Page 16 of Depths of Desire (The Saints of Westmont U #4)

“I’m not going to,” he said. “Not this time.” His voice cracked at the edges. All of his control was coming apart. And God, it was beautiful. He leaned in, mouth at my ear, his breath warm and uneven. “You make me feel like I can’t hold back. Like I’m going to lose it if I stop touching you.”

“You don’t have to hold back,” I told him. “Not with me.”

And he didn’t.

His hands roamed over my chest, my ribs, and the slope of my stomach. He explored like it was the first time, but with the hunger of someone who already knew what he’d find.

We rolled. He was beneath me now, head tilted up to catch my kiss, his hips lifting to meet mine again and again.

I set one hand beside his head, the other running over the smooth skin of his abdomen, tracing the line just above his waistband.

He groaned when I did. His jaw flexed. His knuckles went white against the carpet as he fisted the edge of his shirt, desperate for something to anchor him.

My body was on fire, but my heart was worse. The tenderness of it all. The ache.

Because this wasn’t just desire anymore.

It wasn’t even an obsession.

It was a need. Honest, terrifying need; the kind that made your hands gentler, even while your body screamed for more.

I pressed our foreheads together.

“I’ve missed this,” I said, the words raw in my throat.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered back.

The air between us pulsed with everything we didn’t say.

And when we moved together again, slow and unbearable, I knew this wasn’t a mistake.

This was the only thing that had made sense in weeks.

And I was going to hold onto it for as long as I could.

Every inch of him I touched felt like unlocking something forbidden.

I dragged my hand over his abs, which tightened instinctively under my palms. My hands followed his torso down, grazing warm, bare skin, tracing muscle and bone, finding the notch above his hips where skin met fabric and temptation.

I wanted to touch him everywhere at once.

But I went slow.

His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling like he’d run miles, and I watched a bead of sweat trickle from his collarbone to the center of his chest. I leaned down and kissed the path it left behind.

He exhaled shakily.

My hands moved next to his waistband. My fingers slipped beneath the elastic, testing, teasing, then stopping. I looked up to see his eyes on me, dark, wide, neither scared nor hesitant. Just…burning.

He nodded.

So I kept going.

I slid his sweatpants down over his hips. They stuck slightly where he was hard, and I didn’t hide the way I paused to feel the shape of him, to palm it through his boxer briefs with aching reverence.

His hips lifted again to help me.

When the sweatpants were finally off, I pressed my palm flat to his thigh, feeling the muscle twitch under the touch, feeling the heat radiate off his skin in waves. His legs parted just slightly. An invitation. A warning.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Then I moved to undo my own sweatpants. I didn’t rush it. I wanted him to see. To feel the shift in the air. I peeled them off and knelt above him in just my briefs, my body leaning down to kiss his stomach, my breath catching on every tremble beneath my lips.

I pressed our chests together again, skin to skin now. It hit me like a second heart beating too fast. His hands gripped my waist, his thumbs pressing into the small of my back like he wanted to pull me all the way inside him.

It wasn’t just physical. It was gravitational.

Every layer gone felt like stripping off the pretense, the distance, the excuses.

All that remained was us. Skin. Heat. Breath.

I kissed him again, slower this time, tasting the hunger that lived just beneath his skin. His tongue swept against mine with a quiet urgency, and he shifted beneath me like he couldn’t stand the space between us a second longer.

Then his hands moved down my back and around my hips, fingers grazing under the band of my briefs, tracing the curve where fabric met flesh. My breath hitched against his mouth, and I stilled, waiting, aching, letting him lead.

He exhaled through his nose, the sensation trembling against my cheek. His palms flattened against my lower back, thumbs slipping just below the hem. There was a moment, a flicker of something almost shy in his eyes, like wonder, like reverence, and then he hooked his thumbs and started to pull.

The slow drag of fabric down my thighs burned.

It wasn’t fast or rushed or casual. It was deliberate.

It was intimate. It was Oliver looking up at me like he was watching something sacred unfold.

His knuckles brushed my skin, and I shivered as the briefs slipped lower, baring more of me, letting the air bite places that had only known heat moments before.

