Page 259 of Coach
His hands gripped the sides of my head, and he slowly—so slowly—drew back and slid in again, never releasing my lips, kissing me, passionately, in the way lovers do.
Lovers.
Not one-night stands.
He was making love.
The realization was almost more than I could handle. Something deep within cried out for me to push back, shove him aside, run for the door. I knew it was too soon, far too soon to have feelings or want to claim or take or give. Hell, I barely knew this guy. As much as I liked him, was insanely attracted tohim, we’d only known each other for weeks, and most of that was platonic client-woodworker shit. Nothing about what we’d done suggested anything more than—
“I’m so into you, Mateo. Your eyes and body and, damn, that fucking accent. You could just talk, and I’d want to tear your hole apart.”
Oh, wow.
What the fuck?
“I’m not a psycho,” he whispered between kisses, his thrusting reaching a comfortable rhythm that needed to be recorded and sold. “I don’t like most people, but I like you, want to know you, want to see you more.”
All right, that wasn’t bad. I could get into that. Maybe he wasn’t as nuts as—
He nibbled my earlobe, and I forgot what I’d been thinking.
“What do you like?” he breathed in my ear.
“I . . . uh . . . that.” He arched up and hit a sensitive spot. “Right there, damn it!”
He held himself up and shoved deeper. My whole body jerked, and I had to fight the urge to writhe beneath him. Again and again, he pounded that spot, that place inside me that made me forget my own name.
“Shane, God, Shane,” I wheezed.
He growled.
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
