Looking for Trouble(51)

He nearly purred when Clay pulled his cheeks apart and he felt the first lash of Clay’s tongue. He flicked it back and forth, wetting him, the rub of his stubble making Dylan’s crease burn in the best way.

Clay feasted on him, told him how good he tasted, how tight he was. Each word made Dylan fly higher and higher until he wasn’t sure he’d ever touch the ground again.

His toes curled when Clay pushed what felt like two fingers inside him, fucking him with them. When they were gone, Clay’s tongue was back, then his fingers and his tongue again as he alternated, driving Dylan crazy in every way possible.

He pushed back, waiting for whatever it was Clay chose to give him at the moment—finger or tongue, deeper, shooting him higher. His dick ached, and all he could think was that it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t sure it would ever be enough.

“Please,” Dylan begged. “Fuck me.”

“Here, let’s get these off,” Clay said, reaching for the jock, but Dylan swatted his hand away.

“No.” He wanted Clay to take him that way, with Clay’s name on him.

“You can come okay?” Clay asked. “They’re a little restricting.”

“If you fuck me right, I can. I got myself pulled out enough.”

Dylan looked over his shoulder to see Clay grin. He’d never get tired of seeing that smile.

“Challenge accepted.”

Clay grabbed the lube and a condom from the bedside table. He must have taken them out when Dylan was in the bathroom. He suited up, then lubed his cock before drizzling more down Dylan’s crack and to his hole.

And when Clay pushed inside, that delicious fucking stretch Dylan loved, he nearly lost it right then.

He started out slowly, letting Dylan adjust to his girth, but then increased the pace, faster, deeper, slamming into Dylan over and over and over again. The headboard hit the wall, Dylan’s whole body vibrated, but still he wanted to beg, more, more, more.

He was so full, full of Clay. This man who was kind to him in ways no one ever was, who treated him better than anyone ever had.

Clay pulled Dylan up to his knees, and he knelt too—Dylan’s back to his chest, strong arms wrapped around him, a hand gently at his neck. His thrusts slowed as he pushed up and into Dylan, like they could be there forever, just leisurely fucking their lives away.

Clay said next to his ear, “I didn’t think I could ever…”

Feel this way again? Feel it at all? Either way, Dylan was honored.

“I know. Me too.” When Clay didn’t respond, Dylan added, “You deserve it,” knowing that Clay didn’t believe he did. How could he not know how incredible he was? That none of what had happened had been his fault. That he’d been the victim of…well, of life.

Maybe you have too…

“Christ, you’re perfect.”

Clay’s other hand slid around his body, cupping Dylan’s swollen, needy cock.

“I want you to be mine,” Clay said as he slowly pushed inside, before pulling out again. “I don’t want you to leave.” In…out…so fucking beautifully. “I want you to stay…be mine.”

He thrust deep again, hitting Dylan’s prostate just right. His orgasm slammed into him, a powerful wave that took him deep, nearly drowned him.

Clay pulled out and thrust again, making Dylan shoot a second time, stars dancing behind his eyelids.

“Yes!” he called out, and he felt Clay’s dick flex inside him, felt the body behind him go rigid as Clay panted in his ear, riding out his own orgasm.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT




Clay


Clay tossed the condom in the trash before falling back into bed with Dylan, who was on his stomach, his left leg bent out toward Clay. He had his arm bent as well, his face in it, but he looked up at Clay from under his lashes and gave him a sweet smile. “Hi.”

Clay chuckled. “Hi yourself.” Slowly, leisurely, he ran his finger down each rise and fall of Dylan’s spine, and goose bumps pebbled along Dylan’s back. He reached Dylan’s ass, where he looked at his name on the jockstrap again.

Clay’s.

Dylan had said it didn’t mean anything, but Clay wanted it to. As scary and fucked up as it all was, he wanted it.

Be happy, Clay. You know I want that for you.

He closed his eyes at Gordon’s voice in his head. Yes, Gordon would want that for him. Mike wanted it for him—maybe not with his son, even if he had asked Clay to keep an eye on him. He was pretty sure that didn’t include what they were doing, but he also believed Mike would want him happy.

And April…poor April. His broken heart would never get over her either. But he knew she would want him happy.

So why was it so hard for him to allow himself to be?

“What are you thinking about?” Dylan asked.

“You…me…Gordon, everyone.”

Dylan rolled onto his back. “Was what we did hard for you because of him? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to make things more difficult, but it probably did, this being the time when you lost him, and me running around with your name on my ass.”

“What? No. That’s not it. Tonight was…” Clay cupped his face, brushed his thumb along his skin. He just loved the feel of him. “Tonight was perfect. Everything about it. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun, and I wasn’t lying when I said I want you.”