Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
That’s what Torin Jensen is. An intoxicant stronger than any other I’ve had.
Ignoring my feelings for him was supposed to make things easier, but instead it’s only made me crazier and more reactive to everything he does.
And his fingers are still between my ass cheeks now, and I’m so aware of it at every moment, even as I adjust and try to find some sort of comfortable position on the balcony railing.
His silence puts me on edge.
I’m thinking pathetic things that I’m too chicken to actually say out loud: Is this how you want me? And tell me I’m doing this right?
Instead he’s holding power over me by saying nothing at all.
The trembling in my hands is slight, maybe subtle enough that Torin wouldn’t even notice it. But it's another clear signal that I’m in way over my head.
“Breathe, Noah. You're shaking.”
Nevermind.
Of course he can tell.
Great, cool, very good.
Lord I am so screwed.
The railing is cool and wet, a sharp contrast to the steady burn inside my body. I slide my hands further forward, supporting my body with my forearms on the railing instead.
Steady.
At least try to pretend you still have any ounce of dignity left.
The awning goes out far enough that at least I’m not getting rained on while I’m being utterly humiliated.
He presses his fingertips a little harder against my hole and I jump.
“Bro,” I protest, “if you’re going to give it to me raw, at least warn me first—”
But it was just another tease.
“I’m not giving it to you raw. As much as I’d love to. Chill.”
He lets his hands roam over the area and the firmer pressure feels like a violation that I already want more of. My desire for him to touch me there has been buried under a thick blanket of denial and now that it’s gone, his touch feels even more illicit.
I push my ass backward against his touch and I’m repeating silent thoughts in my mind, over and over, wishing like hell that he wasn’t so appealing.
Or demanding.
Or my fucking stepbrother, which he loves to remind me.
But he’s all of those things, and there’s no use trying to fight it anymore.
When he pushes against my hole a little again, my cock drips precum, hanging there neglected between me and the railing. I look down at Red Row and scan the familiar rain-dotted rose bushes along the edge of the yard, and the trees that line the front around the iron gates.
“I have, uh, lube,” I say. “Bottom drawer of my dresser, inside a black bag in an old cardboard box.”
Torin’s laugh is so genuine and melodic. I turn around and watch as he brings his free hand to push my hair to the side.
“You may as well put the lube in a padlocked, bulletproof safe.”
“Sorry I don’t leave condoms and dildos all over the fucking house like you do,” I utter.
The only reason I put it away was to discourage myself from random hookups earlier this year, anyway.
I was never shy about sex for a day in my life.
Until Torin.
“I keep all of my belongings in my own room,” he says. “You’re the one who waltzes in there to go through my things.”
“Shut up. I only did that once.”
“And I loved it when you did,” he murmurs, bringing his hand away from my ass and suddenly leaving me feeling very needy for more. “Be right back, after my Mission Impossible lube heist.”
Finally, I feel like I’m able to take a breather.
Missing his touch at least means that I can attempt to bring myself back from the brink of practically having a handsfree orgasm for him.
His gaze rakes across my bent-over figure and he cocks his head to one side, like he’s making a quiet decision in his mind.
Finally he nods at me. “Put your hand on your cock and don’t stop stroking it until I’m back.”
I let out a frustrated groan, dropping my head for a moment before looking over my shoulder at him again.
“I’m too…” I falter, searching for the right words. “Too excited. I’m not trying to come that fast.”
His gaze is steady. “Hand on your cock. I’m not leaving until it’s there.”
When his eyes are on me like that it’s a command all on its own, and I already know I’m going to follow.
I put one hand down to grip my dick, swallowing hard as I squeeze around it.
“And stroke,” he says, lifting an eyebrow.
I start to pump my fist along my shaft, already feeling so good that I have to squeeze my eyes shut so I’m not staring at him anymore.
“Happy now?” I mutter.
“Look at me,” he says firmly, and my eyes flutter open to meet his cool gaze. “Good boy.”
My cock pulses in the tight grip of my hand.
I should despise anyone calling me that, especially him, but fuck, it’s as if that phrase finds a new depth of arousal for me to sink into.