He shakes his head. “Nope. Don’t care. And I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
He pays the bill and rises, an impressive impression in his trousers.
Well, I’m not complaining about that.
In the hotel, the elevator doors close, and we crash into each other. Fitz pushes me to the wall and kisses me hard. “You wind me up, make me feel wild,” he murmurs when he breaks the kiss.
“You want me to drive you wild.”
“I do, Dean. I really do.”
This confirmation is necessary. Necessary for me. I need this verbal upper hand with him. It keeps me safe, protects me from the storm. Because it’s a powerful one with Fitz, and part of me wants to be pulled into the eye of it.
A minute later, he slams the door of his room shut, and we collide. His hands are on my face, and mine are on his trousers, gripping his erection through the fabric.
Fitz groans his appreciation, then drops his hands to the hem of my shirt, tugging at it. We separate, and I unbutton it quickly, jerking it away as we toe off shoes and socks. Then I yank him toward me again, kissing him hard and rough, the way I know he likes it already. I walk him to the bed, stroking his insistent hard-on as I go, savoring the hot, hard length of him. He undoes his shirt, and I want to spend hours admiring his ink, tracing each tattoo with my tongue, but there will be time for that later. We reach the edge of the mattress, and I grab the zipper of his trousers, needing to get them off him right fucking now. “All right, Mr. Rules Are Made to Be Broken, let’s see if your money is where your mouth is,” I taunt.
Fitz laughs. “Oh, I think your mouth will like it all.”
When I strip off his clothes, boxer briefs too, my eyes don’t just like what I see. My entire fucking body craves it.
His cock salutes me, thick, hard, and eager to make my acquaintance. My palm reaches for him, curling around his shaft. The second I touch him, I’m rewarded with a throaty gasp, the sound of his lust sending a sharp jolt of pleasure down my spine.
“You drive me crazy,” he rasps out.
“Yes, I can tell.” I squeeze his dick, grinning as I run my hand along its length. I savor the feel of his arousal and the noises he makes too, as I indulge in the rush of touching him.
“So fucking crazy that you need to get down on your knees right the hell now.”
I arch a brow. “Oh, I do, do I?”
“You want to,” Fitz corrects as he pumps his hips, thrusting into my hand, so damn eager for me. His lust is like a drug, and I want another hit of it, of him. “You know you want to, Dean.”
With my other hand, I give his balls a squeeze, then I drop my hand to my length, steel under my clothes. “Hmm. What do you know? Seems I do.”
He narrows his eyes and sinks onto the bed, jerking me to the floor, keeping my hand on his cock the entire time. Spreading his legs, he grabs my jaw, bringing me closer.
I’d like to take him in my mouth right now. Draw him to the back of my throat and show him what I can do to him. Almost as if I want to punish him with pleasure for making me break this one rule. As if I want to prove to him why I gave in.
Or maybe I want to prove it to myself.
Need to prove it to myself.
But I don’t want to stop toying with him. This game Fitz and I play, this teasing—it’s far more fun than any other game. And I don’t want to relinquish playing. I bend my head closer, drawn by the heady smell of him, the feel of him. My mouth waters, but I resist wrapping my lips around his shaft, kissing his thigh instead.
“Mmm . . . and you say you like everything I do. So, do you like this?”
I lick a path up the inside of his leg, teasing the hell out of him, resisting, with my evidently iron will, his thick, hard cock I want to suck.
He shudders, grabbing my face with both hands, his voice a barren, demanding plea. “Just get your mouth on me and stop talking.”
I narrow my eyes, then move closer, my jaw brushing against his pulsing length. “But I thought you liked my accent.”
“I love it except when blow jobs are hanging in the balance.”
My lips twitch in a grin. “Well, maybe you ought to give me one. That would be the best of both worlds.”
“Come to think of it,” he says, and before I even register what he’s doing, the man moves with the speed and grace of an athlete—of course—jerking me up from the floor, pushing me down on the bed, tearing off my clothes, and dropping his mouth down on my dick.