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“I’m a psychopath,” Atticus blurted.
“I’m a Scorpio. I still like banging dudes.”
“I—” Atticus stopped then. “I don’t know what to do with ...
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wider. It was always the buttoned up ones that were freaks in bed, and the whole way home, Jericho couldn’t stop picturing himself taking the man apart a piece at a time until he was shivering and begging to be fucked. He bet, with just the right amount of pressure, his little ginger psychopath would do dirty, dirty things for him.
“I’m just hoping he fucked him before he killed him, not after. Once you cross that line, you don’t come back.”
“Did you fuck Bigfoot?”
“Does anybody else know how you sound when you moan my name, when you beg me to fuck you, how your eyes get all cloudy when I tell you to open up for me?”
Jericho wanted to own Atticus. To keep him. To protect him. He wanted to be his safe place to land. Wanted Atticus to be as vulnerable out of the bedroom as he was inside it.
“You’re wet. Were you fingering yourself, Freckles? Were you getting yourself ready for me?”
jesus christ
“Are you already wet for me? Could I just push right in? No prep? Could I fuck you right here against the door? Is that what you want? Is that what you were thinking about when you were fingering yourself open for me?”
Jericho smirked as Atticus made a happy noise in his sleep. He loved being touched, craved it even. He’d never fucking admit it, but he couldn’t hide the way his body responded when Jericho so much as brushed up against him, always wanting more, even if he refused to admit it.
“I’ve been thinking about this—about you—all day. Thinking about stripping you down, spreading you open, burying my tongue inside your tight fucking hole, watching you flush and stammer and grumble the whole time until you gave me what I wanted, until you were so desperate and needy you’d beg for my cock, beg for me to fuck you, use you, claim you…breed you.”
It was so obvious that he loved Jericho’s praise, his approval, his words. That he needed to please him. It spurred him closer to orgasm.
“When you’re sleeping, you don’t hide how bad you want it. Your body knows you belong to me. When I slid my fingers inside you, you arched your back, moaning like a whore for me. I swear I almost came on the spot.”
“You like being a whore for me, don’t you?” he rasped.
“Yes,”
“Just for me. My perfect fucking whore.”
“Yes,”
“Say it. Say it’s jus...
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“It’s just for you. J...
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“I love fingering this hole, love feeling my cum inside you. You like it, too. I can tell you’re close. I wanna feel you cum from the inside. I wanna feel your greedy hole tighten around my fingers.”
Jericho baby you have a mouth and I loooooove it
“You have the dirtiest mouth I’ve ever heard,”
Facts
Was Atticus an annoyingly finicky perfectionist? Yes. But he was Jericho’s annoyingly finicky perfectionist and he would protect what was his,
“You always look so good on your knees for me, Freckles. I can’t get enough.”
“You love this, don’t you? Love choking on my cock. You can’t get enough, huh? Fuck. You’re so good for me. That’s it, relax and let me do the work. Good.”
“That’s it, Freckles. Keep looking at me just like that. I’m so close. I want to watch you swallow my load.”
He needed to know that Atticus was as territorial as he was, as fucked up over him as he was over Atticus. That he’d kill for him. Die for him. That this obsessive compulsion was a two-way street. That there was some kind of unspoken agreement that the only way out of this relationship—no matter how fucked up—was if one of them stopped breathing.
“I hate you so much.”
“That would explain why the sex is so hot,”
“But I don’t think you hate me. Do you?” He pressed a kiss behind Atticus’s ear in full view of his ex. “You ...
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“Maybe I’ll just fuck you bent over the bathroom counter so you can watch me driving into you, so you can see the way your eyes get all cloudy and your mouth goes slack. So you can watch how you make these breathy little ‘uh uh’ sounds each time I thrust into you, letting me know just how deep I am inside you. What do you think, Freckles?”
There was nobody but Jericho. Nobody. Nobody even came close.
“I do okay for myself, Freckles, but my name’s not Rockefeller.”
“But it could be Mulvaney.”
Oh fucking swooooon attius
“Did…did you just propose to me, Freckles?”
Stop my heart can’t take this
“I think I did, yeah.”
“Did you me...
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“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
“Then, yeah, Freckles. The answer is yes.”
“Fuck. I can’t believe I was eating dinner and you were in the bathroom, pants down, fingering yourself open for me. Fuck. Did you think about me? About this? About how good it would feel when I was pounding into this slutty little hole again and again?”
I can’t even.
Hell, I might just stay up and fuck you all night long. Would you like that, Freckles? Want me to fill you up? When we’re done, maybe I’ll let you fall asleep nursing my cock. You fucking love that.”
“Our kind of romance,”
