And there, among everything else stowed away in parts of his mind he couldn’t (or wouldn’t bother to) reach—lest he become distracted—was the whispered curiosity, Did I wait too long?
Because their lips had barely locked for half of a second before a tidal wave of that overwhelmingly devastating heat cascaded over him, head to toe, relentless and lacking all mercy. The threads of this immaculate web he’d been weaving since first he set eyes on Rody began to fray under the blaze. Strings came loose, unwound from their knots around his fingers, alarmingly close to slipping if not for Vincent maintaining the mind to clutch them tighter—reflected, too, in the grips at both Rody’s neck and wrist. This starvation drove him mad, coaxed forth a feral, visceral response from that contact alone, and if he was not careful . . .
Two ravenous animals at play here. As anticipated (and contrived) as Rody’s response was, it still yanked on every piece of Vincent in just as swift of an instant; certainly, he was but a man wittingly stepping into the undertow and expecting not to drown. And he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Even when a groan laying bare a shared, needy hunger between them shot a charged heat straight down Vincent’s spine, thickened a smog of desire in the mind once clear and set on every direction, every step, every minuscule tactic he had up his sleeve—ready to bring this man to pieces. He barely managed to stifle a responding trill in his throat, what instead leaked out of his nose on a much-too-contented sigh while Rody yielded to him. Responded to him. Showed him just how insane this was driving him.
A peculiar thing, the way something as small as a kiss could render one an absolute fool of desperation. Of greed. All manner of decorum extinguished in no time at all. And while it was nothing short of easy to claim that much for Rody, it was not all that outlandish on Vincent’s part, as well. Which would be the excuse for his . . . delayed response to that one rule being broken.
Because what should have been a touch that felt like a brand—that felt like a slight against a man who strove for nothing but complete control, who bristled when a finger brushed his skin without express permission—was instead received with initially alarming grace. (Alarming for himself, that is . . . once he noticed what was happening.) It felt natural when it shouldn’t. (Or should it?) In the throes of passion, it was a footnote: something that ignited the faintest flutter in his ribcage but was otherwise drowned before it could fully bloom. And for an impressive few seconds, Vincent didn’t react.
But he came up for breath eventually. He broke from Rody’s lips on a heavy, gravelly exhale, and for the first time since rewarding what had been obedience so far, Vincent remembered his own body. He took stock, awareness sifting through that temporary delirium until the sensation of warmth on his jaw fully registered. Then, the response was like a gunshot. Some form of indignance reared within him, a jolt through his entire system that he only just successfully controlled enough to not show. And with that practiced control—again, frayed at the edges—he languidly sat upright.
Deliberately, Vincent leaned his weight back, officially claiming what could be considered a seat right there atop Rody’s thighs—granting him, it would seem, that wordless desire to be properly straddled. And oh, yes, he felt the excitement. Moreover, he tested it with the slightest roll of his hips before fully settling.
Good.
He’d be addressing more of that soon. But first—
Vincent didn’t pull away from that ill-advised touch, yet. In fact, before Rody’s hand had the time to drop back to his side, he went to hold it in place himself, thin fingers wrapping with deceptive gentleness around his wrist. He contemplated, pinning the other’s gaze with his own unwavering stare while turning his face toward Rody’s palm. “Rody,” came a soft, breathy utterance, muffled against that hand as he trailed his lips further down. “I gave you one rule. Remember?” Still, he didn’t break eye contact as he wet the skin above his pulse with his tongue, hot exhale chasing it. Vincent paused, a weighted stillness filling the air before he eventually tugged that hand off his face.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
