Page 44 of Sucker Love (Sugar Pill Duet #1)

Undressing him carefully and laying him on the bed is so reminiscent of the first time we were together—a lifetime ago, it feels like, instead of only a month and some change—but it couldn’t be more different.

I know this body now, almost better than I know my own.

Know every line of it, could trace it in the dark from memory alone and I know exactly what spots to touch that he loves best and which ones that he doesn’t.

How to make him come and quickly. I possess all the magic words that make him go to pieces.

But as always, I want to take my time with him.

I explore him like he is new to me, except with all the familiarity of an old lover.

Careful to avoid that new tattoo in all of its sore glory, my fingertips gliding just inside of his thighs as he whimpers beneath me.

I bear down on his neck and mark him there, and his shoulders too, and his collarbone, because he is mine and I want the world to know, I don’t care if it shows.

And while these marks will fade, he’ll always bear one very prominent and very permanent one, inked along that left hip and leg.

And I fucking love that.

I kiss the new bruise that’s blossoming on his upper right arm, the one he made himself. And he doesn’t like that so much, doesn’t like the attention I call to it. Ashamed, but I catch his chin in my fingers before he can wriggle away. “You won’t do this anymore,” I tell him. “Will you?”

Noel’s pink tongue manages to reach my thumb, licking the tip of it. “No, daddy.”

I fucking love that, too.

I bury my face beneath his arm and lick there too as he squirms and makes all those sounds I adore so much.

There is no hair here, either, because he has so thoroughly shaved or waxed or whatever the hell he does to make himself smooth.

Part of me sort of wishes that he didn’t go through the trouble—would like to see and smell it—but the other part of me revels in how easy it is to mouth and explore him without anything in the way, no strands of hair caught between my teeth.

Rubbing my cheek under his arm and flicking my tongue against his flank as he trembles, alternating between breathing my name and begging.

And when he reaches for me, I don’t deny him.

I let him run his hands up my body, whispering in my ear how fucking hot I am, and I believe him.

I believe him, as he buries his face in my neck, kissing and licking, crawling into my lap.

Believe him as his lips shape love against my skin.

I wrap my arms around his waist as he straddles my lap and his cock is pinned between us, oh-so-hard and soaking wet at the tip.

His moan is soft as his arms go around my neck.

“Is this how you want to come, baby?” I ask him, nosing his jaw. His hips are rocking against me. I pull my shirt up and that makes him gasp a little, the feeling of my bare skin against him. “Hm?”

He whimpers something that could be construed as a yes , pressing his cheek alongside mine.

The little sounds he makes against my ear are intoxicating as he continues to chase his pleasure.

It takes almost everything in me not to rip off my jeans and take him, but there is the part of me that wants to see him do this and wants to feel his come between us .

“Yes?” I whisper back to him, my voice gone low and rough. My hands follow the curve of his ass. “Look at you,” I say. “You want it so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he affirms, tremulous.

“Go on.” I kiss his ear, crooning. “Hump me until you come. And then I’m going blow your back right the fuck out.”

“Oh, yes,” he gasps. “Luca, please.”

His cock is quite slick between us. And I can’t help myself; I wrap my hand around it, that pretty and wet length of his because I have to touch him.

Have to participate in his pleasure and listen to the way his breathing changes and feel his body shudder and arch.

Have to, because I’d do fucking anything to make him come, and I watch him fuck my hand and talk him right through it until he digs his little black claws into my back and his come pumps through my fingers and all over my stomach.

I make him lick it off my fingers, one by one, holding his lidded gaze with my own.

“My turn,” I whisper to him, laying him down on his side on the bed.

Noel’s beyond words at the moment, arm thrown across his face.

Until I’ve divested my own clothes and settled myself behind him, spreading his legs open with my knee as I work myself with a lubed up hand, fitting the tip of myself against his ass.

Then he’s right back with me, sucking in his breath and flinging his arm out to the side.

He turns and looks at me over his shoulder, which I kiss.

“No condom,” he manages.

“We agreed we wouldn’t. ”

“Right,” he says faintly. And then, because I’ve pushed my way inside him, “Oh, fuck ?—”

And it is different without a condom. It’s so fucking different.

Which I should know, because it’s not like I haven’t before with my wife.

I know exactly how much feeling a condom takes away.

But I haven’t with another man, ever, not even with Arin, and holy fucking fuck.

If I thought anal felt good before this is an entirely new ballgame, one that I’m trying very hard not to blow in the first inning.

Because he is so tight, and I can feel all of him, everything, in his guts, the way he seems to clench around me with each slow thrust—because I am taking my time.

Every twitch and flutter; fuck, it’s like I can feel him breathe around me.

He’s arcing back, exposing the long and pale line of his throat, and my hand slides up and wraps around it.

His breath escapes him in a soft, sweet moan that threatens to undo me completely.

I can feel his pulse fluttering beneath my palm, can feel his throat work from the effort of swallowing.

It is so intimate. To feel all of him like this.

To have my hand, here, feeling his heartbeat and his breath that seems to sync up with mine as I move with him, his thigh still propped up on my knee.

And he looks so fucking beautiful like this, like my body is a rack he’s laid out against. My other hand snakes beneath him, gripping his hip. He’s hard again.

“Stunt girl.” I can barely speak. “You feel perfect.”

His hand finds his cock. “Harder,” he whispers.

I shove my face against his. “Won’t last if I do. ”

“Good. I wanna feel it.”

I give him what he wants—what we both want.

My hand on his hip is a bruising death grip as I go from quite slow to very fast, and hard, and his cries are drowned out by the sound of our sweaty flesh slapping together and this goes on for about an entire minute before I have to tap the fuck out: “I’m gonna come, baby.

” Deep in him, my breath hot on his face, through yet another one of his own orgasms. His spasms makes the entire moment a vicious feedback loop of pleasure that’s almost too good and I don’t want it to end and it feels like it won’t —but it does. Has to.

We collapse, spent, into each other’s arms, utterly disgusting, and I’ve never been more in love in my life. I take his damp face in my hands and kiss him breathlessly. “I love you, Noel,” I tell him, hoarse. “I love you so much.”

He is fucking radiant, hands sliding into my sweaty hair. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “Luca.”