Page 67 of Wicked Games

“No, you don’t.” He nips at my ear again. “You hate that youwantme.”

He’s not wrong, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“You hate that I’m the only person who makes you feel this way,” he continues. His free hand clamps down on my other ass cheek as he locks me in place. “But you don’t hate me.”

“Keep fucking with me, and that’ll change,” I grumble.

He slides one hand from my ass to my lower back, then the tips of his fingers slip under the waistband of my pants and tease the top of my crease.

“You want this.”

I don’t say anything.

“You remember what silence means, right, little brother?”

“Yes,” I whisper and let go of the last of my internal turmoil.

He’s right about everything. I don’t understand any of this, but I’m done fighting it.

“Yeah, you do.”

I gasp as he nips at my ear again, the little nibbles sending shockwaves of pleasure through me that make my dick throb against his.

“Show me what you want.”

I pause. What does he mean by that?

“Come on, little brother.” He stands up straight so he’s looking down at me again. “You know you want to.”

He might only be a few inches taller than me, but he seems so much bigger. It’s not even his broad shoulders or the twenty or so pounds of muscle he has on me; it’s his presence that makes me feel small. And damn if I don’t like it.

Tentatively, I rock my hips and drag my cock against his.

Heat and something dark, almost primal, flares in his eyes. I do it again.

He’s so hard against me, so big and hot, and my mouth waters at the memory of his girth stretching my lips and his length pushing down my throat.

I want to taste him again.

Not breaking eye contact with him, I sink to my knees.

It’s a bit of a tight squeeze and my back is pressed up against my mattress, but the surprised look that crosses Killian’s features before melting into one of pure desire chases the last of my trepidation away.

None of this makes sense, and I’m probably going to hate myself for it later, but fuck it. I want this, and more importantly, so does he.

Killian watches with heated eyes as I press my cheek against the bulge in his jeans and nuzzle it. I don’t bother stifling the moan that bubbles up in my chest as I breathe him in.

He smells so damn good, like soap and skin and his natural scent. Instead of questioning why I like it so much, I press soft kisses up and down his length, enjoying the gentle scrape of the denim against my lips.

“That’s it,” he urges, not looking away from me for even a second. “Show me how much you want to suck my cock again.”

My cheeks flush hot, but not from embarrassment. He already knows I’m into this; there’s no point trying to pretend otherwise.

Deliberately, I press the flat part of my tongue against his length and lick him over his pants.

The soft, shuddering breath he lets out is like music to my ears, and I do it again.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

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