Page 68 of Mr. Brightside

“You feeling a little jealous, baby?” I nip at his earlobe, and finally, fucking finally, he reacts. His subtle sigh tells me I’ve hit my target. I breathe him in again, my heated breath inspiring a shiver that I watch tease through his body. Even after a full day of work, he smells incredible—this mix of citrus and sweetness, plus something distinctly him that always revs up the animal in me. I kiss along his jaw, then bring my lips to hover over his before whispering my reassurance.

“You don’t have anything to be worried about. I only have eyes for one person: my husband.”

He scowls, and I swear I can feel the air between us crackle. He’s on fire right now: his rage kindling into full-blown flames because of the way I’m pushing him to open up. My man gets heated when he’s worked up like this, that’s for damn sure.

“I’m not jealous,” he retorts. “I’m insecure.”

I scoff at the cop-out. I don’t discount that he may have been insecure when he was younger. But Cory has confidence in spades. He’s just not as boisterous about it as me.

“No, you’re not,” I taunt him, nipping at that pouty lower lip he won’t kiss me with. “Insecurity would be cowering in the corner and being too afraid to speak up. You were ice cold when I found you tonight. And now I can practically see the steam billowing out of your ears.”

I run my tongue along his top lip, tracing his cupid’s bow with the tip. “You’re not insecure,” I whisper haughtily. “You’repossessive. But that’s okay. I like being possessed by you.”

His resolve snaps with my call out. Suddenly, his mouth is on mine. He shoves me, and I push right back: our combined weight rattling the door of the cage at his back. He kisses me like he wants to battle this out and make me pay for stirring up his baser instincts.

I roll my hips into his, tightening my grip for leverage until I’m crushing him into the metal. Our dicks press against each other with every shove.

The push. The grind. His fire. My desire. It’s the most incredible cocktail of sensations every time our bodies collide.

He moans when I press my cock into his, so I do it again.

And again.

And again.

With every thrust of my hips, our bodies fight for dominance. That’s the thing though—I don’t want to fight with him. I want to give him everything.

“Take my dick out,” I command as I grind against him. I can’t get enough traction like this. I need more. When it comes to him, I need it all.

“Jake, we’re at work,” he pants before his lips seek mine once more. Every kiss, every lick, every moan into my mouth tells me he needs this just as much as I do.

“Yeah? And who owns this place?” I grunt as I whip off my belt. If he doesn’t want to cooperate, I’ll do it myself.

“You, husband dearest,” he mocks.

“That’s right,” I tell him through gritted teeth. I’ve got my fly down and my jeans hanging open. Now I just need him to follow suit. “And you know who owns me?”

I grip his chin between my forefinger and thumb.

“You. You own me, Cory.”

He stares, wide-eyed and panting, before he spits out, “You’re not going to use sex to distract me, Jake Whitely.”

I literally laugh out loud. “Oh yes I am.” I’m hard as granite. We both need this, and we need it right now. I move to undo his pants, pausing to make sure he knows my intentions. His eyes blow out when I cup him over his jeans, telling me all I need to know.

I work his cock free in a matter of seconds.

I grip my fist around him, then shift my body forward until I’m holding both our dicks in one hand.

“You feel that? You feel how hard I am right now?” I squeeze his shaft against mine, then spit on the crowns of both our cocks. I smooth my palm over his swollen head first, then swirl it over my own dick, alternating back and forth at a frantic pace, working us into a frenzy.

He feels so fucking good.

On my hand.

Against my cock.

In my heart.