Miles wet his lips, feeling like he was pressed against a savage beast held back only by the reins of his self-control.
Ian’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue.
“Kiss me?” Miles whispered shakily.
Ian leaned down and did just that.
There weren’t any fireworks behind Miles’s eyelids; the fireworks seemed to light up his entire body. Miles jerked, whimpering at the feel of Ian’s mouth against his. He could feel Ian’s body stiffen from his reaction for a moment—and then Ian snapped.
Groaning, he grabbed Miles’s face and plundered his mouth, all teeth and tongue, his big body surging against Miles and crowding him against the desk as Ian gave him a hungry, filthy kiss that took, and took, and took. It was overwhelming. It was terrifying—and terrifyingly good. Miles lost himself, his world narrowing to that hot, demanding mouth and those large hands holding his face in a punishing grip. He wasn’t even sure he was kissing back; all he could do was feel and relish in being the focus of Ian’s desire. Weak, shaky moans left his mouth as the kiss went on, and on, and on.
God.
Ian shoved him onto the desk and pushed him down with his body, their cocks trapped between them. Something fell to the floor, but neither of them paid it any mind. Shuddering, Miles jerked their flies open and wrapped his legs around Ian’s waist as Ian ground his cock against Miles’s. Fuck, the way Ian’s body felt on top of him… It felt incredibly good: the weight of him, the pressure. It should have made him feel trapped but all Miles could think was so good and more.
They found a dirty, jerky rhythm, still kissing messily, saliva everywhere. Dry-humping had no right to feel so good, so satisfying and earth-shatteringly good, but it did. Unlike blowjobs, it wasn’t one-sided, they both wanted this, they both needed this, their need felt like one, both seeking one release, together. Together. He wanted Ian closer, he needed him, god, please—oh, oh, oh.
By the time Ian’s hands wrapped around his throat, Miles could barely think, his mind a fog of pleasure and want, his body oversensitive and needy. When Ian’s hands squeezed his neck, Miles moaned around Ian’s tongue, sucking on it greedily. The pressure around his throat became harder, making Miles’s head blissfully empty. He could only moan weakly, grinding his cock against Ian’s hard stomach. There was no air in his lungs, he couldn’t breathe, but it felt so good—god—just a little more—
He came, sobbing out and clinging to the man on top of him with all his might, his mind empty and his body finally finding release. Ian jerked against him, shuddered, and went still on top of him.
Miles became aware that he was still gasping for breath when Ian lifted his head to look down at him.
“Are you okay?” he said, stroking Miles’s sore throat, before looking Miles in the eye.
Miles could only nod weakly, feeling like he was drowning in those eyes. Truth be told, he did feel strange. He felt incredibly good, but at the same time, he felt like he was about to burst into tears for no damn reason.
That was why when Ian started straightening up, Miles found himself slinging his arms around his neck and clinging. “Don’t go,” he muttered, feeling mortified by his own neediness but unable to do anything about it. He didn’t want to be away from Ian. Even a few inches seemed too far away.
Ian went still for a moment before hauling him into his arms and straightening up with Miles still clinging to him for dear life.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice low and soothing. A hint of humor crept into his tone. “But we can’t stay on my desk all night. I’m not twenty. My back would kill me tomorrow.”
Miles nodded, and he felt Ian carry him… somewhere. Miles didn’t really care. Burying his face in the crook of Ian’s shoulder and neck, Miles closed his eyes and found himself drifting off. He was with Ian. He was safe.
Ian would take care of everything.
Chapter 11
Morning sunshine filtering through the venetian blinds cut a striped path across the bed and highlighted the red in Miles’s hair, making the contrast with his pale skin striking—and the bruises in the shape of Ian’s fingers on his neck even darker.
Ian couldn’t look away from them as Miles slept peacefully snuggled up against him.
Though “snuggled up” was probably too mild a phrase. Their limbs were so intertwined that Ian was starting to wonder whether he would be able to extract himself without waking Miles up. It was amazing how they had managed to end up like this when he’d laid Miles down on the opposite side of his very large bed last night—but not unsurprising either.
In the past, Ian had been accused numerous times of being “suffocating” in his sleep. Regina had hated that habit, claiming it was uncomfortable for her and she couldn’t breathe with him half on top of her. It was one of the many reasons they’d started sleeping in separate beds a few weeks into their married life.