His head lifts, pupils blown, heavy-lidded eyes absorbing every detail of my face. The hand behind my neck trails away to skim over my jaw down to my kiss-swollen lips.
“It’s wrong,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “The way I want you is wrong.”
“No. It’s right, Ell. It’s always right.”
“I want to consume you.”
“Then do it.”
“I want to own you.”
“Do it.”
“Will it ever be enough? I want you so bad it hurts, Macs. How can that be right?”
“Because that’s how you know it’s real, Ell.”
Boldly, and with a need to distract him from his tumultuous thoughts, I tilt my head and take the thumb tracing over my skin into my mouth. He shivers, pulling the digit out and smearing the wetness over my lips. “You know it’s real because it hurts.” I turn my head and kiss the centre of his palm. “Use me to ease that ache. Let me take it from you for a while.”
His gaze searches mine, burrowing deep, examining all my dark places, hunting for something only Ellis needs to see. This stare off last seconds or maybe minutes—I have no idea, so transfixed am I by him.
When he’s satisfied with what he finds, and his examination ends, so does the last of his control. His next kiss is demanding but less brutal. It’s possessive but also generous. It’s hard, heavy, and hot, but it’s also need, and want, and promise, and protection.
His hand slides behind my thigh, hooking the back of my knee, and hoisting my leg off the floor. He encourages me to wrap it around his hip, giving him even more access to grind and rock and send me out of my fucking mind. But, this time, it’s less urgent and more teasing. Less frenzied and more sensual.
Don’t ask me how, but the wall behind my back disappears, and the next thing I feel is the softness of his bed beneath me.
I am delirious with lust, the thick fog of my desire obscuring all other senses, and it takes the clink of my belt as he tugs it free of its hoops to crack through the haze. Before then, all I could focus on was the feel of him against me and the taste of him in my mouth.
“I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”
My eyes open at his words. Are they for me, or is he trying to convince himself?
“It’s already good for me,” I all but slur. “At this point, there’s nothing you could do wrong except stop. Stopping would be bad.”
I lift my hips off the bed in invitation, needing my trousers off, needing my skin bare and his hands on my flesh.
With blue eyes locked on mine, he gets the hint, his gaze never once straying as those clever fingers of his undo my button and zip.
Cool air hits my heated flesh, and I shiver, my boxers and trousers tugged and pushed down my legs and off within seconds.
Ellis leans back on his knees to admire what he’s exposed, and I feel no shame in letting him.
“This.” He fingers my shirt. “This comes off next.”
It’s not a request for me to take it off. It’s him telling me what he’s about to do because before I can move, he’s sliding buttons through holes, and skimming calloused fingers over the ridges and dips of my chest and abs.
“God,” he mutters to himself, his eyes following the path his hands take. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He leans down, kisses one of my nipples, and I hiss. “And mine.” He takes the hardened nub between his teeth and nibbles, the contact an electric shock that hits me right in the balls.
I cry out, writhing and grinding at fresh air, seeking friction that he’s yet to give, searching for pressure to relieve the ache.
“Shh,” he soothes, moving from one nipple to the other and repeating the motion. “I’ll take care of you.”
His hand tickles over my heated skin, purposefully avoiding my straining cock. Instead, it feathers over my thigh, making all the hairs on my legs stand on end.
“What happened to not being able to go slow? What happened to not holding back?” I grumble and curse as he drives me out of my ever-loving mind, refusing me his touch in the places I most need it.
“I changed my mind.” He lifts his head from my chest and looks up at me. The sight of him as I gaze down my body is almost too much to witness.
Ellis’s lips are wet and swollen, his blue eyes darkened with desire, his hand tracing patterns on my skin while my cock throbs and weeps, begging for attention. But it’s his smirk that feels like my undoing.
“And what if I said I hadn’t changed my mind. That I need you to fucking touch me more than I need my next breath?”
My hand releases the sheets I’ve been fisting, determined to take the matter under control, and when I’m an inch away from my hard dick, he infuriatingly bats it away.
“Nuh-uh. That’s mine. No touching.”
“If you don’t do someth—” Wet heat engulfs my cock, his tight hand wrapping around the root, his wicked lips suckling the head. “Fuckinghellohmybloodygod.” A litany of jumbled curses spills from my lips as my back arches off the bed, and my eyes roll back in my head. With a shaky hand, I thread my fingers through the wavy strands of his dark hair, needing an anchor or else I might explode and disappear into the stars.
He doesn’t ease up, working me over with his hand and mouth, rising up to adjust his position so that his second set of talented fingers can join in the torture.
And, by God, they do.
Rolling my tight, aching balls, feathering over my taint, massaging my hole in maddening circles, giving slight pressure but never breeching the rim. And all the while, his lips and hand keep sucking and pumping and fucking me into his tight, wet mouth.
“It’s too much. Fuck, Ell. It’s too much. Not like this, not like this.” I’m barely coherent. My pleas are half for him to stop, and half for him to take me all the way over the edge into the vast ocean of pleasure I know is waiting there for me.
With an obscenely wet pop, he pulls his mouth off me and swipes the back of his hand over his lips.
“I’m not finished yet. I want inside, Macs. I want inside you so bad, but not yet.”
Then my legs are lifted to rest over his shoulders, and my arse is raised and in prime opposition for his—ahhh, fuck—for his tongue.
He rims me like he kisses me—dominating, possessive, owning.
I’m seconds away from exploding without my cock being touched again, and as if he knows this, he takes me in hand and squeezes me at the root, staving off my orgasm, and denying me release.
His fingers join in the work of his tongue—one, then two, pumping and thrusting and scissoring and stretching. The burn is welcome and familiar, yet new and unexpected.
Only when he deems me sufficiently ready does he stop his ministrations.
“Don’t go anywhere.” He smirks, lets go of my cock and watches with immense fascination as it slaps against my belly. Then, he’s off the bed in a flash, and I dazedly tilt my head, catching my breath and watching him search through a bedside drawer—blue, his room is blue, a few shades lighter than his eyes.
When he’s got what he needs, he makes fast work of stripping off, and I’m rewarded with the first, albeit brief glimpse of Ellis fully naked—and what a sight it is. He’s lean and tanned with firm muscles honed from mornings in the surf, and arduous hours in the kitchen.