Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
For a moment Brendan’s eyes, his smile, softened. “Blackberries,” he reminded Cillian, and Cillian inhaled softly as he realized…
Oh.
Even if they weren’t doing anything with roleplay, even if this was just them…
Brendan would still listen if he said no.
A flush rolled through him, and he lowered his lashes. “…you’re going to embarrass me if you keep that up.”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” Hot breaths curled against his cheek as Brendan nuzzled at him, every brush of skin to skin like fire. “You are a brazen, completely disrespectful monster who knows what he wants…and that’s hot as hell.”
“Mmph.” Cillian curled his fingers against the back of Brendan’s neck and tilted his head back, exposing his throat to the taunting brush of Brendan’s lips. “…and what if I want is for you to stop teasing and fuck me?”
“In that…you’ll be sorely disappointed.” One heavy, heated hand slid down Cillian’s outer thigh, scoring through his jeans like a branding iron. “…because I fully intend to take my time and savor this. Don’t deny an old man his pleasures.”
“Even if that pleasure is me?”
“Especially if that pleasure is you,” Brendan growled, and seized Cillian’s mouth again.
Brendan Lau was a dirty goddamned liar.
Because there was nothing slow about the crash and crush of his mouth over Cillian’s—and Brendan wasted no time at all in tearing Cillian from all reason and sense, shredding any hint of rational thought and leaving only feeling. His senses slamming together into a wreckage of emotion and physical touch, Brendan’s body pressing down against his until he felt like he was pinned by a great predatory beast made purely of compacted strength and power beneath sleek skin. Brendan’s mouth nearly abusing his, kissing Cillian hard enough that his lips throbbed with needy pain, tongue capturing him in twining, locked thrusts that left him helpless to do anything but whimper against Brendan’s mouth. Whimper, arch against him, dig his fingers into his hair, twisting himself just to maximize contact.
Too much clothing—too much clothing in the way and yet the denial of skin to skin was perfect, sizzling, roaring through him with awareness of everything in the way of just spreading his legs and opening himself for Brendan and begging the man to just take. Warm cotton scraping his skin. Harsh denim caging him. The softness of his own shirt dragging against his nipples. He writhed his body against Brendan’s, scouring himself with friction, straining for more and more as Brendan took him firmly in hand.
There was nowhere those strong, knowing hands didn’t touch—mapping over Cillian, redefining him in the fire of Brendan’s skin, stroking over his shoulders, splaying along his throat, slipping under his shirt to glide over every contour of him and draw the arching of his spine in the wake of caressing fingers. And when Brendan’s fingers brushed his already hard, peaked nipples…Cillian tore his mouth from Brendan’s, tossing his head back and arching against the sheets with a needy gasp.
“Are you always like this?” Brendan drawled, rough finger-pads circling deep ember-burn sparks of pleasure into Cillian with every tease at his nipples. “Wanting it this much.”
Any other time Cillian would have said yes. He enjoyed sex, loved sex, threw himself into it completely, but this…this was different.
Denial only made it feel that much better when he finally had what he wanted.
And what he wanted was Brendan looking at him that way, with consuming desire turning his eyes nearly black, while Cillian hid not a single thing about the way Brendan affected him.
“I always want more,” Cillian whispered, and touched shaking fingertips to Brendan’s chin, tracing over the subtle cleft there.
When what he really meant was I want more of you.
A wicked gleam in Brendan’s eye was the only warning—before a hard, taunting pinch at Cillian’s nipples tore his voice from him as pleasure practically punched into him, eyes slamming shut and leaving him at Brendan’s mercy as commanding, undeniable hands pulled at Cillian’s jacket, his shirt, stripping them away from him and removing even more layers to intensify the pleasure of air to skin, fabric to skin, skin to skin as Brendan’s shirt joined his, pulled over Brendan’s head in a powerful ripple of stark golden-brown muscle, that captured strength practically pouring down Brendan’s body in hypnotic flexes.
God, Cillian wanted to watch the way Brendan’s body moved when every last one of those tight muscles coiled to fuck him.
And he couldn’t wait anymore, pushing himself up to seal his mouth against Brendan’s hotly as Cillian caught the waist of his jeans, fought the button, ripped it open, dragged his zipper down.
“Please,” he gasped against Brendan’s mouth, kicking his legs and squirming his hips to twist out of his jeans and boxer-briefs. “Brendan, I’m so hungry…”
“So am I,” Brendan rumbled, before his mouth descended on Cillian with carnivorous greed.
Biting. Licking. Kissing. Teasing. Raindrops of liquid fire splashed down on Cillian’s shoulders, his chest, his sore and aching nipples, his tight and trembling stomach as Brendan left his mark on every inch of Cillian, tasting him in the sweetest places, stubble against his inner thighs, tongue searing along the crease where thigh met pelvis, teeth sinking in over the crest of Cillian’s hipbones. Writhing, Cillian clutched his knees and thighs against Brendan’s waist, his untouched cock alight with throbbing pulses and hurting with the soft-slow drip of pre-come building on the tip. Every bite, kiss, touch skirted around his cock, barely giving him the lightest tease as Brendan’s toned, sculpted chest now and then brushed against him as Brendan practically ate him alive.