“I think…we should try for the bed again.”
Mark let him go, dragging his hot palms over the twitching muscles of Weston’s stomach as he slowly straightened. His irises had been devoured in black, and his breath quickened enough to be hot and heavy against Weston’s neck. But it was the hunger that gleamed in the depths, the need that kept him pinned to the wall, that left him speechless.
“I get in that bed, and there won’t be any kicking me out tonight,” Mark warned. “But I promise you, Wes. It’ll be the best bloody night of your life.”
Weston appreciated that Mark was still giving him the chance to end this before it went any further. His orgasm hadn’t dampened his desire. If anything, it was sharper now, more demanding. He wasn’t perfect. He was mere flesh and blood, prone to mistakes.
