Page 50 of Marked By Tank

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It does not.

It makes me ache.

I let my fingers drift lower, over the hot, hard weight of him, barely touching.

He swears under his breath.

That sound goes straight through me.

I kiss him just below his navel. Then lower still. Soft at first. Testing. Feeling the way his stomach tightens under my palm, the way his hand in my hair goes from gentle to gripping.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

I look up at him.

He is watching me with that same wrecked, hungry look he had when I walked out of the bathroom in his shirt.

Only darker now.

A little desperate.

Something about that sends a thrill through me.

I let my hand close around his cock properly this time.

He jerks under my grip, breath hissing out through his teeth.

“Julie.”

There is my name again, but this time it sounds like a warning he has already lost faith in.

I stroke him once, slow, and watch his face.

The reaction is instant.

Head falling back.

Jaw going tight.

His chest rising hard under my other hand.

A rough sound dragged from deep in him.

My whole body answers it.

I do it again. Slower. Bolder now. My thumb brushing over him the way instinct tells me to, learning from the sounds he makes, from the way his body shifts, from the way one huge hand comes down to grip the sheets like he needs something to hold onto.

“Angel,” he says, voice gone wrecked. “You keep that up and this is gonna go a real different way.”

That almost makes me smile.

Almost.

I lower my mouth to him before I can think better of it.

And the sound he makes then is the roughest one yet.

It goes straight through me.

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