Page 41 of Mr. Brightside

Even when I’m empty, he doesn’t pop off my dick. Instead, he savors me, licks me clean, then peers up as he kisses the tip.

He pulls my shorts back up, rises to stand, then slants his mouth against mine in a deep, heady kiss that forces me to taste myself on his tongue. It’s not until I’m breathless that he pulls away, only to lean right back in again and whisper in my ear.

“Yours.”

That one word has me silently groaning in want. I watch as he walks out of the room like he didn’t just flip the script and make me come harder than I’ve ever orgasmed in my life.

I’m starstruck and lust filled and so fucking gone for Jake Whitely.

It takes me another minute to get myself sorted. I have to physically sit down on the bench he was just straddling, otherwise I worry my knees will buckle. Once I’ve caught my breath and my pulse has settled, I realize he didn’t let me return the favor.

No. No way.

I stalk out of the workout room and head for the master bedroom, confident that’s where I’ll find him. If the steam billowing out of the en suite wasn’t enough of a giveaway, my king of an almost-husband left the door open for me. For someone who swears he’s never been in a relationship, he sure knows how to play his part.

I walk into the bathroom with purpose, kicking off my shoes and stripping out of my clothes so fast I stumble. Ten seconds later, I’m stepping into the glass block shower, my target finally within reach.

The whole shower is massive, lined with tiles and two fancy showerheads I have no idea how to operate. Doesn’t matter—I came in here for one thing and one thing only.

His skin is slick when I yank his body into mine, his taut, defined muscles slippery and covered in suds. I drape my arms over his shoulders, the need to be as close to him as possible dominating my every thought.

“Cory?”

Concern. Desire. Perfect, gentle care. How does he make my name sound like a hopeful prayer every time he speaks it out loud?

“I’m fine,” I insist. “I’m right here with you.”

He may not be looking for reassurance, but I offer it willingly.

His completely erect cock nestles between my dick and my thigh, reminding me of why I came in here in the first place. I work a hand between our bodies, gripping him at the base just like he held me in the gym.

I stroke, relishing the solidness of his girth in my palm. Knowing that I did this to him—that getting me off made him this fucking hard.

I kiss his neck, suckling the skin between his jaw and his ear until he finally gives up a moan.

“Hey,” he protests. “Don’t you dare give me a hickey before we take pictures today.”

Of course he’s concerned about appearances. That just makes me want to mark him more. He said he was mine. If that’s the truth, he can wear the proof on his neck.

I savor the same spot until I’m satisfied it’ll bruise. He doesn’t protest again, instead letting me have my way with him as I continue to stroke his dick. I’m fully hard again, so he takes the opportunity to wrap his fist around me, too. It feels incredible—to jack each other in perfect sync, to match our lust stroke for stroke. I could absolutely go for round two already. But I have a point to prove.

I reluctantly pull out of his grasp and release him, kissing his chest as I work my way down his body. I’m stooped low, two seconds away from dropping to my knees, when I feel his big hands catch me under my arms.

His action halts my movement and sends a pang of rejection through me. I’ve given him head before, and right now, the need to claim him and return the favor has me practically panting to get that dick in my mouth. Why doesn’t he want this?

I don’t meet his gaze as his arms hold me in place. It’s not until he releases one hand and reaches past me that I focus on what he’s doing.

He takes a step back, separating us further, then bores right into my goddamn soul as he forces eye contact and works something over in his hands.

He folds a towel on itself twice. Then he bows slightly and places it on the floor, right in front of his feet. When he rises back up to full height, he looks from the towel to me and winks.

My soon-to-be husband just made me a goddamn cushion so I could suck him off in the shower. If I wasn’t already lowering to my knees to please him, I’d be dropping down in worship.

I run my hands down the grooves of his chest, letting my fingers trace the pronounced muscles of his abs as I slowly lower down. My kneecaps make contact with the plush, sopping wet towel, and now I’m face to face with his gorgeous, perfect cock.

I still and just admire the damn thing for a moment—long and fat with this prominent vein running the entire length. The crown is perfectly symmetrical, flared and so damn tempting. The few times I sucked him off in the past, I didn’t have the time or patience to appreciate the rock-hard power of this man’s assets. I lick my lips in anticipation, delighted to have the chance to savor him now.

A firm hand finds the back of my neck just as I grip the base of his cock and stroke him once from root to tip.