Page 52

“Shh, shh, don’t wake the boy.”

Oh, gods, he’d forgotten all about Liam in his desperate need to be fucked. He–

“Shh,” Connor murmured again, stroking up and down his back, whisper of skin on skin. “You’re all right. You’re only ready for me, yeah? You want my cock? Want me to fill you up? Make you feel good?”

The talking was good; it helped. Reggie let out a deep breath and nodded, as he listened to the slick sound of an oiled hand on a cock. Connor’s cock. Ready for him.

The hand that stroked his back slid down, and spread him wide.

Reggie dug his nails into the tabletop.

A warm, blunt head kissed up against his hole, poised there. Connor’s breathing was fast and ragged. “I need you to say it for me, darling. I need you to be sure.”

And Reggie was sure. “Fuck me,” he panted. “Fuck me, Connor.”

With a muttered curse, Connor pushed inside.

In those first moments, that first, steady breaching, it was nothing like what the Sels had done to him. Was so careful, and measured, the way slick and well-loosened, that there was no danger of comparison. Reggie could do nothing but feel; Connor’s cock worked its way in inch by inch, driving out panic, and remembrance, and nerves. Reggie took, and took, and wanted to take some more, his head blissfully, perfectly empty save for thoughts of Connor.

The raw scrape of his breath, the squeeze of his hands at Reggie’s waist and hip, the heat of his skin, slide of sweat on sweat. His hips kissed Reggie’s backside, and he was all the way in…and shaking. Reggie could feel the tremors everywhere they touched; hear them in the little gasp against his nape. Connor’s fingertips dug into the hollow of his hipbone until it hurt, a pain that Reggie found himself rocking into. Something smooth and damp dropped against his back, and he realized it was Connor’s forehead.

And that Connor was muttering under his breath. “Gods, you’re tight – shit – hold on, hold on.” The last with another hip squeeze, as Reggie pressed back on his cock. “Give me a moment, just…fuck. You’re lovely.”

“I need–”

“I know, darling, I know.” A grunt, experimental flex of his hips that lit up Reggie’s insides like Yule candles. “I’m going to give it to you.”

Connor exhaled – rush of air between Reggie’s shoulders – and then drew his hips back slowly, andsnappedthem forward again.

Reggie knew he made some sort of noise, but couldn’t tell which, given the roar of blood in his ears. He bent low over the table at Connor’s urging, hands rattling wine bottles as he took a grip on the far edge, face pressed flat to the wood, scent of linseed oil in his nose, and the feel of Connor over him, in him, all around him. He held tight to the table, closed his eyes, and gave and gave and gave, body rocking hard as Connor began to fuck him properly.

He built a rhythm, retreat and thrust, retreat and thrust, filling him again and again, picking up speed as he went, so the time between each delicious kiss of inner pressure, that bright spark on his nerves, grew shorter as they went. Skin slapped skin, louder, and then louder, and Connor’s murmured praises became wordless little grunts, and harsh breaths.

Reggie’s cock rubbed up against the table edge on each thrust, a teasing friction, shy of what he wanted, but his orgasm was building in an entirely new and thrilling way , the pleasure welling up in slow increments from somewhere deep inside him, like ripples on a pond, spreading, intensifying, until his whole body was shaking with it. He wanted to touch himself, reach down and strip his cock with short, hard pulls until he came, but he wanted to drown in this moment, too, dizzy and breathless, awash in unhurried pleasure, holding onto the table for dear life.

Connor’s thrusts had grown quicker and jerkier as he lost himself to it. He’d come soon, Reggie thought, and found he relished the idea of feeling and hearing it, of knowing what he was like in that reckless moment of release. He wanted to see it, but that could wait for another time.

Another time? Yes, gods yes. He wanted to do this again, and again, and again–

Connor pulled out with a curse.

The sudden emptiness was so startling it took a moment to register. But when it did, it was devastating. Reggie felt cracked open, used, abandoned. “No,” he said, slipping as he tried to push up on his hands again, the tent swaying and swirling around him. There wasn’t a drop of blood left in his head, and his thoughts were taffy-slow, emotion boiling up to fill the space. His eyes burned and he was afraid he might start crying. “No, I–”

“Hush,” Connor said, gripped his hips, hauled him up as though he weighed nothing, and turned him around.

He caught a blurry glimpse of Connor’s face – flushed, sheened with sweat, long hair clinging to forehead, and cheeks, and throat – before he was hoisted up and laid back across the table. Connor leaned over him, smelling of musk and fresh sweat, to shove bottles roughly aside, and then he guided Reggie’s hands back to the far edge. He latched onto it automatically and said, “What?” He felt as though he were at sea, pitching and heaving, the hard, cool wood of the table all that grounded him.

That and Connor’s hands, as he smoothed them down his chest and stomach, and pushed his thighs apart so he could step in between them. His cock was angry and wet, curving up toward his navel, so flushed it looked painful, while Reggie’s own cock drooled across his belly, starting to flag in his confusion.

Connor spread his cheeks, guided his cock with one hand, and thrust back in, one smooth slide that set Reggie’s world to rights again. He fit there, was made to be there, and Reggie let out a huge breath, sagging back against the table as Connor started fucking him again, deep and hard.

“Wanted to see you,” Connor said, teeth bared in a quick semblance of a smile. He pushed Reggie’s thigh up and out, deepening the angle of his thrusts, and groaned. “Gods, you’re gorgeous. So pretty like this. You like my cock?”

“Yeah.” Said cock brushed along all his nerves in a new, electrifying way, and Reggie tried to lift into the next thrust, spine arching off the table. “Yes.”

He understood, now, why his past lovers had moaned for this; why they’d left scratches in the wall paneling and murmured nonsense, shaking and sweating and crying, even. He felt the hot leak of tears sliding down his own temples, now, and didn’t care, could find no shame, only pleasure – deepened, now, by the chance to watch Connor above him.

His jaw was clenched, cheeks hollowed and flushed deep pink with his efforts, nostrils flared as his breathing fought to keep up with the pistoning rhythm of his thrusts, relentless and accurate, in, and in, and in. Reggie felt them in histhroat. Connor bore down on him with something like determination, hands gripping his thigh and his hip, slipping now and then with sweat; his chest heaved, stomach sucked in and flexing, all the muscles there jumping beautifully as he worked to drive himself deeper and deeper. His gaze was trained now on the place where he disappeared inside Reggie, his pupils blown, his brow furrowed as though he was in pain.