Too Stupid to Live(Romancelandia) (14 page)

Sam let Ian kiss him, because it was a novelty still and because Ian owed him. When Ian ended it, Sam was breathless. That’s what stopped him from shoving Ian back, telling him what he thought about his “parameter,” then demanding to be taken home. Ian had almost had him with that awesome sex thing, and the trust thing. Then he had to ruin it by reminding Sam of his stupid “parameter.” How the hell was he supposed to trust someone who started a relationship by saying it wasn’t one and never would be? He deserved better than just sex. He needed to tell Ian that and get out of here.

Just as soon as he caught his breath.

He let his forehead rest against Ian’s while he waited for his willpower to kick in. Unfortunately, his libido was lobbying for congress with Ian.
We can have true love later, can’t we? Someone else will come along
. His libido was thinking about the here and now, and how it would feed all his secret fantasies.
You already trust Ian some
, it argued.
Why not get what we can from someone we know can deliver?

Because I’m worth
more
than just sex
, his willpower whined.

But when it came right down to it, Sam was just as horny as the next guy. It was hard to turn down someone who promised to hand you all your sex fantasies on a platter. He could go with the (very sexy, extremely appealing) frog for now, and wait for his prince to come later, right? Frogs could be fun.

Then Ian, the evil genius, stomped all over the remnants of Sam’s will. “You know what I can’t stop thinking about? When we first got together at the party, you were walking down the hall naked in front of me. I can still see it if I close my eyes. You have the sweetest little ass.” Ian paused, moving to Sam’s ear and kissing it. “I want to bury myself in you,” he whispered against Sam’s neck. “I want to watch you taking me inside you while you ride me.”

Oh, he was
such
a bastard. Did he know compliments were Sam’s mortal weakness?

Fortitude
. He was going to open his mouth and tell Ian he could just occupy himself with the memory for the foreseeable future.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about that. At least a dozen.”

Sam nearly choked. Was Ian saying he’d . . .
fantasized
about him? Ian was the only man on the planet—the only
person
—who’d ever,
ever
done that. Sam couldn’t breathe right.
Don’t hyperventilate
. . .

Ian’s hand had somehow made its way from Sam’s wrist to his lower back, his fingers running along just inside Sam’s waistband, stroking the sensitive skin there, making breathing even harder for him. Ian pulled him closer until Sam could feel his hard dick through their jeans, all the while forcing his hand down the back of Sam’s pants and working his fingers under Sam’s briefs. Crowding his way in until he was cupping Sam’s ass, fingers tickling the curve above his thigh, then sliding in between his cheeks to find Sam’s guiche piercing and play with it. Sam made a sobbing sort of gasp, gripping the sides of Ian’s head, not sure when he’d grabbed him at all. “I owe you, Sam,” Ian whispered. “I promised you I’d fuck you.”

Sam exhaled slowly, trying to get his lungs under control. “I need to take a shower.”

What was one more night of slutdom, in the grand scheme of things?

Sam was hallucinating; had to be. He’d been wandering so long in a sexual desert that he’d stumbled into some kind of lust-fueled mirage, because it
could not
feel this amazing to have Ian kissing him, flattening him on the bed with his naked body. Sex didn’t feel this amazing except in romance novels. Or—hopefully—with his One True Love.

Ian was not his One True Love.
Remember that
.

Maybe Ian was his One True Fuck. Sam groaned. Ian chuckled into his mouth, still kissing him. All Sam could do was alternately grip Ian’s head or his shoulders, arching up into him and craning his neck, trying to keep their mouths together when Ian pulled away.

“Roll over,” Ian whispered.

Sam let his head fall back, staring stupidly at Ian. What? Why did he want—oh. He bit his lip and a shiver curled its way down his spine. He rolled onto his stomach.

Ian’s hand stroked his shoulders and his back, palms flat against Sam’s skin. He pulled himself closer, then draped himself half over Sam, planting one hand on the bed in front of his face and whispering into his ear. “You need a safeword.”

Sam’s whole body went rigid. He did? He’d never had one with Marley.

Like that’s some kind of recommendation
.

“I don’t expect you’ll need it tonight, but you should pick one.” Sam watched the muscles in Ian’s hand and forearm straining as he held himself up. The muscles flexed when Sam remained silent, then he felt the heat from Ian’s cock and its soft skin on his lower back. He gasped.

That gasp broke the dam—he could speak again. “Like what?”

“Whatever you’d like.” Ian slowly started moving again, pushing up until his dick was stroking the muscles along Sam’s spine.

Sam’s eyes drifted shut, completely seduced by that feeling. Like being tickled with sex. “Grapefruit,” he mumbled thoughtlessly.

Ian finally lowered himself on the other side of Sam, chuckling. “Why does everyone pick food?”

Sam’s eyes flew open. Everyone who? How many people had Ian been with that had needed a safeword? Then Ian kissed the back of his neck and down his spine, and Sam decided he didn’t need to know.

Ian was a slow lover. Sam felt every caress, got the most sensation possible out of it, leaving him pretty sure this was the Death by Chocolate version of sex. Ian acted amused by his moans and groans and gasps, but Sam couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. By the time Ian snapped open the lube, Sam no longer cared that this was just sex, or that Ian might have been with hundreds of other guys. He didn’t think anymore about how his body looked or whether Ian was really turned on or faking it (but seriously, how could anyone fake something that hard?).

When Ian pushed inside Sam with his lubed finger, Sam thrust himself back onto it, but Ian whispered for him to hold still. He managed it, but when Ian slowly and carefully worked in a second finger, Sam couldn’t stop his moaning, or the rocking of his hips, and Ian—predictably—chuckled.