His gaze dropped, just for a second. Just long enough to see. To breathe it in. To want.

I moved to help him, to be rid of my briefs, but he caught my wrist.

“No,” he murmured, voice low and thick. “Let me.”

I nodded once, throat tight.

His hands closed around the waistband, and I felt the trembling restraint in every movement as he peeled the final layer from me. He dragged my briefs down. The elastic slid over my hips, down my thighs, catching briefly on the tension in my legs before I shifted, helping him along.

He lifted his hips, just slightly, as soon as my briefs were under my knees, and I slipped my fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs.

My knuckles skimmed the hard lines of his lower abdomen, and he gasped, not loudly, not dramatically, just a small, involuntary sound that bloomed heat in the center of my chest.

Slowly, I peeled the fabric down, inch by inch, revealing skin I had thought about every day since the cabin. I watched the tension ripple through him, his abs flexing, his thighs twitching beneath my hands. He didn’t look away. He let me see everything.

When I had them off, I tossed the underwear aside, and for a second, I just knelt there, staring.

Not because I was shocked or hesitant, but because he was stunning.

The way he lay there, completely bare, harder than ever, stiff and upright, heat and need radiating off him in waves, looking up at me like I was the only thing in the room that existed.

I slid back over him, letting my chest lower slowly against his.

Every inch of our bodies that met sent a jolt through me.

My skin to his. My hips over his. My cock settling hard against his.

Our legs tangled, knees bumping, hands searching.

Our bodies aligned like they had always known how.

Like they’d been waiting to be pressed together like this, seamless, burning, and so fucking real.

He pulled me down fully, one arm curling around my back, the other sliding into my hair. Our mouths found each other in the dark, open and hungry, slower now but deeper, tasting the promise of something neither of us dared to name.

I rocked against him, and he moved with me, leaving no space between us, nothing left untouched.

My hips thrust harder, sending pulses of tension into my cock as it ground against his heated flesh.

There was no thought, only instinct. I grabbed lube from the drawer of the nightstand, just a little behind Oliver, and tossed condoms onto the floor. The movements were not frantic as I dragged myself a little higher up his torso, sinking onto his abdomen.

Oliver’s cock thrust between my cheeks, its thickness filling the space and then some. In the moments it took me to pour the lube over my fingers, Oliver had split the condom foil open and slipped the rubbed down his dick.

The steel wires tightened around my heart as I rubbed my slick fingers over my hole, smoothly moving my fist down his hard cock, feeling his single, eager throb.

The tip of his cock pressed against my hole.

It was only thanks to a particularly large rubber toy that I let my body sink lower with ease, not hesitating.

Since the cabin, I hadn’t even thought of other men.

Oliver was the only one I dreamed about, the one who was burned into my mind and my eyes, the one I recalled every time I inserted the dildo deep into my flesh.

I wasn’t guiding it anymore. Neither was he. This had become something deeper and older, like gravity had bent its rules just for us.

Oliver’s fingers flexed at the back of my neck, dragging my entire body another inch down, impaling me on his cock. Then he curled his fingers into my hair, holding me there, as if the very idea of parting even an inch was unbearable.

I bent down, swaying my hips to lower myself even more, exhaling a moan over his mouth.

His lips brushed mine again and again, small, desperate grazes between breaths, like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or inhale me whole. His abs tensed, hips lifting to bury his hard cock deeper into me, sending ripples of desire through my flesh.

The tension coiled low in my belly. Every stroke of our bodies, every shared breath, was winding it tighter. And not just from friction or heat, but closeness.

I kissed the corner of his mouth, then the edge of his jaw.

He turned into it like he was starving for every point of contact, like my mouth had become something sacred.

His chest rose under mine, each inhale making me feel the strain in his muscles.

He wasn’t holding back anymore. He couldn’t. Neither could I.

As I lifted my torso to ride him, Oliver came up with me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and yanked me down on his cock, forcing a loud moan out of my mouth.

I ground down on him again, harder this time, and he moaned, deep and low, right against my throat. It wasn’t just lust. It was longing. That aching, trembling edge where pleasure met need and neither one could be separated anymore.

