Page 41

Chapter forty-one

Elliot

The cabin was quiet, save for the slow hum of the ceiling fan and the soft rustling of the sheets beneath us. Outside, the lake reflected the moonlight in rippling waves, but I barely noticed.

Because he was beneath me.

Mike.

Breathless, flushed, his eyes dark with something I hadn’t seen in him before, certainly not like that—something wild, needy, mine.

I had thought about this before, imagined what it would be like to take my time with him, to explore him the way I wanted to, to kiss and touch and drive him completely out of his mind. I wanted to go slow and savor every moment, to let every second of our lovemaking spread through my body, to soak it up, to be a sponge for everything Mike offered.

But nothing I had imagined came close to this.

Nothing could have prepared me for the way he looked at me, the way his lips parted, the way his hands roamed restlessly over my skin, his nails dragging just enough to make my breath hitch.

This wasn’t primal. It wasn’t hungry or ravenous or devouring.

It was obsession and passion bottled and shaken and let loose in ways that I might never fully comprehend.

I had never wanted someone—anyone—like this.

I kissed him hard, slow, dragging my teeth over his bottom lip before pulling away, breathing against his mouth.

Mike’s lips were soft but insistent against mine, and fuck, I couldn’t get enough of him.

I hadn’t planned on this happening tonight. Who could plan something like this?

I hadn’t thought about anything happening this way, in this moment, in this cabin, with the lake stretching out behind us and the world feeling so impossibly far away.

But now that I had him beneath me, now that his hands were threading into my hair and his mouth was melding with mine, I knew I was completely and utterly gone.

His fingers roamed over my skin, tracing the lines of my arms, my shoulders, my back—touching me like I was something he wanted to memorize.

And I felt it—I felt him —everywhere.

Every inch of my body was burning.

Every kiss felt like it was searing itself into me, leaving marks I’d never be able to erase.

I let out a ragged breath as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, pressing up into me, his body fitting against mine like he’d been made to be there.

God, he felt so good.

So warm, so solid, so real.

I had never kissed someone like this before.

Not like this—with so much desperation, so much need, so much of myself .

I had never wanted someone the way I wanted him.

And that terrified me.

Because this was more than just a physical act.

This wasn’t just wanting someone, needing someone.

This was giving myself away.

And I didn’t know how to do that.

Didn’t know how to let someone have me without it ending in disaster.

Didn’t know if I could survive it if I let him in and he left anyway.

But God, I wanted him.

I wanted all of him.

I wanted to hoard him like a dragon hoards gold, savoring him as only I could, guarding him from the world and anything that might cause him pain or grief or harm. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go, never let anyone hurt him, never let him feel anything but unfaltering, unblemished love.

What the fuck was happening to me?

I let out a shaky breath against his mouth, my hands drifting across his back, pressing into him, needing to feel him, to ground myself in the now, in the present, in the fact that he was here and real and mine.

Mike pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath coming fast and shallow. His fingers tightened in my hair, and when he opened his eyes—

I was done.

Because his eyes were so full of trust .

So full of want—not just for my body, but for me.

For Elliot.

For all of me.

What was I supposed to do with that? How could I take him in, accept him, become one with this beautiful man who so willingly offered himself?

My heart lurched so hard it felt like my ribs would crack under the weight of it, and for a second, I wanted to run, wanted to pull back, to crack a joke or distance myself from the way he was looking at me.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

He’d cast a spell, and I was transfixed.

Even as my mind screamed at me to put my walls back up, my body knew better.

My body knew this was right.

Knew he was right.

So I stayed.

I let my hands drift to his sides, down his stomach, feeling every inch of him, learning him like he had learned me.

Our clothes still separated us, but I didn’t care. We’d be naked soon. This wasn’t about flesh anyway. It was about hearts and minds.

I let my lips find his again, slow and deep and deliberate, letting him feel what I couldn’t say yet.

I let myself want him.

Fully.

Completely.

Without barriers. Without shields.

And when he moaned against my mouth, when his fingers tightened in my hair and his body arched into mine—

I let go.

Completely.

“Tell me what you want,” I growled.

Mike’s breath caught.

His hips shifted beneath me, and fuck, he was already so gone, already completely at my mercy.