Ian’s fingers made him twist and finally break down. “Ian, please.” Sam groaned as Ian eased out, then back in, going farther. “Please. Wanna be full.”

“Full of my fingers?”

“Want you to fuck me,” Sam whined. He clutched the sheets, half on his stomach, one leg hiked up nearly to his chin. Would Ian notice if he snuck his hand down to his dick? He moaned louder as the head of his cock made contact with the sheet.
High thread count, combed cotton
. Sam thrust against the bed.

Ian loomed over him, and then the fucker crooned, “Kiddo, are you being bad and humping the sheets?” while his fingers twisted and stroked inside Sam.

“Gaaawd.”

Ian laughed again. “No, just Ian, but you can call me whatever you need.”

“That’s an overused—” he broke off to gasp “—joke.”

Ian pulled his fingers out. He was gentle, but he left Sam suddenly bereft and motionless in horror.

Then he heard the condom wrapper. “OhthankGod,” he breathed.

“Thank Ian.”

“Thank you, Ian.”

“Oh, you’ll thank me, Sam.”

Oh, please. Let it be worth thanking this egomaniac for.

Suddenly Ian moved away. Sam looked over his shoulder to see him sitting against the headboard. Ian patted one thigh. “Straddle me, facing the foot of the bed.”

Part of Sam cringed, but his cock leaked out pre-cum as he got on his knees over Ian, feeling Ian’s hands trail across his guiche, then his hole, finally resting on his hips. “You’re gonna ride me, Sam.”

God, he fucking hoped so.

Ian’s fingers dug into his hips, guiding him down until he could feel the head of Ian’s cock pressing against him, pushing in.

Whimper
.

“Anyone ever tell you how tight you are?”

As tight as your voice
? “It’s been mentioned,” Sam panted.

Ian laughed again, and Sam vibrated with the sound. Then it was all about getting lost in a haze of sensation, working himself onto Ian’s cock, stroking the hotspots inside with the perfect made-for-it tool until Sam was sitting fully on Ian’s groin, against his skin and wiry hair. Ian’s hand circled his throat like a collar and leash.

Sam reached down and found Ian’s balls, fondling and rubbing them against his own. They were tight, but still long enough to play with—so much bigger than his ever got. Ian
hmmm
ed and gripped Sam’s hip harder.

Sam didn’t know how Ian could stay still like that. He himself was having difficulty with it, his muscles throbbing from Ian’s cock inside him. He tried rocking forward.

“Stop.” Ian’s hands tightened, one on his hip and the other still at his throat. Sam took in a shuddering breath, quivering with the effort of holding still.

“Lean back on your hands.”

Oh, God, that just changed all the angles. Sam’s elbows shook against Ian’s ribs as he planted his hands on pillows on either side of Ian’s waist. He could feel Ian’s breath in his hair, coming fast. “That’s good, kiddo. Now fuck yourself on my dick.”

He wished he had words to describe the feeling when he lifted his hips and Ian’s head moved inside him. He described it instead with a soft grunt that formed in the back of his throat every time he pushed himself down. But that glide and drag when he lifted his hips almost felt better. No, shoving himself down, filling himself, that felt best. Or maybe it was feeling the pressure ease, but then he just ached to be stretched again.

Ian’s fingers around his throat were so hot, capturing him, but not controlling their rhythm. He got lost in riding Ian, didn’t even remember his dick until Ian’s hand wrapped around it, making Sam’s tempo stutter. Ian started a slow, twisting stroke. “You’re making a lot of noise,” he panted in Sam’s ear.

“Sorry.”

Ian slipped his hand up from Sam’s neck and covered his mouth.

Sam was pretty sure he thrashed then, and he knew he was yelling against Ian’s palm, feeling Ian’s cock thrusting hard, forcing the intrusion while his hand corkscrewed on Sam’s dick.

Sam let go. Came all over Ian’s hand and his own stomach, elbows giving out, muscles beyond his control, exploding from ass to dick with sensations shooting down his legs. The room went gray, his whole world pooling somewhere in his balls and spilling out.

He collapsed, draped all over Ian, dimly aware Ian had come. He groaned and let his head roll on Ian’s shoulder, twitching occasionally, until Ian forced a hand between their bodies and gripped the base of his dick and, presumably, the condom. Then Sam made himself flip over, off of Ian and onto his stomach on the bed. He twitched on the sheets while his cum soaked into the zillion-thread-count, Egyptian long-staple cotton. “Laundry,” he mumbled.

“’Zat all you can say?”

“Uh-huh.” Sam tried to nod, but it was a no-go.

“Guess I’ll consider it a compliment that I fucked you senseless.”

Sam giggled. Then he dropped right into sleep.

Ian chased him all over the bed during the first half of the night. Sam hadn’t slept more than an hour before Ian was shoving him off the edge. His heart sank at the thought that Ian didn’t want him there, but when he tried to get up to move to the couch, Ian grabbed him and hung on.

“Ian?”

Ian snored in response. He was asleep? Seriously? Sam managed to crank his head around far enough to see. If Ian was faking sleep, he deserved props for the drooling.

After the third time Sam woke up to find Ian squeezing the life out of him, he couldn’t avoid the conclusion that Ian was a sleep cuddler. Crazy. He didn’t
look
like a sleep cuddler; he looked like two weeks was his idea of long-term commitment.

The snuggling wasn’t bad—very nice actually. The problem was the way Ian kept Sam balanced right on the edge of the mattress, in constant danger of going over. The fourth time Sam woke up—when Ian’s hold loosened and he went tumbling off the bed—he crawled around to the other side and got in, scooting up behind Ian and wrapping an arm around him.