Locke wasn’t nearly as chill as he was pretending to be.
Still, I thought about refusing him. Telling him to wash his own damned body. But my father, Beau, had always taught me not to spit into the wind no matter how mad I was, and denying myself the opportunity to caress every part of Locke Maris’s body with my greedy little fingers seemed like a similarly bad idea.
I reached for the bottle of bodywash sitting on a small teak bench and poured a giant heap of it into a fluffy washcloth. Then I met Locke’s eyes and began at his feet.
My fingers turned a utilitarian job into cultish skin worship. If he wanted me to wash him, I’d make him regret it.
By the time I reached the top of one of his inner thighs, Locke’s dick was bobbing heavily in my face, and his quads were twitching under my fingers. His chest heaved on every loud inhale, and thick steam clouded the space around us.
“That’s enough,” he clipped, his voice gruffer than usual. “Suck my cock.”
I blinked water droplets off my eyelashes and peered up at him again. “But I was just getting started.”
He unfolded his arms and clasped the back of my head, pulling it close to his erection. “At this rate, we’ll be here all night.”
I hid a smile as I nosed the crease between his dick and thigh, still drawing it out to punish him for being an asshole.
When the hand on the back of my head moved to carefully brush the wet hair out of my eyes, I felt my own breath hitch.
Tricky bastard.
Using tenderness to get what he wanted was a dirty move. Fuck that.
I took him in my mouth, suddenly wanting to make him come as fast and hard as possible. He grunted loudly. The sound echoed in the tiled space, and his fingers tightened on my face. “Fuck,” he snapped. “Fuck!”
His breath came in heavy pants as I worked his cock and balls with my hands and mouth like I was being paid for it. Which I was.
“Jesus, slow down. I’m going to…fuck!”
The warm, salty tang of his release hit my throat and tongue, and I swallowed quickly to keep up with it. My own dick wasn’t nearly hard enough yet to be close to coming, but I was too annoyed to give a shit.
I stood up slowly, feeling the stiffness in my legs from being in the same position too long. Despite the folded towel, now soaked with water, the tile had still been a bitch on my knees.
Locke’s neck and chest were streaked with red. Was it from the hot shower spray or how worked up he’d gotten?
His narrow eyes bored into me. “You think you’re clever.”
“You think you’re straight,” I replied pointedly, deliberately wiping the corner of my mouth with my pinky as if wiping away leftover traces of his release, even though I’d swallowed it all greedily.
I turned to exit the shower, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me back until the back of my bare body was plastered against the front of his. His softening cock pressed into one ass cheek, and one of his free hands came around to splay across my lower belly.
“Is this your way of asking for my mouth on you, Jethro?” he asked in a low voice in my ear. “Because you could just ask.”
My eyes slid closed. My name wasn’t Jethro. And while part of me hated that he didn’t know that, I fucking loved hearing him call me by it in that teasing tone of voice.
“I dare you to suck my dick,” I said, unable to hide a smile. There was exactly zero chance this man was going to reciprocate with another man’s cock in his mouth. I’d been with plenty of “straight” men who would, but Locke Maris wasn’t one of them.
“Mm. That’s not asking.”
His hand moved lower, fingers tangling into the hair at the base of my cock.
I sucked in a breath. “Please.” My voice sounded ragged in the thick, wet air around us.
Locke’s large hand wrapped around my hardening shaft, causing me to let out an embarrassing sound. I arched back into him, my hair getting caught on the late-day stubble of his chin and cheek.
“You going to come for me, Jethro?” He pulled experimentally, sending a shudder of pleasure through my groin.
My chest heaved. Water trickled into my mouth, making it clear I was open-mouthed in shock in pleasure. “Oh god.”
