Page 100 of Kismet

My hand comes up to grip his hip, rocking him faster on my cock, while my other comes to wrap around his length, stroking as pre-cum spills out of his slit. He feels so fucking good.

“That’s it, baby,” I murmur through gritted teeth. “Ride this dick. You look so good up there, fucking yourself on my cock. Your ass was fucking made for me, Bambi.Youwere fucking made for me.”

At the sound of his pet name, his head snaps down and his eyes collide with mine, and if it were possible, his smoldering gaze darkens even more. With the faint glow of the hallway light spilling into the room, I can make out the red stain on his neck and cheeks, and the line of sweat that trails along his chest.

The blunt tips of his nails dig into my skin, the bite only adding to the pleasure. The telltale signs of my release are creeping in, so I flip us one more time, pinning his back to the bed as I throw his leg over my shoulder and really drive into him. I spit into my palm before wrapping it around his cock, stroking him with fervor as I chase my climax.

His shaky fingers thrust into his hair, gripping the strands, as his eyes roll back. “Fuck, Stone… Oh, God. I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too, baby,” I reply, so close to the edge. My entire body is vibrating, practically shaking. “Milk this fucking cock.”

“Oh,my God,” he moans seconds before his cock erupts. His body practically convulses as his orgasm takes hold of him. Thick, hot spurts of cum spray all over his chest and neck, some even getting on his chin. The sight is so fucking sexy.

I can’t hold back anymore. My entire body tingles, getting thrown off its axis, as my release plunders through me like an avalanche of raw, unhindered ecstasy. My head throws back as I bury myself as deep as I can go inside of him, never wanting to leave.

Letting his leg drop, I bring my body down and I kiss him. I kiss him like my life depends on it. Kiss him like I may never get to again. Like I might be able to keep him close to me if I just kiss him right. Kiss him hard enough.

An overwhelming wave of undiluted feelings rushes through me and before I can stop them, hot tears are streaming out of my closed eyes. Our kiss becomes salty, and soon his own tears are dripping onto my hand beside his head. Neither of us acknowledges the mess of emotions we are, nor do we pull apart.

I need this moment. I need him. I need him like I’ve never needed anyone or anything before, and it’s heartwrenching, not knowing if I’ll ever get to keep him, call him mine. Or if we’ll always be missed opportunity and right person, wrong time.

I can’t fathom living the rest of my life like that.

As much as I don’t want to, I pull out of him and collapse onto the bed beside him. I tie the condom off, setting it on the bedside table, because if I get up, I’m sure the bubble of bliss will pop, and I’m not ready for that. He rests his head on my chest, most likely hearing the chaotic drumming of my heart, as my fingers move gently through his hair. What I would give to have this be our every day.

What I would give to be able to fall asleep with him night after night, only to see his face every morning glowing in the morning sun.

We lie wrapped up in each other’s embrace for a long while. Neither of us says anything, but so much is being said anyway. When his fingers caress my skin, it feels like stars dancing across the sky. After what feels like hours, he tilts his head until his sleepy gaze is connected with mine. His lip curls into a boyish grin, and I desperately want to wrap up this moment in a box to replay over and over when he’s not around.

“Stay the night?” he asks, shocking the hell out of me.

My brows raise in surprise. “You want that?”

“It’d be nice,” he admits sheepishly, resting his head back down on my chest. “I have to be up early, but if you want to, you can.”

Once again, I’m met with a strained throat and too much pressure behind my eyes. I slam them shut, tightening my grip on him. “I’d like that,” I manage to spit out. It’s not lost on me that we’ve never fallen asleep together in a bed, besides the night we were too drunk to appreciate it.

This could be every night…

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cash DeMarco

The state of in between in the morning where you don’t know if you’re asleep or awake, where everything is right in the world, and all worries simply don’t exist, is one of the best places to be. The fuzzy warmth that wraps around you like ivy to a tree.

Regret doesn’t exist in the in-between. Self-doubt doesn’t exist.

You can justbe.

This is the place I reside right now. The place I never want to leave. The birds are chirping through the open window, the breeze blowing across my uncovered skin, and there is a furnace on my back—hard and hot. I bury my face in my pillow, willing myself to stay in this state for a little while longer. I’m not ready to go back to being an adult. Not ready to go back to starving myself of what I want the most. What my soul so fucking clearly needs.

It’s exhausting. And not the good kind of exhausting I partook in last night, full of slick, sweaty bodies, hungry mouths, and needy fingers. No. This kind of exhaustion is bone deep and mentally taxing. It’s enough to drive a sane man insane.

“I was homesick for so long, but it wasn’t a place I was missing. It was you.”

His words—no, his declaration—from last night rings in my ears. Booming loud and demanding to not be ignored. As if I could. I couldn’t forget anything he said last night, even if I tried. It doesn’t leave me any less confused, though.

Last night is going to fuck with my head, I already know it. It already is. Based on his steady breathing, he’s still fast asleep. And for that, I’m fucking grateful. I’m not ready to face him. His thick, corded, tree trunk arm is wrapped around my waist, but I’m somehow able to shimmy out from under his hold.

---