Because that was the way his luck was going these days. He wouldn’t call itbadluck. More like his timing was off on nearly everything.
“It’s cool,” Tate said, turning to move past Donovan in the narrow hallway. “We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”
“If that’s the way you wanna play it.”
Tate stopped moving, and now they were standing nearly toe to toe. Donovan was a full head taller than Tate, and at this proximity, Tate had to tilt his head back to look at him.
That shouldn’t have turned Donovan on so damn much, but his dick found it incredibly appealing.
He mentally cut himself off from any more beer because, clearly, he’d had more than he thought.
What the hell was he thinking? Taunting Tate? Had he lost his mind completely?
Donovan skimmed Tate’s face, his gaze lingering on those perfect fucking lips. What the hell. He was already knee-deep. He might as well go all in since it required a shovel to dig out of already.
Donovan put his free hand on the wall behind Tate and leaned in. “You think you can handle me, little boy?”
Tate swallowed, but there was a flash of something in his big blue eyes. Whatever it was, it turned Donovan on even more.
He really needed to get laid. It had been far too long since he’d had the time to pound himself into some willing stranger. Way too damn long; otherwise, he damn sure wouldn’t have been entertaining the idea of bending Tate over and—
Donovan shook off the thought but held his ground with Tate.
“It’s your game,” Donovan told him. “I know how my sister’s mind works. If I had to guess, this was her plan.”
Tate’s gaze dropped to Donovan’s mouth. “Why couldn’t it be my plan?”
“Was it?”
Tate looked him in the eye. “Maybe.”
The smart thing to do would’ve been to laugh it off, but Donovan found himself transfixed by the much younger man. He thought of all the ways he could corrupt that sweet, innocent body.
Fuck.
“I’ll give you till three, then I’ll let you off the hook,” Donovan told him. “Three … two…”
Before he could purse his lips to say one, Tate grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him in. Tate’s warm breath fanned his mouth for a fraction of a second before the kid finally closed the gap, kissing him.
Donovan meant to pull back and smile, to chalk it up to tradition or whatnot, but he found himself stepping closer, angling his head and licking Tate’s lower lip. It must have surprised Tate because his lips parted, and Donovan used the opportunity to slide his tongue into Tate’s mouth.
Oh, fuck.This was wrong on so many levels, but Donovan didn’t give a shit. Not in the moment, not with Tate’s tongue gliding against his. The guy’s hesitance was so fucking sexy it made Donovan’s dick throb.
A soft moan escaped Tate, and that was nearly all she wrote. By sheer force of will, Donovan kept his hand on the wall and the other firmly around his beer bottle. If he had even one free, he would’ve grabbed Tate, tossed him over his shoulder, and found somewhere private so he could—
He cut off the thought before the mental image could form. His memories of this kiss were going to be bad enough.
Damn that mistletoe.
“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling back only slightly. “You’re a temptation I damn sure don’t need, little boy.”
Tate sucked in a sharp breath, and Donovan locked his restraint back in place, standing tall and smiling. He managed to keep his lips tightly shut as he headed for the dining room to join Brady and Paul.
As he took his seat, he glanced down the hall to find that Tate was gone.
He hated that he was disappointed.
Four
