Victim of Love by Darien Cox Page A

I’d ever had. Likely the best I ever would have.
    When people talk about someone being good in bed they’re usually referencing skill, but it’s so much more than that, that odd thing that creates sexual compatibility. They say sex is all about chemistry, hormones and endorphins and deep, ancestral programming—the urge to merge—definitely not limited to heterosexuals.
    Beck’s chemistry was a perfect match for mine. I could feel it swirling and comingling, the same but different, attracted but in perfect opposition, heading for big bang combustion.
    “I wish we had more time,” Beck said as he nibbled behind my ear.
    “They shouldn’t be back for a while yet,” I whispered, suddenly terrified that this would all stop. I needed him to keep touching me, kissing me.
    Pushing up on his arms, Beck gave me that smile I loved. “I know, but they will be back. And I don’t want to rush things. I want to go slow and make you crazy. But if they come back before I get to fuck you, I’m going to be really, really angry.”
    I didn’t think I could get any harder, by my cock swelled at his words. “Then fuck me slow,” I said. “And make me crazy.”
    Beck’s breath hitched. “Say that again, Olsen. The first part.”
    I held his gaze, my heart banging in my chest. “Fuck me slow. But do it now.”
    Beck laughed softly, then shook his head. “Damn. Don’t fucking move.” He climbed off me and headed toward his duffle bag across the room. He looked over at me. “Correction. Don’t move aside from taking those shorts off.”
    I hooked my thumbs under the hem of my shorts, but paused before tugging them down. Beck had just peeled off his own shorts, kicking them aside, and now stood naked, his back to me as he rifled through his bag. And suddenly I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare.
    Sure, I’d already seen him practically naked when he went in the hot tub in his undies. But the vision he was stripped bare was another thing altogether. My eyes drank in the sight with awe, the way his back tapered at the waist and curved into the perfect swell of his tight ass, supported by the hard muscle of his upper thighs. I’d always told myself that I’m not superficial, that looks aren’t overly important in choosing a lover. But the truth was, I’d never been one to score the hot guy .
    I’d drooled over men I couldn’t have in the past, many of them straight. I’d mustered my courage once or twice to approach a gay man I deemed out of my league, and was always rejected. And deep down, I’d told myself I wasn’t ever going to experience the rush of being with a man I was truly, deeply, and insanely attracted to. I’d had lovers that got me off, had orgasms, but my desire for them was never more than simple affection and usually urged on by loneliness and a basic, human need for sexual contact.
    But it hit me now—this man standing before me was a hot guy , a prince. I wanted him with an urgency I’d never felt. And against all odds, he wanted me too.
    When he turned and faced me, I sucked in an audible breath. He’d rolled a condom onto his ample cock, slick with lube, but as arousing as that sight was, my eyes couldn’t decide what to look at, roaming over him from head to toe, his eyes, his lips, the curve of his hips, the whiteness of his upper thighs above his tan line.
    Beck paused, frowning, then approached the bed cautiously, looking down at me. “Ah, shit,” he said. “You changed your mind?”
    My eyes widened. “What? No!”
    His frown turned into a smile, and he pointed to my shorts. “Are they stuck?”
    I glanced down at myself, then laughed. My eyes lifted and took in the sight of naked Beck again. “I got stuck looking at you,” I said softly.
    Beck climbed onto the bed, straddling my knees. “Another good answer,” he said, then rested his hands over mine, still hooked into the hem of my shorts. “May I?”
    A long sigh escaped me and I stretched my arms over my head