Page 100 of The Unlikely Heir
“You are the most beautiful man alive,” he whispers.
“You haven’t even seen the best part yet,” I manage to get out, and Oliver pauses to quirk an eyebrow.
“How do I get to see the best part?”
“It’s kind of a case of you show me your best part and I’ll show you mine,” I say, and Oliver’s face breaks into a smile that makes my heart pound double time.
I need to see more of him. I fumble with his buttons, popping one off in my haste to remove his shirt. I didn’t think I was the shirt-ripping type, but apparently, I am.
“Oops, sorry, I’ll sew that back on for you. Not that I know how to sew. Actually, maybe it’s best if I buy you a new shirt.”
When I glance at Oliver, he’s looking at me with laughter and desire in his eyes.
“You’re so…you,” he says, and the way he says the words is the highest compliment, the best thing in the world.
Then we’re kissing again, and all traces of laughter fade as he kisses down my chest and, in a smooth movement, lifts my kilt and pulls down my underwear. Then his mouth engulfs my cock. I gasp as his tongue expertly swirls around me, his hands holding me steady. Every touch feels like fire. I arch my back, wanting more, craving more, and Oliver obliges.
“Oh god, Oliver.” I clutch his hair, digging my hands in as pleasure rocks through my body.
Suddenly the wet heat of Oliver’s mouth leaves my cock, and he moves back up my body, his breath warm on my neck, and then we’re kissing again.
His hand reaches down to stroke me, my kilt still hitched around my waist. I suddenly remember sex is supposed to be a reciprocal thing. I reach for Oliver, pushing his kilt up and his underwear down, and oh my god, touching Oliver’s cock reminds me of touching myself for the first time, the realization that something could feel so amazing. Having another guy’s cock in my hand should feel weird, but somehow, the weight of it, the velvet over steel texture, feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Because how incredible is it that I can make Oliver feel good like this? I’m blown away by the heady power of it as I pull back so I can study his face, watching how his dark eyes turn glassy as I stroke him.
“Callum.” His voice is wrecked, and it only spurs me on more, making my own cock throb harder under his touch.
His lips find mine, and we’re breathlessly kissing and stroking each other, getting closer and closer to the edge.
And suddenly, my orgasm hits me with the force of a tsunami. My head is thrown back as I fight to breathe through it.
And then Oliver’s cock is convulsing in my hand, his whole body shuddering.
I lie on my back, panting as I struggle to regain my breath. I’m in complete disbelief. Who knew sex could feel like that?
I turn my head to look at Oliver, and he looks as wrecked as I imagine I look, lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed, hair mussed.
But his dark gaze is unwavering on mine.
“I love you,” he says again.
An emotion rises inside me that’s so powerful it takes me a moment to recognize it.
Joy. Complete, utter joy.
It’s a moment before I can compose myself enough to reply.
“The feeling is mutual.”
He grins. “Are you going to say it back to me?”
I feel a matching smile on my own lips.
“I love…” I say, watching his eyes. “…football.”
“I love…spring flowers.”
He gets a pillow to hit me over the head, and I wrestle with him, and then suddenly, I’m underneath him, and he’s laughing down at me, and holy hell, seeing Oliver like this, his hair mussed up, eyes sparkling as he laughs, is the most amazing thing ever. It’s beauty hidden in the most unlikely place. It’s the definition of magic.
