“Fuck. Fuck. Fine. Mercy, okay? Mercy. I can’t believe you actually made me say—Oh shit.”
I pulled out all the way and slammed home, dragging my cock over his prostate.
“I never give up on a challenge, Malachi. You know me better than that,” I said, repeating his earlier words. His sex-drunk eyes focused on mine for a single second, and I knew he got it—that everything I felt, he felt too.
He groaned and that sound… Jesus, fuck. Like spark to paper.
I fucked him harder, pushing his legs back so he was nearly bent in half, wanting to get as deep inside him as possible. His long cock bobbed against his abs with every thrust, leaving a sticky patch of precum. My eyes held his as I trailed a finger through the wetness and brought my finger to my mouth, and his own lips parted as he watched me taste him for the first time.
Fuck. I’d never experienced intensity like this, not ever. Every slap of my balls against his ass, every high, breathy moan he emitted just stoked the flames higher, and for once in my life, I had no desire to fight or control it.
Instead, I reached down and thumbed his taint, just above where our bodies joined, and tugged on the ring there. His face turned a shade redder, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Fuck, Brooks,” he whimpered. “I need…”
“What, sweetness? What do you need?” Because by God, I would give it to him.
“You… more… you.”
I braced my hands by his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him deeply until both of us had to break for air. The air in the cabin was sweltering hot, and the air around us was even hotter, but I had never felt better or more alive. The look on Mal’s face was pure desperation, and the knowledge I’d put it there was electrifying.
“You’re gonna come for me,” I told him, my voice wrecked. “You’re gonna come so hard.”
“Yes. Yes.”
“And I’m gonna fuck you through it. I want every last drop, Mal.”
I did not talk like this. I did not growl like this. And I didn’t get possessive like this either. Except, apparently I did. And it felt so damn right I would never question it. Not with Mal.
Our gazes locked and held as I reached between us to stroke him, gripping him just the way I knew—fucking knew—he liked it best. His back bowed and his neck arched back as he gasped in time to the rhythm of my hand, and I could feel my own orgasm tingling in my balls.
“Come on, Mal. Come with me. Come for me, sweetness.”
“Oh, fuck, Brooks! Fuck!” His entire body jerked with the force of his orgasm, his hole clenching around me and his hands bunching the quilt beneath us like an anchor in a storm.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I… God. Malachi.” I came a second later, my mouth frozen open and all my breath deserting me.
“Mother. Fucking. Fuck,” I said, panting with each syllable. My arms wobbled and I fell on top of Mal, forcing the breath from his lungs.
He didn’t seem to mind too much, given the way he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “It’s like poetry,” he teased breathlessly. “Brooks Shakespeare Johnson.”
I snorted against his neck and pulled back just far enough to see that he was grinning though his eyes were shut tight. “I’ll work on that,” I promised, mostly joking. “I’ll do better next time.”
His beautiful eyes popped open to meet mine. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he said, and there was so much warm sincerity in his gaze, I couldn’t help but kiss him again.
Later, after I’d disposed of the condom and we’d cleaned up as best we could in the half bath, we climbed back on the bed with Mal sprawled out flat and me propped on my elbow beside him. I was close enough to trace the hollow of his ribs with my fingertips, but far enough for the cool night breeze to wash over us through the open windows while every bullfrog in the area serenaded us with their mating songs.
I trailed my fingers into the hollow of his abdomen and let out a breath, feeling my tired muscles and my brain relax completely for the first time in… ten years? No, maybe longer than that.
“Fuck, you’re good at that,” Mal groaned. His eyes had been closed so long, I’d wondered if he’d dozed off. Clearly not.
“What? Touching you?”
He nodded. “Kissing me. Fucking me. Talking to me. Fighting with me.”
“Really?” I cleared my throat. The word had come out sounding seriously fucking needy. “I mean… I’m glad. Me too.” I waited for him to make another joke about me being a poet or, worse, cheesy.
Mal’s lips twitched and his gaze met mine. “Best ever,” he said softly. His eyes tracked his fingers as he brushed a stray lock of hair off my temple, and he repeated, “Best… ever.”