Wait Until Dawn by Bailey Bradford (chrysanthemum read aloud txt) 📗

out. Chris was panting as if he’d run for hours. Sweat slicked his skin—his abdomen was shiny and streaked with it. The ridges were deep and Rich promised himself he’d lick every drop of sweat from them next time. If there was a next time.

Chris was dying. His body couldn’t possibly handle so much ecstasy. The nerve endings in his body were going to explode and he’d turn into a gross pile of goo. Rich pushed further into him and Chris couldn’t stifle the scream as pleasure seared from his ass to his balls and cock then all the way up to his brain. No one had ever mastered him so quickly and had it been anyone else but Rich, Chris had no doubt he’d be running out of the door right now no matter how good he felt. The scrape of teeth over his rim sent Chris’ thoughts to scattering and his mouth to babbling.

“Please, please, honey, Rich, now, I can’t—” Chris gasped as another electrical current of pleasure rippled over him. “Rich! Uhn!” That was it, he was gonna die, his heart would give out—

“Condom? Lube?”

Rich had to repeat the question a few times before it made any sense to Chris. He flopped a hand in the direction of his jeans and managed to mumble, “Wallet.” A lubed condom would do, and Chris preferred it sometimes when he wanted the bite and pinch, the burn of penetration. He had meant it when he said he wanted to feel Rich for a week every time he took a breath.

Rich crawled back on the bed with the condom open. “No lube?”

“No need,” Chris croaked. Rich straddled his chest and held the package out to him. Chris took it and managed to slide it on his lover despite the way his arms felt like overcooked spaghetti noodles. Rich smiled down at him, a wicked sexy tilt of lips that speared lust straight to Chris’ ass. He needed this, and Rich was going to give it to him.

“On your knees,” Rich ordered, moving aside and Chris let out a whoop as he immediately rolled over. “Like it this way, do you? Because I can fuck you hard and deep or—”

“Yes,” Chris interrupted. “Need to feel you, like I said. Want your bruises on my hips, your hands clenching while you shove that big dick in me.”

“That’s what you want?” Rich asked, one hand clamping hard on Chris’ hip while his cockhead nudged Chris’ hole. “You want me to just—”

Chris’ strangled gasp drowned out the rest of Rich’s words as Rich filled him with one swift thrust. Chris couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but experience the pain and pleasure of the rough entry. His rectum contracted and the pleasure intensified. Chris’ eyes nearly crossed from it and his dick was already erect and leaking onto the bed. He was going to come embarrassingly fast.

“Goddamn it, like being in a wet velvety fist,” Rich rasped, then the time for words was gone as he took hold of Chris’ hips and began slamming into him.

Chris arched his back, sticking his ass up for more, shivering as Rich’s balls slapped against his. It was too good, too perfect, and when Rich angled his thrust and slid the head of his cock over Chris’ gland, Chris’ vision whited out and he shot his load without having touched his shaft. Rich’s grunt was tinged with desperation and Chris clenched his cheeks, setting his inner muscles to rippling and massaging Rich’s dick. Rich jabbed into him with a series of erratic thrusts, then he ground his hips against Chris’ ass, moaning as he filled the condom. Chris felt the warmth inside him, the pulse of Rich’s thick cock, and the only way it’d have been better was without the barrier between them. Even in his sex-stupid state, or maybe because of it, Chris knew they’d have that, in time.

Chapter Nine

Trying to put some emotional distance between himself and Chris after that was impossible. Rich couldn’t find the strength to roll away from the man for longer than it took to dispose of the condom. He also couldn’t stifle the blossoming hope as he listened to Chris talk about his mother. It wasn’t long ago Rich would have been scoffing at Wiccans and any other religious sect, but maybe he’d only been envious that those people had found something to believe. He had something to believe in now—the man lying beside him. His magical lover who saw auras, something else Rich wouldn’t have thought possible, but there were spirits, and he was possessed or something very close to it, so why not auras?

“I don’t think you’re possessed,” Chris said out of the blue. He’d just been talking about giving his next long haul to an associate so Rich and he could spend more time exploring their new relationship.

“What would you call it then? They’re in me, and at least one of them can control me.”

Chris seemed to mull it over before giving him a serious look. “I think you’re a conduit. Somehow McAllister tapped into it, and I have to wonder if the second spirit isn’t after him. It’s not Conner, I don’t think. You said he’d murdered other men?”

The extra sense that had made Rich the good detective he used to be tingled, setting the fine hairs on his forearms to vibrating. “He did. There were some murders in Houston, men who looked a lot like Laine. McAlister raped them, sometimes before he killed them, sometimes…”

“That’s…” Chris shook his head as he rubbed at his scalp. “I don’t have words for how sick that is.” He sat up and tugged Rich up as well. “We need to know about those men. What if one of them had some history of being psychic or something? Maybe not, maybe he was just so furious he couldn’t go wherever he was supposed to go. Maybe he was waiting for a chance to get McAlister, although I really want