Page 80 of Full Mountie

“Had a long day?” I ask him roughly as I grab him and spin him around.

“Something like that.”

I wrench his shirt out of his dress pants, wanting his hard, muscled core under my touch. I splay my fingers wide across his flexing belly, and cup the back of his neck with my other hand. He stills immediately, my big raging bull.

“Here?”

He nods. “I’ve got lube in my pocket.”

“Gotta be prepared for coffee,” I say, a harsh laugh marking the end of my snarky statement, but he doesn’t care. I think he wants that verbal sparring just as much as the physical one. He has to be on and polite all day long.

Nice to come home and have someone to be a dick to. Give a dick to, too.

But we haven’t fucked yet, and his foyer isn’t the place for it. I’m not so in denial that I don’t know that’s going to be full of fucking feels for me after all this time.

I’ll want to hold him afterward, too.

But lube is good for other things. I take the single use packet from him after I strip off my t-shirt.

I rip it open and squeeze some onto my fingers as I watch him undo his shirt buttons.

“All the way off,” I growl when he lets the shirt just hang open. That’s hot as hell, but I want bare flesh. Big arms, working shoulders I can sink my teeth into. “And then get my jeans open.”

He tugs me closer, unzipping me first, then his dress pants. I’m not wearing anything under my jeans, and he groans as the wet tip of my dick slaps against his hand. He circles my straining head with his thumb, then lifts his hand and sucks it off.

Fuck.

I reach between us and circle our cocks with my slicked-up hand. We both hiss at the first slide of skin against skin. I lean my forehead against his, and he wraps his arms around me, his hands low on my waist, his biceps straining as he frames our bodies. Our secret, thrusting, furtive sex inside his front door.

But the restlessness I’ve felt all week has vanished, and I’m full of a giddy warmth. Our hard breaths, the furrow of his brow as he tosses his head back, the scent of lube and pre-come rising between us…it’s hot as hell, and right as fuck.

I say his name, a whispered groan, and he urges me closer. “Come here,” he breathes.

I slam into him, our cocks pinned between our bodies, and the slide turns into a grind as we kiss, hard and wet. A kiss that tears at any last pretence of civility as we thrust and rock together.

His hips grind up against mine, and I push back with equal force. I want him to come hard and fast. I want him to paint me with his pent-up need that only I can fix. I’ll rub it into my skin as a badge of honour.

He wraps his long, solid fingers around the back of my neck and holds on tight. The harder he grips, the closer I know he is, and the dirtier I get. I slide my hands around from his hips so I can cup his ass. He flexes hard against my invading touch, but I’m having none of it. That tight trench, that smooth pucker.

Mine. All fucking mine.

And when I stroke over his tight hole, he shoots hard, like a fountain in fucking Vegas.

My big, sexy brute.

I slam him back against the wall and reach between us, grabbing his firehose of a cock, trapping it against mine. I point them both to my belly as my own orgasm rips up from my balls.

He lets out a long, satisfied sigh once I let him go. “I needed that.”

“I could tell. Want to talk about it?”

He hesitates, then tips his head toward the kitchen. “Yeah. Coffee?”

I grin and wave at my come covered belly. “Sure. Let me just clean up first.”

The next morning, as I’m dragging my tired-ass body out of bed before dawn because I stayed at Lachlan’s until almost midnight, the pieces of the puzzle finally click into place and I realize what the problem is.

Even though I see them every day, I think I miss Lachlan and Beth. I miss them together. I saw Lachlan last night, and Beth is talking about the weekend…and yet, that’s what the weird feeling in my chest is.

---