Page 291 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

Screw the rest of the world. I want onlythis.

My hips buck as he lavishes sinful attention on my dick, then my balls, sucking them in his mouth while he strokes me with a tight fist, and this is not fair.

I can’t last.

I can’t survive something so good.

I don’t want this to ever stop, but I’m on the verge already.

I can’t stop moaning or saying his name. I’m a broken record panting outyesandfuckandRiver, and it’s all just so damn good. Just so intense as he returns his mouth to my dick, and my body heats to inferno levels. Then I burn even hotter as he slinks down, settling between my legs. Pushing them apart, he wraps his arms under my thighs, and tugs me even closer to his face.

River looks so insanely sexy, I think I might die from lust. He’s got me, and he’s taking me apart with his mouth.

His sounds electrify me.

His groans of pleasure thrill me.

And the tight wire in me snaps.

All those noises, all those moans, all that evidence of his need for me cuts my razor-thin hold on this moment, and I detonate.

“Coming,” I warn him. I curl my hands tighter around his head, and then I lose it.

Panting.

Breathing ridiculously hard.

Gasping for air.

And River delights, just utterly delights, in sucking the last remnants of my orgasm with a wet, loud pop.

He raises his face, his eyes wild, his lips red and bruised, his expression filthy.

“C’mere,” I say, beckoning.

River climbs up me, and I wrap my arms around his smooth back, pull him close. “BMW?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Bugatti.”

I kiss him again.

Tasting myself on his lips.

Tastingus.

And all at once, I’m both incredibly satisfied and terribly hungry for more.

This must be what it means to not get enough. That’s how I feel—like I just can’t get enough of him.

15

RIVER

“So you really do want me to become a popsicle,” I say, casting my new lover a skeptical look as we stand by the door to the deck, poised.

“I thought it was a melted popsicle,” Owen says, giving a gentle tug on the towel around my waist, but not enough to jerk it off. “Besides, it’s going to feel really good.”

“But what if I die on the way from the house to the hot tub?” I ask, pointing to the twenty feet I have to traverse in the subarctic conditions. “That feels like a real possibility.”