Both of his hands were on me now, roaming and grasping, his mouth hot and wet against my ear as he continued the song. He swiveled his hips, gyrating against me, moving until he faced me again. Then he dropped to his knees, whipping my belt free of its loops. Yanking open my shorts.
And then he was no longer singing, but humming, his mouth full of my throbbing cock. I hissed at the feel of him, my knees practically buckling. I thrust my hand into his hair, needing something to hold on to to steady myself.
“God, James, yes,” I groaned as the man worshipped my cock. Letting me out of his mouth only long enough to swipe his tongue over my balls, sucking lightly.
If he kept up with that I would be done in moments, and I wasn’t nearly ready for the night to end so quickly. Not when I hadn’t had my own opportunity to worship his body.
I curled my fingers in his hair, tipping his head back until he was looking up at me. “You’re fucking amazing,” I told him.
He smiled, his lips plump and wet and begging to be devoured. I hauled him to his feet and took his mouth in mine, kissing him as if he was air and I was starving for breath. I wanted to be closer, to feel his body against mine, and I pushed him back and back, needing more.
He yelped some kind of warning against my lips just before we collided with the wall. I pulled back, my fingertips hovering against his temple. “What was that?”
“I said, wet paint.”
I pulled my hand free from where I’d braced it against the wall. Sure enough, my palm was covered in white, sticky paint. I frowned, not understanding.
He lifted a shoulder, not quite meeting my eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t want to lose momentum on the renovation, but I also knew I wanted you to spend the night in my bed instead of working. So I thought I might try to get some work done so I could have you to myself without you worrying about falling behind.”
I glanced around the room. Sure enough, along the back wall new Sheetrock had been hung, taped, spackled, sanded, and painted with a fresh coat of primer. He must have gotten to work the moment I’d left. Which meant he’d neglected his own work to help me out.
I didn’t know what to say. It was one of the most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for me. My chest ached, my throat tightening. I was thrown back to the moment on the patio during the sunset, when his hand had clutched mine to his chest, his heartbeat thudding erratically under my touch. I’d had a similar feeling then, of wanting to pull him closer, hoping that if I held tight enough I could make him mine and he would never leave.
I was silent long enough that he added, “I hope that’s okay.” As if there was the chance I might be upset.
I blew out a breath. “Of course it is. It’s more than okay.” Without thinking, I brushed my palm against his cheek, leaving a streak of white.
“Did you just wipe paint on me?” he asked, grinning. It was enough to break the seriousness of the previous moment.
“Maybe just a little,” I teased, swiping a finger down his nose to add another streak.
He mock frowned. “I’ll have you know I just finished painting that wall, and I will not have my work disrespected.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “No Tom Holland encore, then?”
His grin turned devilish, and his hand slid around my back to grab my ass. “Maybe if you join me in the shower I can show you my grand finale.”
He didn’t need to say anything more. I grabbed his hand, dragging him from the room, stopping barely long enough to pull the door shut behind us before leading him down the sidewalk to his own room. His fingers trembled as he pulled the key from his pocket, trying to fit it into the lock three times before I finally grabbed it, shoved it in the lock, and muscled my way inside.
I didn’t stop until we were both in the bathroom and I had the shower running. He toed off his shoes, but I didn’t even wait for him to shuck off his pajama bottoms before I had him under the spray. He moaned, tipping his head back to face the spray as the warm water hit his skin.
God the sight of him like that, water trickling across his lips and down his throat, tangling in the hairs of his chest. I wanted to follow each drop with my tongue. Within moments his cotton pants were drenched, making it clear he wore nothing underneath. The material clung to every dip and curve of his ass, straining under the bulge of his erection.
I felt predatory as I reached for the soap. But also protective. He’d done something for me tonight that mattered, that showed me how much he cared more than words could have expressed. He’d been thinking only of me, of what would make me happy, what would make my life easier. I wanted to do the same for him. I wanted him to feel the way he’d made me feel.
I slid a hand down his arm, taking his hand in mine and pressing it against the cold tile. “Put your hands on the wall.”
He hesitated. I pressed my face to the back of his neck, my lips to the spot where his shoulder blades collided. “Do it,” I murmured.
He did as asked, his other hand moving up to join the first, palms flat against the tile. I started slow, running the soap over the slopes of his shoulders, down the column of his back, watching as the water carried the paint away. Then I moved lower, my fingertips playing at the edge of his pants.
His breathing hitched, coming faster. “Sawyer—” he begged. His body trembled under my touch, his fingertips digging against the tile.
“Sawyer what?” I asked, trailing a finger down the seam of his ass cheeks.
“Please,” he choked out.
“Please what?” I echoed.
“Please I don’t want—” He hesitated, unable to finish.
I froze at the words, pulling back to put distance between us. My body hated the absence of him, aching at the loss of connection. “You don’t want this?”
“God no,” he said on a breath. “I mean, yes. I mean I want this, but I don’t want—”
I spun him around and grabbed his chin, forcing his head back until his eyes met mine. “What do you want, James.”
His gazed dropped to my mouth for a distracting moment, before finally meeting mine again. “I don’t want to leave you,” he finally said, his voice soft enough that it was almost drowned out by the shower.
I didn’t know if he meant now or tomorrow morning. But it didn’t matter, because right now he was here and he was mine and I wasn’t letting go. I cupped his chin between my fingers. “You don’t have to,” I told him, before taking his mouth with mine. I wanted to own him with my body. My thigh shoved between his legs, and my free arm wrapped around him tightly to keep him from slipping on the wet tile. James’s cock was trapped and throbbing between us, and the noises he made as I crushed his mouth with mine made me want to suck him and stroke him at the same time.
But I couldn’t take my mouth off him.
Finally, he ripped his mouth away and gasped. “Take me to bed. Fuck me. Christ, just… please.”
I wasn’t even sure I’d remembered to turn the water off until much later when I thought to listen for it. All I could think about was taking James to bed and fucking him so hard he felt the whispered memory of my body in his for days. I branded him with my mouth and teeth and hands, moving across his skin with a fierceness and possessiveness I’d never experienced before. The urgency I felt would have scared me if I wasn’t so busy imprinting him into my memory and sucking every last drop out of my time with him.