Page 43 of Iced Out

An issue? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

My favorite kind of partner in bed is someone who’s vocal. About what feels good and what doesn’t, of course. But what I really like is hearing how good I’m making the guy feel. It’s powerful and invigorating, having enough control to make them completely lose theirs. I literally get off on it.

So no, I don’t care if he’s loud in bed. This might be one of the few times I actuallyenjoyQuinton’s constant need to yammer and babble like an idiot.

I shake my head, moving to his mouth and letting my lips brush against his. “Not at all. Just wanted you to be aware.”

“Oh, I am.” He laughs, his hand sinking into the hair at the nape of my neck. “Why do you think I brought you here? I knew Hayes was gone and I could be as loud as I wanted.”

Rather than answering, I continue exploring his body as my fist works him over, my own dick continuing to grind against the crease of his hip like an animal in heat.

“Oh, fucking hell.” His moan comes out breathy and needy, already as keyed up and turned on as I am.

Right now, there’s no rivalry. No hatred or animosity between us. Every awful thing we’ve ever said to each other doesn’t exist in the confines of this room when we’re both hot, naked, and sweaty, seeking a high only the other can provide.

And chase, we fucking do.

His hands are everywhere; on my back, clenching my ass, locked in my hair so tight, he might pull it out. They move around, scraping against my skin, grappling for hold as I stroke him from root to tip. He doesn’t stop clawing at me for a single second as he loses himself.

In me. In my touch. In us, together like this.

And I don’t blame him, because I’m doing the exact same thing.

But as high as he might take me with his body against mine, it’s not enough. I need more. I need him writhing beneath me, begging me to come as I edge him closer and closer. I need his breath against my lips and his tongue warring with mine.

I need friction. Pressure. Aggression and anger, even. Justmorethan this.

So I take it.

I shift to wrap my fist around us both, the heat of his cock searing against my own as I stroke both our lengths before squeezing my fist a little tighter. It’s exactly what I was looking for, the friction I was seeking, and the pressure sends bolts of lust shooting through my extremities.

“OhholyJesusfuckingGod,” he moans in a single breath. One I’m quick to cut off, stealing oxygen straight from his lungs. It only makes him groan into my mouth again, and I swallow it whole.

His tongue spears between my lips, warring with mine as I take us higher and higher. Edging our way toward impending release.

I twist my palm around the heads on the upstroke, gathering the precum leaking from the tips and smearing it down our lengths. His hips move on reflex, fucking into my palm as I jack us from root to tip and back again. Rutting and chasing his own release as I lose myself in the sensation of his cock gliding against mine.

I roll and rock my pelvis into his, meeting him thrust for thrust as he pants against my lips.

“I’m so…I’m so close,” he utters. “I’m gonna come.”

I am too, lingering right on the edge of peaceful oblivion as I dip down and lick my way up the column of this throat.

“Then come,” I whisper into his ear before nipping at the lobe.

I feel his dick pulse in my palm and against my own, and without warning, his teeth clamp down on my shoulder. He lets out a low groan, and they sink deeper into my flesh. Hard enough to probably draw blood, but for sure enough to brand me yet again.

But I don’t care, because the sounds he makes when he comes is worth it. Those filthy, erotic moans are sure to live rent-free in my head for all the days between these hook-ups.

His release spreads down my fingers, mixing with the lube on our cocks as I keep shuttling my fist over the both of us, bringing myself close to climax. It doesn’t take long before I’m right there behind him, the pain radiating from his bite catapulting me off a damn cliff. I spiral and flail on the way down as my orgasm takes hold, coming harder than I ever have in my life.

Releasing my shoulder from his grip, he sinks back against the mattress in a sated, exhausted heap. My head burrows into the crook of his shoulder, and I follow, my body slumping down against his until we’re connected from head to toe with the mess of sticky cum caught between us.

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” I murmur. The question is more to be polite than anything, because I doubt I could move right now even if I was.

“Nope,” he pants. A breathy, airless laugh comes out of him. “Fuck, and that wasn’t even real sex, but you’re already—without a doubt—the hottest lay of my life.”

Yeah, I’d have to agree with him. Which is problematic. As much as I enjoyed what just happened, I know there’s a good chance the whole reason we’re messing around—for a damn superstition—isn’t gonna last.

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