Page 54 of Three Bossy Boyfriends
Christopher breaks away to yank off his jacket, which he just lets drop to the floor.
“You’re just going to let that wrinkle on the floor? Mr. Meticulous?” I tease.
“I have a dry cleaner.” He kicks off his shoes. “Now where is your bedroom, Evan? I need to see it.Now.”
The tone makes my mouth go dry. “Yes, boss.” I tug my shirt off over my shoulders and toss it onto his jacket. I like seeing our clothes in a pile together.
“Joggers off too,” he demands. “I need to see every fucking inch of you.”
“Why, so you can call me pretty?” It’s something I’ve heard my whole life. When I was a kid, women admired my eyes. As a teen, girls bemoaned my long eyelashes. And guys either wanted to insult my looks or fuck me. Or both.
“Absolutely. I want you on display so I can appreciate you fully.” Christopher starts to unbutton his shirt. “And congratulate myself on scoring you.”
I actually like when Christopher compliments or teases me because it feels like he genuinely thinks he’s the one who lucked out, when the truth is, I feel exactly the same way. Like I waded through a pile of fuckboys and found my perfect fit on the other side.
So it feels easy enough to comply, and once I’m standing in front of him fully naked, Christopher gives me a head shake and says, “Yep. Congratulations to me. I can’t believe I have all…this.” He waves his hand up and down as he drops his shirt to the floor. “And you.”
“Take me. I’m yours,” I say simply. “And you’re mine.”
He shoves his pants down, kicks them off, and stalks over to me. Our mouths meet in a collision of tangled tongues and grappling hands. We kiss feverishly, making up for all those times we wanted to do this and couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. I’m not even fucking sure anymore.
“Bend over,” Christopher orders, roughly edging me over the arm of the couch.
I do what he asks, yanking open the drawer of the side table and pulling out a bottle of lube. I hand it back to him.
“I fucking love how prepared you always are,” he growls.
Then he’s teasing between my ass, sliding a fingerful of the cool gel deep inside me, his thumb massaging the rim.
“More,” I gasp, sensations slamming into me. I grip the back of the couch and shift my feet further apart.
When he surges into me, we both moan in mutual satisfaction.
“Yes, yes,” I pant.
“Fuck, Evan. You feel so damn good. Fucking perfection.”
His hand traces along my spine, ascending as he rests throbbing inside me. Then he yanks my head back by my hair. I gasp, absolutely turned on by his need to take control.
“Is that too much?” he asks, sounding slyly sure of himself that it is not too much.
“No. I love it. I love you.”
He swears, and then, still firmly holding my hair, he fucks me.
I pump my fist up and down my cock in a matching rhythm until we’re both shouting and losing our loads at the same time.
He releases my hair and runs a trembling hand down my back. Goosebumps raise on my heated flesh. “This isn’t the bedroom, is it?”
“Not even close.”
When he eases out of me, Christopher helps me stand up. My legs are shaking a little. He pulls me into his arms and smiles, his eyes bright. “I guess since you don’t have to be at work tomorrow, I can keep you up as late as I want.”
“That is one upside,” I agree. I take his hand and lead him across my small apartment to my room.
An hour later, we’re both spent. For now, anyway. I plan to take his promise to keep me up all night seriously.
“Tell me about you,” Christopher says as we lie wrapped up in each other's arms.
