If I could think of literally anything except how one single point of connection has my cock rising in my pants, I would. But that and his fucking arrogant smile are all my mind can latch on to.
He slowly looks down between us, and that smile widens into a full-on grin.
“Hmm.” His other hand grips the front of my jeans. His fingers slip inside the waistband, and he uses it to tug my hipsforward. Into his. He’s hard, too, and the way his tented jeans rub…
“Jesus,” I grunt.
“I thought so.” He shoves me back. Harder.
I hit the wall again, not just my shoulder blades but my ass, my head. He presses into me, pinning me to the wall the way I would Artemis.
Or Elora.
My throat tightens, and I shake my head.
He grips my jaw. “Stop.”
I lock my gaze on his. My body stills.
“Good,” he whispers. He leans in, and his lips brush mine. “Saint? I don’t think you’re straight at all.”
Holy fucking shit.
He kisses me once, the softest peck, then again. And again.
Teasing, featherlight contact.
Until my resistance crumbles and I lean forward to meet him.
His hold on my jaw doesn’t loosen. If anything, he uses it to angle my face. It’s like I give him an inch and he takes it as permission to run a mile. His lips press on mine, sliding, inching. His hips keep me against the wall, and my cock leaps in my pants.
He has to feel it, just like I can practically feel the pulse of his against my thigh.
While it should embarrass me, I don’t seem to care at the moment.
He pries open my mouth and infiltrates it with his tongue. I groan into his mouth as his other hand comes between us. He lifts my shirt, running his fingers across my abdomen. It’s a rather maddening path.
This is insane.
I pull away.
“Good,” he repeats, his pupils dilated.
I’m sure mine look the same.
“Hold on to that feeling.”
“W-what feeling?”
“This one.” His hand leaves my abdomen and cups my dick through my jeans.
I jump.
“I did that to you. Say it back to me.”
“I—”
“Who made you hard?”
