ANTHONY
Mads’legs wrap around my waist as though they always belonged there, and the blaring double alarms of duty and responsibility go silent in the face of his large pleading eyes and the way he kisses like he means it with every cell in his body.
Luca could call me right now, and I would ignore his call, something I've never done in all our years of friendship and brotherhood. I only have this one moment in time, this small bubble known as Vienna. The world could crash down around us, and I would not split my focus for even a second.
Despite the safety and comfort of all my little rules, I would genuinely put a bullet in the head of anyone who interrupted us right now.
I pause for a moment, wondering if I should go into Mads’ room or mine, and selfishly, I go into mine. I want my sheets to smell of him once we’re done. Like coffee and sunshine and whatever comforting soap is on his skin. I inhale his neck deeply and remember the way his hand felt on my chest, tapping out a heartbeat.
Careful of my hold on him, I shove aside the duvet and gently place him on the bed, nestling his head against the pillows. I've slept with lots of men: all kinds, all sizes, but never one quite so scrawny.
I might have a new type.
The way his eyes widen as I come in for a kiss, I know this will hurt, and I can't help myself. I scramble on top of him, lowering my weight, kissing him as I grind into him, sipping his sighs and happy moans like they are the last bit of manna on this planet.
His hands, so delicate, reach for my face, and they feel like forever.
What the fuck, Edge? This is a one-night thing. Get your head out of your ass.
Like an addict, I shove my face into his neck again and inhale. Mads moans, writhing underneath me. I reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, trailing kisses over each new inch of exposed skin.
Hm. Not scrawny. Slight with a surprising softness. His nimble fingers push my T-shirt up as he tastes the exposed skin. I rip it off over my head, loving the way he takes me in, appreciating my muscles.
“You make Henry Cavill look like some punk kid who needs a protein bar,” he cracks, his smile brilliant.
“And you look delicious enough to make the Pope sin,” I grit out, wondering if he understands half of how much I need to be in him tonight.
“Is that what this is? Sin?” he asks, biting his lip as he looks up at me through his thick fringe of black lashes.
I shake my head. “Worse. A broken rule.”
“Quelle horreur.”
I kiss his chest, drifting down to taste his small pebble of a nipple. “Quelle perfection.”
His fingers find my nipples, and the delicate play is almost too soft until it isn't. His feathery touches against the tightening, ever sensitive skin are like heroin in the vein. The tense and pulse and shiver of his body are like a drop of opium under my tongue.
Instant addiction.
Out of self-preservation, I take both wrists in one hand and pin his arms above his head. His mouth opens and his eyes take over where his nimble fingers left off, stroking me with their desire. I have never felt more wanted in my life.
“Yes, Anthony. Take control.”
“I'm going to fuck you bare,” I growl, no idea why I say it—and mean it—so vehemently. I’ve never had irresponsible sex before, but I need…I need to fill him.
His pupils blow wide, and he nods before the words are even fully out.
“You shouldn't let me,” I say, letting go of his bird-like wrists to peel off his pants.
He reaches for my waistband, and I bat his hands away, shuffling off my shoes and socks, then taking everything else off.
“Why? Because it's breaking a rule?”
I nod. Then shake my head. “No, because for you, I’d break every rule. You are so fucking dangerous to me.”
“Because I bend you to my will?” he asks, an evil grin hooking up the side of his beautiful mouth.
I nod. “Because I want you to.”