Page 41 of Discover Me
His eyes soften and he closes the distance, cupping my jaw with one hand, before kissing me slow, like he’s memorizing the shape of my mouth. “I got you,” he whispers against my lips. “Let me be your perfect distraction.”
He walks me backward until my knees hit the bed. The mattress dips as he sits against the headboard, legs spread, cock jutting proud and wet-tipped against his abs. Tattoos stand out against flushed skin, his thighs flexing, knot already swelling at the base. The sight steals every ounce of air I have left.
I drag my shirt over my head slow enough that the cotton drags across every lingering bruise. His gaze tracks the movement like he’s starving. My jeans go next, shoved down with my boxers until I’m naked except for the cast and the yellow-green map across my ribs. I toe out of my boots, kick everything aside, and stand there letting him drink me in.
“Jesus, Micah,” he breathes. “Every inch of you is unreal.”
Heat floods my face as I climb onto the mattress, knees sinking into the duvet, and straddle his lap. Our cocks slide together, and we both groan. He reaches for the nightstand, rumbling around for a minute before flipping the lube open with his thumb, and slicking his fingers.
“Let me get you ready,” he says, voice gravel-rough.
I lean forward, bracing my good hand on his shoulder, and kiss him. His tongue strokes mine while his hand slips behind me, cool gel meeting overheated skin. One finger circles my rim, teasing, before pressing in. I exhale into his mouth, rocking back to chase more. The angle’s awkward with me on top, but he’spatient, crooking his finger, adding another and then, scissoring gently, adding a third when I start to ride his hand.
“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs between kisses, even as his fingers curl and find the spot that whites out my vision.
I nip his bottom lip. “You’re not the only one who’s been dreaming.”
He groans, adds a fourth finger, stretching me open with steady twists. My forehead drops to his, breath hitching every time he nudges my prostate. I’m trembling, cock leaking against his stomach, when he finally pulls free.
“Ready,” I pant.
I rise up on my knees, grip his cock, and line him up. The blunt head kisses my hole and we both tense before I sink down, until he’s buried to the root and the stretch burns so good I see stars.
“Fuck,” he hisses, head thumping back against the headboard. His knot pulses against my rim, too thick to breach yet, but the promise throbs with every heartbeat.
I roll my hips, testing the stretch inside of me, and the drag lights me up. His hand wraps around my cock, stroking in time with my rhythm, thumb swiping over the slit on every upstroke. The room fills with wet sounds, our breathing, and the low creak of the bedframe.
But then something snaps. One second I’m riding him, the next I’m flat on my back, legs hooked over his elbows, Kellan slamming into me like the world’s ending. The headboard smacks the wall, his mouth crashing over mine, swallowing every cry.
“Close,” he growls against my lips.
He thrusts deeper each time, his hips stuttering, and comes with a roar that vibrates through my bones. Heat floods through me, slicking the way for what comes next.
“One more,” he pants. “Take one more for me.”
His hand flies over my cock, relentless. He’s still hard inside me, rut-fueled, and every drag of his hips nudges my prostate until pleasure borders on pain. I’m babbling when he slams home again but this time, the stretch is blinding. His knot swells inside of me, locking us together, and I yelp, nails digging into his shoulders.
He freezes. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” I manage, voice shredded. “Just—fuck, you’re huge.”
The burn is fierce, but underneath it pleasure coils in the pit of my stomach. I force a breath, roll my hips experimentally, and the drag of his knot against my walls turns the pain to liquid heat. He comes again, pulse after pulse flooding me until I’m full.
That tips me over. I come with a broken cry, striping both our chests, clenching hard around his knot. The orgasm feels endless, wrung out of me by the pressure inside and the fist still milking my cock.
He collapses half on top of me, careful of my ribs, face buried in my neck. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Stop moving, you idiot,” I laugh breathlessly. “You’ll tear my asshole.”
He stills. I kiss the shell of his ear, then his temple, tasting salt and rum. “It’s okay. I like being stretched like this.”
Carefully he rolls us so we’re on our sides, still locked together. His arms band around me, anchoring me close. “I lost it for a second,” he whispers. “I just needed…”
“I’ve never been on the receiving end of a rut,” I say, tracing the ink on his bicep. “But I think I might like it.”
He lifts his head, eyebrow arched. “How long do these last?”
“Depends. Twenty-four hours, maybe forty-eight if you’re really wound up.”
