I can’t help but press myself against his hip while I work him over, in rhythm with my strokes, getting some much needed friction on my aching dick. I add in a second one, which earns me another low growl from the love of my life, who now tilts his head backward, neck arching in ecstasy, eyes shut.
And that’s another sight to behold. He’s so fucking sexy. So fucking gorgeous.
So fucking mine. All mine.Onlymine.
I let go of his shirt, but slide my hand beneath it. Roaming over his warm, clammy skin, I let my hand wander over those delicious clenched abs, before sliding over his chest and popping out of his collar to grip his throat firmly. His pulse beats heavy against my palm.
He swallows, mouth parting slightly, eyes fluttering open to meet mine in the mirror with so much fucking longing it’s almost too damn overwhelming before he lets his forehead fall against it again. Like the feeling of my fingers in his ass is too much to hold him upright.
He never breaks his stare though, his expressive gray eyes on mine, filled with countless specks of silver, like tiny stars scattered through an endless stormy sky, and I couldn’t look away even if I fucking tried.
The love reflected there matches my own in every damn way.
But it’s not only his eyes that captivate me, ensnare me—it’s every-fucking-thing about him, aboutthis. The way his muscles clench and unclench against me in desperate need, the little puffs of air fogging the mirror where he’s pressed against it, the stark contrast between his coloring and mine where my headnestles against his. We match, him and I, yet I do wish he would look after himself a bit more…
“You need to work on your tan,” I murmur against his neck, lips brushing gently over his feverish skin as my fingers pump and scissor inside him, opening him further until he takes the third finger easily.
He growls again, a deep, rumbling sound that’s like fucking heaven against my lips.
“Yeah, well…” he exhales, voice tight and strained with anticipation. “I can’t exactly fit a tanning salon on the tour bus, now can I?”
I chuckle against his skin—fucking brat—before removing my fingers, positioning myself, lining up perfectly and sinking into him with one firm, steady thrust.
He claws at the mirror, pushing himself up onto his toes, a breathless gasp tearing from his throat as he adjusts to my intrusion. “Oh, holy fuckingshit.I forgot how fuckinggoodyou stretch me.Jesus.” He lets out a groan as I grip his throat tighter, pressing my open mouth against his cheek with a gasping breath of my own.
“You won’t forget anymore,” I grunt, sliding slowly out of him before thrusting back in deep, getting fucking high on the languid moan that leaves him. “Because we’re going to make those Clone-a-Willys this week. So you can feel me anytime you’re missing me.”
“Fuck, yes. At least it’ssomething, right?”
I can only agree. It would never—ever—compare to the real thing, to this, but shit, it would at least feel like I’d have a part of him. A silicone, cold, inanimate part—but still. Yes, it’s something.
“Come on, babe,” he grunts, voice thick with need when I keep thrusting lazily, savoring how he feels, how perfectly he fitsaround me. “Harder. Faster. Show me what my quarterback can do.”
I give a low chuckle and carry out his command without hesitation. I release his throat, and grip his hand against the mirror as I let my hips fly, ramming into him without holding back, exactly like he asked. My other hand digs into his hip, fingers gripping hard as I kick his legs further apart, getting the angle just fucking right to take him straight to the moon.
“Oh shit, Ty— I’m gonna—” His voice breaks, breath ragged.
His cheek smashes against the mirror, mouth falling open, eyes rolling back. Oh shit—I fuckinglovethis look on him.
No one else gets to see him like this but me. Ever. Not Mick. Not any of his fucking fans. Just me.
“Ty… Ty—” He gasps my name when I thrust even harder, angling up to hit his prostate. And when the pressure builds, when heat rakes up my spine, I surge forward and capture his mouth with my own, spearing my tongue inside just as my hand slides forward, gripping his thick, straining dick, and the deep growl Jace lets out at that contact tells me the poor buddy was just dying for some attention.
All it takes is a couple of strokes before he trembles beneath me as he falls over the edge. I swallow up his cries, his gasps when he comes, painting the vanity in his cum, clenching his ass so hard I can only follow my man right after.
I snap. He unravels me. Unbinds me. Unwinds me. And I bite down on his neck, on the hickey I put there earlier today, as I brand his insides with my cum.
Mine,is what that little possessive voice in the back of my head says.
He’s fuckingmine.
I press lazy kisses against his mouth, cheek, neck, basking in the little tremors that escape him in his aftermath, in mine. Until he suddenly jerks his head up.
“Oh, shit. This is the last song.”
I strain my ears and fuck—he’s right.
Looking down as I slowly pull out of him, I can’t help but fucking shudder on a groan when a trickle of cum leaks from him, trailing down his thigh. It’s filthy. It’s perfect. It’s mine.
