Page 112 of The Blame Game

Goosebumps broke out on Dom’s skin as Shea ran his hands across Dom’s back and ass. Dom closed his eyes, resting his cheek on the back of his hand as Shea reached for the lube.

He slicked his fingers, then traced along the seam between Dom’s cheeks.

Dom tensed but Shea made a soothing noise and he relaxed, lips parting. Shea leaned in, kissing his shoulder briefly, and those lips curved in a small smile.

Something tender welled up in Shea’s chest and he suddenly knew this had nothing to do with sex. It was Dom’s offer of trust.

Shea had always prided himself on giving people what they needed but this was so much more than that.

So much deeper.

Shea brushed his fingers across Dom’s hole, slick and teasing. Dom’s breath caught and he bit his lip so Shea slid away, and then did it again. Over and over until Dom shifted his hips restlessly, finally seeking out the touch.

Shea slipped a finger into Dom, softly, easily, and Dom’s lashes fluttered, a little breath escaping, but he didn’t tense so Shea kept going, enjoying the smooth, easy glide and the quiet sounds Dom made.

He crooked his finger, knew the moment he grazed that sensitive spot inside, because Dom gasped, shoulders bunching.

“Good?” Shea checked.

Dom let out a choked little noise. “Good. So fucking good.”

Shea tenderly smoothed a hand over Dom’s damp hair, stroking as he slid his finger out and added a second.

Dom tensed then, just briefly, before he softened.

Shea wanted to say things, like how beautiful Dom was like this, how much it meant that he trusted him so much, and was letting himself be vulnerable, but he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of making Dom retreat, so he kept working his fingers inside Dom, toying with his rim, coaxing him to open.

When Dom’s cheeks were pink and his back was flushed with sweat, Shea eased his fingers out, wiping them on a towel.

He shifted to kneel between Dom’s calves, rolled the condom on, then placed a hand on Dom’s hip. He flinched, then took a deep breath.

“This position okay?” Shea asked, rubbing softly at his lower back. “You ready for this?”

“Yeah.” Dom’s voice was a little hoarse.

Shea slid his hand up, fingers skating across a little constellation of freckles on Dom’s shoulder blade that he’d never noticed before. He smiled, liking that there were still new things to discover about him. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” Shea urged.

“No, don’t stop,” Dom rasped.

At this angle, Dom’s face was blocked by his shoulder, so Shea watched his body language while he eased inside, the heat and pressure making his head swim. He went slow but Dom took steady, even breaths and it wasn’t long before Shea was buried inside him.

I love you, he thought, a sudden, piercing feeling blooming in his chest, painful and beautiful all at once.

But he kept silent, continuing his slow, sweeping strokes across Dom’s body, easing out before gliding in. Softly, gently, but the sensations were so exquisitely intense that sweat beaded up on Shea’s forehead and across his shoulders.

Dom shifted, turning his head to center and arching his neck. His hair fell forward in damp little curls, exposing the nape of his neck and Shea bent forward, pressing his lips to the vulnerable knob of Dom’s spine.

“Good?” Shea whispered and Dom shivered, trembling under him.

“Good,” he croaked but the word seemed to contain a multitude of feelings.

“Tell me if that changes.” Shea braced a hand on the mattress and began to thrust with deep, even strokes, gaining speed.

Dom responded beautifully, groaning with pleasure and allowing Shea to control the pace. When the sounds Dom made were closer to a sob than a moan, Shea slipped a hand between Dom’s body and the pillows. His cock was hard, weeping at the tip, and Shea toyed with his foreskin, tugging it a little, until Dom made a desperate little noise.

“Please … God, Shea, I’m so close.”

Shea’s palm was dry but Dom didn’t seem to mind. He stroked slowly, working Dom’s cock as he thrust into him. He fucked Dom until he was trembling, letting out the most desperate, pleading sounds Shea had ever heard.

---