Page 53 of Dark Fire Kiss

The sexiest sound—not quite a whimper—emerged from his throat as he obeyed, his gaze meeting mine in the mirror.

I smoothed my hands down his sides, smiling when he shivered. “You know, I think I like you going without a shirt, after all.”

He swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I gripped his waistband and yanked his joggers down to his thighs in one rough movement.

“Fuck, Bram,” he breathed.

I cupped his bare ass, a cheek in each hand. “No underwear, either. It’s almost like you came in here to get fucked.” I pressed his cheeks apart. “Maybe you wanted me to reestablish who does the giving and who does the receiving around here.”

He didn’t answer. Just continued his ragged breathing, his gaze locked with mine.

“Aye,” I whispered, “I think that’s what you wanted.” I put a hand between his shoulder blades and bent him forward.

He went with a groan, bracing himself on his forearms, and he tracked my movements as I pulled lube from a drawer and squirted a liberal dollop on the counter. When I swiped my fingers through it and carried them to his hole, he cursed.

“Tight,” I said, pushing a finger inside to the second knuckle. “Fuck, that’s nice.” My cock strained against my jeans, and I unzipped and pulled it out, letting the damp tip prod his cheeks. I didn’t give him much time to adjust before adding another finger, and I twisted both deep as I leaned forward and kissed his nape. “You want me in this tight ass, Fergus?”

His response was a choked groan and a backwards thrust of his hips.

I nipped the back of his neck. “That’s fortunate, because you were getting dicked either way.” I pulled my hand from his crease. Then I quickly lubed my shaft and guided it to his hole. I gripped his hips and pushed into his body, not stopping until I was buried to the hilt.

“Gods,” he gasped, sagging forward, his joggers around his ankles. He reached for his dick, but I grabbed his wrist and pinned it in the small of his back.

“No,” I said firmly, pushing him flat against the counter. “Not until I say.” I kept his arm trapped behind him as I began to thrust, groaning at the hot clench he gave me. The way his passage tightened at my rough command. I didn’t take my time, just launched straight into a pounding rhythm that rocked him forward and forced grunts from his chest. He made a token effort to pull from my grip, but we both knew he couldn’t do it unless I let him.

And, anyway, he didn’t really want me to.

Which left him doubled over, incapable of doing anything but lying there and taking his fucking. His moans grew louder as I pummeled his ass. When I changed the angle and hit his prostate, he switched to harsh cries, his cheek pressed to the marble. I’d been generous with the lube, and the sound of me entering him was deliciously filthy.

It spurred me on, making everything better. Hotter. I lost myself in the feel of his hard body under mine. His tight ass squeezing my cock. His cinnamon and evergreen scent filling my lungs. The play of muscle over his back as he absorbed my thrusts. The rhythmic slap of my balls against his cheeks.

My orgasm boiled up, and I pulled out at the last second and shot all over his back. Marking him in the most carnal way possible. I growled, my hips jerking violently. It seemed to go on forever, pearly ropes of come painting his sweaty skin.

When I could speak again, I touched his hip. “Fergus.”

He muttered against the marble countertop. “Let me come, you sadist.”

Biting my lip against a smile, I grabbed a hand towel and wiped my mess off his skin. Then I urged him up and around to face me.

His cock bobbed between us, the tip swollen and wet.

I patted the counter behind him. “Up, baby. Back against the mirror.”

With a frustrated groan, he hoisted himself onto the marble, his dick slapping against his taut abs. “Don’t make me wait,” he mumbled, his eyes full of fire. A glance in the mirror confirmed mine were the same.

“I won’t,” I promised, yanking his joggers off his ankles and pushing his legs up so his feet were flat on the counter and his legs were spread wide. I scooped the last of the lube from the marble and smeared it over his cock, making him hiss through his teeth. When I’d gotten him nice and slick, I stepped back and folded my arms. “Stroke it. Remind me what’s mine.”

He did as I said, his hand working his dick before I’d finished my sentence. He put himself on display, his expression almost defiant as he jerked himself for my pleasure. His body was totally revealed to me, from his gorgeous cock to his glossed hole still open from my possession.

And that was symbolic as hell, because Fergus was always open to me. From the beginning, he’d flung himself at me, loud and generous and absolutely unwilling to be ignored. He was a gift. And I didn’t deserve him, but I’d taken him anyway.

How could I not?

His hand flew up and down his cock, his gaze never leaving mine. Even now, he waited for me, willing to give more of himself if I wanted it.

My heart swelled with gratitude, making my voice husky as I said, “Come for me, Fergus. Right now. Let me see it.”

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