But he still had enough presence of mind to smirk, his voice rough and teasing.

“You want me to tell you?”

I growled lower than any wolf in history, deep in my throat, pressing my weight down against him, pinning him completely beneath me.

“Yes, damn it,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his jaw, my teeth grazing just enough to make him gasp. “I want you to tell me. Every fucking step of the way. Every move. Every kiss. Every tease. Every thrust.”

Mike exhaled sharply, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes rolling back even further.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I want you to wreck me.”

I groaned, my fingers tightening on his hips.

Mike grinned, loving that he had made me react like that.

I wasn’t about to let him keep control, though.

I leaned in, nipping at his throat, dragging my teeth over his pulse point, letting my tongue soothe the mark I left behind.

Mike gasped.

I smirked against his skin.

“You like that?” I murmured.

His breath came in short, desperate pants. “I love that.”

I chuckled, nipping at him again. “Then tell me more.”

Mike shivered, his hands sliding over my back, nails raking lightly.

“Take my shirt off. As slow as you can.”

I helped him sit up, then gripped the hem of his shirt, letting my fingers barely tease the skin beneath. I locked my eyes onto his, gripped his gaze in a way he knew was unbreakable, then millimeter by millimeter, edged his shirt upward. Everywhere my fingers slid, his body squirmed.

Halfway up, neither of us had looked away.

I reached his nipples and paused, letting the fingers of one hand draw circles around tender flesh, then pinch it, softly at first, just enough to make him wince. When he grew used to the pain, I squeezed harder. His eyes narrowed, and he bit his lip—but he didn’t look away, didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t so much as groan.

“I’m going to take that nipple in my teeth and destroy you.”

“Please,” he pleaded.

His shirt finally found its rightful place on the ungrateful floor.

Mike didn’t hesitate.

“I want you to touch me,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Everywhere. I want your hands on me, your mouth on me. I want you to make me forget everything but you.”

A sharp, possessive growl tore from my throat.

“Fuck, Mike. You’re all I think about.”

Who the hell said that? I wondered as my heart seized.

He grinned, biting his lower lip in the most adorable way. “I love when you growl like that.”

I arched a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “You love this, don’t you? You love knowing I want you to ruin me.”

I groaned, rolling my hips against him, making him feel just how much I loved it.

Mike gasped, his head tilting back, exposing his throat.

I couldn’t stop touching him.

I dragged my hands down his chest, my fingers splaying over his ribs, his stomach, memorizing every dip and curve of him.

He was perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

I kissed him again, swallowing his moan, feeling him arch up into me, desperate for more.

“Please,” he murmured.

I loved hearing him beg.

“Please what?” I murmured, dragging my lips down his throat, his chest, pausing to suck a bruise onto his collarbone.

Mike groaned.

“Take my pants off. Take everything off.”

“Slowly?”

“I don’t fucking care. Get me naked!”

A grin curled my lips.

“I want you to take me apart,” he said, his eyes now squeezed shut.

He didn’t have to tell me twice. My whole body shot upright as I unbuttoned his jeans and yanked them over his feet. Thank God, he still didn’t like underwear, because any more layers would’ve made me crazy. The darker red of the hair on his chest and legs contrasted with the fire-engine brilliance of pubes that pillowed his perfect uncut cock.

I didn’t mean to suck in a breath. It just happened.

I almost lost it.

Mike saw my reaction and grinned, knowing exactly what he was doing to me.

I chuckled darkly, gripping his wrists and pinning them above his head.

“You talk too much,” I murmured.

“You told me to . . .” He grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Asshole. You love it.”

I did.

I really did.

But now?

Now I was going to make him scream.

Mike had been teasing me all night, winding me up with that sharp mouth of his, driving me insane with the way he talked—dirty, needy, fearless. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly how much I loved it.

And now?

Now I was going to show him what it did to me.

“Take your clothes off,” he ordered, jarring me out of my thoughts of ravaging his body. “Slowly. Like you did with my shirt. I want to stroke myself while I watch.”

Holy fucking striptease. I might shoot just listening to him talk.

But I was a good soldier and knew how to follow orders.

My shirt went first.

Mike’s hand gripped his shaft. His eyes dilated slightly. His off hand reached up and grazed my now-bare chest.

