Page 30 of Fire Me Up
“Dylan,” I groaned, fisting the sheets as he sucked a mark into my hipbone. “Please.”
He looked up at me, eyes dark with desire. “Please what?”
“Touch me. Suck me. Anything.”
His smile was pure sin. “I’m getting there. Patience.”
But he took mercy on me, wrapping his hand around the base of my cock and giving it a firm stroke. I bucked into his grip, a strangled moan escaping me. Then his mouth was there, hot and wet, taking the head between his lips and sucking gently.
“Fuck,” I hissed, fighting the urge to thrust deeper into that perfect heat. I watched him, heart stuttering as I realized how much it meant to me that it was him, that Dylan was going to be my first.
I ignored the nagging voice that told me Dylan should be my only.
His was the best blowjob I’d ever had by a long shot—maybe because he knew a man’s body, maybe because he was so patient with me—exploring with his tongue, discovering what made me writhe and what made me curse. When he finally took me deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked, the pleasure was so intense I nearly came on the spot. He sensed it, pulling back just enough to ease the pressure, keeping me on the edge.
The sight of his lips stretched around my cock, his purple-tipped hair falling across his forehead as he bobbed, was almost too much to bear. I threaded my fingers through his hair, not guiding, just needing to touch him, to ground myself in the swell of sensation.
He didn’t want more beyond this—but if this was all I could have of Dylan Kim, I would take it. I would drink in every moment, memorize every sensation, tuck it away for later. I knew how to deal with loss. That didn’t scare me. It made me greedy; it made me want to take as much as I possibly could.
Dylan pulled off my cock with a wet pop, looking up at me with swollen lips and flushed cheeks. “You taste amazing,” he said. “But I don’t want you to come yet.”
I reached for him, pulling him up for a kiss. I could taste myself on his tongue—salt and musk—and it sent another wave of heat through me. I rolled us over, pinning him beneath me, wanting—needing—to explore him the way he’d explored me.
“My turn,” I said, trailing kisses down his neck, across his collarbone. I traced the lines of his tattoos with my tongue, learning the geography of his body with my mouth. Dylan arched beneath me, his hands gripping my shoulders as I worked my way lower.
I wanted to memorize every inch of him—the small birthmark on his ribs, the way his stomach muscles jumped when I licked across them, the exact sound he made when I sucked a mark into his hip. I wanted to carry this with me forever, even if he moved on.
“Gael,” Dylan gasped as I took his cock in my hand, stroking it slowly. “You don’t have to
“I want to,” I insisted, shifting my weight to favor my injured shoulder. “Let me taste you.”
I lowered my head, taking him into my mouth for the first time, and the surprising pleasure of it made my eyes roll back. I moaned softly, sucking him deeper, suddenly so desperate that I ignored my injured arm to force my body into the perfect position to suck his cock.
The weight of him on my tongue, the salt-musk taste of his skin, the broken moan he let out as I sucked him—it was perfect. I might have been new to this, but I took my time, learning him. I watched his face as I explored him with my mouth, learning what made his eyes flutter closed, what made his hips buck up involuntarily. I memorized his shape, obsessed with teasing him—with the way his hips jerked when I found the right spot, with the velvet silk of his skin and the salty tang of his pre-cum.
Maybe this was why he liked armpits; it was the essence of everything masculine about him—his beauty and passion and arousal—and I was drinking it down like a man starved.
“Stop,” he said with a rough laugh, pulling me back up. “I don’t want to come yet either.”
He kissed me deeply, rolling us so I was beneath him again. The weight of his body on mine felt right, like coming home to a place I’d never been before.
Chapter 10
Gael
Dylan’s hands slid down my back, fingers tracing the groove of my spine with reverent precision. “Turn over,” he murmured against my ear. “Hands and knees. If that doesn’t bother your shoulder.” My pulse jumped at the command, a mix of nerves and raw anticipation flooding my system.
The mattress dipped as Dylan moved behind me. I fought the urge to look back, to see his expression as he studied my exposed body.
“Jesus, Gael,” Dylan said, his voice rough with desire. “You’re fucking perfect.”
His hands cupped my ass, kneading appreciatively. I dropped my head between my shoulders, embarrassed by how much I liked his touch, his praise—then let out a small sound as that position twinged.
“You okay?” One hand trailed down, fingers tracing the sensitive skin behind my balls, making me shiver.
I shifted, arching my back and settling my weight more on my chest. The position made me feel more exposed, morevulnerable. The rough sound he made was worth it. “Is this okay?” I asked. “Doesn’t hurt my shoulder.”
“That is fucking perfect. Ever had anyone touch you here?” His fingertip circled my entrance, not pushing in yet, just teasing.
