Thrown Off Track by Tamsen Parker

Author:Tamsen Parker [Parker, Tamsen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tamsen Parker

Christian

Teague is killing me. For all the times I’ve fantasized about him, I didn’t think he’d be like this. No, I pictured him having swagger and so much game it’d make my head spin. He’s making me dizzy, yeah, but from his earnest and drawn-out…I can’t call it a seduction, because that’s clearly not the point, but that’s what he’s doing to me anyhow. It’s this exhilarating mix of experience and discovery, and I hope it never stops.

No, that’s not quite true. I want him to be comfortable enough that I’ll be able to touch him at the same time as he does this, but it is kind of heady knowing that my touch has the power to fry his brain like an egg. Maybe he’s doing it more slowly—at first so slowly I didn’t even realize it was happening, the temperature on low—but he’s being so thorough my brain is baked anyhow. It’s like having my senses cooked sous vide rather than flash-fried. He’s doing such a job of it—slowly, luxuriously, tenderly making me sweat—I am boneless, except for in one very specific part of my body, which is anything but slack. No, my cock is pulsing with want.

And yet I will not grab Teague and kiss him, force him to drop his weight down onto me so I can have his ridiculous body pressed against mine. I’ll let him focus on these small actions and motions until he feels steady enough to move on. While he does, I’ll allow myself to soak in the knowledge that he’s having this experience so many people take for granted—and he’s having it with me. I don’t know if there’s a reason for his brain or his hormones or his body or whatever it is that’s kicked into gear to have focused on me or if a switch got flipped, but I like to think it’s the former, that it has something to do with me, and that makes me feel really fucking good, as does Teague.

At the moment, he’s spending an inordinate amount of time nosing and kissing and licking that delicious space right where ear meets jaw and it’s making my head swim. Swimming is right because I’m drowning in every sensory input I can glean from the small things he’s doing. Though his mouth is the one point of contact, I can still feel the heat of his body radiating off him, can still breathe in that slightly sleep-musty scent of him, hear his soft breathing as he drives me wild.

Teague moves on to my earlobe, taking the flesh first into his mouth to give it a lavish suck and then sinking his teeth into it. In an effort not to roll him onto his back and show him what for, I grip his bed linens between my fingers and hold on for dear life. Roll my head to the side so he has as much room as possible to work and try not to gasp so loudly he thinks he needs to stop.

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