“I can’t stop,” he whispered. “Not with you.”

“Don’t,” I said, brushing his temple with my lips. “Just…don’t stop.”

Our rhythm grew feverish. Messier. Perfect.

We clung to each other like drowning men sharing the same air, locked in a rhythm older than reason. I held him through it. I felt the full-body tremble that overtook him, the way he gritted his teeth to keep from falling apart too soon.

He touched my face like I was the fragile one. Like I was the precious thing, even though we both knew he would be the first to crack.

It undid me more than anything else.

My dick dragged inches up and down between our pressed bodies, rubbing just enough to drive me wild. I leaned back, freeing it of the unbearable friction, letting it rise, and planted my hands behind my back, just between Oliver’s spread legs.

He thrust himself off the floor, lifting me with him and sinking all the way into me. The rapture of pleasure passed through me, splitting me in half.

Sweat trickled down the sides of my face, and I looked at Oliver.

Beads were collecting on his brow, his cheeks pink and flushed with exertion.

He kept his pace, penetrating me with vigor that threatened to destroy me.

I welcomed it. I craved every thrust, every sudden bolt of pain, every spilling warmth of pleasure he could offer.

And when my abs tensed, when my head fell back, when Oliver wrapped his hand around my aching cock, I didn’t have the slightest bit of strength to fight it.

I wanted it to last, but that was never going to happen. I wanted him inside me all night, but time was not on our side. I wanted to be fucked like this for the rest of my life, but the rest of my life was something I had promised not to ask for.

So I gave in to him.

I surrendered.

I let the rising tide of lust and longing fill me to the brim, then shatter me.

Cum spilled in violent ribbons of whiteness, spraying my abs with its heated kisses, and trickled over Oliver’s tight fist. He stroked me still as I panted and cried.

He jerked his fist harder, squeezing every last drop out of me until the throbbing of my cock waned and the last of my jizz had drained.

His dick pulsed hard inside of me, and I hated the condom with irrational viciousness. It was the first thing I would do tomorrow, get the tests and drugs and the whole thing done, because I needed more of him. I needed us to join without that last barrier.

Oliver came with grunts and rough thrusts of his hips. He wrapped his arms tightly around my waist and yanked me down, his balls pressed against my ass, his dick calming down inside my body.

It was only then that I let myself inhale again.

For the longest time, we stayed there, shivering, trembling with exhaustion and pleasure, until I lifted my ass a little, letting his semi-soft cock slip out of me.

Oliver took care of the condom, then pulled me down.

I lay half-sprawled over him, skin still damp with sweat and cum, my thigh tucked between his legs, my arm heavy across his chest. His heart beat against my wrist, steady and strong, like the rest of him.

One of his hands rested lightly against my ribs, fingers splayed as if he hadn’t decided whether to hold me or let me go.

His other arm was folded behind his head, baring the curve of his bicep and the long line of his neck.

I watched it rise and fall with each breath.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw slack, lashes dark against flushed cheekbones. He looked wrecked in the best way. Quietly, almost suspiciously, at peace.

And stupidly, dangerously beautiful.

I let my gaze travel the sharp edge of his profile. That proud nose, the slight flare of his nostrils, the little twitch in his jaw when he was deep in thought. And I knew that I was screwed.

Utterly, completely screwed.

Because I wasn’t just looking at a hookup.

I wasn’t even looking at the boy from the cabin anymore.

I was looking at Oliver Hayworth like he was something permanent.

Like he had embedded himself in the marrow of my bones and I hadn’t noticed until now, until my chest felt so swollen with it I could barely breathe.

His skin still tasted like salt and heat. My lips brushed the top of his chest, right where his collarbone dipped, and he exhaled slowly, eyelids fluttering. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The way he shifted, letting his leg slide over mine, drawing me closer without words, was enough.

If I had a single ounce of self-preservation, I would’ve gotten up. Started dressing. Cracked a joke. Changed the subject. Instead, I melted into him, resting my head over his heart, feeling every thud like it was syncing with my own.

He brought his hand up and threaded his fingers through my curls lazily. My eyes fluttered shut.

I was in trouble.

And I never wanted to solve this problem.