Page 131 of The Wrong Man

“You’re still dressed,” he murmurs against my lips, his fingers already working at the buttons of my shirt.

I help him, shrugging out of my clothes until there’s nothing between us. Just skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat. The city lights play across his body, turning him into a living canvas of shadow and light.

His body is a revelation in the dim light. Lean and pale, dotted with freckles I want to count with my tongue. The bruises from his ordeal are visible now, purple-blue against his skin, and I touch them gently, wishing I could erase them. Just like I wish I had the power to erase every harm that has ever been done to him.

I’m too much of a coward to look at his wrists, to see if the wounds I gave him from the zip ties have scarred, if they are visible underneath the marks from his brother’s handcuffs.

“Don’t,” Dylan whispers, catching my hand. “Don’t look at them like that. They’ll heal.”

“I should have found you sooner,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. While the words I should say remain stuck in my soul. I should never have found you at all. You should be happy in your bakery, oblivious to my existence. Free from the darkness of this world.

He shakes his head, cupping my face in his hands. “You found me. That’s all that matters.”

He leans forward and kisses me. Sweet, soft lips against my own. I moan and pull him closer. All my guilt, self-hatred, and recrimination are falling away. The only things that are left are hunger and need. A desire to meld my body with this wonderful man’s and give him so much pleasure that the only thing he is capable of is screaming my name.

We tumble onto the bed. I land on my back with Dylan on top of me. Our lips still joined. All the skin of our chests and stomachs pressed close together.

He is warm in my arms. His skin is soft. His muscles are lightly defined. His body is masculine and divine. The male form made holy by his inner light. Beautiful Dylan all wrapped up in a beautiful package.

My hands drift down his back. They find his pert ass cheeks and settle there, gently cupping and holding all that peachy goodness.

He mumbles something desperate against my lips. He shifts position on top of me and suddenly our hard cocks are pressed together.

My eyes roll back as fireworks ignite in my mind.

Dylan lets out a little whimper that is the sexiest thing I have ever heard in my entire life. I adore seeing him like this. Near feral with lust. Bold enough to take what he needs.

He grinds his hips, dragging his cock along mine. Sensation swirls and blooms. It flows through me, sparking through my bloodstream.

He moves again. And again. Thrusting his hips. Frotting us together.

It’s incredible, but it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.

I surge up and flip us over, so I’m on top and Dylan beneath me. He yelps a little as his back bounces against the mattress. But mostly his eyes remain dark and wide. Smoldering with desire.

This beautiful man wants me. Despite everything, he craves and welcomes my touch. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him.

Reluctantly, I remove my hands from his glorious ass.

My left hand stretches around both of our cocks, holding them together. Two fingers of my right hand pause by his mouth. His pink lips part and he sucks me in. Hot, wet tongue caressing my fingers.

A deep groan rumbles out of me.

It’s a struggle to remember to move my left hand, but when I do, the reward is mighty. Dylan moans, his eyes roll back, and he sucks on my fingers harder.

My hand slides up and down our joined cocks. I really fucking wish we had lube, but we don’t, so I’ll just have to be slow and gentle.

My wrist works. Dylan sucks. Pleasure blooms and blooms. My cock swells and swells.

We are both leaking precum now. I catch it with a twist of my wrist and smear it down our lengths, merging us completely.

Dylan’s hips buck. His legs spread. Breathy moans escape around my fingers.

I know what he needs.

I pull my fingers out of his mouth. He makes a noise of complaint and tries to chase my hand. But he surrenders when my spit-slicked finger traces his hole.

He makes a pretty noise and lifts up his hips. He knows what he likes and he’s not shy about asking for it.