Page 29 of What You Own
I pulled my fingers out and wiped them on the blanket. Turned his head so I could kiss him. It was sloppy and sideways, but also kinda perfect. I shifted my lower body so my cock slid in his crease, down until the head bumped into the back of his balls. We kissed more, harder, tongues and teeth clashing. Adam remained pliant beneath me, tremors still running off him like tiny aftershocks. He hadn’t come, but he’d been damned close.
And he’d finally stopped fighting me.
Everything telescoped in, focusing on a few key things, leaving the rest of the world out. His body under mine, willing and waiting. Our mouths together, giving and taking. I wasn’t holding him down. We were simply there, existing in a perfect moment, caught between intention and reaction.
My body moved, needing something so primal I didn’t understand it. Didn’t try to fight it. I loved Adam. I wanted Adam. I sought a way to show him how much, needing to be part of him in every way, terrified that if I didn’t prove my love now I’d lose him. I couldn’t lose him again.
Adam made a noise in his throat, different from the others. He squeezed my hip, my leg, then wrenched away from our kiss. “Ryan?”
I sought his mouth again, needing that connection while my cock pressed against flesh. Flesh that started giving way.
Adam
IGOTwhat I’d wanted: Ryan Sanders, broken down, a tangled ball of want and desire that had ceased censoring himself. He’d taken me higher than I ever thought possible, until I couldn’t stand the pleasure searing my skin and brain and nerve endings. We were both on the edge, about to fall, and in the middle of a mind-melting kiss, I pried my eyelids apart far enough to look at Ryan.
He was gone, so lost in passion and lust that I wasn’t entirely sure he still saw me. I couldn’t stop the sound I made, as much from amazement as alarm. And alarm was winning the race. Ryan was moving like a man possessed, driven by instinct, and I didn’t recognize him.
“Ryan?”
He didn’t hear me. His hips moved, the angle changed, and his cockhead pressed against my hole. My stomach clenched. He tried to kiss me again. I turned my head away and twisted my hips. God, I wanted him inside me, but not like this. Not when he was so far gone he didn’t know he was trying to fuck me without lube or a condom.
“Ryan, stop a minute.”
Nothing.
“Ryan, no.”
He froze, muscles bunching, not even breathing for several seconds. Then he was gone, scrambling for the other side of the bed. I twisted around to face him, hunched up by the headboard, understanding widening his eyes. He was coiled tight, one good tap from shattering.
You did that.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Oh my God, Adam, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, babe, I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”
“I almost did. Shit.” He covered his face with both hands, his shoulders trembling.
“But you didn’t.” I crawled up the bed and pulled him into my arms, holding tighter when he tried to pull away. Guilt gnawed at my chest. “You didn’t hurt me. Everything just got kind of intense.”
He stopped fighting my hug and collapsed against me. I wanted to be bigger, so I could hold him and protect him the way he deserved. All I could do was rock him and soothe him while he mumbled a chorus of “I’m sorrys” against my chest. I kissed his hair, his temple, anyplace I could reach.
“I want to do that with you,” I whispered. “But the right way, okay?”
His big body shuddered, and he shifted until he was hugging me back, his chin on my shoulder. “Can’t believe I almost did that. Fuck.”
“But you didn’t, and I’m fine. We’re fine. Right?”
He pulled back far enough to look at me with wet eyes. “Lord, I hope so.”
I wanted the fear in his eyes to go away. I wanted that raw passion back, but tempered with common sense this time. “Do you have the stuff we need?”
“Yeah. Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He twisted around, practically in half, and grabbed a shoe box off the shelf of the small bookcase that was his nightstand. He put it on the bed next to us and knocked the lid off. I stared at the assorted items hiding behind the faded cardboard, a little surprised he kept his sex supplies in a box with worn baseball cards and a dump-truck PEZ dispenser. He ripped a condom off a long strip—I had to gently remind myself that he’d had a sex life for years before I came back into his orbit—then grabbed a bottle of lube.
“You sure you want this tonight?” he asked.
