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Because he looks up, checking I’m getting what I need too.
Fuck knows what he sees to make him pull off. All I know is, he’s never sounded hoarser.
“Please.”
His eyes are wet. A tear spills over, and it doesn’t matter if it’s because of what we’re doing or due to what Mitch told him. He needs this—me—and everything else can get in the sea.
I crouch then, my tongue back in his mouth, and I lose my balance. We crash over, and I’m sprawled on his chest, my trousers tangled at my ankles, my spit-wet cock against his, which is still fully covered. Then it’s a race to see who can get undressed the fastest.
I struggle to my feet with him right behind me, our shoes kicked off and clothes discarded, and thank fuck Rowan is busy teaching. There’s no hiding the chaos we leave on the floor behind us or the mess I leave in the bathroom.
Lube topples from the cabinet I dig through. A box of condoms scatters. I tear open a wrapper, my eyes meeting his in the mirror. “I’m fucking you, yeah?”
Hayden doesn’t answer. He’s hot and hard behind me, his mouth locked on the side of my neck and sucking, those sharpteeth back to rasping, which goes straight to my dick. So does all the blood in my brain. I’m hazy about how we got here, even if I’m not about the fact that his cock is a lot against the crease of my arse.
It nudges between my legs, and I clamp my thighs closed around him, pushing back. He lets out an honest-to-god growl. His gaze next locks with mine in the mirror, and I get to see his face crease for a third time, only this time I witness pleasure, and there’s a decision made I’ll go ahead and let future me pay for.
How long has it been since I’ve taken?
He lands a kiss on my shoulder, and the answer doesn’t matter.
I get busy with lube, or I would get busy if my hands didn’t switch roles by shaking. I’m clumsy, but I still manage to reach down and back to clasp that hot, hard thickness until he’s good and slippery.
Then we’re fucking.
Or almost.
I’m braced on one forearm, getting shoved against the counter with his dick between my thighs, and he doesn’t hold back. I guess that is proof of what he needs the most after that conversation. He’s tightly wound, needing release, which has to come out.
I know it hasn’t yet.
I’d see it in this mirror.
Instead, the glass reflects stoicism—strength—and I always knew he had plenty. His next shove slides his cock against my balls in a way that makes my vision narrow. It also shoves me closer to the mirror, where I see a first glimmer of his control finally loosening.
Hayden’s fingers dig into my hips. His own stutter, and he pulls back before surging forward again. This time, his cockslides between my cheeks, the head nudging my hole before skimming past it, and he looks down, watching.
His movements slow then.
I hold my breath at what the mirror shows me.
He’s so fucking gorgeous, rocking so, so close to where I’d take him. And I would, if he pressed any harder than this slow-as-molasses slide. He stares down, captivated, and I can only imagine what he’s seeing. Can only translate that slide turning from slow to glacial as nothing else existing for him than me.
Than us.
He isn’t angsting about the past now. Isn’t doing any preemptive stressing about his future after this harvest season. He’s locked into the here and now, and we might as well be the only people left on the planet.
His dick slides close, and a million nerves send conflicting messages offuck, yesandhell, nountil one wins out and I’m begging.
That’s me grinding out a drunk-sounding, “Yeah, yeah, do it.”
Me who looks up, face flushed and lips bitten scarlet.
And it’s me who spreads his legs wider and who almost has a fucking seizure when he pulls away.
He doesn’t go far. Hayden reaches for the lube and takes me at my word.
He goes for it, and I knew his hands were bigger than mine. I’ve watched them handle an axe and twist willow. Now he twists something in my chest by being just as careful with me as he was with that veil.
