I clenched my hands, feeling the slight bite of nails that were too sharp—but not sharp enough to be claws. I was mostly holding it together—but the more Elliot stroked me, the harder it—and I—was. I needed… God, I needed this. I needed him.
“Come for me, baby,” he rasped, and I could smell the musk and salt of precum. Mine. His. God. The smell of it was making my balls ache, my stomach so tight it hurt. I had to hold on—but I wanted, no,neededto let go. “Seth… Come for me.”
The sound I made wasn’t at all human—raw and desperate and…
“Fuck,” Elliot rasped in my ear as the heat and stain of moisture spread across my shorts.
I hadn’t come in my underwear since I was a horny teenager.
My muscles trembled, my breath heaved, but I was still human.
And still turned on.
Maybe it was a shifter thing, maybe it was because it had been so long, or maybe it was just what Elliot did to me, but I’d just come and I was half-hard again a few breaths later.
Elliot drew in a deep breath, his nose pressed against my skin under my ear. “Fuck, you smell good,” he growled.
I made some sort of noise that maybe agreed with him or was maybe just encouragement. My body felt languid, like my bones were barely being held together by muscles that were too loose.
His fingers found my cock again, and he let out a soft moan against my ear. “Fuck, Seth. You’re already hard again.”
I made another sound, past words.
I was no longer in any danger of shifting—too many endorphins or oxytocin or whatever was keeping that part of me calm and relaxed even as other parts of me were becoming wound tight again.
“Tell me you’re ready,” Elliot growled, stripping me out of my now-wet underwear.
“Yes,” I gasped out.
I don’t know where he’d stashed it—under the cushions, maybe. In a pocket. I wasn’t paying enough attention to see where the bottle came from. But I heard him open it, my eyes still closed.
I kept them closed as he pushed a slick, hot finger into me, a moan slipping from my lips like a sigh.
I was lost in the feeling of his hands, his finger—fingers. In the rasp of his breath in my ear. The heat of his body. The smell of his arousal and my own cum.
By the time he’d stretched me far enough, I felt semi-delirious, drunk on Elliot.
Completely given over to the fact that I was in love with him, no matter what he did or didn’t feel about me.
When he stepped away to strip himself naked and pull on a condom, I felt cold. Then he stripped off my shirt and pushedme down sideways so I was lying on my back, one leg bent up against the back of the couch, the other falling off the side.
He reached down, sliding his hand under the knee of my lower leg, then lifted it to his shoulder. “Tell me you want me,” he ordered.
“I want you,” I gasped.I need you. I didn’t say that one out loud, no matter how true it was.
And then I lost the ability to say anything as Elliot surged into me in a single stroke, his head thrown back, giving me a view of the long line of his throat—the heavy scar near his jawline dark against his copper skin.
I reached up and gripped his muscled forearms, holding on as he thrust into me, pulled back, and thrust forward again. I felt raw and stretched, like Elliot was the only thing holding me together—and the very thing that was going to pull me apart and leave me in pieces.
I managed to hold it together when he came, and then, again, when he stroked me to orgasm a second time while still buried inside me.
I waited for him to go to clean up, then went into my own bathroom, running the sink while I gasped my way through the sobs that tried to tear their way out of my chest. I kept them—somehow—silent, knowing that Elliot’s hearing was as good as mine.
Fuck Rule Two.
6
Elliot Crane
