Am I? I want it so badly that precome is already beading at my tip. For months, he has been all I can think about. Of course I want him. But what if—
His thumb presses into the barely there hollow of my navel, hitting the sensitive base that sends tingles of arousal in a direct line to my groin. A guttural moan slips through his hand over my mouth.
“Yeah?” his husky voice asks teasingly, filled with mirth in response to the humiliating noise I just released. “You like that, don’t you?” That wicked thumb circles and grinds again.
I gasp and writhe and mentally curse him up one side and down the other because damn him for discovering my secret sweet spot. None of my past partners ever found it, and I never told them either. I have always been self-conscious about it. Like they would laugh or tell me I’m weird, but it isn’t my fault that my body reacts the way it does. And fuck if Hendrix doesn’t know exactly how to manipulate that fact.
He laves his tongue across my ear, completely unconcerned about the wet mess he leaves behind. It only makes the action so much hotter. “This?” He thumbs my navel again, and I squirm. “So. Fucking. Sexy.”
Managing to get my bearings, I reach up and gently grasp his wrist, pulling his hand from my mouth. Then, I turn to face him, my eyes immediately locking on his—their usual grey now all dark and stormy with unbridled desire. My palms land on his bare chest, and I take a moment to appreciate his strength under me. The pale skin of his chest—the part that rarely sees the sun—is several shades lighter than mine, something else I admire about us. We have our differences. We have our similarities. We have us. “Rix.”
“Please don’t let your worries about me prevent us from doing this.”
Though the words aren’t meant to wound me, they still do. I never meant to prevent anything between us, but my worries have unintentionally kept our intimacy at bay. Yes, I am concerned he might spontaneously one-eighty and leave. No, I don’t want to let my concern be the reason we never move further in our relationship.
Mind made up, I lean in to give Hendrix a delicate kiss on his lips—a sweet one full of apology. “Let me wash you.”
His eyes search mine, looking for the answer I’m trying to give him without outright saying it. He allows me to steer him beneath the water raining from the showerhead that cost nearly as much as my mattress. The whole shower is fitted with massaging jets on all sides that I can turn off and on whenever I want and a rainfall feature in the center high above us. I love my shower, and I love it even more with Hendrix in it.
Hendrix’s hair turns brown as it soaks in water, messy curls flattening to his scalp and head until his ears are sticking out. I trace the shell of each before reaching to the side for shampoo. Since he began spending more nights at my house, different shower products have appeared on the shower shelf. Beside my hydrating shampoo and plethora of conditioners, his bottles fill the few bits of space left. Whereas my products are for hydrating, his are specific for soft, fine hair. Hair that I am now lathering and rinsing, following with conditioner as I have seen him do—a significantly less amount than I use.
Finally, I soap his body, beginning with his neck, then shoulders, then pecs. Down and down, skipping the straining length of him standing tall between us. I kneel to clean his muscular thighs, hairy calves, and manly feet—athletes and their calluses, you know. At last, I stroke him with a fresh dollop of bodywash in my palms, but only until he groans low in his chest and tilts his face toward the ceiling in pleasure.
I let go, and his darkened grey eyes snap to meet mine as if to demand I continue, but I’m already leaning against the tile wall, the fingers of one hand coated with the coconut oil I use when my hair is especially dry. I’m not using it for my hair this time, though.
Spreading my legs, I slip that hand between my thighs and past my taint to push one slick finger inside myself. My head falls back at the familiar intrusion, and I watch through hooded eyelids as Hendrix devours me with his gaze.
His eyes rake down my body as if taking me in for the first time—the piercings in my ear and nipple, the tattoos on my arm and hip, the trimmed thatch of dark curls at the base of my cock. With a dazed expression, he falls to his knees, and when he blinks up at me from beneath his lashes, licking his lips, I’m a fucking goner.
“Rix,” I gasp, my free hand carding into his hair and tangling in the wet locks. I’m not sure if I pull or if he leans, but I’m suddenly inside the warm heat of his mouth. It’s exquisite, and not just because it’s been nearly a year since I last had someone swallow my dick. No, it’s amazing because Hendrix is touching me, sucking me, licking me. It’s a little sloppy as he tries to find his rhythm for the first time, but nothing has ever felt this good. He sucks hard, pulling me further in, and my finger glides over my sensitive prostate at the same second he gags, jerking back and gasping for breath. More precome dribbles from my slit as my balls tighten with arousal. “Fuck, Hendrix.” My voice is low and rough.
Looking down, I watch through heavy eyelids as his reddened lips stretch around me once more. Our eyes lock as he takes me deep again, this time controlling his gag a little better, but—shit—the sounds he’s making are pushing me closer and closer to the edge. Sliding my hand to cup his chin, I carefully pull him off my length, his tongue lingering a second longer.
