Page 71 of Flare

And he wasn’t kidding. Beck’s dick was proportionate to the rest of him, big as fuck. I swallowed and wondered if I’d ever get the chance to feel him inside me like I so desperately wanted. I hadn’t been topped since... before. Over seventeen years—and dildos were no substitute for hard flesh or the rhythm of another man inside you—and I ached at the memory.

Jesus, just holding him like this, I was gonna nut where I stood if I wasn’t careful.

“Don’t move.” I made quick work of his trousers and briefs, leaving him standing only in his black socks. Then I wrapped my hand around that glorious full cock again and tugged him toward me. He jumped a little at my rough handling but then jolted forward with a rumbling growl.

“Too much?” I watched his eyes darken and had my answer.

“Do what you like.” He pressed closer. “I trust you, remember?”

God, those words. “Good to know. Hands at your side.” He did, and I watched the pleasure wash over his face as I stroked his cock and tried to plan my strategy. “You’ve got me so fucking riled up.” I nosed my way up his neck, teetering on my tiptoes until I was as far up as I could get while still holding tight to his dick. “It’s time. We have to givesomethinga go between us, see what happens. Are you game?”

He snorted. “Give something a go? Be still my heart.”

“Shut up.” I grinned. “Any dos and don’ts or... preferences?”

He cradled my face with the gentlest of holds and hunger swept through his eyes. “Mypreference,sweetheart, is that you do whatever is right foryou. Believe me when I say that I’m so fucking turned on, you could drag your fingernails down my cock and I’d shoot like a damn rocket. I’m yours, Rhys. Make this work foryouand I guarantee I’ll love whatever happens. Although if you’re asking for a place to start, check my coat pocket. I boughtusa present, just in case.”

“Oh really?” I couldn’t stop a wide grin as I reached for his jacket and ferreted in first one pocket and then the other, before pulling out a small red velvet bag. I glanced at Beck and then tore it open. A pair of padded black handcuffs dropped into my hand, and I laughed.

“I thought they might help.” He flushed brightly.

Jesus Christ.“You don’t mind?”

He bent down and kissed me softly. “Hell no. I think it’s kind of hot. Have you used them before?”

I stared at the cuffs. “Yes, or rather ties and rope, not actually cuffs. Nolan wasn’t a fan, but it does help, a lot. I was going to ask.”

“Aha.” Beck held my gaze. “Well, now you don’t need to. Besides—” He dropped to the couch with his hands behind his head, his solid dick slapping against his stomach. “This way you do all the work and I get to watch. Every. Damn. Second.”

My heart slammed against my ribs, he looked so fucking sexy. Beckett Northcott, handcuffed on my couch and at my mercy? Who the fuck wouldn’t say yes to that? I might dress models who had more in common with the skids on a bobsled—sleek, shiny, and waxed to within an inch of their lives, but I dreamed of fucking big guys with plenty of hair. And as Beck turned to the side and put his hands behind his back, I nearly dropped the damn cuffs in my haste to get them on him.

“Not too tight?”

He turned back to face me. “Perfect. But now it’s my turn. I want you naked, Rhys. I want to see all of you. It’s been too fucking long.”

I smiled and began a leisurely strip, watching his thick cock bob and drip as I peeled each layer to the floor.

“You’re so beautiful.” His gaze travelled my body—dark olive skin from my mother’s side and a sleek, leanly muscled body that I worked hard to maintain. Genetics had been good to me, and Beck looked like he wanted to eat me alive.

The sudden squeeze of anxiety that came with the thought was tempered by the handcuffs and the knowledge this was Beck. I ended with a slow sexy twirl, arms outstretched, and then moved to stand in front of him.

“The tattoo.” He nodded to the palm-sized tattoo of a bird flying from an open cage just under my right ribs. “Is that about what happened?”

I fingered it gently. “Aspiration rather than closure, but I’m getting there.” I sent him a look. “And you’re helping.”

I caught the flush on his cheeks as his gaze dropped back to study the tattoo, and a small frown tugged at his brow. “You know, I totally get the symbolism,” he said softly before looking up. “But when I see you, I don’t see a man idly waiting for someone to open the door of their cage so they can fly free. I see a man making his life happen for him on his terms, something a whole lot fiercer. Something like...” He looked to the ceiling as if for inspiration and then back. “Like Drogon. He kind of has your colouring as well.”

“A dragon?” I laughed. “Really? You see me as a dragon?”

He wasn’t laughing. “I do.”

And the proof was in his eyes, daring me to disagree. I stalled, opting instead to lighten the moment, because what the hell did you say to something like that. “You know I wouldn’t have picked a poetry professor as aGame of Thronesenthusiast.”

He shrugged. “There’s a lot of poetry in epic fantasy. Archetypes everywhere you look, odes to love and beauty and grand ideas, good against evil, all that. You’d be surprised.”

“Yeah, well, I was totally there for the costumes.”

He snorted but said nothing, just sat there, handcuffed, and yet somehow in charge of my soul in that moment.

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