Mack to take charge. His I’ll Be Your Last
85
penis throbbed and thickened deep inside. Always the aggressor with other men, he fucked them from behind. Face-to-face was too intimate.
Face-to-face was too profound. Son of a bitch! This isn’t intimate or profound or anything like love. No fucking way.
Mack let his angry fear lead him. He’d prove this was lust, desire for this man’s ass and cock. That’s all. It wasn’t better than any other man’s ass and cock. He pulled his hips back, biting down on his lip at the sensation, left the head of his dick poised, squeezed just inside Woody’s entrance.
“Please.”
That one begging word from Woody’s tight, straining throat roared through Mack’s body. He intended to fuck this man for as long and hard as he could, so neither would ever forget. “You’d better be ready.” He saw Woody’s lips move silently in another plea as Mack shoved back in, pumping steadily and slowly at first, then fast and frantic until he felt the liquid heat blast through the trail deep inside his scrotum to erupt from his cock in hot, powerful torrents.
Played out but still connected, Mack collapsed, trying to calm his heart rate and breathing. He didn’t worry about crushing Woody. The man was as big and strong as he was. Woody’s arms wrapped around him, legs around his calves, holding him in the first moment of peace he’d ever felt in another man’s arms.
Fuck! Got to get out of here. It was so much more than he could handle.
* * * *
Woody hadn’t missed the fact that Mack never relinquished control through the whole experience. His body ached and fizzed blissfully with what Mack and he had done, and that was all ruined by morning.
86
Jane Leopold Quinn
Mack had run away in the middle of the night. No cuddling. No sleeping over. No sleeping at all.
Woody was through with it. He didn’t know why Mack seemed totally averse to a relationship. Maybe he’d been hurt in the past.
Maybe he just didn’t care enough about Woody. After all, Brad hadn’t. Running into his former lover the night before had hurt. His pain and vulnerability had opened him to another round with Mack.
But no more. He’d mistaken Mack’s look of desire for something deeper. Just because he wanted a relationship with another man and wanted a repeat with Mack didn’t mean Mack was the right man.
The cold and damp of early morning went right through his heavy jacket. He’d wrapped the cashmere scarf, a gift from his sister, around his neck and hustled toward the station. Damn, he hated a dreary, gray day like this. It made him feel lonesome.
Before he reached the station doors, Mack’s car swung into the parking lot. Hot sex notwithstanding, Mack’s leaving afterward, every time, infuriated him. He had feelings. He had feelings for Mack, but he wasn’t going to accept being dismissed. Not any longer. If that was all it meant to Mack, then fuck him. And not in a good way.
He strode toward Mack. They would have this out before going inside. “Penchant,” he growled and ignored Mack’s wary glance. “I don’t know what you think this is”—he flipped his forefinger back and forth between them—”but apparently it means a little more to me than it does to you. I don’t know what you’re used to, but I’m not some pickup, and I don’t like being treated like one.” Mack’s gaze was stone hard.
Woody felt himself losing control. It was likely he’d say things he’d regret later, but to hell with that. “‘I don’t know exactly what happened to you in the past, but I’m not into hit-and-run relationships.” He spit the words out as quietly as he could. No one else was in the parking lot at the moment, but he still couldn’t risk someone overhearing them. “Are you that self-absorbed?” I’ll Be Your Last
87
Mack glared, lips tight, blue eyes sparkling. “I can’t give you what you’re obviously looking for. I’m not relationship material.”
“Damn it.”
85
penis throbbed and thickened deep inside. Always the aggressor with other men, he fucked them from behind. Face-to-face was too intimate.
Face-to-face was too profound. Son of a bitch! This isn’t intimate or profound or anything like love. No fucking way.
Mack let his angry fear lead him. He’d prove this was lust, desire for this man’s ass and cock. That’s all. It wasn’t better than any other man’s ass and cock. He pulled his hips back, biting down on his lip at the sensation, left the head of his dick poised, squeezed just inside Woody’s entrance.
“Please.”
That one begging word from Woody’s tight, straining throat roared through Mack’s body. He intended to fuck this man for as long and hard as he could, so neither would ever forget. “You’d better be ready.” He saw Woody’s lips move silently in another plea as Mack shoved back in, pumping steadily and slowly at first, then fast and frantic until he felt the liquid heat blast through the trail deep inside his scrotum to erupt from his cock in hot, powerful torrents.
Played out but still connected, Mack collapsed, trying to calm his heart rate and breathing. He didn’t worry about crushing Woody. The man was as big and strong as he was. Woody’s arms wrapped around him, legs around his calves, holding him in the first moment of peace he’d ever felt in another man’s arms.
Fuck! Got to get out of here. It was so much more than he could handle.
* * * *
Woody hadn’t missed the fact that Mack never relinquished control through the whole experience. His body ached and fizzed blissfully with what Mack and he had done, and that was all ruined by morning.
86
Jane Leopold Quinn
Mack had run away in the middle of the night. No cuddling. No sleeping over. No sleeping at all.
Woody was through with it. He didn’t know why Mack seemed totally averse to a relationship. Maybe he’d been hurt in the past.
Maybe he just didn’t care enough about Woody. After all, Brad hadn’t. Running into his former lover the night before had hurt. His pain and vulnerability had opened him to another round with Mack.
But no more. He’d mistaken Mack’s look of desire for something deeper. Just because he wanted a relationship with another man and wanted a repeat with Mack didn’t mean Mack was the right man.
The cold and damp of early morning went right through his heavy jacket. He’d wrapped the cashmere scarf, a gift from his sister, around his neck and hustled toward the station. Damn, he hated a dreary, gray day like this. It made him feel lonesome.
Before he reached the station doors, Mack’s car swung into the parking lot. Hot sex notwithstanding, Mack’s leaving afterward, every time, infuriated him. He had feelings. He had feelings for Mack, but he wasn’t going to accept being dismissed. Not any longer. If that was all it meant to Mack, then fuck him. And not in a good way.
He strode toward Mack. They would have this out before going inside. “Penchant,” he growled and ignored Mack’s wary glance. “I don’t know what you think this is”—he flipped his forefinger back and forth between them—”but apparently it means a little more to me than it does to you. I don’t know what you’re used to, but I’m not some pickup, and I don’t like being treated like one.” Mack’s gaze was stone hard.
Woody felt himself losing control. It was likely he’d say things he’d regret later, but to hell with that. “‘I don’t know exactly what happened to you in the past, but I’m not into hit-and-run relationships.” He spit the words out as quietly as he could. No one else was in the parking lot at the moment, but he still couldn’t risk someone overhearing them. “Are you that self-absorbed?” I’ll Be Your Last
87
Mack glared, lips tight, blue eyes sparkling. “I can’t give you what you’re obviously looking for. I’m not relationship material.”
“Damn it.”
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