Page 153 of Detectives in Love
“Sorry,” I say quietly. “It’s just…I never suspected. I didn’t even know if you…erm…liked men.”
His eyes open slowly, locking on mine. “I’m gay, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Cool,” I say, heart skipping. “So you’re in love with me.”
Xavier just looks at me, brow drawn. “Yes.”
I smile, not sure how it’s possible to feel even happier—but I do.
“Good,” I murmur. “Because I’m in love with you too.”
He goes completely still—like the words caught him off guard, like he doesn’t quite believe them. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe I’ve done too good a job hiding it all this time.
So instead of pushing, I lean in and kiss him.
At first, he just blinks at me—stiff, unsure—then his eyes flutter shut, and he melts into it.
I don’t let it stay soft—I kiss him like I want him. Until it’s breathless and messy, wet and hungry. All tongue and heat.
His face tightens in that way I know now. That expression—serious, focused, barely holding back. That’s how Xavier Ormond looks when he’s turned on.
I slip my hand under the comforter, gliding down his chest, over the firm lines of his stomach. The sheer audacity of touching him so freely makes my breath catch, my skin buzzing.
When I reach lower and find him hard through his pajama pants, a rush of heat floods through me. He lets out a low, guttural sound and grabs my wrist—tight, almost desperate.
“Newt,” he breathes against my mouth, voice unsteady. “I’m not…joking.”
“Me neither,” I whisper, kissing him again, my other hand at the back of his neck. Xavier freezes for a second, then kisses me back—and soon we’re breathless again.
I pull his shirt off. He lets me, watching—dazed—as I trail kisses down his chest, over his pecs and abs, shifting loweron the bed. I push the comforter aside, ignoring the pull in my leg.
My face lines up with his hips. As I ease his pants and boxers down and free him—hard, already aching—he tenses, one hand finding my cheek.
“Your leg,” he says, hoarse. “You shouldn’t…”
“I’m using my mouth, not my leg,” I say with a quiet laugh, nuzzling his cock, breathing in the clean scent of him.
Xavier shudders beneath me.
“Newt,” he whispers, chest rising fast. “I’m not going to last. Not with you.”
My breath catches. The words go straight to my core, heat curling low in my belly. I didn’t know how much I wanted to hear that until now.
“Who says you have to?” I smile, then drag my tongue slowly across the tip.
He lets out a soft, helpless “Fuck,” one hand slipping into my hair. “Oh God, Newt.”
My name on his lips sounds downright filthy.
I lean in and begin kissing along the length of him—slow, wet, unhurried. I look up as I go, meeting his eyes. Let this sink into him—this moment, this want—so if he ever doubts how much I mean it, how long I’ve meant it, he’ll know.
Xavier just stares—frozen, breath shallow—his fingers still curled in my hair. I wrap a hand around the base of him, guide him to my mouth, and close my lips over the tip. I start slow, sucking gently, flicking my tongue under the crown.
He shudders, lets out a low, strangled, “Fuck.” His grip tightens in my hair—not pulling, just holding, like he needs something to hang onto.
I take him deeper, my throat stretching around him—messy, imperfect—but I doubt he cares. His hips shift forward, chasing more.
I hum softly, encouraging him, and the vibration makes his hips jerk. I moan, just enough to let him know I want this—need this.
