Page 28 of Drifting Hearts
It was getting harder to remind myself that this was a terrible idea when Clay’s mouth was soft and willing. His tongue caressed mine and I knew what want was. Want was the feral thing inside me that threatened to break free and pin Clay down underneath me. It had teeth that wanted to tear his clothes off his body so I could finally see the thing I’d dreamed of.
Because I’d be lying to myself if I said I hadn’t thought of him. It’s all I’d done for weeks. At first with animosity. Then with a shred ofcompassion. And then, as he started to smile now and again, with a fondness I hadn’t expected to feel.
His hair was soft and he let out a little moan when I played with the shorter strands at the back of his neck. Clay leaned into me like he wanted me to consume him. As I kissed my way up his jawline, he managed to loosen his grip on my shirt. His hand slid up my chest. Gentle fingers swept up the side of my neck and then he was cradling my face and pulling me back to him.
My body wanted me to do a lot more than kiss, but I could kiss him forever. Kissing him was better than I’d imagined it to be, and my imagination had been very generous in that regard. But nothing could live up to the way he melted into my arms. The feel of his breath on my skin. The breathless whimpers that he tried to suppress were all part of the experience that made this real. More real than anything I’d expected.
Somewhere between picking him up in the hospital, and wandering into this hotel room together, I’d gone and built an attraction to Clay that went beyond him being my type. I’d always liked guys like Clay. Shorter and more slender than me. The kind I could toss around if I wanted to. I liked the way smaller men fit in my arms, but it was more than a cursory attraction that had me kissing him.
It was that I’d thought of it for weeks now. Of what it would be like. Of the look on his face if I did it.
“Kieran, please,” Clay gasped against my lips. I felt the way he moved his mouth to form my name and I wanted to sink back into that space.
“Please, what? What do you need?” I’d give him whatever he wanted. I’d been bewitched by him, I was sure of it. But I didn’t want to break the spell.
Clay’s next words came out with a bit of a laugh. “Touch me. God, please, fucking touch me. It’s all I’ve thought about.” Clay writhed against me, needy and shameless and desperate.
“We’ll need a bit of a position change.” I kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Anything, just please. I—” He laughed a little. “I’ve been jerking with my left hand and, let me tell you, while I’ve improved quite a bit, it’s not nearly as good as what I’ve thought this would be.”
“You’ve thought about this?” Clay’s admission stunned me. I met his gaze, looking for signs that he was lying, but I saw only raw honesty. Sincerity. Clay, flayed open and laid bare for me. The tilt of the mouth gave away his reluctance when he admitted that he wasn’t lying.
“I’ve gotten pretty good at getting off left-handed, but I have a feeling even my right hand won’t compare to anything you could do to me.”
Unable to stand it, I kissed him again. Hard and deep, I licked my way inside his mouth and kissed him like I wanted to consume him. Clay melted into my arms and though I could spend all night kissing him, he’d asked me for something that was in my power to give.
Reluctantly, I pulled away and rearranged myself so I was sitting up, leaning against the headboard. Stretching my legs out, I spread them and patted the space between them.
“Come here,” I told him and despite the way he narrowed his eyes as he tried to figure out what I was up to, he listened. He settled in the space I’d created and slowly leaned back, using my body as a pillow.
Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him against me and buried my face in the curve of his neck. I inhaled the scent of his hair, vaguely strawberry-esque, like his shampoo, but also just him. Earthy and salty and real.
Skating my hands down his chest, I found the button of his jeans and gave them a tug. When my first attempt failed, Clayton laughed at me.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Pants are tricky.” Using his left hand, he somehow popped the button open with ease.
“Smartass,” I said, nipping at the top of his ear.
“The amount of times I’ve been called that makes me think it’s the smartest part of me.” Clay joked, wriggling back against me.
“Slander.” I finished opening Clay’s fly and reached down and rubbed him through the fabric of his briefs. I was glad he couldn’t see the way I smiled when he hissed and arched up into my touch.
He tried to say something, but it came out incoherent. I wrapped my other arm around him, keeping him pinned against me. My heart slammed into my ribcage and I wondered if he could feel it beating against him.
Clay felt good in my hand, hot and ready, hard and needy. He chased my touch like he’d die without it. After I’d worked him into a state of writhing, messy desire, I helped him shove his pants down and out of the way before taking him in hand.
“Oh, fucking finally.” Clay sighed, relaxing against me as skin came in contact with skin. His cock had been leaking and the tip was slick with precum. Clay’s cock was perfectly proportioned to his body, about six inches long, but thick, with a mouth-watering mushroom head. Clay went taut under my touch, his whole body constricting and arching up into my hand.
“Shhh,” I whispered in his ear. “There’s no rush.”
He let out a sardonic laugh. “Says the man with two good hands.”
“I’m sure you’ve managed just fine.” I loosened my grip to torture him and it worked. He let out a frustrated, keening sound that wasalmost mournful. I smiled into his hair. “Tell me what you thought about. Tell me how you touched yourself.”
My hand skated lower until I found the hem of his shirt. Sliding underneath the fabric, I felt the way Clay’s stomach muscles danced under my touch.
“Oh, God. I can’t.”
