Want Me

by Neve Wilder

  “You got anything?” I mumbled into another feverish kiss. “Don’t care if you don’t. You could always do what you did last time. In the…um…in the shower.” Smooth, Nate.

  “Liked that, huh?” Damn that cocksure smile. Eric wrapped me with one arm, the other undoing his pants, then sliding up under my shirt.

  “Yeah,” I breathed out into the kiss he pressed to my lips and deepened. Fuck yeah, I’d liked that. Thinking about how fast he’d sucked a nut from me, how he’d bent me over and spread me and spit it out all over my ass, then fucked my own jizz into me made another bolt of lust crackle through my balls.

  Eric rumbled in satisfaction as I closed my hand around his cock and squeezed his shaft a couple of times until the growl became a groan. He kept one arm around me while I stroked him, the other playing with me, fucking with me, giving light pinches to my skin, my nipples, followed by kneading caresses that somehow left me with goose bumps that had nothing to do with the cold. It felt amazing. Pressure, a sliver of sting, then release, over and over. The meat of my shoulders, the side of my rib cage. My entire torso became a constellation of pleasure and pain echoing against each other.

  He brought his thumb to my mouth, rubbing my slick, swollen lips as he drew back, the other hand wrapping over my fist on his cock and squeezing. Precome dripped from his tip, sliding warm and silky over my fingers. “You want this cock?”

  Finally. Familiar territory. I started to nod before correcting myself. “Fuck yes.”

  Eric worked open the buttons on my shirt from the bottom up as his lips moved over my neck. “You knocked the shit out of my ribs. Think you bruised my back, too.” He didn’t sound angry. If anything, the words were a sultry purr.

  “Hope you aren’t hunting for an apology that you’re not gonna get.”

  “Mmm. I’ll settle for some begging.”

  I gave him a skeptical grunt that collapsed into a sigh as his fingertips teased my nipples and pecs. His teeth scraped over the hill of my shoulder and sank in to the tender skin near my collarbone until I whimpered, and then he hooked his fingers around my open shirt and pushed it wider, exposing my chest as he shoved me back down. The ground was frigid and scratchy against my lower back where my abandoned coat didn’t blanket the leaves and underbrush, and my shirt had ridden up. It was colder than I remembered. Or maybe I was sobering up. I shivered and Eric ran his arms up and down my biceps briskly before sucking the skin from my sternum to my naval, leaving behind a wet trail that glistened in the moonlight.

  “Put your hands behind your head.”

  Damp leaves gathered between my ears and biceps as I laced my fingers behind my neck, the air I breathed in taking on an earthy tinge as Eric dragged my jeans to just below my knees, then slid from my legs and pushed my thighs up toward my chest and settled in front of my exposed ass.

  After some rummaging around, I glimpsed a flash of silver near Eric’s mouth, and then a cold drizzle oozed down my crack. Trust Eric to always be prepared for some down-and-dirty debauchery. The Boy Scout of fucking on the fly. I let out a quiet breath, waiting to feel his fingers working me open, anticipating the cool sting of invasion.

  He ran his fingers up and down the backs of my thighs, and the longer the seconds passed without him pushing inside me, the more exposed I felt. What the fuck was he doing? My goddamn jeans were blocking the view, which I hated. When I craned my neck, I could see his arm moving, stroking himself maybe, and fuck I wished I could see it. I wiggled around restlessly. “Take my jeans off. I feel like I’m hog-tied, and I can’t see shit.”

  “That’s gonna add some lag time if someone comes and we have to make a run for it.”

  “No one’s coming but us. Hopefully in this century,” I added wryly.

  Eric gave me a devilish grin in return. “No.”

  “Goddammit.” I reached defiantly for one of my shoes, and the pad of his thumb grazed my hole. The tiny amount of pressure he applied had me sucking in a sharp breath. “You’re stubborn as shit,” I muttered when I could form words again and sank back to the ground, defeated. He buried a chuckle against my kneecap and nipped the thin skin, making it tingle and convincing me there wasn’t a single spot on my body that wasn’t an erogenous zone in his hands.

  “Like you’re not.”

