Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Not very sanitary.”
Rafe ignored the taunt. “Show me how you touch yourself.”
“What?”
“Jerk off, finger yourself, whatever you like, but you’re not allowed to come.”
Hop’s Adam’s apple bounced. “What will you be doing?”
“Cooking. You like scrambled eggs?”
* * *
Hop barked a laugh. “Eggs?”
“Yeah, why? Would you rather have French toast?”
“No, eggs are fine. Are you seriously going to make breakfast while I’m jerking off?”
Rafe’s crooked smile was deadly. “Yep. Better get started. I want you as my appetizer.”
Unbelievable. Just when Hop thought he was one step ahead, Rafe changed the fucking game. It turned him on better than porn, better than his own damned imagination. Compared to Rafe, he was vanilla.
He was, unquestionably, already hard. All his cock needed, it seemed, was that heated stare and it became petrified wood. Rafe raised a brow at him, daring Hop to disobey. It was so sexy, Hop gripped his cock. As soon as he did, Rafe turned to rummage in the cupboard and came out holding a frying pan. Strange how the sight of it provoked such excitement—like, the fact that Rafe was doing something so mundane while Hop was spread out on the counter like a dirty tramp made the whole scene extra obscene.
He fell under the spell Rafe had created so easily. His strokes were languid and lazy because he’d already come three times and he was sensitive. But even that added to his excitement, the way being forced to endure agonizing pleasure could send you into spasms.
He tried to keep his eyes on Rafe, curious to watch him work. Plus, the guy wore boxer briefs like they were fucking couture. To say he was a work of art would not be an exaggeration. The more he touched himself, the greedier he became. Soon he no longer cared where he was or why. He propped his feet on the stools and used his free hand to tug on his balls. He wanted to lie back because his head was too heavy for his neck, and he’d die for a dildo to fill his ass, or something, anything.
God, he was empty and aching.
A frustrated moan escaped his throat, followed by Rafe’s sexy chuckle.
“Bastard,” Hop gritted out.
“Do you want cheese on your eggs? I have Monterey and Gouda.”
Cheese? Fucking, cheese? His toes curled on the hard plastic seat. “Both.”
Rafe whistled as he cooked. The sound wormed its way beneath Hop’s skin until he found himself matching his strokes to the rhythm. His was the bass drum to Rafe’s melody. His heart thundered and his eyes opened only to find Rafe watching him with a soft little curve on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.
“Almost done,” Rafe said, placing a couple plates near the stove.
The scent of onions and herbs mixed with the pungent aroma of sex, keeping the normal abnormality of the whole situation in the forefront of his mind. It was absurd. And also, perfect.
He rubbed his taint and sped his strokes as Rafe plated the eggs with the kind of deftness that only came with years of practice. It was impressive.
But not as impressive as the bulge in Rafe’s briefs.
“Breakfast is served.”
Hop wanted to laugh at it all, but he couldn’t because he was completely lost in the tide of Rafe’s wishes. So he simply panted for his master and offered himself as a carnal sacrifice.
“Please, sir.”
Rafe set the plates down far enough away that they weren’t in danger of being knocked off, and took Hop’s erection into his mouth. It wasn’t the most skilled blowjob Hop had ever received, but it was, by far, the most satisfying. Rafe’s hands roamed everywhere he could reach, twirling Hop’s nipples and squeezing his thighs. Then he entwined their fingers and held tight as Hop shattered, bucking up into Rafe’s mouth and releasing with a guttural cry.
Before he’d even had time to think, Rafe straightened. He licked his lips and said, “After that, eggs will be disappointing.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
A plate of eggs and another orgasm—for Hop—later, they were back in the bedroom tangled up in each other. Sleep was pulling Rafe under fast—he wasn’t exactly a young guy anymore and fucking took a lot of energy, even when your lover did most of the work.
All he wanted to do was slip under the covers and sleep until noon.
But there was still one more orgasm to give and only forty minutes until they needed to be out the door.
He’d been kicking his stupid pride for the better part of an hour. As much fun as it was torturing Hop like this, he knew he’d be feeling the strain for days.
Even knowing that, he wasn’t ready to give up.
He’d come this far, he might as well take it home. He nudged Hop’s calf with his foot.
“No sleeping, we’re not done yet.”
Hop grumbled and rolled away to lie on his stomach. Rafe chuckled.