Kicks lifted both brows at him. “What?”
Jude grinned. “Do not,” he said, his tone almost feral as his nails dug into Kicks’ over-sensitive skin, “move. I’m going to make it worth your while, but you need to trust me.”
Kicks wanted to argue that he only trusted a handful of men in the world, and none of them were in that room. But the look in Jude’s eyes was pure lust and fire, and he wanted to taste that. He wanted that mouth to sink down around him and make him come as he was pinned to the sofa and unable to work for his own pleasure.
“Fine,” he grunted.
Jude lifted higher onto his knees, and he pressed all ten fingers against Kicks’ thighs. “If you want me to stop for any reason, just say stop.” His gaze lifted, and it was almost like he was staring into the very core of Kicks. “But make no mistake—I’m fucking you, not the other way round. You move, it ends.”
Kicks’ tongue dragged over his lower lip. “Why?”
“Because I think that’s what you’ve wanted me to do since we got here,” Jude said simply. He stared at him another long moment. “Am I wrong?”
He wasn’t wrong. He was so fucking right, it made him ache, but he wasn’t quite sure how to put words to it. “Fuck me,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Jude nodded, and he dipped his head low, but he didn’t touch. Not yet.
Kicks wanted to feel Jude’s mouth on him—feel him drag an orgasm out of him with his lips and tongue more than he had ever wanted anything. He wanted to feel pinned without being restrained, controlled without being imprisoned, and somehow, this man knew all of it. Those quiet, unspoken desires he hadn’t been brave enough to act on.
Jude had taken a single look and stripped him bare and revealed the softest parts of Kicks to the world.
He should hate him, but he couldn’t.
Kicks curled his fingers into the fabric of the sofa, then let out a furious groan when Jude sank down until the tip of his dick was touching the back of the other man’s throat. He hadn’t realized how much willpower it was going to take to not touch him—to not grab him and guide him and thrust upward. But he also wasn’t sure he could do it, even if he tried. Jude’s words were under his skin now, holding him like actual bonds.
“Jesus,” he breathed out, and though Jude didn’t pull off, Kicks felt his lips stretch into a grin.
The humor in the moment didn’t last long. Not when Jude’s hands spread his legs far enough to make his hips ache. Not when he pushed his jeans open as far as they could go, and clever fingers took his balls out, cupping them gently in his palm. He took Kicks in long, almost painful strokes with his mouth, and he swore he was going to ascend.
And then Jude pulled away with a sucking pop. Kicks came back to himself with a start and opened his mouth to beg for more, but all that came out was an embarrassing moan. Jude smirked, then curled one hand around his cock before his mouth lowered and sucked one ball in between his lips, rolling it gently in his tongue.
“Oh fuck, oh god,” Kicks babbled. He was close—closer than he expected to be this fast. The last time he’d done this was with some guy in a mesh shirt at the unisex bathroom at the bar he’d stumbled into a year before he went to basic.
And it hadn’t been this satisfying.
Fuck, nothing had ever been this satisfying.
“God, please,” Kicks muttered, and he felt Jude’s tongue curl around it, then he let go with a wet pop before moving on to the other. His hand began a gentle stroke—the pressure and pace enough to torment, but not enough to drag him over the edge. Not quite yet. And he was fine with it. The last thing in the world he wanted was for this to be over so damn soon.
“I want to come on your ass,” Jude murmured as he let Kicks’ balls fall from his mouth. He surged up a little, then ghosted his parted lips over the length of him before suckling at the head, then pulling off abruptly. “I want to flip you over, spread your cheeks, and come right on your hole.”
“Oh Jesus,” Kicks gasped again. “Yeah. Yes. Fuck yes.”
Jude positioned his mouth right over the head of his cock, and his tongue dipped into the slit with enough pressure it almost hurt. “You like the idea of that?” he asked after pulling away. “If we had condoms, I’d open you up on my dick—make you feel it. Then I’d fuck you, and you wouldn’t be able to forget the shape of my cock for the entire ride back to River Crest.”
Kicks wanted to tell him he was out of his fucking mind if he thought he was going to forget this either, but he didn’t get the chance. Jude opened his mouth again and took him down in one, long, sucking glide. Kicks’ vision whited out, and his head fell back, and he was coming before he realized it was happening.
His balls were tight, his dick pulsing, and Jude was sucking every drop as his hand finished stroking the rest out of him. He was damn-near out of breath and almost out of his mind, but he still managed to lift his hips when Jude started tugging at his jeans. Apparently, the man hadn’t been all dirty talk, because when he got Kicks’ jeans to his ankles, his hands shoved him roughly onto his stomach. The sofa was still dusty, and Kicks had to hold his breath a little as Jude pressed him against the cushion by the back of his neck.
“Spread for me,” he demanded, the fingers of his other hand pressing hard into his hip.
Kicks didn’t hesitate. Once, he might have felt some vague form of humiliation for the position, but now all he wanted was to feel the wet, hot come dribbling down the crack of his ass. He was lying with his face pointing toward the cushion, which meant his prosthetic eye was the only one open. He desperately wanted to turn his head to see, but instead, he allowed himself to sink into the noise of Jude spitting on his hand, then skin against skin as he stroked himself.
The air along his hole was cool, but two fingers began to circle, to press against it, to press in. Kicks let out a heavy grunt, then the fingers were gone, and Jude’s dick replaced them. It slid up the crack of his ass—too dry, but somehow perfect, and he could hear the way the man’s breathing started to go ragged.
He was close.
“Do it,” Kicks said, wriggling against him. “Do it. Come on my ass.”
Jude dug his fingers in lightly—just enough to feel a faint sting, and then he gasped. Kicks felt him shudder before the first rush of wetness, then Jude’s hands replaced his own, spreading his cheeks wide as he rutted against him, his come slicking the way.
It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced—which wasn’t hard to do considering he hadn’t been touched by another man since he was twenty. But something inside him warned that this could get addicting—that this could make him want more.
Want it again. Want him again.
And that was not in the plan.
He breathed heavily when Jude collapsed on top of him, and he squeezed both eyes shut when he felt warm lips press to the back of his neck. It was too tender, too sweet. He wanted to lose himself in it, but he wasn’t ready to give in.
“We should clean up before we have to get out of here. And I really would feel better if you ate a bit more,” Jude said into the ringing silence.
Kicks winced. He didn’t mean to—and he sure as shit wasn’t expecting pillow talk, but something about it felt clinical. Cold. Unwanted.