Page 26 of Blackmail
Simon only grins and shrugs his shoulders. He’s leaning close, casually reaching around me to put the first aid kit back in the cabinet. It’s the sort of comfort one tends to have when they’ve seen a person naked, but it’s unexpected coming from him.
This is an odd moment where we’re strangely close because we both shared something stressful. It’ll pass. For all I know, this will be my last time seeing Simon. Because I understand why he feels he can’t cross Brennan to help me. I’m not sure anymore if I’d want him to.
I still have to figure out a way to deal with Tony. It doesn’t have to involve Simon.
“There’s something I do know.” I take a step and then another, pushing him slowly toward the doorway between the en suite and the bedroom.
“What do you know, rich boy?”
I bristle at the nickname. It’s not inaccurate, but it’s not how I want him to see me. As for why I care what he thinks about me when I generally care very little for the opinions of others, that’s a problem for another time.
“Call me Sebastian,” I remind him. “Or Sir.”
“What do you know, Sebastian, Sir?”
I pinch his side, pulling out a sound between a giggle and a squeal. I like it so much that I pinch him again.
“You’re a brat.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I have no doubt.”
My body vibrates with want as I walk back to the bed, keeping my eyes on his. Until last night, I’d seen sex as a fairly routine thing. A way to relieve tension or scratch an itch. Pleasurable, but not…necessary. While I knew I was interested in some rougher acts I’d seen in videos or occasionally in clubs, it was all primarily theoretical.
One night with Simon, and I’m nearly out of my skin with wanting him again. Because last night, I felt more alive than I ever had. Because he took what I gave him so beautifully. Seeing him gaze up at me wide-eyed while choking on my cock, seeing him covered in my cum. Just thinking about it gets me hard.
I can list a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t see him again. But he’s here now, so I will milk this moment for all its worth.
Placing my hand in the center of his chest, I push until he’s flat on his back, gazing up at me with that wicked grin of his.
“Wanna fuck me, big guy?”
“Yes.” I lick my lips. I want that so much it’s like an ache. “I want to wreck that hole of yours,” I growl. “I want you to feel me every time you sit down for the next week, every time you even think of taking another cock inside you, every time you so much as take a step.”
“Ooh. Big words.” Simon wriggles up the bed, pulling his clothes off as he goes—my clothes. When we returned from his friend’s house, I loaned him a pair of workout shorts along with the T-shirt I gave him earlier. They’re a little big, but they work well enough. And if seeing him in my clothes sparks odd feelings, that’s probably part and parcel of the stressful experience.
From my position at the foot of the bed, I can’t help staring. At the way his golden skin flushes in places. At the choppy rise and fall of his chest. The pebbling of his skin, his nipples. The way his hard cock bounces against his belly with every breath.
I’ve noticed that he has some scars—a few on his sides and one on his chest that I can see. Last night, when I turned him toward the door, I could see several thin stripes on his back, camouflaged by the lines of his shattered mirror tattoo. I assume hiding them is what the tattoo was meant for. I haven’t asked about them, even though I’m curious.
It’s personal, and whatever’s happening between us right now, it isn’t supposed to be that.
“I’m not a big fan of pictures, but you could draw a quick sketch since you’re staring so long.”
A surprised laugh rumbles out of me. “You probably hear this all the time, but I can’t get over how gorgeous you are.”
For a moment, the secretive grin and laughing eyes are gone, replaced by something naked and raw. “No, I don’t think anyone’s said that to me before.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but then snaps it closed.
They should have appreciated him. Everyone should have.
With that thought, I’m on him as if he’s oxygen and I desperately need to breathe him in. His scent is a dizzying mix of sunshine and my orange and bergamot shower gel. I kiss him hard. Breathlessly. Demanding entry with my teeth and tongue. At first, it seems as if he might be resisting, and I wonder if I’m going overboard, but then his hands grip my shoulders, and a deep moan comes out of his throat.
Yes. Yes.
I pin his arms to the mattress above his head, lacing my fingers with his. One of these days, I’d love to restrain him, edge him until he can’t see straight.
I push the thought away as quickly as it comes. There will not be one of these days.
