Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(35)

“Need some help?”

The amusement in his tone sets me on edge, and my teeth sink into the fleshy wall of my cheek on instinct, trying not to let him set me off when I’m sure he means nothing by it.

The deep timbre of his laugh floats through the room as he knocks my hands away to undo my belt, ignoring the slight irritation I shoot his way. But he doesn’t care, and doesn’t dare let it faze him.

He’s slow yet methodical in his movements, and Jesus Christ, I didn’t realize someone could make taking clothes off me seductive. But the way his eyes trail over me flicks fire and lust across my bare skin, and by the time he’s got me naked and on display before him, I’m consumed in flames.

Then he strips off the last layer of his own decency, revealing his long, thick, gorgeous cock, and I combust into an inferno.

“Get over here,” I demand gruffly.

My hand anchors at the back of his neck, dragging his mouth back to mine. We’re all teeth and tongue as he layers his body over mine across the mattress. With each grinding roll of his pelvis and harsh pants against my lips, I’m driven to the brink of insanity with want.

I can’t remember a time where I wanted anyone as much as I want Quinton right now.

Digging the ends of my fingers into his ass, I yank him closer before flipping our positions so I’m on top. In control. Exactly where I like to be.

“Mmm, there he is,” he rasps into my mouth before taking my lip between his teeth. “I knew a fighter was inside there somewhere.”

Quinton chooses that moment to press his hips up into mine again, his bare cock rubbing against my own.

“Lube?” I rasp out the word, already leaning away toward the nightstand before he can confirm it’s in there. It is, and I quickly flip the cap open and douse my aching length with the liquid. His attention latches on to my hand working myself over, and where I expect to find fear, regret, or uncertainty, all I see is desire.

Desire, and a whole lot of curiosity.

When my hand wraps around his shaft, lube sliding between my fingers and over his length, he inhales sharply.

“God, your hand feels amazing.”

A smirk makes its way across my face as I reposition myself over him, knowing if this feels good, what’s about to happen next will be other-worldly to him.

But hell if I won’t drive him to begging first.

I take my time coating his shaft, taunting and teasing him with every stroke. Learning exactly how he likes and wants to be touched. I catalog every hitched breath and tortured moan to memory, as if they won’t be permanently seared there by the time this is over.

“You’re a noisy fucker,” I murmur, leaning down to nip at his collarbone when he lets out another groan of pleasure.

“Observant as ever.”

“Mmm,” I hum, rolling my aching cock into his hip as I continue to jack him. “Why am I not surprised?”

His head turns, lips skimming against my skin as he pants out, “Is that gonna be an issue?”

An issue? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

My favorite kind of partner in bed is someone who’s vocal. About what feels good and what doesn’t, of course. But what I really like is hearing how good I’m making the guy feel. It’s powerful and invigorating, having enough control to make them completely lose theirs. I literally get off on it.

So no, I don’t care if he’s loud in bed. This might be one of the few times I actually enjoy Quinton’s constant need to yammer and babble like an idiot.

I shake my head, moving to his mouth and letting my lips brush against his. “Not at all. Just wanted you to be aware.”

“Oh, I am.” He laughs, his hand sinking into the hair at the nape of my neck. “Why do you think I brought you here? I knew Hayes was gone and I could be as loud as I wanted.”

Rather than answering, I continue exploring his body as my fist works him over, my own dick continuing to grind against the crease of his hip like an animal in heat.

“Oh, fucking hell.” His moan comes out breathy and needy, already as keyed up and turned on as I am.

Right now, there’s no rivalry. No hatred or animosity between us. Every awful thing we’ve ever said to each other doesn’t exist in the confines of this room when we’re both hot, naked, and sweaty, seeking a high only the other can provide.

And chase, we fucking do.

His hands are everywhere; on my back, clenching my ass, locked in my hair so tight, he might pull it out. They move around, scraping against my skin, grappling for hold as I stroke him from root to tip. He doesn’t stop clawing at me for a single second as he loses himself.

In me. In my touch. In us, together like this.

And I don’t blame him, because I’m doing the exact same thing.

But as high as he might take me with his body against mine, it’s not enough. I need more. I need him writhing beneath me, begging me to come as I edge him closer and closer. I need his breath against my lips and his tongue warring with mine.

I need friction. Pressure. Aggression and anger, even. Just more than this.

So I take it.

I shift to wrap my fist around us both, the heat of his cock searing against my own as I stroke both our lengths before squeezing my fist a little tighter. It’s exactly what I was looking for, the friction I was seeking, and the pressure sends bolts of lust shooting through my extremities.