Page 32 of Manhattan Tormentor

The rain is lashing the windscreen like crazy.

“Dude, I wanna get home before the roads turn into a monsoon.”

He cranks his head sideways and I can almost see his eyes flare.

A hot fist grabs my stomach.

“I don’t want to go yet,” he says and before I can ask why, he’s unbuckled the seatbelt and he lunges for me.

This time I meet him halfway because I’m this side of crazy and desperate for more of his mouth.

He tastes of the rain that’s thumping the top of my car, making it feel like we’re inside a carwash. He tastes of sex and want.

“Don’t ruin it by opening your fucking mouth,” he growls and I laugh into his lips. “I thought you wanted them open so you can have my tongue?”

“Little shit,” he mutters, smashing my lips with his.

Finn Maverick is kissing me.

Finn Maverick is kissing me.

Actually, he’s eating me alive, controlling my head with his two hands speared into my hair. He yanks me forward, tips my head sideways and dives inside.

I want him enough to forget how big of a jerk he is.

With a tortured groan, I wrench my mouth away only far enough so I can see his face.

If ever I’m gonna get punched, it’s when I see the lust on his face. It coats his eyes, licking over his wet lips and I flip up the arm rest separating us to reach for the zipper on his jeans.

The punch doesn’t come.

But an epic groan reverberates around the car interior. And he elongates his torso so I can slide the zipper down over his massive erection straining through the denim.

He drags my head back to him by my hair. It hurts and feels good.

He’s not gentle when he takes my mouth again, and I don’t want him to be.

I want this fierce guy manhandling me into letting him give me a kiss that will stain the fuck out of my soul once it’s done.

He fucks my mouth with his tongue until every drop of air falls out of me. Stabbing in and out, he drives every thought from my head.

I’m greedy now.

Fucking ravenous for his taste to live in my body forever.

I’ve always thought I was a mentally strong guy. My arms are like weeds compared to Finn’s thick ones. But the sight of him straining his hips so I can fist out his dick is something that might kill me.

His body is perfect. Strong all over. When my fingers graze his belly, where my borrowed shirt has ridden up, it’s a solid slab of muscle.

I want to explore over every inch of him. Preferably with my mouth before I glide my dick inside of him. I settle for trying to hold his length in my hand while he goes to town on my lips.

“Fuck,” he hisses into my mouth. I freeze, knowing this is the moment he knocks me away, tells me he’s not gay and to stop spewing my queerness all over him.

He says nothing like that and my heart restarts when he bites my bottom lip and pushes into my palm.

So thick in my hand, I can hardly get a full hold of him, but there’s no way I’m stopping to check what I’m doing. Not with the kiss of the century blowing the top off my head.

“Fucking stroke me already,” he orders roughly.

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