by Ki Brightly
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, okay.”
He drags me back, and I go willingly, chest about to burst with… something. So good. His lips on mine, skin pressed to skin. I want to be moving, gyrating, but he distracts me with nips at my neck and fingers on my nipples. Sparks of delight blast me from every direction, but it all melds together, like staring too long at twinkle lights and trying to figure out where the “twinkle” actually starts and stops. He kisses down my chest with licks and nips and just the right amount of attention to my hip bones where they stick out—unhappy little knobs, no matter how I work out. Then my boxers are off, and I’m waving in the air.
“The best presents are free—oh shit,” I whine and grit my teeth against more noises when he abruptly swallows me. “Holy tinselated Rudolph,” I pant, bringing one hand to the back of his bobbing head. But he’s working me up to a slow insanity.
I curl my toes into the thick bedding and try to move, but he gets a firm grip on my hips. I’m stuck there, falling apart, coming back together in an endless cycle that’s either killing or saving me. He teases one of his fingers down behind my balls, and I flail, half sitting up.
“Nope. You’re not doing this the right way,” I wheeze, then whimper with loss as he pops off me.
“What?”
“Blow me, then fuck me, all textbook perfect, like this bedroom,” I snarl. “Where’s that lube?”
Eyebrows high, he stares up at me. “What’s wrong with my bedroom?”
“Nothing. It’s perfect, but sex shouldn’t be perfect.” I shove him over onto his back but get the impression he only lets me do it because he’s so surprised.
“I want to make it good for you.”
I laugh, straddling him. His dick slips against my ass and skims over my hole, sending screaming anticipation into my gut. His eyes go wide. “This is good,” I reaching back to grip him. “You’re a handful. You have stuff?”
He snorts a laugh but nods, sliding a roll of condoms and bottle of lube out from under his pillows.
“You’re too cute,” I growl, snapping them up.
After that everything is slippery and frantic, and Stokely’s eyes never lose that glazed, slightly surprised look, even when he’s opening me up with his fingers. The bass of the music pounding in my soul, my fingers tremble with need as I slide the condom down over the hot, pulsing length of him. It’s a sweet relief to finally line up and slide down onto the part of his body guaranteed to make him feel as good inside as he makes me feel just by being near me.
I want to go fast. Falling apart, I urge a quick pace. He bumps my gland, and that weird pleasure cramp of almost-orgasm taunts me. Stokely clutches my hips, trying to slow me down, but I fight against it, struggle to keep my own rhythm. Eventually he rolls us, and I flail, surprised. I end up on my back, pressed down, his hands pushing mine into the bed. He shakes his head, so serious. I nearly come.
“Stokely.” I try to rock but don’t get anywhere.
“Hush,” he chuckles.
His movements are guarded, slow, but every drag of his hips sparks a deep, satisfying pleasure I can feel pulsing all the way to my bones.
“Have to stop that,” I rasp.
He kisses his way along my jaw, up to my ear. “Why?”
“Gonna ruin me.”
I lose minutes to the maddening crawl of pleasure, trying to tug my hands away to jerk myself off but not being able to, trying to rock my hips faster, but he won’t go. I grunt with the effort. Tears and sweat roll down my cheeks.
“Hurts,” I sob.
He slows.
“Don’t stop. Good hurt,” I gasp. That finally gets him to speed up. A shockwave of pleasure, so intense I can’t remember anything like it, builds low in my guts, just behind the root of my cock, sending pulses out to the tip where it feels like I’m going to die each time it drags across his stomach. I lean forward to blindly kiss his salty chest, fighting against the undertow trying to swallow me down. It scares me and I want it.
“Oh no!” I shout as it hits me, and I’m done for. I shiver and shake as my cock explodes between us and every muscle in my body floods with a perfect molten heat. Tingles of goodness tighten my stomach and thighs and roll out through my body. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that Stokely is still sliding in and out of me, and when he pushes in deep, deeper than he’s been, grunting, holding me close, and I know he’s coming too, I break.
It’s too much. Too perfect.
