Page 29 of Fire Me Up
Dylan’s smile was slow and predatory. The hand on my shoulder curled around the back of my neck, and he pulled me down for a kiss that made my knees weak.
This was nothing like our frantic kisses at the club. This was deliberate, thorough, like he was mapping every inch of my mouth with his tongue. I melted into it, my hands finding his waist, pulling him closer until our bodies were flush together.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Dylan looked up at me, his lips slightly swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire.
“Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “Bedroom’s this way.”
I followed him back, feeling more nervous than I had any right to as I looked around his bedroom. The bed dominated the space, already turned down with fresh sheets. Lube and condoms sat within easy reach on the nightstand, a clean towel folded at the foot of the bed. Dylan had prepared for this, planned for it. Every move was thorough and deliberate. Would that be how he’d fuck me? The thought made my cock throb against my zipper.
He stepped into my space, eliminating the distance between us. His hands found my hips, fingers slipping under the hem of my henley to graze the bare skin beneath. Even that light touch sent electricity racing through me.
“How did you feel while prepping?” Dylan asked, his voice dropping to a register that made my knees weak.
“It was… intense.”
“Intense how?” He slid his hands higher under my shirt, tracing the ridges of my abs.
“Knowing you’d be inside me,” I admitted. “Thinking about it while I fingered myself open. I’ve never been so turned on.”
Dylan’s pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the brown of his irises. “Gael.”
Then he was kissing me, and whatever awkwardness lingered between us burned away in the heat of his mouth on mine. I clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer, desperate to feel the full length of his body against me. He tasted like mint, his tongue exploring my mouth with the same confident precision he brought to everything.
I wanted to tear our clothes off, to feel his skin against mine, but Dylan set a different pace. Slow. Methodical. He broke the kiss to pull my henley over my head, tossing it aside before stepping back to look at me.
“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed, running his hands over my chest, thumbs brushing my nipples and making me gasp. He leaned forward and kissed my scar. “This okay?”
“Feels better every day.”
“Every time I see you shirtless, it’s like a punch to the gut. My dick goes instantly hard.”
His praise made me feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with my bare skin. I reached for the hem of his T-shirt, needing to level the playing field. “Your turn.”
Dylan raised his arms, letting me pull the shirt over his head. I’d seen him shirtless before, but never this close, never with permission to touch. His tattoos fascinated me, and I had the urge to kiss and explore every line of them, to ask what each one meant. I traced them with my fingertips, following the ink across his warm skin.
“Beautiful,” I murmured. “Your tattoos are like a work of art.”
Dylan smiled, a flash of vulnerability crossing his face before he masked it with confidence. “I like yours, too.”
“They’re so random. I wish I’d laid them out with more thought.”
He shook his head. “The meaning behind them is beautiful. Are there more? I want to see all of you.”
We undressed quickly, shoes kicked off, jeans and underwear discarded in a heap. Dylan’s cock sprang free, hard and flushed against his stomach. Mine was equally rigid, just from kissing him.
“On the bed,” Dylan said. “On your back on the towel. Legs spread.”
The command sent a jolt of heat through me. I did as he asked, crawling onto the bed and lying back against the pillows. Opening my thighs felt impossibly vulnerable, exposing parts of myself no one had ever seen. But the hunger in Dylan’s eyes as he looked at me made it worth the moment of discomfort.
“Is that position okay on your shoulder?”
I nodded, smiling up at him. “I’ll tell you if it bothers me.”
“Gorgeous,” he said, climbing onto the bed between my spread legs. “Every inch of you.”
Then his mouth was on me—not on my cock as I’d expected, but on my inner thigh, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there. He worked his way up slowly, deliberately avoiding where I most wanted his touch. Instead, he explored like he was mapping me, discovering all the places that made me gasp and squirm.
He licked into the crease of my thigh, nuzzled the coarse hair at the base of my cock, even dipped lower to tease my balls with his tongue. Each touch was electric, building a tension that bordered on unbearable.