  “I’m…” The rest trailed off into a wispy gurgle of forgotten protest as Eric smacked his dick against my ass a couple of times before the blunt head of his cock pushed against me. I tensed up and took another breath to relax. “Fuck, I’m all out of practice.” Just his tip felt impossibly huge, and I wriggled a little against the slippery crown as he took hold of my knee and pressed it farther back with a grin.

  “About to fix that.” He pushed inside me on a quiet curse, and there it was: the fullness, the burn, the force of him that’d been so elusive in all the days that’d come after the argument with Mark. I sucked in a deep breath of chilly air that felt like a knife down my sternum as my body gave way and made room for him, and Eric wrapped his fingers around my balls with a squeeze. He stopped moving, held me still, his thumb pressed firmly into my taint as a shiver rolled through me, trembling around my shoulders and swaying down my spine. The throb of him inside me went maddeningly quiet. Then I felt his cock twitch.

  “Fuck, you’re something else.” His fingertips ran over my lips and dipped just behind to come away wet. He teased the tips up and down my shaft, pleasure dancing in fine points through my balls, trying to become something larger. The series of steady, shallow thrusts that followed felt like puffs of air, and I arched my back, trying desperately to force him deeper.

  “Please.” It was shameless and needy, and I didn’t even fucking care because a second later, Eric grabbed the denim pooled below my knees and gathered it up into a thick band of fabric he forced back against me, using it as leverage to thrust into me so hard my lower back came off the ground.

  And Jesus did he start fucking me then. Jolts of stinging pleasure cracked like lightning bolts through my body, creating a riot of sensation that sizzled through my balls, my back, and the head of my dick like an electrical storm. I felt him everywhere, each potent thrust guttering me out and radiating through me.

  “This what you want? Me destroying that tight hole?”

  “Yes. Shit yes.” I gasped for air, only half-aware of his lust-thick grunts. It was impossible for me to keep my arms behind my head. They flew up, my hands closing over his where they gripped my jeans as his body smacked noisily against me. Fuck, he felt massive plunging in and out of me. It was like the first time all over again, the boundless thrill of him owning my body’s responses and making me wild. My heart thundered in my chest, and I broke out in a sweat despite the cool air washing over my torso and the chilly ground leaching into my back. I chanted out garbled encouragements and reached for my cock, gave the slick length a few clumsy strokes, and saw starbursts of blue and white against the back of my eyelids. Somehow we shifted because Eric’s voice came close to my ear when he next spoke, low and breathless with arousal. “I know you want to come, baby. But don’t. Not yet.”

  He slowed to an agonizingly sedate rock inside me, and I opened my eyes, now on my side as he hovered over me. I wondered if there’d ever be such a thing as a quickie between us. I let go of my dick with a testy whine that made him chuckle as he slid back inside me on a deep stroke that glided over my prostate and morphed into a shudder that racked my shoulders. My dick twitched threateningly. “Might not have a choice,” I warned.

  Eric released his grasp on my jeans and reached down to feather another caress over my shaft. “I want that load filling the back of my throat the way I’m about to fill your ass.” He flicked the head of my cock, and the nettling sting biting back against the surge of pleasure was the only thing that kept me from coming right then.

  An electric hum speared through me as he thrust inside me again, and when he told me to clench, I did and was rewarded with the heavy weight of his body collapsing onto mine and the hot rus
h of his release flooding me as he let out a curse, then a raw-throated moan. God, I’d be hearing that cry in my head for weeks. I felt his jizz trickle between my cheeks, and he pumped into me a few more times before he squeezed my ass and dropped down next to me.

  Without taking any time to bask in the afterglow of his orgasm, Eric slid down, and I sighed out as he closed his mouth over my cock. Sweet, blessed fucking suction drew me deep into the wet heat of his throat. His fingers dug into one asscheek, and I tried to restrain myself for all of a second before I gave in to the primal urge to thrust hard. He rolled onto his back and carried me with him so that I was half-straddling, half-hovering over his chest, hands splayed on the ground above his head as I fucked his mouth.

  “Oh Jesus,” I whispered, because it was a fucking sight. I loved this about him. Loved how he could order me around, shred every trace of my own inhibitions, and fuck me until I teetered on the edge between feeling used and worshipped, then turn around and let me do the same to him. I didn’t quite understand the dynamic between us the way I had in other relationships, but I sure enjoyed the shit out of it in moments like this.

