My fingers find his belt and undo the buckle, slipping the leather from his pants and tossing it behind me.
“Yeah,” he says, watching me pop open the buttons of his jeans and reach in, wrapping my hand around him. His cock is a living, pulsing heat in my grip. “Oh, God.”
He slumps against the back of the couch and watches, eyes dragging from where I’m touching him to where he’s touching me, and up to my breasts again. His cock is perfect, just like the rest of him.
“Pants off,” I tell him, lifting up while he shoves them down his thighs.
“You, too,” he says, and I stand.
I’m so wet the air feels cold as soon as he pulls down my shorts and underwear.
“Fuck, Logan, look at you.”
Everything in me bottoms out when his fingers slide up the inside of my thigh and he sucks in a breath—I’m wet to my thighs—and looks at me like I’m a meal and he’s deciding what to bite first.
Luke makes a guttural sound, and it vibrates down into my bones when his eyes meet mine. Brown sugar. Burnt sugar. Caramel.
“I can’t wait until you let me kiss you here.” His fingers slide over me, dipping inside, mimicking the movement his tongue would make against me. His other hand smooths up the back of my legs and he kisses my stomach, my ribs, just below my belly button.
“Condom?” I ask, and after a tiny pause, Luke nods against my skin, reaching down to find one in the pocket of his discarded jeans. I watch while he tears open the foil package and unrolls the condom over his length.
“Come back here,” he says, holding the base of his cock in one hand and guiding me over his lap with the other.
He leans in and sucks on my breast, teasing my nipple with his teeth and moaning around it. I sink down slowly and he pulls off with an audible pop, sitting back against the cushions to watch where he’s disappearing inside me.
“London.”
“Shhhh.”
“God. You’re so hot.”
I move over him, slowly. “Shhhh.”
“What?” he says, running his hands down my ribs and stopping at my stomach. “You expect me to be quiet right now?”
“You talk too much,” I say, laughing into his mouth.
It’s like he has some sort of superpower and already knows exactly how I like to be kissed. Open mouth, soft at first with just a hint of tongue. Biting kisses that move from teasing to frantic in the span of a few seconds. He pulls away for a breath just when I want him to, sometimes blinking up to catch my eyes or even just to look at my mouth. He kisses me like he still can’t believe he’s doing it.
I adjust the position of my knees and we both gasp as I bottom out, my ass coming to rest on his thighs. He’s so deep like this. “Oh my God,” I say, and press my forehead to his shoulder while I catch my breath.
His palms smooth down to my waist and he presses his thumbs into my hip bones. “I want you in my bed,” he says through a grunt, moving me, rocking me faster and then slow again. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and down his chest and I can feel the tips of each individual finger where he grips me. “I want to see you better, spread you out under me. I like the way you look. I like the way you smell. And fuck, Logan, I love the way you feel.”
“Such a poet.”
“You want poetry? I could write a fucking sonnet about the way your tits are bouncing right now. I want to burn the way they look into my brain.”
He leans in to bite me, and I can’t help laughing again. “You are such a boy.”
“Because I like the way you look naked?”
“Among other things,” I tell him, kissing his lips. “Shh. You’re distracting me.”
“I’m trying to have a moment here.”
“With my breasts?”
“Your breasts.” He sits up, nips at my neck before sucking gently. “Your neck, your mouth, your whole body.” His lips trail closer to mine, brushing across. “You.”
We kiss for long minutes and my movements narrow into small rocks forward and back, just feeling him inside me. I try to keep it together, try not to moan into his mouth or cry out when he reaches down and his thumb starts moving in practiced circles over my clit. I’m trying to keep this about sex, but the way he’s looking at me, the way he feels—it’s no longer that simple.
I dig my hands into all that thick hair, steering his mouth back to my breast and watching as he captures my nipple with his tongue. He bares his teeth, sliding them over the sensitive skin and I cry out, feeling him twitch inside me
“You like that.” It isn’t a question, it sounds like a revelation, like relief.
I nod, breath trapped in my throat and eyes locked on his expression of hope, like he wants to please me. Like it means everything to him right now.
“Can you feel it all the way down to your clit when I suck you here?”