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What would he taste like? I remember how good it felt when he went down on me, and wonder what noises he’ll make if I take him in my mouth. The thought makes me so hot I might combust.
I lean in, take an experimental lick. Salty, a bit sweet and bitter.
A strangled moan leaves his throat, and his hand tightens in my hair. “Oh fuck…”
I should be dragging him to the shower, to warm him up, chase away that faraway look in his eyes. But maybe this is what he needs right now, this raw, sharp edge of arousal and pleasure, to ground him in the here and now.
And I need him, too. Need to touch him, feel him, know he’s here, solid and real.
Too close. Too close to losing him.
I put my mouth on him and hope my lack of experience doesn’t show. I wrap my lips around his thickness and swirl my tongue below the head, teasing the hoop there. The metallic taste mingles with his saltiness as I lap at it, then I suck at the bar piercing the head of his cock.
He makes a funny sound, between a gasp and a grunt, and his hips snap up, pushing his hard-on into my mouth. “Shit, yeah. Oh fuck, Meg…”
I choke and pull back a bit, then take him back in, stroking him with my tongue. I love that he called out my name.
His body trembles, muscles bunching and releasing in his legs as he strains not to move again, not to push deeper. I wrap my hand around the base of his cock as I mouth the head, toying with the barbell there, and he hardens even more, growing larger.
“I want to undress you,” he murmurs, and his hoarse voice does funny things to my insides. “Need to see you.”
I pull back, breathless, and the sight of his rock-hard cock trembling against his flat stomach sends my pulse skyrocketing.
Getting to my feet, I take off my black yoga pants, pushing them down along with my panties and socks, and grab the hem of my blouse. He climbs to his feet, towering over me, pressing his body to mine. His large hands close over mine and pull the blouse right off me, leaving me in a tiny white T-shirt.
He lets the sweater fall to the floor and runs his hands under my T-shirt, cupping my breasts, kneading them. Pleasure shoots down my spine, and I put my arms around him, drawing him closer, spanning the wide flare of his ribcage.
A hiss escapes him, and he flinches, wrenching himself away. “Fuck.”
Takes me a second to realize I was pressing on his bruises. “Crap. Oh crap, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” His broad chest rises and falls. Pale hair falls in his eyes, and he shoves it back, tucking a longer strand behind his ear. The studs in his lobe glint. He doesn’t look at me, keeps his face averted.
He’s so devastatingly beautiful. A golden boy with a heart of gold. It hurts to see him in pain of any sort. I want to take it away, share his burden.
“Rafe…” I touch his arm. I need to see his face. When he doesn’t react, I reach up, stroke his cheek, the rough stubble on his jaw. “Look at me.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and his head falls forward, his eyes closing. Still not looking at me. “Sorry, Meg.”
“You…” I bite my lip and put my arms around his neck, fighting the urge to shake him. “You paid my rent, found me a job, made sure I was safe. I…”
I love you, Rafe Vestri. But instead of speaking the words, I rise on tiptoe and kiss him.
His lips part, and he kisses me back, a muffled moan vibrating through him, and then he grabs me and pulls me against him. His tongue thrusts into my mouth, stroking me, and I shift, rubbing on him, pleasure zipping along my nerve endings.
But he breaks the kiss and, before I can protest, he wraps himself around me. He’s shaking.
Shit. I hug him close, let the tremors pass through me. “What is it?”
His face is buried in my hair. “I can’t fix this, Meg. Can’t fix anything.”
“Fix what?” I can barely breathe, crushed against his hard chest.
“I’m so tired,” he whispers. “Tried everything…”
“You look tired.” I rub his back. “Did you sleep last night?”
“Can’t sleep. Haven’t slept since that night.”
