Then again, maybe Ryker just wasn’t wearing the right gloves.
Dylan stayed on his knees, slumped back against the cabinet and breathing hard. Watching him, Ryker decided that he didn’t care what Dylan had told August online. He’d rather talk to him and find out for himself what he liked.
“Want me to carry you?” he asked, selfishly wanting to hold him.
Ryker loved carrying and manhandling his partners.
Dylan nodded, and Ryker bent down to scoop him up. Dylan wrapped his legs around Ryker’s waist, leaning against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was lighter than he looked, and Ryker wondered how far he’d be able to throw him.
Walking over to the bed, he sat down with his back against the wall and arranged Dylan on his lap. He grabbed two pillows and shoved them behind his back, the bed squeaking under his weight as he moved, getting comfortable.
“This good?” he asked.
“Very good,” Dylan agreed. He was resting his face against the top swell of Ryker’s pectoral, his mouth pressed into his skin in a lingering kiss.
Ryker pushed his hand under Dylan’s t-shirt, massaging him up the knobs of his spine.
“That feels nice,” Dylan mumbled.
Ryker couldn’t resist bending his neck, burrowing his nose in Dylan’s hair and inhaling his delicious scent.
Dylan went still. “Are you sniffing me?”
Not embarrassed in the least, Ryker grunted an affirmative.
“You smell good.”
“I do?”
“Very. It makes my cock so hard.”
Dylan put his hands on Ryker’s sides, sliding up and feeling along his lats. The touch was tentative and greedy at the same time.
Ryker leaned back and smirked. “You want to explore?”
Dylan looked at him, the confused scrunch of his brow making Ryker want to lean in and lick his face.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty built, and you seem into that. You can touch whatever you like.”
Ryker lifted his arms above his head, resting his hands behind his neck and relaxing back against the wall. The position made his arms flex, showing off his wide chest and hairy pits.
Dylan froze, his throat moving as he swallowed.
“Take off your shirt,” Ryker instructed, wanting to see more of Dylan’s body.
When Dylan hesitated, he flexed his pecs, making them dance playfully.
Dylan blushed, looking away as though Ryker’s display was just too much for him to handle. He lifted the hem of his tee and pulled it over his head, throwing the shirt to the floor and bringing his arms down over his chest. He sat there, looking awkward, pointedly averting his gaze from Ryker’s pecs.
“What are you waiting for?” Ryker asked, lifting his hips and making Dylan fall forward.
Dylan caught himself on his chest, his fingers splayed wide on Ryker’s muscular pec and brushing over his nipple.
Ryker shuddered, holding still and waiting to see what Dylan would do next. When nothing happened, he looked down at the boy’s hand.
