Love In Slow Motion (Love Beyond Measure #2) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,93

with deliberate care. His pecs were round, his nipples small, hard, and pebbled as he rubbed them in circles with the pads of his thumbs. He was so hard he was aching, and he felt the inside of his briefs get wet with how badly he was starting to want.

He wasn’t going to last. His libido felt years younger than he was, and he was trembling with desperation to get on with it. He wanted to be touched. It had been so damned long. “I need…” he started, but his voice broke, and Ilan cupped a hand against the side of his neck.

“Will you let me do this?” Ilan asked, and Fredric knew what he was saying. Ilan wanted to take the lead, to take charge. To shoulder this burden of nerves and fear regardless of how much of his own he was keeping close to his chest.

“Yes,” he managed. He let his arms go limp, tried not to groan too loudly when Ilan’s clever fingers popped each button, one by one. The feeling of all the fabric peeling away was almost too much. He was more exposed than he’d been in so long. The air in the room was cool against his heated skin, and when Ilan’s fingers tilted his head to the side, all the breath rushed out of his lungs.

Warm lips kissed him on his neck, closed at first, then opening up little by little until Ilan was sucking at the skin just under his ear. It sent sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine—the pain of it, the ecstasy. He pushed into the touch, let himself go pliant under those strong hands as they worked the button on his trousers and they pooled at his feet.

He lifted one foot, then the other, and he was free. Ilan walked him backward with deliberate steps and stopped him with a hand at the small of his back just seconds before his backside met the bed. With deliberate care, Ilan lowered him. The bed was his, but it felt foreign—and entirely perfect. He sank into the covers, and then he arched up when a rough hand dragged down the center of his chest and stopped right at the waistband of his briefs.

“Please.” The word tumbled from his lips, unthinking, a pathetic attempt at getting Ilan to understand how much he needed to feel him.

But apparently Ilan was not the sort of man who required begging. He gave in immediately, his hand pushing past the elastic, brushing through his curls, then taking him into a firm grip that had a shout ripping from his throat.

His eyes filled with tears as he was finally—finally—touched by hands that weren’t his own. And the gentleness of it, the reverence—he had no words, only a sharp, visceral, animal need to make sure it never stopped.

He was lost in the moment when Ilan dragged his briefs away, when he was urged upward against the pillows. He only came to when a large body pressed against his. It was strange, it was terrifying. It was beauty in the most abstract form, and he could not stop touching. His hands drifted, taking in every shape, every soft curve and sharp edge and jagged corner. Ilan’s hips were cut and defined, and his cock jutted out proudly as it brushed a wet trail against his groin.

“I want,” he said, desperately trying to regain language. It was like before—when he’d woken up from the stroke and everything was just a mess of sounds, only now he could find his way through the fog because a perfect man was leaning over him and kissing his senses back into him. “I want to feel you.”

“I’m right here,” Ilan said, and it was only then that Fredric realized how much Ilan was struggling to keep himself together. His voice was shattered, rough, trembling.

Fredric reached both hands up, one curling into Ilan’s hair, the other pressing against his neck to feel that the racing pulse matched his own.

God—he’d been so wrong. So wrong to think this could go any other way except euphoria. Ilan’s hard cock pulsed against him, spilling drops of precome that smeared against his skin. He smelled rich and heady—every bit of him different than anything he’d ever known.

“I don’t think I can last,” he managed, because it was true. Ilan hadn’t touched him more than a single stroke, and he was already teetering at the brink.

He shuddered when Ilan’s laugh rumbled against his skin, and then a mouth kissed