hand downward to fondle his balls, and Kick’s entire body went white-hot. “I rather like what I’m seeing so far.”
Kicks had never done anything like this before—not even close. His hook-ups before his injury had been short, and while they’d been good, they had never made him feel anything other than a sort of quiet release of pressure when it was over. He’d never wanted to linger, to seduce, to play. He never ached to see a smile on a lover’s face—not the way Jude was smiling at him now.
His jeans hit the floor, and he kicked them off to the side, staring down for a second at the trail of ink that went down his sternum, ending just below the waistband of his boxers. He felt oddly decorative standing in front of a man whose skin was almost entirely blank, and he didn’t know why he liked it so much, but the way Jude was looking at him like he was there as some sort of object—a spectacle—made his dick even harder.
“What now?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Turn around for me again?” It was voiced like a question, but had the air of command, and Kicks felt himself obeying without putting up any sort of fight. He palmed himself with one hand, and the other he reached up and grasped his hair, trying to arch his body a little.
He had never really doubted that he was attractive, but something about this made him feel beautiful, and it was sending bursts of alien want prickling over his skin. He wanted to be laid out, loved on, worshipped. He wanted Jude to take his time, to make him ache for it, beg for it, and then praise him when he gave up everything.
His fingers shook more, and he tightened his grip on himself.
“Wings,” came Jude’s soft reply.
Kicks’ entire body stiffened, but before he could turn, a hand touched him. He jumped, but it only lasted a second as Jude’s nails brushed just shy of too hard around the edges of his scars.
“You gave yourself wings.”
Kicks closed his eyes, relishing the darkness. “Broken wings,” he corrected. “Hawke did them after I joined the Chains. He told me to lean into my past.” He gave a whole-body twitch when warm lips pressed to the center of his spine, then moved up to the back of his neck. He felt teeth next, then a warm tongue, then Jude sucked hard.
Kicks’ body almost went limp, and he might have collapsed against the man if he hadn’t been at least peripherally aware of his injury. He locked his knees and held himself tight as Jude sucked a hickey into his skin.
“I like seeing my mark on you,” Jude murmured, speaking right against his skin. “I want to keep you like this.”
I want you to keep me, a traitorous voice responded in his head. He just managed to hold the words back, and he gave into the touch as Jude directed him toward the bed. It was easy to fall down on his stomach, to go where Jude’s hands put him. It was easy to grip the sheets and spread his thighs and arch into the mouth that dragged kisses just behind his balls.
“Tell me what you want,” Jude murmured.
Kicks couldn’t find the words because he didn’t know them. He wanted Jude to keep making him feel this way—whatever it was. Like he was soft and delicate—like he was fragile and Jude wasn’t afraid to shatter him into a million pieces. And god, the thought of that made his throat ache with need, and all he could really manage was a soft, desperate sound.
“It’s okay,” Jude said quietly. His hand painted lines down Kicks’ back, and it felt strange having someone touch his scars. He didn’t mind—he’d never really minded, but he’d just never been close enough to anyone for it to happen. “I’ve got you. I want you to trust me.”
And he did—god help him.
His hips thrust against the bed until Jude’s fingers dug into his sides and lifted him away from the mattress. His knees tucked neatly under him, his palms pressing into the mattress. He let out a sharp gasp as two fingers brushed over his hole and then teeth dug into the meat of his thigh.
“I don’t want this to be over too quickly. I want to take my time, now that we have it.”
And they did. Kicks widened his knees a little, felt himself bared a little more, heard Jude’s quiet moan