Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,80

of his wrist. Fox tasted him everywhere, mapped his body with his tongue, savored when Summer whispered his name, when he dug his fingers into Fox’s hair, when he spread his thighs until he was a portrait of beautifully luscious obscenity, when he betrayed an erogenous zone with an arch of his back and a shudder of his hips and his hard, straining cock leaking clear, tart-scented wetness from the tip, splattering against the fluxing ridges of his toned belly.

Irresistible.

Enthralling.

And Fox only hoped Summer could feel how beautiful Fox found him in every touch of lips, of hands...of desperate fingers that sought out Summer’s heat from within, that touched him just to feel how tight he gripped as Fox plunged and twisted and sought inside Summer’s body with wet-slicked fingers; he was so hot inside, like he was trying to melt Fox into him, and the way he threw his head back, the way he twined his arms together over his head and rocked his hips up into every slow thrust, the way he made those needy keening sounds when Fox slowed down to deny him then thrust hard to give him satisfaction the moment he seemed on the verge of breaking...lovely. So lovely the way Summer gave himself up with such bliss, such abandon, putting himself so wholly in Fox’s hands that Fox could have done anything to him, he thought, and Summer would welcome it no matter what.

When all Fox wanted...

All Fox wanted was to love him without feeling like he was too broken to even try without leaving Summer as empty and hollow and shattered as himself.

Please, he thought as he gathered Summer’s thighs around his hips, as he kissed his name from Summer’s honeysuckle-dripping lips, as he lifted that receptive body into his own, as he found that perfect point of heat and buried himself, melted himself, sank himself into the tight-slick fire of Summer’s flesh. Pleasure was more than pleasure, his flesh almost an afterthought of building, coiling tension when his heart was tearing itself apart, ripping itself open, destroying itself in violent shredding beats that rushed in rhythm with their flowing bodies.

As if the only way he knew how to give himself to Summer was to break himself.

And put those fragile, shattered, jagged-edged pieces into those tender hands.

Again and again, losing himself in the sheer drugging immersion that was Summer, drowning himself in the pleasure of his cries, of his grasping hands, of his rushing breaths, of his needy flesh that tried to devour Fox whole and sucked him in deeper, deeper, until his thighs turned weak and his knees shook with the sheer erotic intensity of it and Fox hardly recognized his own voice, calling out desperately as he arched over Summer and buried his face in his throat and tried to find his way to that deep place inside Summer where all of his brightness, his beauty was born. Please.

Please don’t let me ruin this.

...please don’t let me ruin him.

Chapter Fifteen

Fox, Summer thought to himself, didn’t look very well.

Maybe he was coming down with something from the few minutes they’d been out in the rain yesterday, but...he looked grayer, somehow. Sunken. Ashen, even, in the dim light filtering through the curtains, the storm still raging outside and leaving the day swallowed in gloom.

Summer tucked closer to Fox, watching his half-asleep face, his half-open eyes. “Hey,” he murmured, and pressed his palm to Fox’s brow. He felt cooler than usual, but at least not feverish. “Are you okay? Do you feel sick?”

“Tired,” Fox murmured drowsily, then turned his face into the pillows, leaving nothing but a tangle of hair flowing everywhere in dark rivers of silver-streaked black. “Not sick...just sleepy.”

Summer frowned. Fox, despite being so quiet, was such a high-energy man, always alert and ready to do what was necessary, but ever since last night...

He’d just seemed drained.

Like something vital had been sucked out of him, and Summer couldn’t help that flush of guilt that he’d...he’d just told Fox he loved him when those words were probably so damned hard to hear.

He hadn’t known what he’d expected, when Fox had already said he was so afraid to have to stay here. That Summer wasn’t reason enough to want to stay, but instead a trap when Summer’s decisions might hold him here.

That fucking hurt.

He understood. He understood in a lot of ways it wasn’t about him, but about Fox needing to run from a place that had become as much of a prison