“Brady,” Ken moaned softly, threading his hands through Brady’s hair again and again.
He trailed his tongue up Ken’s cock, tracing every ridge and vein, taking his time as he gazed directly, shamelessly, into dark golden eyes. Need you, he thought, licking the pre-cum that had leaked from the tip.
He rocked his hips into the mattress as he wet his finger in his mouth, then sucked Ken again while he lowered his hand between those strong legs and pushed inside the tight hole he loved.
Ken moaned, louder this time, and his legs went over Brady’s shoulders, heels digging into his back. “Yes.”
Brady added another finger, thrusting them both through the tightly flexing muscles in a rhythm that matched the strokes of his tongue on Ken’s cock.
Need you, Ken. Need this.
Love you.
Ken’s body was arching off the bed, writhing as Brady sucked harder and pumped his fingers deeper. Faster.
“Brady, I’m close, baby,” Ken gasped. “Do you want me to come in your mouth?”
Brady moaned, nodding. Fuck, yes. Please, yes. Come in my mouth. I need to have this, taste this. I need to know this is mine.
Ken’s fingers dug into his scalp and his hips started pumping off the bed. Tears slipped from Brady’s eyes as the head of Ken’s cock swelled and hit the back of his throat. Oh and again. Yes. Come.
“Oh God, Brady. Yes. Fuck, I love it. I love…”
The hot burst of cream filled Brady’s mouth and he drank it down hungrily, his hips still pumping against the mattress helplessly. Ken’s taste was as addictive as everything else about him. It tasted like shameless lovemaking and heated passion. It tasted like heaven, so far from where he’d been.
He wanted to stay like this. Stay with Ken.
When Brady finally lifted his head, Ken was watching him with dilated eyes and skin tinged a darker honey with desire.
“Thank you,” Brady said quietly. He got up and stared at Ken’s lean, beautiful body, taking it all in before turning to rifle through his duffel bag for something to wear.
“No, thank you. That was amazing.” Ken sat up and reached out to caress his hip, making him shiver. “I think the least I can do is return the favor. Let me help you with that.”
Brady shook his head, despite the ache of his erection. “Tempting, but not yet. I’m good. That was what I needed.”
Ken stood and took his clothes out of his hands, dropping them on the floor. He slid his fingers through Brady’s and squeezed. “You need more than that. I think we could both use some comfort food with this mission report. And then? Then I’ll need more of you.”
They ended up on the couch wrapped in blankets and each other, sharing a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
“Are you ready to tell me about it?” Ken asked calmly.
“I cloned the phone. Varg—”
“No. I want to know everything, from the beginning. Whatever comes to mind. No rush, Finn. We’re just talking.”
He didn’t want to talk about any of it, not after something that beautiful, but he knew it was necessary. He tried to shut down his emotional reactions and describe every scene, every person and every word spoken in graphic detail. Just a mission report, he told himself. You’ve done this a million times.
But when he finished telling Ken about the people on the racks, he had to stop and ask, “Is that normal? Does that happen at your club?”
Ken had swirled his spoon through the ice cream and sighed. “Kink is, by definition, abnormal. In fact, that’s a point of pride in most BDSM communities. Normal is the thing to avoid.”
“You know what I mean. Have you ever experienced anything like that?”
Ken’s nod was resigned. “I got into it in college, following a man I fell in love with, so at that time bondage and pain play was a purely sexual experience for me. Something I explored with him. He was a hard player, so I dove into the deep end without looking.”
Brady lost his appetite and set his spoon down, but he didn’t say a word. He’d asked for this. He wanted to know.
“When I moved back home, I kept going because of the community. I live most of my life in front of my computer screens, so that connection?” He held up his hand as if reaching for it now. “That connection has always meant everything to me.”
Ken leaned back, his gaze drifting over Brady’s face. “As far as my focus, I had been fascinated with rope work from the start. For me it’s the most intimate type of bondage. It isn’t loud or flashy—it’s intense and beautiful, and in its purest form, the ultimate expression of trust. I traveled to other countries and learned from every expert I could find.” Ken’s laugh was laced with self-mockery. “I don’t like doing something if I can’t be the best. I’m a perfectionist.”