He began stroking, slowly, so fucking slowly. His head vanished into his palm, then reappeared. The extra fold stretched, allowing him to break free. I could’ve watched him all night.

“Pants. Now,” he ordered, his strokes steady.

“Yes, sir,” I said, earning a smirk.

My pants hit the floor, and his fingers found my cock, teased my balls, then lapped the dribble forming at my tip.

He raised that finger to his lips and . . . fuck me . . . he smeared it over his lips like it was gloss.

“Lick it off.”

I thought I might die right there.

But instead, I leaned over him and let my tongue do the talking, sopping my seed from the mouth of my man.

Holy shit.

I rolled my hips down against him, pressing him into the mattress, loving the way his breath caught, the way his fingers dug into my shoulders. His body was so responsive, every little touch pulling a reaction out of him, every movement making him press up against me like he was trying to get closer, even though there was barely any space left between us.

“Elliot—”

I growled low in my throat, cutting him off with another kiss, rougher this time, desperate. Our chests and stomachs and legs . . . and cocks pressed together, slid against each other, a perfect fit somehow blazing to life. He moaned into my mouth, tilting his head, letting me take whatever I wanted.

God, he tasted so good.

His hands slid down my back, nails dragging, making me shudder.

“Get the lube,” he said, surprising me. Everything had been so slow, so methodical, but now?

I popped the cap and made to squirt into my palm. His hand shot up, stopping me.

“Pour it all over my body.”

Jesus.

“But give me some first,” he held out his hand, palm upturned.

I filled his palm, then watched as he smeared the lube across my chest, coating me with slickness, making my skin glisten in the lamplight. In all my thirty-one years of life, I’d never felt—or seen—anything so sensual.

“Now, mark me,” he said, invoking every paranormal fantasy I’d ever seen.

When we were both shimmering and silky, he reached up, capped the lube, and pulled me onto him. Our bodies slipped and slithered, squishing in a slimy, yet wholly erotic way. It felt weightless. Somehow, the slickness of the lube and how it made our bodies slip frictionless together made my nerves fire, shooting pleasure to parts of my body I hadn’t known existed until that moment.

The lube coated our cocks, but not through any intentional act. All the squirming and sliding had coated them better than either of our palms could. Mike, already hard, already a few strokes ahead of me, throbbed beneath my weight—and I swear, his dick added heat and wetness that felt different from the lube already coating my skin.

Mike’s breathing was hard, labored, almost panting.

I pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “Still got something to say, Professor?”

His lips quirked. “Always.”

I grinned. “Not for long.”

And then I bit his neck.

Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him feel it. Definitely enough to leave a mark. Probably enough to catch some serious shit the next time we went to the diner in town.

He gasped, his whole body arching into me, his fingers tightening in my hair.

“Oh, fuck—”

I soothed the bite with my tongue, my hands roaming lower, feeling the way he trembled beneath me. He was so warm, so willing, so fucking perfect.

“Elliot,” he gasped, breathless. “I need—”

I nipped at his collarbone. “What do you need?”

His breath hitched.

I wanted to hear him say it.

I lifted my head, watching his face, waiting.

His pupils were blown, his lips red and swollen from my kisses. His chest was rising and falling fast, his hands gripping my sides like he never wanted to let go.

I was ruining him.

And he loved it.

I grinned. “Come on, baby. Use that mouth. Tell me what you need.”

Mike groaned, his head tipping back against the pillow. “Fuck, I hate you.”

I laughed. “No, you don’t.”

He bit his lip, eyes blazing as they met mine. “Suck my cock.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

As I scooted into position, I licked every part of him my tongue could reach, not caring how much lube I was lapping up or spit I was leaving behind. Mike’s body belonged to me. I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.

The moment I tasted his precum, his back arched, and he cried out. I gripped his balls, pulled him taut, watched as his foreskin stretched to its limit, setting his cock free. I wanted to lick beneath his skin, but he was already too hard, too pulled apart.

So I took him in my mouth.

Opened my throat.

Swallowed him as far down my throat as I could—until his balls stopped me from taking his whole body into me.

He squirmed. His hands found my hair, pulled it, yanked at my head.

