Page 76 of Marrying Mr. Majestic

TWENTY-FOUR

SILAS

The process of stripping Way naked and prepping him with my fingers wasn’t new. Hell, he’d already let me do many, many things to his body in the three weeks we’d been together, including introducing him to the joys of prostate stimulation.

Knowing he was ready to bottom for me made me wonder if I was going to pop off prematurely like an overwrought preteen.

It was entirely possible. Waylon Fletcher had the kind of body that was truly god’s gift to the world. He was trim and fit, strong and sculpted, and the man was completely at home in his own body. That kind of confidence made him even sexier.

I manhandled him over to the bed and shoved him down on it before yanking my own clothes off. “Lube,” I said, hoping he’d grab it before I came all over my own stomach.

He grinned at me as he reached for the bottle. “Want me to?—”

“Not on your life,” I hissed. “That ass is mine tonight. Move up and spread your knees for me. That’s it. Fuck.”

I slicked up my fingers and crawled up the bed between his legs. As soon as he pulled one knee up, I began teasing his hole, alternating lazy circles around his entrance with open-mouthed kisses to the inside of his thigh.

“Don’t need much,” he said between gritted teeth, tilting his ass toward me as if that would force my finger inside him.

“Liar.”

“Go faster.”

“Mm. Don’t think so.”

His hand palmed my head and tilted me up to face him. “Go. Faster. Asshole.”

I grinned at him, happier than I could remember feeling in a long time, if ever. “Haven’t you heard of foreplay?”

“Don’t need it,” he snapped. “Haven’t you heard of a cocktease?”

I clamped my teeth around the tender skin of his inner thigh. He sucked in a breath and let out a debauched moan. “Haven’t you heard of patience?” I asked before moving my mouth to his balls and breathing hot air against his skin. His moan deepened.

“Silas.”

The way he said my name when he was turned on… half whimpered and half growled… made my throat close up. I pressed my finger inside him to hear him say it again.

By the time I’d toyed with him enough, stretched him enough, his lower belly was sticky wet with precum, and the whimpering was no longer my name but unintelligible sounds. His fingers had grasped a clump of hair on my head and tugged ineffectively. Little did he know the pain only spurred me on. Only lit me up more.

“Knees up, baby,” I murmured as I pulled my fingers out of him and moved my body higher on his. Way’s skin was warm and damp, pink-flushed and glowing with need. “So damned sexy.”

As I positioned myself and began to press inside him, the tight squeeze threatened to overwhelm me. “Y’okay?” I slurred. His body had tensed up. It took all of my self-control to stop and give him a moment to breathe.

“Go slow.”

“I will.” Even if it killed me.

I went as slowly as I could until he began begging me to go faster. Once I was fully inside him, the heat and squeeze of his body stole the air from my lungs. I felt like I couldn’t get enough. Enough oxygen. Enough skin. Enough of Waylon Fletcher altogether.

His knees brushed my sides, the hair from his legs prickling against my skin. Sweat dampened the hair around his face, and his eyes looked nearly black in their aroused dilation. The scent of his precum and the scent of our bodies made me even hotter for him, if that was possible.

My rhythm sped up until I was chasing my release without any control left. I gripped his cock between us, creating an awkward tangle of bent limbs and heaving breaths. “Come, sweetheart,” I urged. I was hanging on by a thread, but I needed him to get there first.

Way’s hand gripped around mine and changed the pressure until his head tilted back and the tendons stood out on his neck. He groaned my name in long, drawn-out relief as his release warmed our fists.

I thrust into him twice more until my own orgasm raced up my spine and whited out my brain.

It took me a while to catch my breath and corral my wayward thoughts.

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