Page 45 of The Lockdown Mann

His hand slides up my T-shirt, a big, warm hand flat against my stomach. His hands feel different than they did when we were younger—more skilled, yes, but also larger, stronger, more confident.

“Can I take this off?” he asks against my mouth, then nips at my bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth.

“Fuck yes.”

Des pulls back just enough to tug it over my head, and then his mouth is on mine again, kissing me like he has something to prove, like it’s a competition he’s destined to win.

His hands run all over me—up and down my arms, my stomach, my chest. He grabs my pecs, squeezes them, then rubs his calloused thumbs over my nipples.

“Fuck,” I grit out, dropping my head against the door.

“You like that, Oak?”

“Yes.” I reach down, cupping his dick through his track pants and stroking his long, thick length.

Des bends forward and bites my pec. A jolt of pleasure shoots through me as I nearly vibrate out of my skin.

He looks at me and grins. “I see you like that too.”

“It’s all right,” I lie.

He chuckles. “It’s better than all right. You’re panting, and I haven’t even touched your dick yet. I like to take my time.” And then, without me really knowing what he’s doing, Des grabs my arms and tries to lift them over my head.

I fight with him, not letting him just have his way with me, trying to twist us around so he’s the one with his back against the door.

“It’s like that, is it?” he asks.

“You know it is.” The second the words pass my lips, I’m slamming my mouth against his. We grapple while we kiss, both of us fighting for dominance. My dick feels like it’s going to burst out of my jeans, but I ignore it, pushing him back against the opposite wall, slamming his back against it and taking his mouth.

We keep going like that—kissing and fighting, both of us wanting control, and fuck, it is the sexiest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t know I would like this, and hell, maybe I wouldn’t like it with anyone else, but it feels like the way it’s supposed to be with Des.

His hands are on my hips—holding, squeezing—and when he presses his palm against my bulge, I hiss into his mouth.

It’s exactly the distraction Des needs to manhandle me against the wall again, grabbing my arms, holding them over my head, and then he does the wildest fucking thing, something no one has ever done to me—which I guess makes sense, because the only people who could have ever done it are him or Ree—and buries his face in my pit. He inhales a deep breath, bites at the sensitive skin on the underside of my arm.

“Holy fuck,” jumps out of my mouth.

He pulls back and looks at me. “Good?”

“Fuck yes. Do that again.”

“Gladly.”

Des moves to my other arm, treating it with the same exploration—licking and sucking on skin that’s never known a mouth before. He works his way up my shoulder, flicks his tongue across my collarbone, then my Adam’s apple, before going back to my pit.

It’s like he wants to taste every inch of me, wants to discover if my skin tastes differently in some places than it does in others.

He works his way down my torso, tracing the dips and valleys of my abs.

Des kneels in front of me, my bulge close to his mouth but not close enough. I’m dying for it. Dying for him. Dying for this experience, for the fluttering and tingling beneath my skin to grow and grow until I can’t control it.

I want to lose control, want Des to make me do it, because this is all so fucking new. “Suck me,” I tell him.

“You want my mouth?”

I grab the back of his head, pull him closer to me, try to take what I want, what I know Des wants to give me. “Don’t make me wait. Let me see you put that mouth of yours to work.”

“How can I say no to that?” He starts out by mouthing me through my jeans, sucking on the growing bulge beneath him, rubbing his face on it, inhaling deep breaths.