Page 25 of To Have and To Hold
Slade unlocked the front door and led the way inside. Atticus followed, taking a deep breath.
The house was exactly as he remembered it. Clean and tidy, just like Slade. It smelled good, too.
“So … uh…” Slade said, closing the front door.
Atticus turned to look at him.Reallylook at him for the first time in weeks. He let the memories rush back, overwhelming him. He’d missed this man. Missed his handsome face and his drool-worthy body and his sexy voice and his intoxicating scent. It wasn’t supposed to be that way, Atticus knew, but for the life of him, he couldn’t help himself. He’d developed a severe case of lust when it came to Slade Elliott.
Because of that, he needed to clarify something.
“Are you and Carson in a relationship?” he asked.
Slade frowned. “No.”
“Good.” He hadn’t meant that the way it sounded because it only complicated his feelings for Slade and Carson, but for now, it allowed him to do what he wanted to do.
He took a step closer to Slade. Then another. And another. The gap between them diminished while the heat churning in his veins intensified. Atticus reached for him as though he had every right to do so, drew his head down, and kissed him.
Slade didn’t miss a beat.
The kiss went nuclear.
The tension from the past few hours exploded in a fiery ball as their tongues collided. Slade grabbed him, jerking him close, holding him there as their mouths mated.
It was just like that night, only hotter and more urgent.
“Jesus fuck,” Slade growled softly. “I’ve missed you.”
Atticus didn’t trust his voice, so he didn’t respond. He simply kissed Slade again, shoving him backward. It took effort because Slade was a big man, but he relented until Atticus had him against the wall. He shoved his hands beneath Slade’s shirt, seeking the hard, muscular body beneath, desperate and eager to experience what he’d denied himself. He hissed as soon as his palms found that smooth, warm flesh.
Ah, God. His lust skyrocketed a few million degrees as he touched Slade. His body heated, his blood rushed faster, detouring south, filling his cock and making him throb with anticipation.
Slade did the same, his hands roaming, only he managed to get Atticus’s shirt off, tossing it to the floor. He appreciated the fact Slade didn’t want to talk this to death. Atticus was too far gone, too hyped up on the adrenaline that came with his immense attraction to this man.
Atticus hadn’t meant for things to go in this direction, but now that they were, he wasn’t about to call a halt. Four weeks of fantasies had turned him into a sex fiend, and he damn sure wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. Of course, it helped that Slade took over at that point, moving Atticus backward with far less difficulty than it had taken him. The next thing he knew, he was flat on the couch, Slade looming over him, looking like one of those Greek god statues with his hard, beautiful body.
Slade kissed him again, but he didn’t linger, his mouth dragging downward over Atticus’s neck, his chest.
Atticus gasped at the torrent of sensation that assaulted him. He couldn’t speak, but he palmed Slade’s head, urging him to continue as he sucked and bit his nipples, sending shards of pleasure/pain through his bloodstream.
Heat blazed through every fiber of his being as Slade jerked at the button on his jeans. Seconds later, his cock was free, and Slade’s hot mouth enveloped him.
“Fuck!” Atticus’s hips lurched off the couch as Slade took him to the root.
Atticus lifted his head, staring down his body so he could watch Slade deep-throat him. His expression was savage, thrilling Atticus even more because the lust he saw glittering in his brown eyes was potent. Slade still wanted him.
Slade worked Atticus’s cock with his tongue and lips until Atticus thought he would explode. As though he knew he was dangerously close to reaching Atticus’s tipping point, Slade stopped just before detonation. He was on his feet then, yanking Atticus’s shoes off, then ripping his jeans from his body.
“Come here,” Slade ordered as he unbuttoned his jeans. “My dick wants your mouth.”
A lot had changed in the past four weeks, but not Atticus’s desire for this man to control him. He loved that aggressive bark, the forceful hand that tangled in his hair when he knelt on the couch in front of Slade. In one brutal thrust, Slade’s cock filled his throat, but then he retreated slowly, fucking himself into Atticus’s mouth as though savoring every stroke.
Atticus inhaled the musky, clean scent of him as he bobbed on his dick. He relished the smooth, silky skin as it brushed over his lips. In and out, deep and slow.
“I need to fuck you,” Slade growled. “Fuck, Atticus. I need to be inside you.”
Atticus didn’t have time to speak before Slade manhandled him so that he was bent over the back of the couch, his knees still firmly on the cushions. Slade stumbled as he undressed completely, then moved in behind him, his hot, hard body pinning him in place.
He heard Slade spit in his hand, using his saliva as a lubricant, and a second later, the blunt head of Slade’s cock was pressing against his hole.
