Whispering his name.
“Summer,” Fox breathed, tracing his upper lip in an erotic rasp of sensation. “Summer.”
“Fox,” Summer answered—then broke off in a moaning, desperate cry as Fox’s hand slipped between them, molded over his swim trunks, cupped his cock in knowing, deft fingers that kneaded in perfect rhythm, just enough pressure to make him burn for more and yet never enough to fully satisfy, leaving Summer’s toes curling, his head tossing side to side and back, thighs aching and clenching against the bulk of Fox’s body as he whimpered, as he pleaded without words, as he thrust himself up into that tormenting hand that was everything he wanted and nothing he needed.
Those silver eyes watched him, fixed, intense, as if Fox could see nothing else...and he gripped Summer tighter through the fabric, molding to his shape, thumb tracing under the head of his cock as Fox breathed, “Do you want me, Summer? All of me?”
Summer stilled, struggling to process those words through pleasure that bordered on pain as fabric teased against hyper-sensitive flesh, struggling not to just give himself over in a writhing mess as he looked up at Fox dazedly with his legs spread and his hips lifting in involuntary little convulsions. Did...did he mean...?
Summer licked his lips, his mouth aching, hungry, and nodded slowly. “I...fuck, I’ve...wanted that for so long, Fox...”
“Have you?” Pale eyes lidded, and Fox dipped two fingers downward between Summer’s legs, stroking over the swell of his balls against the tight fabric and making Summer jerk, catching a sound in the back of his throat, as his cock bucked and surged in response. “We have a problem, then, since we seem to be without adequate lubricant.”
Summer flushed, the heat that roiled through his body seeming to concentrate in his face for a few moments.
And, with shaking fingers, he reached over the side of the chair to where he’d discarded his jeans in a heap, feeling around in the back pocket until he came up with one of several little portable blister packs of lube, holding it up between two fingers sheepishly.
Fox arched a brow, expression going flat. “Have you really been keeping—”
Summer grinned breathlessly. “I always had hope.”
Fox rolled his eyes.
Plucked the lube from Summer’s fingers.
And stole his grin from him with another kiss, a burning thing that tore at Summer’s senses with an onslaught of pleasure—and lifted him up into a near-assault of touch, of taste, of the rush of breath storming between them in urgent swells.
Fox’s hands were everywhere. Stroking at him, teasing over his body, tracing every outline of him and stopping to find the spots that made Summer suck his breaths in, from the peaks of his nipples to the dip of his stomach right below his waist, from his inner thighs to the undersides of his knees, searching out and discovering him. He writhed; he begged, gasping out his cries again and again; he curled and arched and twisted his body into every touch as if Fox had some compulsive power over him, pulling the strings of his need until he felt naked even with his swim trunks on, this consumptive and dizzying pleasure completely bared for Fox, his vulnerability on display each time Fox touched him and made him whine, made him clutch at him, made him whisper Fox’s name, his mouth drying with the rush and sigh of it again and again.
But he nearly lost it when Fox stripped his boxer-briefs down to his thighs, touched his naked cock skin to skin, toyed over it, teased it, stroked it in knowing, feather-light touches that gathered the slick gleam of Summer’s own pre-come against his skin and streaked it over him, making his cock tighten and swell with the near-agonizing sensation of that heated wetness cooling against his skin...
...before Fox cracked the little tube of lube open over his fingers, snapping it in a single brutal grip and coating his hand, thick clear runnels dripping down in loops to splash on Summer’s skin.
Summer hissed as it landed on his cock, even those little licks of sensation too much, hyper-sensitive shocks that punched into his core like the most delicious pain—but it was nothing compared to those lube-slick fingers probing down between his legs, slipping under him, dipping along the cleft of his ass.
Fox pressed one fingertip against Summer’s clenching entrance, the lightest brush of callused skin against tender flesh.
Clamped the other hand against Summer’s throat, fingers pressing in just hard enough to whisper of strength, control, possession, the most perfect pulse of pain against Summer’s skin.
And slid one finger inside him, penetrating him in a slow smooth dip of probing flesh, opening him with an intimacy that made him feel so vulnerable he nearly screamed before Iseya’s first knuckle had even stretched open his pliant inner walls.
Summer sucked in a shallow breath—only for that dominating palm against his throat to stop it, not quite cutting off his air but only leaving him no doubt that he was in Fox’s grasp, at his mercy, writhing underneath him with his thighs spreading so achingly wide of their own volition, baring him while he arched his back and jerked his hips and tossed his head back. Deeper that finger probed, a slow searching glide that touched over every secret place inside Summer with excruciating slowness and attentive strokes of pleasure, while Summer whimpered shamelessly and flinched from every too-raw burst of touch; it was too good, too fucking good to care about pride, and all that much better because it was Fox.
Fox sliding that long finger into him, searching ever deeper. Fox adding a second finger, stretching him, twisting them, plunging in and out in
