Page 63 of Dressed to Kill
"I should fuck you on the sofa where he sleeps. I should fuck you on the table where he eats. In the shower where he—"
"Aye, I get it. Ye want to get revenge on your brother or fuck me proper then?"
"Shut your mouth, Fin. Or use it for something better than talking."
"That a threat?"
"It's an order."
"Aye, sir," I said, just to watch his jaw tic, and got my mouth shut for me when he yanked my underwear down and swallowed me to the root.
The clever words in my head died. All of them. Aleksi had no finesse, and he didn't need any, just the heat and the wet of his mouth and that big hand splayed flat on my belly holding me to the table edge so I couldn't drive up into it the way my hips wanted. He pinned me there and took me at his own pace, and the not being allowed to move was its own kind of ruin. I gripped his hair with my good hand.
"Greedy fuck," I got out. "Three weeks ago ye didnae ken what to do with another man's cock and now look at ye. Cannae get enough, can ye?"
He pulled off long enough to drag his tongue up the underside of me, eyes coming up dark. "You've ruined me, Fin. You're the worst thing I could ever want, and I can't stop wanting you."
Then he closed his lips around the head and sucked, and I lost the thread of what I'd been smug about.
He worked a hand up the inside of my thigh and forced two fingers into my mouth without breaking rhythm. I moaned and sucked on them, knowing full well where they were going. He pulled the fingers from between my lips with a wet pop and slid them back until he could press into my hole. There was nothing gentle about it either. He didn't bother wasting time with a single finger and went straight to stretching me out to take him.
"Christ, Aleksi, you impatient bastard," I hissed, and he chuckled as he bobbed up and down on my cock. "Ye animal. We've a bed twenty feet—"
"You'll take it here," he growled. "This is my house. I'll fuck you where I want."
He pulled his mouth off me and stood, and the loss of his heat had me chasing it like a fool. He kept his fingers in me while he rose, working them, and used his free hand to turn me by the hip until I was facing the table. He bent me over it. The wax and the awl rattled in their tray by my ear.
"Mind the leather," I got out.
"Mind your mouth." He kicked my feet wider. I went down onto my forearms. He freed himself behind me, and I heard him spit, and then he was pressing in.
He gave me no quarter. He'd stretched me roughly, and he took me the same way, one long shove that drove the air out of me and bent me flat to the table. I bit down on a sound that'd have the doorman running in to check.
"There." His hands closed on my hips, both of them, hauling me back onto him. "That's how you wanted my cock. Not the bed. Here. Don't lie to me now."
"Wasnae—" He rolled his hips, and the word turned into something with no dignity in it. "Wasnae lying. Move, ye great Russian bastard, or I'll—"
Whatever threat I'd had left me on the next thrust.
He set a pace that wasn't kind. The table took it, legs grinding the floor, the tools chattering in the tray, and I gave up holding still and let him have it the way he wanted. The good hand found the table's edge and held. My breath came out of me in pieces.
"Say the rest of it," he said behind me, low, the words coming on the rhythm. "You'll what."
"Cannae remember." I'd not the air for cleverness. "Ye fucked it out of me. Happy?"
His hand came up the line of my spine and pressed flat between my shoulders, holding me down to the wood, and the bend of it changed the angle and lit me up from the inside out. I made the undignified sound again and didn't care who heard it now.
"Aye, there—" I got out. "Right there, ye—Christ. Don't ye dare go gentle on me."
"When have I ever?" He hauled my hips back to meet him, hard, and the next words went the way of all the others.
He kept the pace until I'd nothing left to be clever with, and then he kept it past that. The tray went over the edge somewhere and clattered across the floor, and neither of us spared it. My granddad was turning in his grave. I'd grieve the spilled work later. Right then, there was only the wood under me and the weight of him over me and the heat building low and mean.
"Say my name," he said against the back of my neck.
"Aleksi—" It came out broken. He'd earned it.
His fist closed around my cock and he started to jerk it roughly. At the same time, his teeth closed on the shell of my ear. Then he pushed me flat against the table and slammed into me again and again, chasing his release.