“Let’s move to the bed,” I suggest in a loaded whisper, the promise of what’s to come laced between each word.
Hendrix licks his swollen lips and nods. His pupils are blown wide, but he’s looking at me like I’m an Alaskan sun appearing after months of darkness.
A giddy smile plays on my lips as I lead us out of the shower and we half-ass dry ourselves. The thought of Hendrix and me on my bed, naked, coming together in a way we haven’t . . . Happiness shoots from my nose to my toes.
We fall onto the bed, rumpling the pristine sheets one of the housekeepers must have made earlier. Our bare bodies are a tangle of limbs, skin against skin, but there is no rush as we hold each other, gazes locked.
“Tahegin,” he breathes my name onto my lips, then kisses it away. Hips rolling leisurely, he slides his shaft between us as a reminder of our desire growing heavier. The mushroomed head catches on my navel, making me arch and moan. “Can I—”
“Please,” I interrupt. I’m not sure what he was going to call it. Fuck seems too crude a word for the way my emotions are pouring into this moment, but make love . . . Well, I suppose that could—
Caught up in my thoughts, I miss Hendrix wetting his fingers in his mouth and only realize his intent when one slides inside me. He’s wrapped my leg around his hip, and those stormy greys are locked on me, watching my expression as he enters me to ensure he isn’t causing me pain. Little does he know, I have wanted that big cock of his inside me for close to a year now, and I have been dutifully preparing myself to take it.
I raise my head to meet his lips, muttering desperately against them. “Lube. Beside drawer. Give me more.”
Hendrix chuckles, a low, rumbly sound I rarely get to hear. “Slow down, T. Let me . . .” His finger swivels and explores, applies pressure and strokes, and—
Crying out, I grip him harder as he hits that spot inside me, sending electric pleasure shooting throughout my entire body. My back arches, my breath stutters, and I blindly search for his mouth again, wanting to stifle my moans into him. I can’t kiss him, though, because he’s working his way down, kissing and sucking and tonguing at my neck, my collarbone, my chest . . .
Stopping at my pecs, Hendrix teases my nipples, toying with the piercing in my left one while he slides another finger inside me, stroking over and over on that sensitive spot. Just as my moans rise to near porno volume, he abandons my nipple in favor of my navel, and— “Oh, shit. Rix.”
My legs lock around him, pulling him impossibly closer as my orgasm washes over me, tightening my balls and my hole around his fingers while that wicked tongue of his presses into the shallow divot of my belly button in a vicious rhythm, milking every drop of release from me.
When Hendrix raises his head to look at me, his lips, wet and dark and swollen, are curved in a sinister smirk, the desire in his grey eyes swirling like a dangerous storm. “Can you go again?” he asks, flicking his fingers inside me, making me spasm with an aftershock.
I nod, entirely too many times, because I need him inside me. I’m so turned on right now my cock isn’t even softening. “Yes, as long as you get inside me. Now.”
Now must be a relative term. Hendrix takes his sweet time torturing me, stretching me, slurping up the release splashed on my abs, kissing the semicolon tattooed on my hip, taking me into his mouth . . . And then I blink, and we have somehow agreed to forgo condoms since we both got tested and have been on prevention meds. He has one hand beside my head, his body hovering above me, my legs wrapped around his waist, his other hand holding himself steady as his thick, hard cock slides, sweet and slow, inside me.
He grunts and groans, kissing me like he needs something to hold on to. In and in, stretching and stretching. He bottoms out with a rough exhale, and I . . .
I kiss him back, brain foggy with lack of oxygen, and once I can finally breathe again, unbidden words follow my heavy gasp. “I love you.” The three words whisper from my mouth to his, and though they are a shock to both of us, he accepts them with an even harder kiss.
Hendrix draws back, long and slow, and when he pushes in to the hilt, he breathes his response. “I love you, too, Tahegin.”
Smiling with joy, laughing with disbelief, I take his face in my hands and meet his beautiful grey eyes. “Really?”
“Since Halloween, I think. When we were in the back of your truck,” he says softly, returning my smile. “I leaned in.”
“You leaned in? I thought it was my fault we almost . . .”
“Kissed?” Hendrix shrugs as well as he can in the position we are in. “Maybe you leaned in, too. But I knew that was when I wanted you as more than a friend. That you were already more than a friend. I think I started to fall for you when you brought me that soup.”
My smile twists into a playful smirk. “That easy, huh? A little bit of soup when you’re sick, and now I’ve got you locked down—”
