Mesmerised by the way his lips moved when he spoke, I had a hard job taking in the content of what he said, but I heard it. I listened. Somehow.
“So I’d really like it if you stepped aside and let me be the one to walk away for once,”
he murmured and my heart skipped.
Our torsos weren’t touching, but I still got scared he’d feel it, be able to tell somehow.
Then I figured, so fucking what if he did? He’d already called me out on everything true.
“No? So you’re really that passive? You’re not going to get out of my way, you’re not going to move or even make a move on me?”
I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, only because they felt so dry, not because I was thinking of kissing him—which I totally wasn’t—and he smirked. Like he knew I totally was.
It was unavoidable when he was standing close enough to feel through our jeans how hard my cock was, close enough for me to see every pore in his skin, every detail of those darkened by the promise of stubble.
“I bet you’d really love it if I made a move on you right now, wouldn’t you?” Steven taunted. “That way you’d get what you want and you wouldn’t even have to commit to, ooh, making the first move, admitting that you’re not made of stone—”
“Shut up.”
“—and the hardest thing about you isn’t that prize boner you’re sporting right now.”
“Steven, just—”
“I’ll say something for you, Kit, your cock’s almost as big as your ego. You’ll make some lucky guy a great ex- boyfriend someday—”
“For God’s sake, will you just—”
“What? What? Shut up? You’re not doing anything to make me shut up, are you, and you won’t even let me past—”
I didn’t know whether it was anger or lust that made me push him back and back until he hit the table or one of the chairs, but he laughed, and I wanted him to stop so the only thing I could do that made a blind bit of sense was grab his hair, sink my fingers into those thick black curls and kiss him like I hated him.
Furniture protested as it slid an inch across the floor and Steven steadied himself by holding onto my waist and not letting go even when he’d regained his footing.
I couldn’t breathe, I was so desperate to get inside him and leave my mark, but not by fucking him—he wouldn’t want it that way anyway and I didn’t much care. I was born to bottom. Steven was right. I was passive through and through. I just lay there and took whatever he saw fit to give. Take, take, take.
Until now.
I just wanted to leave my mark somehow, by tasting every part of his mouth, or clawing my way into his mind while pulling at his hair, or forcing him to just…fucking…God, I didn’t know what.
“Fuck, are you trying to hurt me?” he panted against my face when we finally pulled apart to breathe. But no way was I letting him go now.
“No, I was just trying to make you shut up.” I tried to kiss him again but he flinched, not to get away from me, but only to turn his head slightly.
Fine. Your neck then. I shrugged. Every part of him tasted just as good anyway, and I especially loved that helpless whimper he couldn’t hold in whenever I flicked the tip of my tongue over the curve of his neck right below his ear.
“Fucking hell, Kit.” Steven’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped back air. I loved that I’d made him breathless. “You really know how to mess with my head, don’t you?”
“Likewise.” I dipped my head, again going for his neck, but he fought back, shoving with anger or passion, probably more than a little of both and I ended up backed against the worktop against which he’d earlier leaned, his hips pressing hard against mine. Either he was trying to hold me up or hurt me. He managed both and I loved it.
“I really, really hate you sometimes.” He grabbed at my shirt, pushed it up and out of the way of my waistband and his warm hands on my skin made me shudder.
God. I needed that. I tugged his hair again, pulled him into a kiss to stop myself saying it out loud. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, more.
As soon as my belt jingled, the only sound in the room besides our heavy, desperate breathing, I went for his waistband too. Ordinarily I’d have just kept my hands where they were, let him touch me and loved every second of it, but not this time. I had to have my hands on him. Somewhere. His bare skin.
“Don’t care. Just long ‘s you lemme—” I slurred, thankful the weight of him was there to hold me up. “Oh fuck, do that again.”
“Let you what?” Steven murmured, right before he nipped my earlobe and I hissed in a breath, amazed I was still able to inhale. I’d never met a man who could make a hand-job feel that good. He’d been right, way back when. I remembered him telling me they were the stuff of legend. “Let you what?”
“Touch.” I shuddered, a violent ripple of unbearable want curving my spine so my hips were pushed against him. “Touch you.”
I thought I heard him laugh.
“Wanna touch you.” I wasn’t even sure if my hands would work. My brain had short-circuited and I could barely speak, but fuck it, Steven felt as hard as I was. There was no way I wasn’t going to try.
“That all?” He kissed and nipped his way along my jaw to my mouth and didn’t kiss me there, just watched me for a second and I flinched. There it was again, that look in his eyes. “Don’t
