Page 69 of Catcher's Lock
This is going to hurt.
But until then…
I wrap my arms around his waist and let him in.
The exposed arch of his low back forms a perfect shelf, and my skin thrills at the contact. Slipping beneath his Henley, I drag my greedy fingers up the grooves along his spine and down his ribs before pressing my thumbs into the divots above his ass, as if now that I’m touching all these long-coveted parts of him, I can’t get enough.
My heart thuds wildly as his tongue explores every inch of my mouth, the barbell intoxicating me with pornographic promise. He holds nothing back, grinding his rigid cock against mine as a low rumble builds in his throat, and the last wisps of my sanitycurl away like embers on the wind.
“Fuck, Rocket,” he groans, breaking the kiss to bury his face in the crook of my neck. “Let me take you to bed.”
My brain breaks to static. Mistaking my hesitation for reluctance, he slips a hand between us to palm my erection. “When I said I wanted it all, that included your cock.”
“You also said something about getting on your knees in the dirt,” I remind him, my voice faint beneath the roaring in my ears.
“And I’m willing. But—” He nips at my earlobe, sending electric shivers sparking down my spine. “If you take me inside, we could get naked first, and I really,reallywant to see you naked.”
Theoretically, we could strip right here. The driveway is a quarter mile long, and the forest screens the property on all sides. Plus, the fawn-skittish part of me that’s convinced he’s going to change his mind shies from the idea of letting him go, even for the few minutes it would take us to move to my room. My hands dip to cup his ass, trapping him against me as if he isn’t already as close as he can get.
He wants this.
I can figure out why tomorrow. Besides, I’d be an idiot to pass up the chance to savor him after all these years.
I lead him inside.
The main bedroom was the first thing I changed after my dad died and my mom and Jeremy moved out. I didn’t want to keep sleeping in my childhood bed, but there was no way I’d be comfortable in the room where my parents fought and fell apart and sometimes fucked without major renovations.
So I ripped up the threadbare carpet and laid laminate flooring and a braided rug. I repainted the walls and replaced the curtains. I spent too much money on a secondhand king-sizedbed and a new mattress, then covered it with linen bedding in shades of sand and forest greens. And if anyone had told me I was recreating a certain hammock-hung clearing in the woods, I probably would have punched them.
But watching Gem turn in a slow, admiring circle as he slots into place like a puzzle piece, there’s no denying the truth. The frantic edge of my lust has abated, and I take a moment to marvel at the miracle of having him here, in this space.
“You did all this?” he asks. I shrug, shoving my hands in my pockets as I lean against the door. “It suits you.”
It suits you too.
He runs his hand over the coverlet and bends to inspect the stack of books next to the half-pint Mason jar of screws and drill bits on my nightstand. Silently willing him not to start digging through the pile, I cross to join him.
Of course, he’s a nosy fucker, and the smirk he shoots me when he finds the novel with the shirtless male cover model has me fighting a blush.
“Shut up,” I tell him when he opens his mouth.
With what I’m sure is a supreme exercise in restraint, he swallows his comment. Instead, he places a hand in the center of my chest and pushes me gently until I’m sitting on the bed. Then he backs up as much as the room will allow and starts taking off his clothes.
He doesn’t rush. With one hand, he reaches back to tug his Henley over his head, baring his inked torso in one smooth movement. His other hand works the button of his jeans as he toes off his boots. And even though there’s no trace of the cocky fuckboy—even though he stumbles as he peels out of his jeans and his eyes never leave my face—he makes undressing into an art form that has my heart racing in my throat.
He’s fearless in his nudity, radiating all the sex appeal Iremember from my frustrated teenage years—now, finally, directed atme. My dick is rock hard again, even as my brain continues its struggle to poke holes in what’s happening.
He’s fucking stunning. I haven’t allowed myself to reallylookat him until now. I’ve been building firewalls, keeping him contained. But even the fading bruises, mingling with the ink that swarms his torso and snakes over his arms and down his leg, only add to his wicked beauty. Lean muscles rippling unfairly, he stalks toward me like a wild thing.
“What—” I swallow. “What now?”
It should be easy. I’ve imagined him naked and willing a thousand times. I’ve madeplans, back when I was naive enough to think they couldn’t hurt me. But seeing him exposed and immediate in the muted light streaking through the curtains, my head swims at all the things I could do with unshackled access to his body, and I tremble, overwhelmed to inaction.
“Now I’m gonna suck you off. Because Iwantto. And you want me to. And we’re both going to enjoy the hell out of it.”
Okay, that’s hot as hell. Still, I search his face for any sign of hesitation.
“Have you…done that before?”