  I managed to get myself more upright and shove my jeans down to my ankles so I could spread my thighs wider and take full advantage of Eric on his back underneath me, swallowing my cock with every punch of my hips. He squeezed the tops of my thighs, fingernails digging into my quads, and I gripped the base of my dick, withdrawing to slap the tip over his lips a couple of times and enjoying the stinging smear of his stubble. It felt good, felt dirty, felt like us.

  “Open your mouth,” I demanded, then my own dropped open in ball-tightening pleasure as I rubbed my crown over his tongue and lips. “Goddamn that’s hot.” His eyes fixed on my face, a glimmer of humor in them for the fascination in my voice, I was sure.

  Eric kept his gaze locked on me as I watched my dick slip and slide around his mouth. His fingers slid into my ass, still slick with his come, and the groan he let out hummed over my shaft as he sucked me back in. The slow roll toward orgasm evaporated with a warning tingle as he stroked over my prostate. I gasped and rocked back on him, then gave in to the pressure in my balls and fucked his mouth the way he’d just fucked me, hard and ruthless, with one hand twisting in his hair, daring him to stop me or slow me down. I knew he wouldn’t. He fucking loved it just as much as I did. I caught the edge of his teeth and hardly even noticed for the firm pressure of his mouth against me, the feel of his tongue flicking and lapping at my crown. When he grabbed the base of my dick and started pumping my shaft into his throat, it was over.

  I came on a rough-throated cry, and Eric tensed his hand on my thigh as I flooded the back of his throat and kept going, letting him suck me dry until I softened between his lips and all that was left of my muscles and bones were little tremors.

  I rolled to my side on the ground, not even caring about the damp and cold or that my pants were still down around my ankles. Eric chased after me, bracing on an elbow as he bent and kissed me hard with his slippery mouth, his tongue coated in my release and the muddy commingling of his taste and mine strangely exciting.

  With another press of his lips to the corner of my mouth, he drew back and stared down at me, watchful. “Say something.”

  I shivered as the cold hit me all at once. “Can’t. Think I just shot my capacity for coherent speech down the back of your throat.”

  He chuckled. “That sounded pretty coherent to me.”

  “Fluke,” I muttered and shifted around to drag my pants back up on my hips.

  After a few moments, Eric stood and tucked himself away with one hand and offered his other out to help me up. He steadied me when my legs wobbled as I rose. “How do you recover so fast?” I was limp with exhaustion.

  “Because I didn’t just spend five minutes face fucking the shit out of someone?” He tugged up his zipper with a smirk. He had a point. “That was sexy as hell, by the way. We should try it again sometime.”

  “Maybe.” I tried and failed to hide a smile as I dusted the leaf bits from myself, then turned around and let Eric pick a few from my back. We stood there for a second, looking over the mess we’d made of each other, and then Eric threw his head back and laughed. Just when I thought I was starting to sober up, the full-bodied ripple of sound made me feel drunk all over again.

  “What are the odds that your mom would buy into a story about us getting into a fight with some kind of wildlife on the way home.”

  “Not good.” I reached down to grab my jacket, then handed him his.

  “Then we’ll just have to be extra quiet.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

  The smell of coffee woke me, and I thrashed around in the bed for a second trying to go back to sleep, hoping a second waking would be one without the headache currently drumming my skull. I’d been drinking too much. Even for me it was becoming excessive. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing at them as if I could rub the lack of sleep away, and then opened them again, dragging in a deep breath and resolving I’d cut back.

  The night caught up to me in a jigsaw of images: the cold forest floor on my back, the shadow of Eric’s body over me. His hands on my thighs, his cock in my ass. Jesus Christ, I want you. When I touched the side of my neck and then my shoulders, the skin felt tender and raw. I smiled.

  Throwing the covers from my legs, I stood, plucking at my waistband a couple of times in a daze before I stumbled toward the door and opened it. The water was running in the hall bath, light shifting around through the cracked doorway as Eric moved. Something about the normalcy of those sights and sounds filled me with happy relief, dulled my headache, and made the faintly sour feeling in my stomach morph into a flutter.