Chapter 10
Stokely Zajmi
I’M FLOATING back down from bliss when it registers that Asher’s quietly sobbing. Not anything messy or loud, just silent shoulder hitches and tears, the occasional harsh indrawn breath.
“Asher, what’s wrong?”
I’m too high on adrenaline and loose from release to truly panic, but I move us around until I can pull up the blankets, getting him into the warmth before I cradle him close, my cheek resting against the top of his head.
He hiccups, pressing his cheek hard against my chest. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all, but you still did it,” he accuses.
Confused, I move back till I can see him pouting at me. “Did what?”
“You… you… by the booked me.” He’s smiling, his eyes narrowed, searching me as if he’s attempting to read my mind.
“I don’t understand.”
“You… you made me feel good so you could fuck me… but… that’s not really what happened, is it?” He uses his thumb to swipe away another tear.
I duck my head to kiss his salty cheek, and he presses it hard against my lips. Fondness and something else overwhelms me—a lightning flash, there and gone, but the burn of it remains and may never go away.
“We felt good together. This could have gone either way so long as we both enjoyed it. You’re not here for me—we’re here for each other.”
“Oh God dammit,” he mumbles, burying his face against my chest.
I scowl, truly confused as to what the problem is. “What?”
“This is going to suck.”
“What is?”
“You. When you get sick of me, you leaving is going to fucking kill me.”
My heart jerks, and I try to hold him closer, but there’s no way to do that. “Why will I get sick of you?”
He shrugs and I sit up. He tightens his arms around me until his grip is nearly painful, but he eventually lets go. Climbing out of the bed, I find my boxers on the floor, then slip them on.
“I’m sorry,” Asher whispers as he sits up, wrapping his arms around his knees.
I lean down to feather my lips across his, and eventually they relax, soft and sweet like when we kissed earlier in the evening. “I want to give you your present.” Cold dread and excitement gather in a ball in my stomach.
He grins at me, knees unfolding from his chest. “Really?”
I run my hand through his angel curls, tugging lightly before I hurry out into the living room. Tucked against the side of the couch, the present sits in a simple brown-paper wrapping—couldn’t bring myself to waste money on fancy paper. With a deep breath, I bring it back to the bed. I slide in beside him, handing over the package. Whatever mood took him over after we made love seems to seep back in again as he holds the box close.
“I wish I could think of something smartass to say right now. All I have is thank you.”
“Open it, and then you can thank me.”
Asher laughs and holds out the box, inspecting it. I expect him to rip the paper like a toddler, but he takes his time, slipping his finger under the tape here and there to pull it loose, drawing it out. Eventually the paper falls away, revealing the plain white-lidded box inside. He flips up the lid so it flops onto the bed, then gasps, pulling the antique silver mirror out of the box. Sweat runs down my temple as he turns it around, playing with the little fold-out leg on the back.
“I am vain enough that I love this.”
Relieved, I scoot over beside him to wrap an arm around his shoulders.
I rest my cheek against his curls. “It is, but… I wanted you to have this because… you do a lot of looking outward and not much looking at yourself.”
“Excuse me?”
I press a kiss to his springy curls, loving the way they feel, smell. “You put so much effort into trying to make the world a better place. Maybe… maybe this can remind you to put some effort into making things better for you.”
Asher presses close. “Are you trying to say I need to take care of myself? ’Cause I do pluck these brows occasionally,” he jokes.
I rub a circle into his hip with my thumb, and eventually he curls against my side, turning his head to plant a kiss in the middle of my chest. “You do need to take care of yourself. And maybe let me help?”
He squirms around until he’s sitting in front of me. My arms cinched around his middle, I grin as he tilts his head back onto my shoulder and holds up the mirror in front of us. Our eyes meet in the reflection. He smiles the type of smile that makes me feel scared in all the right ways.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
He nods, and the image trembles. I steady the mirror with one hand, and he laughs.
“Not many people see me.”
“I do.”
The mirror goes into the box it came in, and then he leans down to put it onto the floor beside the bed before he flings himself into my arms. “Merry Christmas. My gift to you sucks.”
