Page 135 of Go Luck Yourself
My chest is hot. My cheeks, my arms, burning up under everything I’ve said and his gaze on me now.
He tracks that heat, the blush, and something in him breaks.
“You’re so fuckingreactive,shite.” He crashes into me, teeth and tongue fighting themselves against my abs, and I grab his head and moan as he licks at me, bites at me.
His arm locks around me and in one quick flip I’m on my back again, hurtled into pillows that go flying, the bedspread flinging away at our agitated kicks. Loch’s mouth beats down on me as ferociously as the blood beats at my veins as he works his way lower.
“How many different shades of red can I make you turn, eh?” He brands the question into the jut of my hipbone, bites a response where my thigh meets my groin. “Where else can I make you blush?”
“Loch.” Zero to imploring in five seconds flat.
My fingers find his hair and latch in but he yanks me away.
“Ah-ah—hands over your head. There’s a good boy.”
Shitwhy is that soerotic.
I find handholds in the wooden slats of the headboard, eyes on the bed’s canopy, breathing hard and jagged. Not looking at him, not being able to touch him, ratchets every sensation higher until my whole existence is the points where his lips and fingers stake their ownership.
He grabs my thighs and shoves them up towards my chest.
I was wrong, my whole existence also encapsulates inhuman cries that make me grateful the castle is mostly empty. How sound-deadening is stone? I can’t care right now; no pretense, no build-up, his satin, venomous tongue licks over my hole.
“Holyfuck,” I gasp and squirm, but Loch keeps me in place, his hands iron vises spreading me for him, holding me together.
He’s ruthless here too—I shouldn’t be surprised. Taking, taking, but his taking is also giving because with every lap of his tongue, every scratch of his beard on my thin skin, I’m begging incomprehensibly for more, and even then, he doesn’t stop. He brings his fingers into play and alternates licking and stretching, plunging me into sensation without a break until I’m hanging by a thread.
When I’m sweating and frantic, he climbs back up my body to a symphony of breathy, throaty sounds from both of us. He’s rolling on the condom and taking care of the lube before I can fight my way through the fog to do it for him. And it is a fog, I’m bobbing in a wide, endless rush of need and I know it will all be far too evanescent but he’s made mehereand that consumes me more than I’ve ever been consumed before.
Loch runs a hand up one of my arms, still over my head, still death-gripping the headboard. His grip clamps tight around that fist and he looks down at me; he could say something. He could kiss me. He could do anything, but he chooses to watch my face as he lines his dick up with my softened hole and pushes against the first tight ring. I feel his attention as much as the pressure, the give.
His breathing grates heavier, the only outward sign of him being as close to unraveling as I am, but he takes it slow, propped over my body with one hand on mine, the other on my hip, guiding me.
It’s too slow, a gentle thrust in, pulling back, giving me a little more—it’s notenough.All that need is shoaled up inside my chest until it bleeds out through the rest of my body and I’m writhing underneath him.
I don’t let go of the headboard, but I wrap my legs around him and pull. “Loch,please—”
His hips snap forward.
Pleasure whites out my vision.
I hear the warbles of my cry like an echo. I feel the reverberations like the retreating crest of a wave, all white-capped foam and popping bubbles.
Loch holds, body strung taut over me, and my eyes find his through the haze, through the whimpers I think I’m making.
“Good?” he asks, concern etched in the slant of his brows, the focus of his pupils.
I nod, immediate, and yeah, I am whimpering, and it devolves to wordless pleading.
It’s permission granted. It’s a door opened. Loch takes my nod and my whimpers and his grin is extraordinary.
He drapes over me, one arm snaking around to hold me to him as he thrusts, broken grunts and firing pulses. Slow at first, then faster, tunneling into me, I’m well and truly gone.
“Shite, Kris,” he moans. “You’re so tight,fuck.Making me feel so good, look at you. Arch your hips, I wanna—there, Kris,there.”
It’s another unendurable contradiction: the way he holds me to him, tenderness; the way he fucks into me, aggression; but both those things are possession, aren’t they? And I am, fully possessed, utterly his.
Nips of his teeth on the underside of my bicep are soothed with his tongue until he works his way over, breaks through the seam of my mouth with a vicious kiss. I hadn’t even realized my jaw was tensed but I relent to him, let him in, rocking my hips to meet him.
