IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(59)

“Mmm, maybe” was all he said, licking his lip again. I imagined commanding him to pleasure me with that tongue and those alluring lips, but I wanted inside of him too much for that. And I wanted him too dizzy from need to be able to focus on sucking me off.

I opened my pants and walked closer. His eyes tracked my cock as I moved, and it jerked in response to his attention. After pulling a strip of condoms from the box in my dresser, I reached for the bedside table drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you don’t bring people here, were you?” he asked.

“What makes you say that?”

His eyes flicked to the bedside table. “Your condoms aren’t next to the bed. They’re separate.”

I nodded. “In my top drawer with my socks and handkerchiefs,” I said. I placed the supplies on the bed and pulled my pants off before returning my hands to my waist and fingering the band of my boxer briefs to tease him a little.

If the noise he made was any indication, it worked.

“Please,” he whispered again. “Take them the fuck off already. Show me your dick.”

Instead of doing what he wanted, I walked around behind him and crawled up onto the bed, reaching out to spread his cheeks before leaning in to lick a stripe down his cleft to his tight hole.

“Holy fuck!” Conor yelped as my tongue pressed around his entrance. I held tight to his cheeks to make sure he couldn’t pull away. His yelp turned to a moan. “Ohhhh fuuuuuuuck.”

I licked, sucked, and nipped at him until the whimpering began. When I rolled him onto his back, his face was flushed pink and his eyes were half-lidded. His cock begged for some attention, so I licked and sucked that as well. Conor’s fingers shot through my hair until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he pulled me up to kiss his mouth. His broken voice whimpered my name over and over, each repetition striking something inside of me like a grappling hook.

I ran a hand through his hair as I kissed him, making sure the entire lengths of our bodies were aligned. His hardness pressed into mine through the cotton barrier of my underwear every time he arched his hips up into me.

We were humping like horny teens, and I felt a kind of desperation to touch every centimeter of him at once.

“Get your fucking clothes off goddammit,” he gasped. “Why? Why do you still have underwear on? Why?”

His hands tugged at the waistband, but I grabbed his wrists and held them above his head. His eyes met mine with molten heat.

“Because I’m in charge,” I told him.

His eyes flashed with defiance. “Who says?”

“Me.” It came out a possessive growl.

Conor held my gaze for a beat before making the conscious decision to let go. His eyes finally drifted closed while his entire body was racked with a shudder.

Bingo.

I leaned down and teased the shell of his ear with the tip of my tongue. “Patience, beautiful boy,” I murmured. “I want to take my time with you, make you ache for it… make you beg for me to come inside you.”

His chest heaved with sucked-in breaths, interspersed with whispered words like Wells and please.

I lay small kisses down his neck and across his chest, sucked up marks on his collarbone, and teased his nipples into hard nubs. By the time my mouth was back down near his hard cock, his frantic pleading was no longer in complete words, simply noises of need and begging that made my body ache to take him swiftly and without mercy.

When I was finally finished bathing his entire body in kisses and nibbles, I stood back up and stripped off my boxer briefs before climbing between his thighs again. His legs wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer while his hands reached up to cup my jaw.

There was so much expression in his face, I wanted to freeze time and catalogue it. Want and need, trust and curiosity. Heat and tenderness. He was an open book, there in my bed, and mine for the taking.

I’d never felt so overwhelmed in all my life.

I traced a light finger from his temple to the corner of his mouth. “You are so fucking sexy,” I groaned. “So expressive.”

“Please kiss me.” It was whispered and meek. Clearly he was on board with me being in charge, but he still wanted to make his wishes known.

I leaned down and kissed him softly, taking my time before entering his mouth with my tongue. His hands carded into my hair and held on as if he was afraid to let me go. Feeling him wrapped completely around my body, arms and legs, was the closest I’d ever come to knowing what home meant.

And that scared the fuck out of me.

Because this wasn’t real life. This was temporary, half-fake even, and if Conor ever found out how I’d hidden the truth about our texts from him, he’d know that I was an even worse person than he’d thought.

I pulled back and grunted, nudging him over again onto his belly. Sex. This was sex only. And sex was my damned wheelhouse.

As I lay my body over the back of his and nudged his crease with my dick, I snuck several more kisses down along his spine.

Even if this was meaningless fucking, I was going to enjoy every single second of it.





21





Conor





I’d passed dizzy several hickeys ago and was well into brainless and debauched by now. Every touch, every kiss from this man set my skin on fire and my heart hammering in my chest. I couldn’t get enough. I was drowning and he was air. The minute he’d taken charge, verbally asserted control over me, I’d stopped second-guessing and let myself go.