Page 112 of The Bones in the Yard

I offered him my right, and he squeezed the liquid onto my pointer and middle fingers, then rubbed his own over them.

There was no fucking way this should be this fucking hot.

Okay, it had been a long time. Averylong time. But still.

My hand shook as Taavi rubbed lube over my fingers, my breath catching in my throat, my heart pounding, and my cock aching.

“Fuck me with your fingers.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I whimpered again, but did as I was told, teasing at first, running one slicked finger around the rim of his body as he pushed himself up with strong thighs, his forearms—one in a cast—resting on my shoulders, his forehead pressed against mine so that our breath mingled, still tinged with cinnamon and spice.

“Val.” There was a warning in his tone, and I obeyed, sliding a finger inside the tight heat of him.

“Oh,fuck.”

He made a soft sound in the back of his throat, his hips pushing back into my hand. The feel of his muscles around my finger, the heat of his body, was already making me dizzy, my breaths shallow.

“More,” he demanded.

I slid another finger inside him, and he let his head fall back as he fucked himself on my hand. I worked against the constriction of his muscles, and the more I did, the more urgent the sounds coming from him and the stronger the ache in my cock.

I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.

“Val—”

I moaned. Words were so far beyond me.

“Val,” he panted, and his fingers gripped my hair, pulling my head back so I had no choice but to look at him.

I whined.

He tilted his head slightly. “Condom.”

I followed the angle of his head, my brain struggling to figure out what he was—oh. He’d apparently dropped it beside me on the bed.

I used my free hand to pick it up, using my teeth to open the wrapper so I didn’t have to take my fingers out of him. I unrolled the damn thing on myself, having to breathe deeply to keep control, my abs clenched tight because even the feeling of a fucking condom was almost enough to send me over the edge.

“Taavi—”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

He pushed up with his legs, barely giving me time to guide myself into him before taking all of me at once, the heat and shock of it nearly overwhelming the last shreds of self-control I had.

He was warmth and pressure and sinewy muscle, and I could feel every beat of my racing heart in my cock, every clench of his body, every fucking millimeter of him against me. I made a sound that was almost a half-sob, pressing my face against his left shoulder, my back curved and my fingers digging into his hips. I could feel—almost distantly, because so much of my awareness was centered around where our bodies were joined together—the pressure of his legs against my hips, the heat and strength of him under my hands.

I was shaking, so fucking close to losing myself in his body that my ears rang, but I heard him when he whispered, “Not yet.”

Fucking hell.

I couldn’t think, could barely breathe, and every breath I drew was heavy with sweat and that spicy clove-like scent that I would always and forever associate with Taavi. There was nothing important enough to break through the sound of our breaths and bodies, the feel of his skin against mine, and the fucking heat of him.

I could feel my orgasm in the back of my throat, feel it pushing on my spine and in my stomach, but—

Not yet.

“Dios, Val. I need—to feel you. Fuck.Now.”

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