Page 10 of Unwrap Me After Dark
Tyler takes his turn without hesitation, his confidence infuriating. As he places his piece, he says, “Remember when you walked in on me in the shower last Christmas?”
The memory hits me—steam, smooth skin, water sluicing down muscled planes. I’d nearly concussed myself on the doorframe when I’d backed out.
“You didn’t leave right away,” Tyler continues, his voice soft but relentless. “You stood there for what, ten seconds? Fifteen?”
“Shut up,” I hiss, heat flooding my cheeks.
But Tyler isn’t finished. “I saw your face, Liam. I remember what you looked like.”
My hand jerks toward the tower, selecting a piece at random. It slides free but catches at the last moment, sending the entire structure crashing down with a clatter. Wooden blocks scatter across the coffee table and floor.
“I win,” Tyler says, victorious.
Something snaps inside me—rage, frustration, maybe the whiskey. I lunge over the coffee table, knocking over glasses,and tackle Tyler back against the couch cushions. “You fuckingcheater,” I snarl, grabbing his wrists.
Tyler laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest against mine. “There he is.”
We grapple, a tangle of limbs and harsh breathing. Tyler is stronger than me, always has been, but the whiskey and my fury give me an edge. I pin one of his arms before he twists, flipping our positions with frightening ease.
Suddenly, I’m on my back, wrists pinned above my head, Tyler’s weight pressing me into the couch.
“Get off me,” I demand. My body goes rigid, bracing for whatever comes next—a punch, more taunts, something worse.
But Tyler doesn’t move. His grip on my wrists softens, though he maintains enough pressure to keep me pinned. His eyes search my face with an intensity that makes me want to look away, but I force myself to hold his gaze.
“Liam.” My name sounds different in his mouth now, almost tender.
He releases one of my wrists to cup my jaw, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. The gentle touch is so unexpected, so at odds with the Tyler I know, that I freeze.
“W-what are you doing?” My voice comes out hoarse.
He doesn’t answer, just continues stroking my face, his calloused fingers surprisingly soft against my skin. When I stop struggling, his thumb drifts to my lips, pressing against them. The simple touch sends a jolt straight to my core.
I exhale, my lips parting under the pressure of his thumb. Tyler’s eyes darken, pupils expanding as he watches my reaction. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes his thumb between my lips.
“Now be a good boy and suck,” he murmurs, voice rough.
I should bite him. Push him away. Run. Instead, my lips close around his thumb, tongue pressing against the pad. The taste of his skin—salt and whiskey—floods my mouth. Tyler’s breath hitches, the sound rippling through me like a stone dropped in still water.
“Good.” He leans closer. “Knew you’d like this.”
His thumb moves in my mouth, mimicking another act. My eyes flutter closed, shame and arousal warring for dominance. Heat pools in my groin, my jeans growing tight.
“Look at me,” Tyler demands.
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze. The raw hunger I see there should terrify me. Instead, it pulls a moan from deep in my chest.
“There you are,” Tyler whispers, his free hand sliding down my side to grip my hip. “Let me hear you.”
My hips buck up, seeking friction. Tyler shifts, aligning our bodies, so I feel the unmistakable hardness of his erection against my own. It sends another shock through my system—he wants this, wants me.
“Tyler,” I gasp around his thumb, not sure if I’m pleading for him to stop or continue.
“I’ve got you,” he assures me, rocking his hips against mine in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
He withdraws his thumb, replacing it with the gentle press of his lips against my jaw, my neck, the sensitive spot below my ear. His mouth is hot, insistent, but not rough like I expected.
“Fuck,” I breathe as he rolls his hips again, creating delicious friction through our clothes. “Ty, we shouldn’t…” I trail off, barely registering that I used a nickname I never have before.
