Page 84 of Brushed and Buried
The raw honesty in his voice strips away every pretense we’ve been hiding behind. It’s too much, too real, and too close to everything I thought I’d lost forever.
“Vince…”
“I love you.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing breath from my lungs. He says it with devastating simplicity, like it’s a fundamental truth he’s been carrying for years and finally found the courage to speak.
“I love you,” he repeats, hands cupping my face with infinite gentleness. “I’ve been in love with you. I love how you see the world, how you capture beauty in everything you touch. I love your stubbornness and your incredible talent and the way you make me want to be better than I am.”
Words fail me completely, so I kiss him instead, pouring a decade of longing and hurt and desperate hope into the press of my lips against his. He responds immediately, arms crushing me against him like he’s afraid I might disappear.
“I love you too,” I whisper against his mouth, the words finally breaking free. “God, Vince, I love you too. I never stopped.”
The kiss deepens, becomes desperate and consuming. His hands slide into my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me, and I can taste champagne on his tongue, can feel how his breathing changes when I bite his lower lip. The formal clothes that felt so strange on the beach now feel like barriers to overcome, obstacles between us and the connection we’ve been fighting for so long.
“Adrian,” he breathes my name like a prayer. His mouth trails down my jaw, finding that sensitive spot just below my ear that makes me gasp and arch against him. The fireworks continue outside, burst after burst of color and sound that gives us permission to be as loud as we want, as desperate as we feel.
He walks me backward until my spine meets one of the tent poles, the solid support a stark contrast to the way everything else feels like it’s spinning. His body presses against mine, all heat and muscle and barely controlled need.
“Tell me you want this,” he says, voice rough with desire. “Tell me you want me.”
“I need you.” The admission comes out broken, desperate. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”
His hands work at my shirt with surprising dexterity despite the obvious urgency. Buttons slip free, fabric parts, and then his mouth is on my chest, tongue tracing patterns that make me bite back a moan.
Undressing becomes frantic and urgent. Expensive formal wear hits the canvas floor. His hands shake slightly as they work at my belt, and the vulnerability of that small tremor makes something clench tight in my chest.
When he positions me to face the tent opening, his chest pressed against my back, I can see the grand finale beginning. Firework after firework launches into the sky, creating cascades of light that reflect off the water. But all I can focus on is thefeel of him behind me, the way his breathing sounds ragged and desperate in my ear.
“Look at me,” he commands, and I catch his reflection in the tent’s translucent wall. In the shifting light of the fireworks, his face looks fierce, possessive, like he’s claiming something that’s always belonged to him. “I want to see your face when I make you mine.”
The words send heat spiraling through me, and when he finally moves, the sensation is so intense I nearly collapse.
He sinks to his knees, his hands freeing my cock from my pants and underwear, and his mouth closes over me with a wet, greedy precision that has me arching instantly. The fireworks outside explode in brilliant golds and deep blues, but their light is nothing compared to the heat flooding through me as he takes me in, lips and tongue worshiping me with meticulous care. I grip his hair, shivering as he teases, sucks, and swirls his mouth around me, his tongue tracing and flicking along my cock. The raw, unrestrained moan I make mixes with the distant thunder of celebration.
His fingers trail along my hips before moving lower, teasing closer to my crease, exploring with purpose as he removes the rest of my clothing and tosses it aside. He spreads my thighs, hooks my leg over his shoulder, positioning me so he can reach every sensitive place. His mouth glides over the soft skin of my taint, licking, flicking, and tasting, until his tongue finds my hole and plunges inside. I cry out in surprise, the shock sendinga jolt of heat straight to my core, and he hums against me, a low, possessive sound that makes my chest contract with need.
“Louder,” he growls, pressing his face against me. “I want to hear exactly how you feel.”
I do, letting my voice ride every movement of his mouth and fingers, surrendering to the sensations that make my knees tremble and my hands clutch him closer. His lips leave my cock to trail up my stomach, chest, and neck, while his fingers continue their insistent exploration, teasing and sliding in and out of my ass with a rhythm that has me shivering and arching into him. I can feel him memorizing me, mapping me, claiming every inch of skin and nerve like a painter tracing the contours of a masterpiece he’s waited a decade to touch.
He rises, pulling me up to straddle his hips, crushing me against him in a kiss that tastes of desire and devotion, teasing, and hunger. His hands roam over my back, down my sides, along my thighs, and I grind down instinctively, aching for every part of him.
“Tell me I can make love to you right here,” he whispers, teeth grazing my ear, voice rough and dangerous.
“Yes.” I gasp, shivering with need. “You don’t have to fucking ask.”
He lays me across the table, legs spread, back pressed to the cold surface, and I shiver under the full weight of anticipation. Vince drags his fingers along my hole first, parting me and teasing me open. Then his tongue flicks over every sensitiveridge, licking and circling my cock with precise, demanding rhythm. Every slick glide sets my nerves alight, making me tremble.
“Shit,” he mutters, low and rough. “No lube or condom.”
I arch toward him, voice thick and desperate. “I want all of you with nothing between us. Every part.”
His eyes blaze, incredulous and greedy. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I gasp, hips pressing up instinctively. “We’ve talked about it. We’re tested.”
Vince kneels closer, his hands on my hips. He spreads me impatiently but also gently, pressing my cheeks apart to get a clear view. He pauses, leaning down to study me, taking in the glistening heat, the way my rim pulses and flexes. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and hungry. “So fucking pink and tight…just for me.”
