Page 105 of Coach
His thrusts sped up, their intensity growing, deepening, becoming rougher and more primal. My eyes opened, and I saw this monstrous man driving himself into me. His eyes were closed, his brow as taut as I’d seen it.
“I’m getting close,” he said, sweat rolling off his forehead onto my chest.
I reached down to grip myself, but he slapped my hand away, taking my cock in his grip and stroking me like he was milking a reluctant cow.
“Oh, fuck. I’m not going to last long if—”
“Mateo!” He threw his head back and shouted so loud I was sure the neighbors in the next county heard him. “Fuck!”
His stroking grew frantic, friction and lube heating my skin beyond the brink. I reached up, gripped his chest, then his arms, wrapping my fingers around his biceps. The touch of hardened muscles and his frantic thrusts sent me over the edge.
“Shane, I’m coming!”
A wave of white shot out, coating my abs.
Still, he pushed.
I shot again. And again.
My asshole clenched, gripping his cock like a vice, and I watched as his abs drew into bricks.
“Mateo! Fuck!”
I felt him come into the condom, felt his heat, his life, pour into me—well, into the rubber inside me. Still, the thought of it added to the waves of pleasure, the aftershocks from my release, as he pushed a few more times until the last of him was spent, and his exhausted, slick, blazing hot body fell atop mine and stilled.
Chapter 34
Shane
Iwas wrecked. Spent and sweaty, my muscles trembled with the kind of exhaustion that came after a three-day woodworking marathon.
But this?
This was different.
I lay sprawled across Mateo on the couch, my chest against his, our skin slick with sweat, the weight of me pressing him deep into the worn leather cushions, and my heartbeat hammering against ribs that still hadn’t figured out how to slow the hell down.
He was breathing hard, too, one hand buried in my hair, the other splayed low on my back. His legs tangled with mine, holding me there like he wasn’t in any hurry to move.
Neither was I.
Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
Except now my brain was starting to catch upwith what we’d just done . . . and with all the shit I’d said.
“Give yourself to me.”
“You’re mine.”
“I’m claiming you.”
Christ.
Who said those things? A creature claiming his mate? What kind of porn-starved romance novel shifter had I become?
I squeezed my eyes shut, heat flooding my face. I couldn’t have said that. It wasn’t me. I was the guy who couldn’t finish a conversation about his childhood without wanting to bolt, not some sex-crazed beast marking his territory with fancy words and grumbling declarations.
What the actual fuck?
