Page 14 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

He laughed as he tossed the shirt down the bed. “Your hair’s a mess.”

I blew some long strands out of my face and tried to pat the rest into behaving. “I have hair ties in my room.”

“No, I like it. My wild ginger.” He kissed my temple and then my nose.

“Lips,” I suggested.

“Let’s get your pants off first. No—” He pushed down on my shoulder, holding me in place as I tried to sit up. “I’ll do the work.”

“Just shove them down far enough. That’s easier.

” I didn’t want him to get a good look at the padded bandage and the bruising I still wore on my thigh and decide I was too hurt to sleep with.

Slipping my waistband below the curve of my ass and under my balls was easy and barely twinged my leg.

The bunched fabric covered my bandage and left me feeling sluttier than if I was fully naked.

Brooklyn hummed as I freed my erect dick. “Mm. Nice.”

“Pretty average.”

“I have a thing for gingers.” Brooklyn reached over and delivered a slow stroke down my shaft that had my cock sitting up and begging.

“I could blow you,” I offered. “If we can figure out a position.” My thigh had almost stopped throbbing, and in that miracle, I was hot and hard and eager, unwilling to move and lose this moment.

“Nope.” Brooklyn eased his long legs down the bed, stretching on his side facing me. “Nothing fancy, nothing that might twinge your leg or your head.”

“I’m fi?—”

Brooklyn kissed the second consonant off my lips. “You’re definitely fine . You’re also going to be holding still. Let me do the work. Start with kissing.” He tapped his lips with his forefinger. “Right here.”

I didn’t know if that was just how Brooklyn was, or if he’d figured out I liked to be told what to do in bed. Didn’t really matter right then. I kissed him, right where he wanted it at the outer corner of his mouth. The faint hint of growing scruff prickled my lips.

He chuckled and turned his head to find my lips with his. With a light tug on my beard, he changed the angle, deepening the kiss. Then I felt his palm press over my nipple. I moaned. I was always stupidly sensitive there.

“Oh, yeah.” Brooklyn went back to kissing me while he rolled and pinched and tugged at my nipples.

My hips tried to punch forward of their own account, and a flash of pain up my thigh made me wince.

I thought I hid it, but Brooklyn leaned away from our kiss. “You have just one job, Arthur. Hold still and let me take care of you.”

That didn’t feel fair. He’d been taking care of me all week. But when he slid lower and closed his mouth around my nipple, all I could do was gasp and try not to move.

I cupped his head in my hands, his short, straight hair silky under my fingers, and tried to guide him to the other side.

He resisted, long enough to make me whine, then turned his attention to my other tight nub.

I gasped at the edge of teeth, fighting to keep my touch on his head gentle.

Then he licked where he’d bitten me, soothing sensitized skin with the flat of his tongue.

Brooklyn moved down my body an inch at a time, stroking and licking and nipping—a gentle bite on my stomach, a kiss pressed to my hip bone.

In the past, I’d been self-conscious about my soft pasty-white stomach. What muscle I had was hidden in a layer of cushioning, but Brooklyn treated every bit of me as if it was worth exploring. Then he reached my cock and slid his hot mouth over the head.

I looked down and all I could feel was need and wonder, as Brooklyn bobbed up and down and took me apart with his mouth and hands.

It wasn’t so much technique as how attuned to me he was.

How he’d clamp a hand on my hip if I was about to move, or pause, open mouth hovering around me, too much and not quite enough, as I teetered on the brink.

After getting me almost there three times, he backed off and started again , kissing my stomach, my hip, then lower. He cupped my balls, rolling them, but when I tried to raise my thigh to give him room, I flinched and he let go. “Maybe not this time. Hold still, Arthur.”

“You have someone sucking your dick like a graduate from cock-sucking college and see how well you hold still,” I muttered, my breath rasping in my throat.

“Not an excuse.” He nipped my stomach. “And thanks.” He sucked my dick down again, this time almost reaching my curls with his lips.

“Goddamn graduate degree,” I said. “Please, Brooklyn. Come on. Don’t stop now.

” My pulse pounded in my throat, and all my nerves were strung tight, vibrating.

I’d never in my life seen anything hotter than Brooklyn West with my cock between his pretty pink lips, while controlling my movements with those long, strong fingers. “Please!”

He sucked me harder, faster, with less variety and more sloppy, wet, tight perfection.

Heat rose in my belly, in my groin, in my face and chest. My balls ached, climax boiling just below the surface, and I wanted to thrust down his throat but I obeyed the grip of his hands.

