Page 39 of Brim Over Boot
“Fuck.Fuck,” he nearly shouts. “Put your hand on my dick already.”
“The magic word?”
“Please, you fucker.”
My smile is a slow thing. “There we go. Was that so difficult?”
Colton groans as I let go of his hand, his sound not one of pleasure. But then I’m popping the button on his jeans and sliding down the zipper, and his breathing picks up. He plants his palm back on the table, and I draw my lips down his neck, satisfied when he shivers.
I don’t stop to think about the fact that I’ve never touched a dick other than my own. I slide my hand along the fabric of his underwear, over the unmistakable hardness of his shaft, and squeeze. Colton lets out a stuttered moan, and I grin into the curve of his neck.
“So hard for me,” I whisper.
He sounds as if he wants to argue, but I slip my fingers inside his briefs, and the sound promptly chokes out.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, fuck.”
He tries to hitch into my grip, but with the way the tops of his thighs are pressed into the table, he can’t manage it. I run my fingers down the underside of his cock slowly, his skin incredibly warm, the length of him nearly spanning my entire hand.
“Not so little,” I murmur, sinking my teeth into his neck as I wrap my fist around him.
Colton grunts, his entire body jerking, his cock throbbing against my palm. I swear I can feel his pulse. Against my fingers. On my tongue.
I release his neck and press my face into his hair again. Colton’s scent hits me. It doesn’t surprise me that he smells like leather, like tack and all the equipment we work with on a daily basis. The citrus must be his body wash.
“I like the way you’re shaking,” I tell him, stroking his shaft slowly. So slowly I’m surprised he hasn’t complained about it yet.
“Shut up,” he mutters.
“Mm. No thanks. Do you want me to go faster?”
“I want you to stop talking.”
“Why? So you can pretend I’m a girl? Doesn’t work like that, Colt.”
He shakes his head, the movement minute. “So I can pretend it’s notyou.”
I huff a harsh laugh. “You like that it’s me. Otherwise you would have stormed out that door the first chance you got.”
He whimpers when I smooth his precum down his shaft.
“Oh, you love it, all right,” I murmur, finding his earlobe and drawing it between my teeth.
“You’re like a fucking…horse,” he says between breathes. “Nibbling me.”
He swats my hip, as if to tell me off, but then his hand goes right back to the table, supporting his weight. I squeeze the other to remind him he’s not going anywhere, not that I think he’ll try. His answering moan is like poetry to my ears.
“You know what I think?” I ask him, my hand gliding over his cock smoothly now. He’s leaking like a faucet. “I think it has to be me. Because who else wouldn’t be afraid to hold you down? Wouldn’t care if it hurt a little? Who else could overpower you. Every. Single. Time?”
His breathing kicks up.
“Does that scare you?” I ask.
He shakes his head in a little jerk.
“It excites you.”
He doesn’t answer.
