More Than a Hotline Fling

-4-

Juneau's ("June-O") POV

Holy cannoli, I'm embarrassed.

My right hand reached up and cupped my flaming hot cheek, whose temperature matched both of Damian's.

Adam created a beautiful proposal moment, surrounded by love and support, even under a magical ceiling canopy of dangling, fake dicks... and my boyfriend ruined it when he became a floor speed bump.

I'm so not playing with his jingle bells after this.

"I'm so sorry," I gushed again from where I knelt on the floor.

A quick look up at the happy couple showed Adam's arm snaked around Vaughn's slim waist. His fingers stroked subtly, which twitched back one corner of Vaughn's pale, full lips, but a collective sense of concern drew the entire room's attention downward.

Hope no one was filming that, poor Damian.

"Not your fault, Junebug," Adam offered with his usual teasing tone of voice. "Vaughn gave him the water."

What little color Vaughn's pale face held drained out quicker than Damian's dick on our fast-fuck days. "I... It was a sealed bottle!"

"It was Dasani." Adam huffed. "Why not dip a cup straight into the East River?"

"It's the thought that counts," I murmured.

Damian's head nestled in my lap, where I cradled it in my hands and smoothed a few crazy dark brown strands across his forehead. Even passed out into a sweaty heap, his handsome facial features slacked peaceful and relaxed. Not a single one of his usual frown lines, that I teased became permanently etched into his face because of how much he scowled, were present.

My mind flipped through possible explanations faster than my eyes blinked down between my thighs.

What happened?

I about smelled Damian's apprehension while I rode him on the couch, or while he topped me from the bottom. That was his favorite position, for the ass grabbing aspect. My entire body loved when he shifted his hips upward enough that drove him deeper than I ever reached, like his dick reached for my navel.

But what is stressing him out so much?

His adorable dimples weren't present either, which I realized as I studied his upside-down face. On the most superficial level, Damian Alexander Rivera was the hottest guy I'd ever seen, let alone dated. He was the perfect mix of a dark-looking bad boy, with his dark brown hair, a couple tattoos, sharp jawline, and 'brooding,' golden-hazel eyes which carried the weight of his stress-filled world.

Physically, he was tall and fit but more toned more because took care of his body and less like his shoulder muscles attempted to swallow his neck.

Don't get me started on his cock. Those warm, pulsing, seven-and-three-eighths are better than every damn one that's hanging from the ceiling overhead right now.

This man can soak my sheets and curl my toes inside out like no other ever could. And he can fill every cell of my body with love and passion or rail me into orgasm oblivion like a pile driver...

I should stop before I leave a spot on the floor.

Damian was a warm, ooey-gooey mix of sweet and filthy that I loved more than I was capable of loving anyone. Single-handedly, this man filled every void in my life with his presence, protection, sarcastic, dry sense of humor, and raw, unfiltered love.