Free Waiting for Clark by Annabeth Albert Page A

licked all the way down, one smooth stroke from his first lumbar vertebra past his sacrum, down his crack, skating over his rim. He groaned, a noise I’d only ever heard him make when doing dead lifts in the gym, and his whole body shook.
    He drew up his knees, giving me more access. The more I teased with my tongue and mouth, the more broken noises he made, deliciously heady little grunts and muffled curses.
    “Ung. Huh. Please. ” The “please” sounded more like a command than a whine, and that was sexier than hell— listening to him beg in that deep voice of his. The noises made me a lot more… enthusiastic about this particular act than I typically was. His begging made me bolder, made me explore and try different combinations of lips and tongue and fingers to make him nuts.
    I grabbed the lube he’d tossed onto the bed and warmed some up with my fingers before working him open more, licking and nuzzling his ass cheeks at the same time.
    “ Fuck. Clark. Nuuuugggh… stop… teasing. Just go.”
    I didn’t ask if he was sure, but I took my sweet time complying, putting on the condom in between more fingering.
    “Like it fast and dirty?” I asked as I positioned myself at his entrance. “Typical.”
    “How… so?”
    “Always chasing the big rush. Even when you think you’re not.” I nipped at his shoulder as I pushed in with a smooth stroke. He wanted the burn— thank you very much to our little drunken chat for that little tidbit. I’d taken copious mental notes, and I could also read the tension in his back muscles.
    He rewarded me with a moan that might have been pulled from the depths of Mordor. He thrashed and bit the pillow, even as he pushed back onto me, filthy muffled curses spilling from his mouth.
    I lavished his back with kisses, a soft counterpoint to the hard thrusts he demanded.
    “Oh fuck. Clark.” His hands cast around restlessly, and I captured them, pinning him to the mattress with our interlocked fingers. The sheets pulled loose from the bed, but I didn’t slow down.
    “Clark. Oh Jesus. Clark. I need…”
    “I know. Take it. Right there for you.” Meaningless encouragement overflowed my mouth, interspersed with more kisses to his neck and back. I could feast a lifetime on Bryce’s shoulder blades alone.
    “Fuck me.” That moan was softer, more broken. He’d reached some deep place inside himself now, completely giving himself over, and my heart went warm and open with satisfaction that I’d done that for him— gifted him with the space where he could freely ask for it.
    And freely get it. “Always.”
    “Yes. God, yes.” His head tipped to the side, and I used my longer torso to stretch until I could press a clumsy kiss to his mouth.
    His mouth was soft and tasted salty from the sweat beading up on his face, but what really did me in was the little sigh he gave as our lips met. In that instant, my brain shifted from the “Oh my God, I get to fuck Bryce Weyland” celebration dance to the “I love Bryce, and I get to share this amazing thing with him” symphony.
    I couldn’t tell him that, couldn’t let those words tumble out, could only focus on trying to make this as mind-blowing for him as it was for me. I slowed my thrusts, trying to make it last, but he made a noise of protest, pushing his hips back against me.
    “Can you come just from my cock?” I angled my hips, trying to maximize the slide against his gland. His cockhead had to be dragging against the terrycloth, but he hadn’t made a move to free his hands. If anything, he was clutching me harder.
    “Not… sure.” He panted. And he lied. He could. I could feel it in the bunching of his back muscles, in the sweat dripping off him, in the way he met my every thrust, and the subtle flutter of his hole against every upstroke. He just wanted to be told.
    “Don’t think you have a choice.” I bit him where his shoulder and neck met, that spot that made him pliant and electrified at the same time. “Do