Get a Fix (Torus Intercession #5) Read Online Mary Calmes

Categories Genre: Contemporary, M-M Romance Tags Authors: Series: Torus Intercession Series by Mary Calmes
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Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
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“I try, but really, you could always visit when you’re between movies and guys.”

“Movies, yes, guys… I don’t know about guys, Cooper Davis. I’m sort of smitten at the moment and would like to see where this goes.”

“Smitten is good,” I said, sighing into the side of his neck.

“Stop. You’re giving me goose bumps.”

I rumbled out a sound instead and then bit him gently.

“Fuck,” he moaned, bucking against me.

Rolling him in my arms, once my chest was plastered to his back, I pushed one arm under his head so he could use my bicep as a pillow, and slid my left hand over his hip and down to his shaft. His breath caught when I began stroking him, and I liked the feel of him slowly thickening in my hand.

“I’ll be so gentle,” I murmured as I kissed up his nape and slid my length between his cheeks, and then against his entrance.

His noise of wanting was low and decadent, and he pressed back, taking me inside at the same time I pushed forward. As he was still slick and stretched, I was seated in moments, working his now rock-hard erection in my hand as I pumped up into him, loving the feel of him impaled on my cock as I moved my arm to wrap around his neck, holding him still.

“All yours,” he whispered as he came, spurting over my hand, back arched, ass filled as I emptied what little there was left into his body.

We stayed like that, fused together, resting my head against his, the two of us content to simply listen to the other breathe. It was terrifying because I felt like he belonged to me, and how stupid was that. He was famous. I was nobody. Getting attached was idiotic, and yet…when he turned his head for my kiss, I let him taste my heart on my lips without caution. I told myself I would fix it later, be careful when I didn’t have all his silky skin pressed to mine.

When I eased from his body the second time, I meant to pull back, to roll away, maybe even get up, but he was faster, turning to face me, arms around my neck, pulling me close. I returned the embrace, crushing him to me, and it was as though his heart was beating in my chest. When he kissed me, it felt like fate. I didn’t question anything, just held on. It didn’t escape my notice that he did the same.

SEVEN

Iwas dreaming. I had to be.

There was a noise, like tapping, like computer keys, and then the bed jolted, then again, and finally there was a groan before irritated words.

“For fuck’s sake, get up,” came the low rumble.

Rolling my head to the left, my face no longer resting against Ash’s nape, I slowly opened my eyes because it was bright in the room—and found myself looking up at none other than my colleague Nash Miller. He was the oldest guy in our office, older than my boss, but even though Jared Colter had gone gray years ago, Nash only had a few stray silver threads running through his thick brown mane, which had always, in all the years I’d known him, hit his shoulders. I always told him I was certain he’d peaked in the seventies. What I normally got back was that at least he’d peaked, unlike me, who was still working up to mediocre. To say I liked him was an understatement. Once you got to know him, he was simply the kindest, gentlest man I knew, except for my father. That didn’t mean he wasn’t giving me heart palpitations at the moment, being in my bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” I mouthed the words, not wanting to wake the man lying in my arms, as Nash stood looming over me, arms crossed, those shoulders of his that were always impossibly wide seeming even more so from where I was looking up at him.

He was not as big as our friend and colleague Shaw James—few men were, as Shaw stood six five and weighed two hundred and sixty pounds—but Nash was taller and wider than our boss. But whereas Jared Colter came off sleek and professional, and even in Kevlar and carrying an assault rifle looked like he could simply leave both behind and walk into a boardroom, Nash was just…rumpled. All the time. I had never seen the man in a suit in all the years I’d known him. His beat-to-crap green Marine Corps field jacket, or his similar leather one, were it. In the winter there was flannel, and in the summer lots of rock-band T-shirts and short-sleeved Aloha shirts. At the moment, standing beside the bed I was sharing with a movie star, he was in a new horror, a brown quilted barn coat that looked like it had come across the plains with the settlers.


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