Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“No. I really shouldn’t.”
Amani said nothing. Yet the taunting curve of his mouth spoke to Vic, to some ignored and hungry thing inside him, something that asked if he knew himself at all when ever since he had met Amani, ever since the fey, wild thing had lilted words such as dominance and submission, craving and deprivation, surrender and gratification, the pleasure in denial and the freedom in complete abandon of control…
Vic had been fascinated, this thing building inside him like the answer to an unasked question.
Without realizing it, he’d dipped further toward Amani, drawn in by his whisper-soft scent, by the feathering touch against his chest, by the warmth and grace of his body—but now he stopped, as Amani teased huskily, “You going to do it, straight boy?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I haven’t kissed a straight boy since high school.” Slim fingers spread, splaying against Vic’s chest, stroking upward with a touch as confident as if Amani were already so very certain that he could and would possess Vic, toy and tease his secrets from him, expose and own his buried inner self. Amani tossed his head, his hair flowing gracefully around his shoulders and down his chest. “He wasn’t when I was done with him. You ready for that?”
Yes, that hidden thing inside Vic cried, winding the strings of his body shiver-tight with a heady and breathless anticipation, tingling his mouth with the longing for a phantom touch, but he only rumbled, “I’m curious.”
“Then do it,” Amani whispered, as hot, knowing fingers curled against the nape of Vic’s neck, collared him…and drew him down toward Amani’s waiting lips.
No hesitation. He’d thought he would balk at kissing a man, but the moment Amani’s mouth touched his he lost all trepidation and fell into the lush, soft pressure of those lips against his, groaning in the back of his throat as he caught the first taste of him: a deep, wild thing, smoky and hot, rolling over Vic like the first heady vapors of sweet-sharp whiskey and leaving him just as drunk.
He leaned in harder, craving more—only to catch his breath as Amani’s fingers wove into his hair, curled, gripped up a handful, and pulled just enough to rein him in. Just enough for him to feel it, pleasant prickles and tingles sinking down to his scalp and pouring over his entire body in echoes against his skin. Amani held him just tight enough to maintain control; just tight enough to leave Vic frozen, heat sparking through him in sharp shocks, debilitating waves that left him weaker and weaker, gasping shallower and shallower, as Amani showed him what it meant to submit.
Vic had always expected that dominance would be about force, about strength, about brutality and pain—yet Amani kissed him with a slow, deep-searching certainty that coaxed him with gentleness, that seared him with lingering heat, that overwhelmed him with luxuriant strokes of friction and pleasure and slow-melting intimacy. That pretty mouth controlled him not by forcing him to accept Amani’s kiss, but by making him need the velvet touch of knowing lips so deeply that everything in his body turned powerless and willingly gave over in complete surrender.
He wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready for the way he went boneless, as slim fingers tightened in his hair just enough for a delicious tingle of pain, drawing him down. Wasn’t ready for the way his knees slowly gave beneath him, giving in to that gently commanding pull as he sank down, down, and Amani’s mouth followed him all the way. The way Amani kissed could only be described as luscious, a thing of wet, heated slickness and slowly penetrating invasion that promised Vic would show every inch of himself to this man, bare every part of his body and soul, give himself over to be known and touched and needed and caressed.
And as his knees struck the floor, as his cock pulsed and roused and surged to dripping hardness, as Amani’s tongue slid along the length of his and left him gasping in shallow pants, he trembled and grasped desperately at Amani’s slender, subtly curving hips as he leaned in deep and completely let go. He didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to maintain control. Didn’t have to do anything but let Amani guide him, take him over, show him with such warmth and sensuality what his brand of dominance tasted like.
He didn’t feel like himself—and yet he felt more fully himself than he ever had, the plying strokes of Amani’s kiss refusing to allow any illusions, refusing to let Vic come to him with a false face. There was only the naked, vulnerable truth of himself, and that naked, vulnerable truth was a shivering and quiet thing who could only exist in this breathless space between them, as the pressures of the world fell away.