Page 50 of Prince Material
It was funny because I had never been a let’s-take-things-slow guy. I was more of a let’s-see-how-fast-we-can-accelerate person. I had hooked up plenty of times. Hand jobs, blow jobs, a quick fuck in a bathroom—it was all fine with me. Jesus, I had been way too young for my first time anal and the fact that the other guy had been in his twenties was massively problematic now, but back then, I hadn’t seen the problem. And to his credit, he’d taken his time with me and it had been a good experience.
But with Orson, everything was different. He made me want to savor every moment, every small step forward. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about architecture, how his rare laughs felt like victories, the subtle ways he showed he cared, like remembering how I took my coffee or grabbing my laundry before it became communal property.
This thing between us felt precious, worth protecting. Worth taking slow. Because Orson wasn’t another hookup or fleeting romance. He was someone who saw past my title, past my carefully constructed masks, to the person underneath. Someone who challenged me to be better while accepting me exactly as I was.
I smiled into the darkness, remembering how he’d looked in the morning light on that boardwalk, wild curls catching the sun. How right it had felt to hold his hand, to kiss him surrounded by ancient cypress trees and Spanish moss. For the first time in my life, I was falling for someone who made me want to be patient, to do things right.
A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.
“Come in?”
The door creaked open, revealing Orson in those tight boxer briefs he wore and a ratty T-shirt that made him look impossibly soft. My heart did that now-familiar flip.
“Hey,” he said quietly, hovering in the doorway. “I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re comfortable.”
I’d never heard a more pathetic excuse, but I’d play along. “I am.” I sat up, patting the bed beside me. “Though I wouldn’t mind some company.”
He hesitated for a moment before closing the door and crossing to sit on the edge of the bed. Even in the dim light, the slight flush on his cheeks was obvious. “About today…”
“Having second thoughts?” I tried to keep my voice light, though my heart clenched at the possibility.
“No!” His response was immediate, making me smile. “Actually, kind of the opposite.”
He took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. Then in one swift motion, he swung his legs up onto the bed and crawledtowards me, determination in his eyes. My breath caught as he settled himself astride my thighs, hands braced on my chest.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice low and rough in a way that sent shivers through me. “And I’ve decided that taking things slow sucks.”
In one heart-stopping movement, Orson leaned down and captured my lips in a kiss so intense, it blocked out everything else. My mind went blank as he kissed me deeply, like he was trying to make sure I felt every ounce of his need.
I couldn’t hold back the groan that rumbled in my chest, couldn’t stop my hands from flying to his hips, clutching him hard as I pulled him up against me. He was close, but not close enough. Not yet. I wanted him pressed against me, as tight as he could get. I wanted to feel him everywhere.
I tugged gently and he followed my lead, shifting until he was stretched out on top of me, our bodies aligned. We fit together so perfectly, like we were made for this. Made for each other.
He made a soft, needy sound that vibrated through me like electric current, sending heat flooding through every corner of my body. It was impossible to think when he kissed me like that, when he responded with such urgency that it seemed as if he couldn’t bear to stop even for a moment. That he didn’t even want to try.
I shifted my weight to one arm so I could free his other hand, cupping his jaw and tilting my head to kiss him deeper, my fingers digging into my hair. His leg slid between mine, sending a jolt of pleasure through me as his thigh brushed against my groin.
I let my hands roam over his back, fingertips skimming the sliver of skin between his shirt and waistband. He shivered andnipped at my bottom lip in retaliation, drawing a low groan from me.
God, he was intoxicating. Every slide of his lips and brush of his tongue left me wanting more, more, more. This was a side of Orson I’d only gotten glimpses of before: bold, decisive, uninhibited. And god, was it a turn-on.
My world narrowed to the feeling of his mouth moving against mine, the slide of his skin against my fingers as I reached beneath his T-shirt, the way he tasted, sweet and so uniquely him. He was everywhere at once, overwhelming in the best possible way.
His hands slid under my shirt, palms hot against my skin as he mapped the planes of my chest, my stomach. I arched into his touch, craving more contact, more friction. More him.
Emboldened by his touch, I slipped my own hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, reveling in the smooth warmth of his back. He made a soft, desperate sound and rolled his hips against mine, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me.
As the kiss deepened, Orson pressed his body more firmly against mine, grinding down in a way that made my head spin with desire. We were both hard as iron, our cocks rubbing against each other through the thin fabric that separated us.
In one swift motion, I flipped us over so I was on top, settling between his spread thighs. He looked up at me with dark, lust-blown eyes, lips kiss-swollen and parted. Irresistible. I ducked my head to trail open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, relishing the way his breath hitched and fingers tightened in my hair.
“Floris,” he breathed, and I felt his hands tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Off. Want to feel you.”
I sat back long enough to yank the shirt over my head and toss it aside before diving back in, capturing his lips in anothersearing kiss. His hands roamed my newly bared skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Somehow, he’d gotten rid of his shirt as well, and the sensation of his naked skin against mine made me impossibly hard.
He rocked against me, breath coming in hot, short bursts between kisses. The bed creaked beneath us, but I was past caring if anyone heard, if anyone knew what we were doing. All that mattered was Orson’s weight on top of me, the growing confidence in the way he touched me. The way he responded to me, his every gasp and hitch of breath fueling the heat spreading through my body.
When his hands slid under my boxers, calloused fingers skimming over my sensitive skin, reality slammed into me, and I broke the kiss with a gasp. “Orson, wait.”
