Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
“What’s the matter?” Damon rumbled. “Desperate to get those wildcat claws in me?”
“Don’t be cruel,” Rian whispered.
“You like me that way,” Damon answered—only for those thick, coarse fingers to slide into Rian without warning, slicked with lubricant and spearing deep, striking Rian like lightning and burning through him.
He went wild, completely out of control; thrashing, writhing against the bed, clawing at the pillows and muffling his cries against the cotton pillowcases. When Damon did this to him, it made him feel owned, completely consumed...but nothing branded him more than the sensation of Damon’s cock pressing into his sore emptiness, replacing his fingers and stretching him so thickly, filling him so perfectly until he stopped feeling anything but together.
Together...and completely taken over as Damon clutched at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world and fucked him deep, fucked him long...
...and held him close as they sought more and more and more again, together.
Always together, until they dissolved into each other and lost themselves for hours, drawing each moment, each thrust, each tandem movement out until Rian never wanted this to end.
And even if his body could only take so much...
Silently, as he twined his fingers with Damon’s and held back his cries and completely fell apart, Rian hoped this feeling would last for the rest of their lives together.
* * *
Rian really hoped the kids didn’t wake up anytime soon.
Because if they needed anything, they’d have to hope Damon’s legs actually worked, because Rian didn’t think he was getting up for the next two days.
God, he’d needed that.
...though he was lucky he hadn’t ripped out a filling, tearing up mouthfuls of the pillow.
With a muzzy sound, he spat out cotton, smacking his dry lips together, then forced his fingers to unclench from the sheets; he stared down at the stretched-out puckers gouged in the pale green fabric. He...he didn’t think cotton-poly blend was supposed to stretch out of shape like that...
At his back, Damon let out a breathless chuckle, one thick arm flexing as it tightened against Rian’s body, hand splaying against his stomach. “...someone was a little pent up.”
“Oh shut up,” Rian muttered halfheartedly, grumbling and snuggling back into the broad warmth of Damon’s body, the comforting familiarity of his frame and how Rian always seemed to fit so perfectly into Damon’s contours and edges. “Your fault. You made me do that.”
“Blame I will willingly accept.” Warm lips pressed to Rian’s shoulder; Damon let out a drowsy rumble, his voice content and low the way it always was after sex, a certain sweetness to it. “You okay?”
“Mm. More than.”
Yawning, Rian shifted—gingerly, he felt like he’d been beaten to a pulp and he half loved it, half knew he’d regret it the next time one of the twins asked to be picked up and carried. But he twisted onto his back to look at Damon...then caught himself, tipping his head back to look up at the canvas mounted over their bed.
That ethereal tree that always seemed to be reaching for more, so much emotion captured in jagged edges and sharp slashes, Rian’s every angry feeling poured into the shape of the very man who inspired such vivid, rich, beautiful depth and complexity.
He let out a tired laugh, stretching his arms over his head, shifting lazily and contentedly in Damon’s arms. “...the second I started that canvas, I should’ve known I was doomed.”
Damon tilted his head, gaze drifting to the painting. “...you could’ve picked a better subject.”
“Never in a million years.” Rian feathered his fingertips to one of Damon’s stark, graceful cheekbones. “No one else captured me the way you did.”
With a chuckle, Damon kissed his fingertips. “I always wondered why you never submitted that one for a gallery showing.”
“Because it’s all mine. Just like you.” He wound his arms around Damon’s neck and drew him down so Rian could brush his lips over his husband’s. “That’s the problem... I don’t want to submit anything I paint from my heart. And it feels like everything from my heart comes from you, and that I don’t share.”
“Mm.” Rumbling deep and low, Damon bowed over him, nudging their noses together, another soft kiss plying Rian’s lips apart. “So should I worry you’re going to divorce me, when you finally start sending your paintings out?”
“No!” Rian laughed. “Maybe I just need to change my mindset. Decide I want the entire world to know how much I love you. Scream it from the mountaintops with every new piece. That’ll get me to start submitting my work, right?”
In truth, though...
It didn’t matter if another of his pieces ever made it into a gallery in his life.
He still hadn’t figured out what he’d wanted to prove—to his parents, to some nebulous and unnamed judging eye of society—when he’d set out to create work on its own merits, without the influence of his family’s social status.