Page 18 of Kiss-Fist (Deaf Hearts #1)

His worried face morphs into relief, and he types something out on his phone.

Thom: I wn’t bug u. I profsnal.

I don’t know about that. Nothing we did on the couch was professional. Nothing we did in his gym was professional. But it’s not going to make me convince him not to attend the class. I realize in that moment I want it. I want him to make an effort for me. I want to be worth his time.

‘I know that. It’s fine.’

He grins and then leans forward, kissing me softly. He drags it out, our tongues sliding against each other, and when he pulls away, I’m breathing heavier.

God, he’s so good at this. It’s easy to lose myself in him—the way he touches me, his impossibly strong arms that can lift me and put me where he wants me. Somehow, I end up on my back, his fingers gently stroking over my balls while he devours a sensitive spot on my neck.

I groan loudly. I can feel the ragged noise scrape along my throat. He gives me one in return. It rumbles from his chest against mine, and I press my hands to his back to feel it better.

He’s a whole-body experience. He overwhelms every single one of my senses, and all I can do is lie there, take it, and beg for more.

I want to do this all day. Fuck responsibility.

Fuck schedules. Maybe he has clients, but it’s difficult to give a shit when he’s pressing two fingers into my mouth, forcing me to wet them before shoving his hand between my legs and toying with my hole.

“Uhg,” I say aloud.

He kisses me like he enjoys my noises. I always thought hearing people were weird for their obsessions with how Deaf voices sound, but I’m kind of into it when it comes to Thom.

I want him to find everything about me sexy.

I open for him, relaxed, letting his tongue devour me while his fingers gently push past my tight ring of muscle.

I haven’t done this since Rome, and fuck if this doesn’t feel so much better with Thom than it ever did with him.

‘Fuck me,’ I sign against his side. Even if he could see my hands, he probably wouldn’t understand me.

Not yet. None of those signs are on the app, and he won’t learn them in ASL either.

At least, not right away. Denver, the ASL professor, doesn’t get to the irreverent and sexy stuff until the last day of his 202 class.

So I guess I’ll have to give Thom some long, hot, hard…tutoring soon.

Taking a deep breath, I prepare to bear down against him and take his fingers inside me, when suddenly, he stiffens. ‘Why are you stopping?’ I demand, sitting halfway up when he slides off me.

He’s not looking at me. His eyes are moving around the room, and then he bends over at the waist and picks something up off the floor.

His fucking phone.

Flopping back, I cover my face with a groan that ripples through my whole chest. I can’t see him, but I feel him lean over and press warm lips to the side of my hip. His mouth is moving even as he kisses me, and I can feel the breath of him talking.

I pull my fingers away and narrow my eyes on his face. While I’m not the best at lipreading on days when I haven’t had my brains sucked out through my dick, he’s got such a full, expressive, lush mouth that I pick up more than I expect to.

“…can’t…busy. Okay. Ten minutes.”

I think that’s what he says. I glance at my nightstand, at the ancient clock I’ve had since I was eighteen. The red lights barely work, but I can see it’s late. Where can he need to go at this time of the night?

Oh shit, is he involved with someone?

I sit up halfway and catch him staring at my dick with a starving look in his eye. When I wave my hand, his gaze lifts, and I press my thumb to my chin and wriggle my first finger. ‘Who?’ I mouth along so he’ll understand.

He holds up a finger, then presses the phone between his ear and his shoulder and lifts a hand to spell, ‘BTORHET.’ He mouths the word ‘brother,’ so I get it. His fingerspelling is almost as bad as his texting, which is annoyingly endearing.

Learning him will be like learning a new language, and while I should hate it, I don’t. ‘Emergency?’

He cocks his head to the side with a frown, so I spell the word, and he mouths the letters before nodding. ‘Sorry.’ His brows dip, and he holds up a finger as I lipread him saying into the phone, “None of your fucking business.”

The call ends a minute later, and he heaves a sigh before leaning over, kissing my still-half-hard dick, then grabbing his phone and speaking into it. Speech to text is always going to be a little bit crap, but it can’t be worse than his spelling and I think he knows that.

He passes it over to me.

Thom: A pipe burst at the gym and I need to go help my brother fix it. It’s probably going to take a few hours. Can we have a rain check? I still wanna throw you around the room.

My entire body heats up. A flush travels from my chest to my neck, and he dips down to follow it with his lips and tongue. I groan again, dick hard, hips shifting restlessly, wanting this thing I now can’t have because he has to leave.

He ends his journey at my mouth, taking a deep, heavy kiss, and groans against me. The sound rumbles against my tongue as he sucks it into his mouth, then lets go.

I find myself nodding in spite of myself. I’m a strong, independent man, damn it. I don’t need some beefed-up himbo controlling when I do or don’t come. I could throw myself around if I want, and I have a box full of toys that were plenty satisfying.

Until now.

Until him.

Fuck.

I look up again, and he’s staring at me with an expression on his face I realize is nerves. He’s afraid of my answer. I don’t hate having that power over him because he has so damn much over me right now.

I sit up, touch the side of his throat, then drag my palm to rest over his heart, and I nod. ‘Later,’ I sign with my left hand.

“Later,” I see him repeat aloud. I touch his lips, and he says it again. I like the way his voice feels—the rumble, the soft breath, the lick of his tongue. “See you soon?” he asks.

I show him that in sign, and he repeats me with a grin when he gets it right.

‘I’ll text you,’ he adds. He clearly practiced that one.

I give him a thumbs-up, then start to settle back down when his hand shoves into my hair and he yanks me back for a last kiss.

It’s desperate, needy. Perfect. My toes curl, and my dick kicks against my stomach.

His eyes are heated and dark as he stares down at my cock, and suddenly, he releases me and grabs it.

Tight. Unrelenting.

His gaze meets mine, and then he begins to stroke me like he’s going to literally rip an orgasm out of me. My mouth parts on a gasp, and my hips start to fuck upward.

“Yeah,” he says aloud. I watch the way his mouth curls around the word. His free hand lifts, and he signs it. ‘Yes.’ Pointed, demanding, just like the way he’s jerking me off.

I don’t last. I was prepared to take care of myself to avoid a nasty case of blue balls, but now I give myself over to his hand.

My head falls back hard against the pillow, and between two ragged breaths, I let go.

Cum shoots out, a hot rush over his knuckles far less than the first time he’d pulled me over the edge, but more than I expected.

He grins down at me, pressing his free hand to the mattress beside my head as he strokes me through the aftershocks. He looks dangerous, and he is. He’s a danger to me, to my heart, and my sanity.

I lift my head just a little, and he presses a final kiss to my lips before standing up and walking out of the room without so much as a goodbye.

It takes me only a second to realize he didn’t stop to wash his hands. He’s taking part of me with him.

And fuck, that thought alone has my dick fighting to get hard again. I don’t have the strength to do anything but lie there and accept the fact that it’s game over.

I like him.

And every rule I’d ever set for myself is officially broken.