I pulled up, then dove down. Up and down. Up and down.

My tongue tried to wrap around his shaft, tried to embrace him, envelop him. When I pulled up, my tongue tore at his tip, parting his slit, drinking in everything it would offer.

He groaned louder. One hand left my head. He banged a fist into the wall.

“Harder! Fucking suck me harder!”

I wasn’t sure how that was possible, but I gave it my best, picking up speed and pressing my lips into his cock.

His fingers dug into my scalp. God, I loved that, loved it when he left scratches on my back, loved it when he left his mark.

I was bobbing so fast, I was sure he would come, sure this would end. I didn’t want it to end. I never wanted it to end.

His body tensed.

It was happening.

I was sure.

That’s when his hands gripped my head and pulled me off. I looked up, baffled.

“I want you inside me.”

Well, all righty then.

“Condom?” He always had them.

He hesitated.

My brow quirked.

“What would you say if I told you I didn’t want one tonight?”

My heart was a timpani, an orchestra of percussion, an entire ocean of beating and battering and . . . holy fuck.

“I’m negative and on PrEP,” I said, suddenly very self-conscious.

“And I haven’t had sex since the eighties,” Mike replied, an awkward chuckle escaping. “Seriously, it’s been . . . well . . . a really long time.”

“I knew you were tight before, but—”

His eye shrug said it all.

I lifted his legs.

His breath hitched.

We were so slick, so well oiled, so fucking hard and ready, I slipped inside him without even trying. Unlike our first time, he opened for me, welcomed me, practically sucked me in like a black hole swallowing a planet.

“Oh, shit,” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up and fuck your boyfriend, Elliot. I want you to pound the ever-loving life out of my ass. Make me walk bowlegged. Make me feel you next week. Make me lose my ability to stand or think or—”

That’s when I pulled back and shoved all my weight into him.

He gasped, and his head slammed back, his fist pounding the wall again.

Something snapped inside me.

I grabbed his wrists, pinning them above his head, pressing him down into the mattress.

Mike shuddered.

“You love this, don’t you?” I murmured against his jaw.

His breath was shaky. “Yes.”

“You love knowing how much I want you?”

His fingers curled against my grip. “Yes.”

I brushed my lips against his ear. “You love begging for it?”

His whole body tensed.

Then, so quiet I almost missed it—

“ . . . Yes.”

“Beg for me, Mike.”

“Fuck, El, please. I want you so bad. I need you, baby.”

I groaned, losing control completely.

Because Mike—sharp-tongued, self-assured, always-in-control Mike—was begging.

For me.

And fuck, I was done for.

Thrust after thrust, I poured every pound of muscle into Mike, shoving and pushing and pressing and . . . damn, I was sweating like a racehorse. It poured off my slickened chest, dripping onto Mike’s body, mixed with his own perspiration in the most perfect way.

I grabbed his ankles, his left in my right hand and right in my left, then flipped him onto his stomach. Screw the bedcovers. Splitting his legs apart with my knees, I grabbed each cheek in a hand and spread him open.

“Fucking perfect hole,” I rumbled.

“Your hole,” Mike amended.

“My fucking hole,” I agreed.

Then I slid back into him.

“Oh, God!” Mike shouted into the pillow.

I lay my body atop him, pressed the whole of me against the whole of him, while my cock buried itself deep within. We were the perfect fit, the perfect height. My lips were near his ear, so I whispered, “There’s only one person here now.”

He whimpered, a tiny, weak sound that rocked my world.

“I love you, Elliot Hart. I fucking love you.”

And my world shattered.

Snaking my arms under his chest, I pulled him into an embrace and began pumping, thrusting into him, nipping at his neck while my cock filled him with everything I felt but was only then learning to accept.

I loved Mike Albert.

And not in the way someone loves their favorite sandwich.

No, I loved him in a way that some Greek author would craft in a masterpiece that would live through the ages.

I loved him in ways that would make mountains shake and oceans rage.

I loved him . . .

“I love you,” slipped free.

Mike tensed.

I pressed further into him and held there, squeezed his body, buried my face in his neck.

“I love you so damn much, Elliot,” he said in a shaky voice. “Make me yours. Please. Don’t pull out this time. I want all of you.”

And so I gave him everything.