Page 45 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

“I know you will,” he said. “I can always see that in your eyes.”

Another kiss. I trailed my fingers down his side in the darkness and cupped his sweet behind. I felt him move beneath my hand, his body a little tense. A sense of him waiting in the dark. I hadn’t touched another man this way since the journalist had up and left town.

“Can you—?” I asked, but he didn’t know what I wanted. So I eased myself back and splayed my hand across his hip to urge him onto his front. He let me. Trusting me. I sensed him looking at me in the dark as he rested his cheek on a pillow, arms bent above his head.

I wanted to take this slow. To make it last. Last forever. I licked my fingers and knelt above him. Traced the curve of his bottom with those fingers and gently pushed one finger intohim. His body was warm and tight. I heard a small sound of surprise, but not protest. This was all right, then.

I liked to go slowly. I always had.

Moving my finger in and out of him, a quiet motion, pressing inside him, tension on the rim of his anus. Feeling the heat build on his skin. On mine. My cock was hard, but we had all night. I told my body to be patient and focused on Dalton. How he breathed. How his body shifted as I opened him. One finger, then two. Stroking in an uneven rhythm that made his hips rise from the blanket, his breath hitching in his throat. I added another finger, going even more slowly. In and out, fingers curving up to tug on that tight curve of skin and then release.

He moaned, his breath rising like he was lost in a storm, and that was all to the good. As long as he didn’t come too fast. I wanted him to last. I wanted to fuck him good and slow, and then I wanted to suck him off, suck everything out of him until his head tipped back and he saw stars in the blackness. To give him pleasure until a shout shook through him and I had to cover it with hard kisses.

When his breath came in shudders and high-pitched sounds, I reached for the small bottle of lube and slicked my cock, cool now with the lube. Then spilled out more and warmed it between my fingers, because he deserved only warmth and sweetness, not the shock of cold gel.

I moved between his thighs, spreading them with my knees. Knelt close. Stroked his bottom, those lovely curves. Drew a line between his buttocks and pushed the skin-warmed gel inside him. Then I replaced my fingers with my cock, easing into that warmth and tightness.

More warmth grew between our bodies as I moved. Slowly. Always slowly, though my body was now screaming at me to thrust and thrust hard. He was so dear to me in that moment,though, that nothing on earth could make me go quicker than I was. He deserved all the buildup I could give him.

As I entered him fully, my weight on my elbows, my groin to his bottom, he reached back. A tender touch. A long pet along my side.

“Okay?” I asked, my voice a croak.

“Yes,” he said. “Jesus, yes.”

I moved into him. He shifted beneath me, an undulation down his spine tightening our bodies together. I kissed the back of his neck, and he dipped his chin, asking for more.

I gave him more. More kisses, damp and hot, sweet and light. On the back of his neck. The muscle of his shoulder. Anywhere I could reach while pushing into him, pulling out. I curved my back to thrust up with my hips, a small sharpness. A quick thrust. I almost couldn’t help it.

I paused.

“Go,” he said. “For the love of Christ, pleasego.”

He wanted it, then. He wanted everything. I pushed in hard, snapped out. The slick motion was audible in the dark. My body took over, did what it wanted. My ears pitched to the high keening coming from Dalton, like he’d been tossed into the wind and didn’t care that he couldn’t find the rope to pull him back.

As long as I lasted, I would do this animal thing. This fucking. This giving of pleasure to the point where holding back felt like punishment.

I came deep inside him, my hands sweaty on his shoulders, holding him tight to me. Me buried in this sweet man, this angel without wings. My breath was hot on the back of his neck, and he was breathing hard beneath me.

I pulled out, trailing cum across his thighs, and turned him onto his back. And, dear heaven, he was still hard. Like he’d waited for me. For this moment.

I took his cock in my mouth and licked the head and sucked while I gripped the base of him. His body moved beneath me, but never away. His hands were in my hair, light fingers twined through, holding me to him while I sucked on his cock and made love to it with my hands, my tongue. Saliva trailed down my chin, but I didn’t care. As long as he was pleased, that was all that mattered.

When he came, his hips lifting from the bed, I opened my throat and swallowed. Pushed my face to his groin, my nose to the curl of hair between his legs, and swallowed some more. My hands stroked his hips, his belly. I lifted my head and wiped my chin with the heel of my palm and listened to his hard breaths in the darkness.

“Okay?” I asked.

“Jesus, Jesus.” He just about moaned this as he sat up and tumbled into my arms, a beautiful, sweaty armful of beautiful man. I held him to me and breathed into his hair, pressing kisses to his temple, his cheek, before kissing that lush mouth. Thumbed the sweat from his cheeks. Or was it more?

I kissed his cheek. Tasted the moisture. It wasn’t sweat. It was tears. “What’s this?” I asked.

“Are you always like that?” he asked. His voice sounded choked.

“Like what?” I honestly didn’t understand.

“Opening doors for me. Putting me first.” He swallowed hard. “Making sure of me.”

I sat back, crossed my legs, and settled him in my arms, his head on my shoulder. This was confusing to me, but how else was I supposed to treat someone who made me feel like the sun had finally come up after many years of pure midnight?