Page 31 of Love Songs

Conor crouched down and, for a second, I thought he was going to drop to his knees and suck me off, but he put his shoulder into my midsection and hoisted me up over his shoulder and into a fireman’s carry with such speed and ease, a surprised squawk burst from my mouth.

I. Freaking. Squawked!

And what followed that embarrassing sound? Laughter. Uncontrollable laughter at the ridiculousness of the position I found myself in, but I couldn’t find it in me to care all that much. I couldn’t remember when the last time was that I’d had so much fun getting naked with someone. If ever.

I grabbed a healthy handful of Conor’s jeans-clad butt-cheeks to hang on, giving him a squeeze while my dick pressed against his chest and my ass rubbed against his stubbled cheek. Laughing, he bit playfully at my butt as he walked me toward the bed and dropped me down. I bounced with my feet hobbled like a horse and my shirt riding up to expose my very eager erection.

“Now that was a first.” I grinned as I palmed my rigid length.

“Did you like it?” Conor’s voice was raspy as he watched my hand move slowly up and down with rapt attention.

“More than I should,” I said, and I meant it. Being manhandled by Conor turned me on more than it should have. More than I could have imagined. “You can pick me up anytime.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” he said, meeting my gaze with a wink, then he began working the laces free of my boots. His brows furrowed, the groove between them deepening as he tugged the ends through the holes. He huffed. “Jezus. How many hours did it take you to put these on?”

Chuckling, I sat up and waved him off. “I’ll get these while you strip.”

“Yes, sir,” he teased with a two-finger salute to his brow, before stripping off the rest of his clothes—taking his shoes off before his pants. Smart man.

“There’s condoms and lube in my toiletries bag in the bathroom,” I said, kicking off my boots and freeing my legs. Fully naked, I stretched out on my back.

Conor’s mouth tipped up into a crooked grin as he held a couple of condoms and a little packet of lube between the index and middle fingers of one hand. His jeans dangled from his other hand.

“Came prepared, did you?”

“Well,” Conor said as he dropped his pants to the floor and climbed onto the bed. He crawled up my body like a prowling panther. “I was a boy scout.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” I said with a slow smile.

“I excelled in all areas,” he said as he nipped at my chin.

“Oh yeah.” I rocked my hips up to meet his. “How about this one?”

He answered by mouthing and kissing the column of my neck. His warm breath tickled my sensitive skin, sending shivers in every direction. “Not exactly part of the curriculum, but I can go all night.”

“Pretty confident of your stamina, aren’t you?” I said with a breathy voice.

“I’m a well-honed machine,” Conor teased. He sat back on his heels and raised his arms, flexing his biceps like a bodybuilder. “Just look at these guns.”

I didn’t know that I’d have called him a machine, but there was no denying the exquisite example of the male form that was his body. Sitting there naked, with the low light from the bedside lamp gilding the delineated curves of his firm pecs, therise and fall of his abdominal muscles, and a thick, straight cock reaching toward me.

“Fuck, you’re a beautiful man,” I whispered.

The slow and sexy lift of Conor’s lips told me he agreed, but was also happy that I thought so, too.

“I could say the same about you,” he said, tracing a finger down my navel.

He wrapped his hand around my length and stroked up and down, slow and deliberate. The heat of his hand, the pressure of his grip, sent an electric shockwave arcing through me. I shuddered with an overwhelming need for him.

“I’m waiting to hear it.” My attempt at a demand sounded more like a keening whine.

“Fuck.” Conor released my dick, much to my dismay, and crawled back up my body until he was looking down at me with fire in his eyes. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“Right,” I croaked at the intensity of his stare. I felt exposed, flayed open, and heat flooded into my cheeks. “Now quit talking and kiss me already.”

This time, while still demanding and all-consuming, the desperate edge of his kisses had given way to raw, unfiltered desire.

Conor kissed his way down my body, sending shocks and sparks and electric charges bouncing and pinging in every direction. Disorientation spun my head, and I had the sensation of falling even though I was lying flat on my back. But I wasn’t afraid because Conor had me. I don’t know why, but I felt unexpectedly safe in his arms. When he finally came up for air, trapping my legs in the cage of his thighs, his eyes were wild, and his voice was ragged and gritty when he asked if was a top or bottom.

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