finding a boyfriend, seeing a concert, or watching a game. But no, not me. What am I doing? Scratching an itch that only gets itchier each time I come to Rory to scratch it.

Fuck. I think I truly am starting to hate him. I’m worried I’ve lost any hope of another man arousing me at this point. And my hand? Dildos? Well, my body knows they’re not Rory. Why does it have to behimI crave?

He rocks slowly back and forth over my gland at least a dozen times. I want him deep. I want to be completely filled. I want him seated all the way until I can feel that soft patch of hair at his groin brushing up against my taint. I’m about to give in to begging again, when suddenly I’m empty.

“Mm,” he hums, kneading one of my cheeks. “That was wonderful.”

Um…yeah, so why did he stop? Did he come? I’m pretty sure he didn’t.

He gives my ass a little swat. Not too hard, not too soft—just the way I like it.

Panting, I watch him peel his sweatshirt over his head and drop it on the floor. Turning, he starts down the hallway but doesn’t make his way into the living room. Where the fuck is he going?

I hear the zip of his fly, and his blue jeans slide down his legs. Licking my lips, I admire the sight of him going commando. Just as he rounds the corner, he calls out, “Are you coming?”

Heaving a breath, I push off the wall and follow him. I love how he says shit, like I’m supposed to know where the hell I’m going. We’ve only ever fucked in his living room or that one time in the kitchen when he bent me over one of the stools.

When I round the corner, I freeze in the open doorway. I’ve never seen the door open. If I had, I would have known it was abedroom. A very sizable bedroom with a slightly raised, carpeted platform in the middle of it.

In the center of that platform is a king-size bed, and currently crawling onto that exquisite-looking bed is one naked Rory McDonnell. When his ass touches down on the mattress and he settles back against the pillows, I stare at his glistening cock, pointed toward the ceiling.

I tell myself that it doesn’t matter that it’s a bedroom or that he’s on a bed. We fucked on a bed once before on his yacht. If I make some protest, he’ll just tease me, and I’m too turned out to ruin it right now. I spot a switch on the wall by the doorway and dim the lights, then make my way over to him. He has what I need right now. Who cares if he changed the venue?

Except, just as I take a knee on the mattress and make to assume my usual position, he grabs my arm and tugs. With his other hand, he pats the top of his thigh.

“Right here, handsome,” he informs me.

How the fuck is that going to work? Does he want my ass in his face again? He already put lube all over me. He had a packet in his pocket like he was expecting me, the smug bastard. I swear he made me attend that luncheon the other day with the contracting department because he knew I’d cave sooner if I had to see him in person. And I did. I told myself I’d skip what’s becoming our regular Saturday night ritual, but… Well, here I am. I’ll think about how weak my willpower is later.

Moving to turn and face the end of the bed, so I can sling my leg over the top of his, I wobble when he tugs on my arm again with more force. Why is he laughing?

Twisting around, I’m sure my face shows my confusion, especially when he plants his other hand on my hips and drags me closer to him. I have no choice but to move my knee so I don’t faceplant on his chest.

“You’re so cute. You know that?” he purrs, and I find myself straddling him. Straddling him as Iface him. What the actual fuck?

Gripping the headboard for balance, I hold my breath while I assess the situation. There’s enough light in here that nothing will be left to the imagination. I’ve never looked at him while we mess around. I’ve hardly looked at him at all, to be honest. At least, not while he’s looking back at me. This is so weird. He can’t possibly want to fuck like this. What’s wrong with what we’ve been doing? Am I getting too boring for him?

Fuck. Each time I come here, I swear it’s the last, but each time I leave, I know that’s a lie. It was never supposed to go on this long.

When he reaches between my legs, grabs his cock, and rubs his tip back and forth through my crease, a sliver of worry needles at me. I’m worried about my sanity because I’m instantly curious to see how it would feel to slide down on his cock while it’s at that angle. I bet I’d get him deeper than when he’s behind me. Damn it. He really has broken me.

CHAPTER 16

Rory

Watching the emotions that flicker across Charlie’s face is always a thing of awe. Watching them face-to-face while I drag my cockhead over his slickened hole—the most entrancing thing I’ve ever seen. And yet, slightly heartbreaking.

God, if he would just let himself go. I can’t imagine the way the passion would seep through his features. I want to see it so badly, but I refuse to push him.

His eyes slip shut and stay pinched closed. A little huff leaves his lips. It sounds equal parts sexual frustration and stage fright, but he’s not made a move to get off my lap. He looks so good in my bed, so good on top of me. If he knew how many times I’ve dreamt about this, he’d probably up and run out of here the way he does each time we’ve finished enjoying each other. All I can do is hope. Hope and please him as best I can. So, that’s exactly what I set about doing.

Running a hand up his thigh, I stroke the soft skin at the juncture of his hip and then glide my palm back down over his flexed muscles. I can feel him soften beneath my touch, relaxing because of my hand. I love the way he responds to a delicate touch. So gruff on the exterior and yet, so quickly yielding to the kind of intimacy I long to give him.

A shadow of conflict flashes across his face. Biting his lower lip, he turns his head to the side, and I feel him push against me. I stare unabashedly at his face as he lowers himself onto me, waiting for the second those lips part at the feel of me. The little groans he makes and the way his body slowly cuffs me have my own eyes slipping closed.Fuck. He’s so perfect.

Whatever his hang-ups are that prevented him from bottoming before no longer make me sad for him at this moment. I’m too grateful for the knowledge that I’m the only man he’s trusted enough to take. I like knowing I’m the only one he’s taken. Call me possessive, but I accepted long ago that’s what Charlie North does to me.

I haven’t for a minute imagined he hasn’t at least tried with someone else. The way he looked so distraught, nearly deranged, when he first showed up at my house three months ago, I could tell. He’d been experimenting. I hated the thought of him experimenting with someone else—even himself—but I know it’s what he needed. I shouldn’t have been so happy to deduce that he probably hadn’t had it in him to go through with anything with another person. I could tell just by how jittery he was, how tight he still was. It was like every touch I gave him was brand new, more firsts he’d been experiencing. I wanted to devour him the second I walked into my living room and found him ready and waiting for me, silently asking.