Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
No one had ever touched him so softly—as if he was glass, spun in fine threads and meant to be handled with care. As if his every nerve ending was wired not just to his senses, but to his heart, and Damon made both tremble with shocks of potently deep sensitivity as he skimmed his fingers over Rian’s stomach, his ribs; as his mouth descended to kiss, velvet-lush and wet, over Rian’s jaw, his throat; as they met in the middle to leave thick fingertips toying with one nipple, the other caught between careful teeth and a lashing tongue, and Rian dragging his fingers down Damon’s back and gasping out sounds that never fully came out when they stuck in a throat that closed each time pleasure shot through him in delicate ribbons, pulling and tangling everywhere inside him.
While the entire time they moved against each other in long, lingering rhythm, letting their bodies speak and touch where words and lips weren’t needed, the deep-grinding friction of flesh to flesh building something unnamed between them to a point of screaming tension, molten desire, jolting rushes of something that felt so pure and intoxicating and good that Rian’s toes curled against the sheets every time his cock dragged against Damon’s through near-intangible layers of fabric. Every thrust burned deeper than the last; every tug of Damon’s teeth and flick of his tongue shot Rian’s nerves into more and more jagged fragments, until he was whimpering as he tangled his legs with Damon’s and lifted himself against him, fighting against that weight atop him just to feel how glorious it was when Damon’s bulk pressed him back down.
And he almost cried out in protest as Damon lifted off him, weight rolling to the side; he opened his eyes, a question on his lips—only to catch Damon leaning over the side of the bed to nudge the nightstand drawer open with his fingertips, stretching them out to reach from the stacked height of the mattresses as he rummaged inside and came up with a little bottle of clear oil.
When he drew back with it, though, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at Rian, Damon blinked. His brows drew together, concern darkening his eyes as he dropped the bottle of lube on the pillow and ran his fingers along Rian’s cheek. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong? You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I...” Rian’s face burned, and he swallowed, reaching up to toy a lock of Damon’s hair around his fingers. “I thought...you were about to stop.”
“Nah.” Damon’s grin was lopsided and boyishly sweet, almost shy; he bent and brushed his lips to Rian’s brow. “Not unless you tell me to. Just needed a little something to make it easier, if you wanna go that far.”
That was when Rian realized what Damon was asking.
What he was saying.
That he didn’t want to be alone right now, either.
And he—this stubborn, kind, compassionate man who seemed to carry reserves of strength that he gave to others without restraint, without compunction—was afraid of being pushed away, too.
So Rian pushed himself up, capturing Damon’s lips...even as he skated his fingertips down his body, following the graceful, iron-hard taper of his chest down to his waist, then slipping between them until he caught the heavy weight of Damon’s cock in his palm, molding his fingers over Damon’s shape through the thin cotton. God, that flesh felt so hot, burning against Rian’s skin and seeming to swell into his hold, as Damon’s back arched violently and he let out a ragged, hoarse cry, his lips going slack against Rian’s and his eyes closing tightly. Rian couldn’t help the thrill of it, being able to make Damon react that way, hips moving in short, sharp jerks to press into Rian’s palm as Rian worked over him slowly, discovering his shape through the cloth, echoing every stroke and squeeze with a soft-flicking thrust of his tongue against Damon’s lax, gasping lips.
“I,” Rian whispered against Damon’s mouth, “want to go as far as you’ll take me.”
Damon made a hoarse sound in the back of his throat, his head dropping to rest his brow to Rian’s shoulder, hips thrusting hard into Rian’s palm—and he felt dampness soaking the fabric, warm and slick, the musky, thick scent of pre-come filling the air between them.
“Maybe,” Damon gasped out, “saying ‘take me’ ain’t the best goddamned idea when you’re...mnnh...when you’re doing that to me.”
Rian turned his head, nipping the curve of Damon’s ear, working his fingers in kneading circles against his cock. “What about ‘kiss me?’” he asked softly. “Can I say that?”
Damon groaned, tortured and deep, his mouth moving against Rian’s collarbone. “Fuck, say it again.”
“Kiss me,” Rian breathed.
And God, did Damon oblige.
Searing, claiming, Rian didn’t dare think possessive but God did he feel owned as the pressure of Damon’s lips teased him open and left him vulnerable to the plunder of plying strokes and a tongue that dipped inside him as if to torment him with the suggestion of what his straining body ached for. There was no denying that Damon wanted, too, when his cock surged so hard against Rian’s palm—only for that warm contact to be denied as strong fingers caught him by the wrists. Gently, so gently Damon eased Rian’s arms up over his head, crossing them against the mattress to pin him with a single hand spanning the breadth of his wrists; panting harshly, Damon lifted himself up on his free hand, his kiss-reddened mouth quirking dryly.