I laugh and, holding him close, flop back down onto the bed with him tight in my arms. “No, it’s the best present I’ve ever had. Merry Christmas, my love.”
He doesn’t say it back, and he doesn’t have to, because the way he relaxes against me, the way he falls asleep without so much as a by your leave, his forehead pressed tight into my jaw, lets me know. If I’m not home for him yet, I will be someday soon.
A few minutes later, I’m able to drift off to sleep with him in my arms, the plans for a small tree for the living room firmly in my mind.
I want to see his pale skin dappled with multicolored hues, gleaming with sweat. And I will always want to see that surprised joy in his eyes from something done just right, just for him.
Chapter 11
Asher Banks
I HUM and kick my legs in my chair, headphones clamped to my ears, as usual. Alicia and I are the only ones working in the station today. I volunteered ages ago to work eight in the morning to midnight on Christmas, since I don’t have family and everyone else does, but today is different. Stokely sits peacefully beside me, not listening to my wonderful rockin’ holiday mix but reading a thick book emblazoned with knights and a dragon. Every now and then, he grabs my jiggling foot with both of his, smiling at me over the top of the pages when I look over at him.
Sometime in the afternoon, Alicia disappears, and we’re left alone together. My back is getting stiff from all the sitting around, but Stokely’s diligently still there, his book down, his fifth cup of coffee cooling near mine.
“You can go home if you want,” I whisper around a yawn, settling my headphones around my neck during a long stretch of music. “I know this is boring.”
He smiles, his brown eyes sparkling.
Can’t get enough of him.
He taps the book. “I had a long adventure.”
“You’re such a dork.”
“Do you know where brave knights and sojourners always go after their journeys?”
“Where?”
“Home to their loves, of course.”
I roll my eyes as he winks.
“And I am,” Stokely says, taking my hand in his. The tinny strains of “Home for the Holidays” trills on the edges of my attention.
“You’re what?” I ask distractedly, checking the queue, paranoid as always about any amount of dead air.
“Home.”
It takes me a second, but then my heart beats so fast it must be trying to escape, and my breath catches. I sniff. “So cheesy and ultra-super-mega lametown. I thought you didn’t like sentimental stuff.”
He brings my hand to his lips and drops a kiss on my knuckles. “No, I don’t like sentiment for the sake of sentiment. But I love that you love it, and I love you.”
I can’t think for a second, but then there’s a beep from the headphones, and, dumbfoundedly, I slip them on.
“Merry Christmas, Erie. I… well, uh….” I close my eyes tight and laugh. “I’ve just gotten the best present ever. May the joy and love of the season fill your hearts and homes.” I run through the station numbers, make sure the next song is playing, rip off my headphones, and throw myself at Stokely. His eyes wide, coffee flying to the floor, he catches me. “Love you too.”
He chuckles. “We made a mess.”
“Don’t care. You’ll help me clean it up.” I burrow against his chest, and he holds me there.
“Always.”
KI BRIGHTLY grew up in small-town nowhere pretending that meteor showers were aliens invading, turning wildflowers into magic potions, and reading more than was probably healthy. Ki had one amazing best friend, one endlessly out of grasp “true love,” and a personal vendetta against normalcy.
Now as an adult living in Erie, Pennsylvania, Ki enjoys the sandy beaches, frigid winters, and a wonderful fancy water addiction. Seriously, fancy waters… who knew there were so many different kinds? It’s just water… and yet….
Ki shares this life with a Muse, a Sugar Plum, and two wonderful children.
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/7326478.Ki_Brightly
Blog: www.brightlybooks.wordpress.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/kibrightly
By Ki Brightly
The Paranaturalist
Pining for Perfect
The Shape of Honey
Simmer (Dreamspinner Anthology)
Threefold Love
Trust Trade
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Pining for Perfect
© 2017 Ki Brightly.
Cover Art
© 2017 Brooke Albrecht.
http://brookealbrechtstudio.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64080-351-0
Published December 2017
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America
="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share