“Carmichael?” I manage between breaths. “Pretty sure we’re on a first name basis, considering I just had your dick in my mouth.”
He reaches down to catch my wrist, eyes blazing. “I swear to God, if you don’t get inside me in the next ten seconds, I’m taking matters into my own hands.”
I’m tempted to tell him that sounds like a win/win proposition to me, but the look on his face, want and challenge all tangled up together, kills the joke before it leaves my mouth. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wondered over the past few days how Hutch would be in bed, whether he’d fight for the lead or give it up. The answer’s written all over him now, sprawled out, panting, undone. And fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Are you sure you’re ready for me?” I’m not as big as he is, but I’m not exactly small either, and it’s not as if I’ve had the chance to prep him.
“If I were any more ready, I’d be writing you a bloody invitation.”
I crawl up his hard, hot body, positioning myself at his entrance. I spit in my hand and fumble for my dick, and that’s when I realize we’ve got a big problem.
“Shit.”
He tenses. “What?”
“I, uh … didn’t exactly pack for this.”
For a beat, he just stares, then understanding dawns and he laughs, husky and disbelieving. “The one bloody time you forget to plan ahead.”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, buttercup. But you won’t be laughing when I can’t get inside you because you’re not getting a damn inch of me without protection.”
He jerks his chin toward his jeans by the chair. “There’s one in my wallet. Back pocket.”
I blink. “You carry them around with you? All the time?”
“Boy Scout motto,” he says, grinning. “Be prepared.”
“I didn’t know they had Boy Scouts in the UK,” I mumble as I find his jeans and fish through the pockets.
“Us Brits invented scouting.” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “And if you don’t hurry the fuck up and get back over here, I’m going to use my finely honed scout survival skills to light a fire under your arse.”
“Eureka.” I hold up the foil packet like it’s the Holy Grail.
Hutch exhales, more of a sigh than a breath. “About fucking time.”
I crawl back up the bed, tearing the packet open with my teeth, and the look he gives me—hungry, reckless, already half gone—nearly makes me forget what I’m doing. My hands shake a little as I roll the condom on. His legs fall open for me, invitation written in every long, gorgeous line of him.
I know he says he’s ready for me, but before I even think about pushing inside him, I lean in and kiss the inside of his knee, then the hard line of his thigh, my fingers following the trail upward as I go. He watches me with that dazed, wanting focus that slams into my chest.
“Let me take care of you,” I murmur, more whisper than words.
I press my fingertips to him, circling slowly. He opens a little more, hips angling toward me, clearly not knowing—or not caring—how close he’s getting. When I ease the first finger in, he lets out this guttural, unguarded sound that makes my skintingle. I work him open patiently, lazy strokes, a gentle curl, then a little deeper. Air stutters out of him, and his hand finds my free one on the sheets and grips.
“Yeah,” he rasps. “Just like that.”
I add a second finger, feeling him relax around me, welcome me. His head falls back, throat bared, and something hot and protective unfurls in me at the sight. When he’s loose and shifting against my hand, hungry for more, I pull my fingers free and line myself up, teasing his entrance with the tip of my cock.
He cups the back of my neck, dragging me down until our mouths almost touch. “If you don’t get inside me right now, I’m defecting to McLaren.”
He ends on a sound that’s half laugh, half plea, and it shoots straight through me. I guide his leg up around my hip, the shift in his body sending a shiver across both of us. He’s open, waiting, every line of him saying yes, no hesitation left anywhere in him.
Our foreheads brush. His fingers slide into my hair.
“Kip,” he whispers, and it’s not a command this time. It’s a want, a need, a confession.
I ease forward, letting him feel every inch of what’s coming. He tenses, then melts, his breath catching against my cheek.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “You feel?—”