“Yeah, that, God, yes, God!” Orgasm hit me in an avalanche of heat.

My cock jumped and spurted in Brooklyn’s mouth.

He laughed, a low choked sound, even as he drank me down. Then he pulled me closer, deeper, his fingers digging into my hip, his mouth full of me.

“Oh God.” An aftershock ripped through me, perfect white-out pleasure rocking me one more time.

Then I sighed, long and hard, and my body rolled down the other side of that exquisite climax mountain.

My breathing steadied. My heartbeat slowed.

Other sensations came back online, including a sharp ache in my thigh that I ignored, because nothing was allowed to make this moment less than perfect.

“That was incredible. Thank you,” I murmured.

Brooklyn eased off, letting my softening cock sag against my thigh, and grinned up at me.

Look at that man.

I asked, “Can I blow you now? I want to.”

He eyed me up and down. “Some other time.”

I liked the confirmation that he wasn’t thinking of this as a one-time hookup, but I could see he was still rock-hard. “My hand, then. C’mere.” I beckoned. “Up here. I want a kiss.”

Brooklyn raised an eyebrow, but scooted up the bed and found my mouth with his. Tasting myself on his tongue made me wish I was ten years younger and a bit less battered. I reached for his erection, and he arched into my grip.

That long slim cock was made for me, a perfect fit in my palm.

And he was uncut so we didn’t need lube to let me jack him, hard and smooth.

I took up a rhythm, and he gasped with each motion of my hand.

Precum welled under my palm as I swiped over the head.

Then I added one long, tight stroke, tip to base and back up, and Brooklyn cried out and arched, shoving his dick through my fist. Thick spunk jetted between my fingers, hitting my chest and dripping onto Brooklyn’s stomach and thighs.

He groaned, his eyes half-shut, his face flushed. God, he looks good coming. I used the jizz to lube my strokes and kept going till he grabbed my wrist.

“Enough. Wow. Fuck, that was embarrassing. I came in, like, fifteen seconds.”

“After fifteen minutes of blowing me,” I pointed out.

“True. You were unfairly hot.” He delivered a hard, off-center kiss to my mouth. “Hottest I’ve ever seen.”

I laughed, feeling floaty and happy. In the glow of the moment, I almost believed he really meant that. Me, nearing-forty Arthur Bjornsson, who’d never been anyone’s first choice, was his tonight. No one’s preference, until this kind, cute, sexy, determined man invited me to his bed.

We shuffled closer together, sticky and messy but unwilling to stop kissing long enough to do something about it. I clasped his shoulder and he draped an arm across my hips.

Slowly, the need to get our mouths on each other ebbed into a quiet exchange, lips brushing lips, breath mingling. I sighed and closed my eyes.

“Here,” Brooklyn murmured. “Let me grab some tissues and get us wiped up.”

“I should go to my room.” But I didn’t move as his gentle touch patted and wiped me, cleaning the sticky aftermath from my skin, then pulling up my sleep pants.

“You’d just wake the dogs,” he said.

“Point.”

“Stay here. Morning will come soon enough. And I feel like I can sleep for a change.”

From the dark circles under his eyes as we’d sat in the kitchen, I suspected he needed that. If I could help him sleep, that would be something I could give, for all the things he’d done for me. A reason to stay in Brooklyn’s bed.

Face it, you don’t want to leave.

I decided it was too late, or too early, to deal with the angel on my shoulder. Or devil, whichever. Once Brooklyn had tossed the tissues, turned off the lamp, and lain down beside me, I told him, “Roll over. I can’t, and I want to hold you.”

He sighed, but the soft breath sounded more content than exasperated.

He turned over and eased his bare ass against my flannel-covered dick.

I was far too wrung out to get hard again, but I liked having him there.

I hugged him lightly, my arm across his waist, and breathed in the scent of the back of his neck.

Sleeping with a stranger had never been something I was good at.

Mostly I hadn’t tried to spend the night after getting off with guys, but if I did, I’d lie awake, rigidly holding still so I wouldn’t wake the other guy, worried I’d snore, or fart, or something.

If I dropped off, my sleep was light and fitful.

And at first, in Brooklyn’s bed, I tried to control my movements, my breaths, hoping to lull him to sleep.

But as I heard his breathing deepen and even out, I relaxed.

I didn’t feel that familiar tug of anxiety, the need to be perfect, to not do anything wrong.

Being with Brooklyn was different, and I drifted into deep, restful sleep. Best I’d had all week.

Until, of course, I was woken from that deep sleep by repeated chimes of Brooklyn’s doorbell and a chorus of barking from my dogs.