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)
Until Cillian whispered, “Watch me.”
As if Brendan could resist.
He opened his eyes, let them fall to Cillian, that gracefully strange and asymmetrical face, that mask of freckles. That lean hand cradling Brendan’s cock, sending shivers with every stroke of his thumb along the underside.
That tongue, as it slipped out in a red coiling serpent and dragged shamelessly along Brendan’s full length, licking at him with clear pleasure and scorching him with wet-rough friction, caresses, heat. God, Cillian’s mouth was obscene, so red, working over Brendan in hot, suckling strokes, swirling his tongue against Brendan, and he watched, hypnotized, as Cillian mouthed the head of his cock, tongue flicking against the tip, the slit, cutting the strength from Brendan’s bones and turning his blood to sweet acid. That rough burst of adrenaline still trembled inside him, and when Cillian fully parted his lips to stretch them so perfectly around Brendan’s cock, taking all of him one inch at a time into that sucking throat…
Brendan pressed a hand to the top of Cillian’s head, gathering up a fierce handful of hair. Cillian immediately froze, one hand falling to brace between his spread thighs; he let out a little moan, vibrating the sound against Brendan’s cock, and closed his eyes tightly, rising up a little, panting through his nostrils.
Pull my hair, Cillian had begged. Call me names, make me feel…
Filthy.
“Do you like how it tastes?” Brendan purred, and wound Cillian’s hair tighter in his fist; with a muffled whine, Cillian nodded, his mouth moving messily over the inches of Brendan’s cock still in his mouth. “Do you want me to make you take more?”
Another nod, then, Cillian stretched so taut—and there was something so entirely erotic about his posture, his spine a supple curve thrusting his chest forward, his knees bent, his thighs spread wide, one hand resting on the rug between and yet so close to the straining rise his cock made against his jeans, tension trembling through him as he leaned up into Brendan’s grip on his hair.
It wasn’t about humiliating and debasing Cillian, Brendan realized.
It was about watching him drown in his own pleasure, and completely lose himself.
Brendan tightened his grip just a little more. Just enough, immobilizing Cillian, making his eyes widen.
Before Brendan dragged his head in roughly, forcing his mouth down on Brendan’s cock even as Brendan jerked his hips forward, pushing past the resistance of Cillian’s throat and surging in deep into that gripping wet warmth; that perfect tightness, undulating and gripping and crushing him with Cillian’s struggling breaths, his moans. A brief moment of hesitation—is this what he wants, is this—before Cillian leaned into it eagerly, whimpering hotly around Brendan’s cock, nearly gagging, tongue slicking needily over Brendan’s cock until he throbbed. God, he’d never met anyone this unrestrained, this completely willing to throw himself into anything, this hungry for sex, and it just made Brendan need more: more of that red swollen mouth stretched around his cock, more of those half-pleasured, half-distressed little whimpers, more of Cillian dragging his hand over his own body, raking at his thighs, reaching between his legs to mold over his cock and stroke himself frantically to Brendan’s rhythm as Brendan ruthlessly fucked Cillian’s mouth.
He almost couldn’t help himself, not when Cillian sucked him deep every time Brendan thrust—sliding himself over that rough tongue, working himself against the inner walls of Cillian’s mouth, making Cillian’s lips drip with slickness that ran in gleaming lines down his chin. Deep, hard draws of contracting muscles locked around him, pushed him to more, faster, faster, slamming forward even as he dragged Cillian into him and ground his face against Brendan’s pelvis. So close—so fucking close, losing himself already, faster, faster—no, fuck, wait, he wanted, he wanted—
Brendan dragged back on Cillian’s hair, pulling that luscious mouth off his cock, leaving himself aching and glistening and dripping, leaving Cillian’s lips slack and scarlet-swollen, his eyes dazed, his breaths coming shallow. A whispered question hovered on Cillian’s lips—but it trailed into a gasp as Brendan released his hair, grasped his wrist, pulled him to his feet.
And slammed him up against the glass of the wall looking out over Los Angeles city streets.
Right there, up against the window, he ripped at Cillian’s clothing, dragged his jeans down, pulled his boxer-briefs out of the way. Lust rushed through Brendan in panting ebbs and flows as he seized Cillian’s mouth and kissed that stretched-out looseness that had been left soft and pliable for his plundering tongue, wet with the taste of himself and Cillian combined, a taste he chased through Cillian’s mouth and across his tongue as hotly as he chased Cillian’s whimpering moans. Feeble fingers clutched at him. Brendan shoved his dripping cock against Cillian’s entrance.
Then pushed into him raw and barely-slicked, dragging himself against the tight grasp of Cillian’s inner walls as he took him right there up against the window.