  I nudged the door until Eric moved to the side to let me in as he reached to run the razor in his hand under the water and cast a careful gaze over me. He was looking for regret, some sign that I was going to chalk last night up to drunkenness and resume the cold-war stalemate we’d been locked in before.

  “Head’s killing me,” I muttered, standing half behind him as I ran a hand over my bare chest. He wore only his jeans, water droplets scattered over his shoulders, shaving foam remnants peppering his left cheek. After a second, he lifted the razor to his jaw again, scraping down and pointing his pinky toward a bottle of pills on the counter. “Same. Found those in the drawer.”

  I slid around next to him, popped the cap, and tossed the Advil back, dipping my head to the sink to cup water from the faucet. I straightened and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “When did you leave?” The sheets had been cold when I’d stretched my arm over where he’d lain next to me after we’d finally gotten home. No one had heard us come in, thank God.

  “Right after you fell asleep. Didn’t want to chance running into your parents.”

  “Gimme that.” I stole the razor from his hands and ran it under the water, then focused on a patch of scruff on the left-hand side where his jaw met his neck. “You always miss this one spot.”

  “I do?” He blinked at me, one hand rising touch the spot where I’d laid the razor. I flicked my middle finger at his hand to keep it out of my path and angled his head slightly to get to the tiny patch of hair. “Mm-hmm. Probably no one ever notices it but me. It’s been driving me crazy for weeks, though.”

  “Hmm.” A smile played over his lips as I finished up the spot and set the razor down, rubbing the smooth skin with my thumb before letting my touch trail down the side of his neck where his pulse beat strong. His eyes widened in surprise when I leaned in to brush a quick kiss over the spot I’d just cleaned up.

  Leaning back against the counter, I exhaled deeply, meeting his eyes. “I need you to be patient with while I…uhhh…figure this out.” I gestured between the two of us and hoped that between the mishmash of words and action, he’d get my drift.

  Eric gave me an easy nod in response. “Not a problem.” For a second, I wondered if he really meant it. Would he go months…longer, even, sneaking around on the
sly—and doing it far more carefully than before—if I couldn’t get my shit together? At the same time, I felt no sense of pressure in his lingering gaze.

  After a moment, he picked the razor back up and went to work on the right side of his face as I watched. I’d never really paid attention to a guy shaving before. Of course, I hadn’t had a lot of opportunities either. And it was just shaving, right? But you would’ve thought I was watching a fucking three-ring circus the way I stood there fixated on the tips of Eric’s fingers gently stretching the skin of his cheek, the way he swished the razor under the water three times before shaking it and drawing it down the side of his face in a precise, steady drag that had me salivating because somehow it was perfectly him: smooth, well practiced, unhurried. He flicked his gaze aside to me, then lower, a slow smile turning up his lips.

  I glanced down at the semi starting to tent my boxers and groaned. “Jesus, you fuck me up. Is it always going to be like this?”

  He shrugged and blotted his face with a towel that he then snapped at my chest. “I’m a pretty sexy bastard.”

  I made a face at him, but he was. That had never been in question. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  When I started to move past him toward the door, Eric shot his arm out to block me, and in a nanosecond, I found his palm in the center of my chest as he shoved me up against the wall, his gaze locking to mine. God that gaze and the way it coursed through me, made me feel vulnerable and horny and understood all at once. “What I said last night wasn’t drunk rambling or some ploy to get another fuck out of you. I meant every word.”

  I felt my jaw tighten, and my heart beat wildly against the palm of his hand. I looked down at it pointedly, and he gave me a soft smile. “I know. Same goes. Morning breath,” I warned, as he leaned in.

  “Don’t give a shit. I like you dirty.” His lips brushed over mine once, twice, and the last dregs of tension drain from me, like his touch had loosened the plug that’d been holding it in. I reached for his waistband, pulled him up against me, and let my hand skim over his flat stomach. Now that I’d given myself permission, there was so much of him I wanted to explore, so much I’d held myself back from doing, scared out of my mind of what it might mean, what I’d be telling him with the action, or that he’d know by my touch just how fucking much I wanted him and how mindlessly stupid he made me. I thought he got it now, though, and that was a relief, too.