He took another step toward Tate until he was standing at the threshold. Tate didn’t back down; he merely tilted his head and maintained eye contact.
“I’m not big on regrets, Donovan, so if you need to apologize to make yourself feel better, you’re good. I don’t care. You can—”
“Shut up, Tate,” he whispered, reaching for him.
Donovan cupped his face with both hands, tilted his head, and kissed him. Tate didn’t hesitate the way he had earlier. He gripped the front of Donovan’s shirt and held on, their tongues thrashing. Donovan managed to step into the house and close the door behind him before Tate dragged him along, moving deeper into the house.
“Tate, you should know—”
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep,” Tate said, pulling Donovan into his bedroom and closing the door.
Donovan didn’t have time to look around before Tate shoved him onto the bed, moving over him.
“I don’t need your promises, and I don’t want them,” Tate said, straddling his hips and kissing him.
The guy was giving Donovan the out he usually sought, but for the first time in twenty years, he didn’t need it. He didn’t feel the urge to limit this to a single moment in time. No, he made no promises about tomorrow, but he wasn’t putting an expiration date on this either.
Tate shoved at Donovan’s jacket, attempting to get it off. It was then Donovan realized their positions were reversed. It was enough to have him groaning as he sat up, grabbing Tate around the waist and holding him in place so he didn’t fall to the floor.
“Take your shirt off,” Donovan growled, taking back the reins.
Tate pulled back enough to meet his gaze as he reached behind his head and grabbed a fistful of cotton before dragging it off.
That was more like it. Tate wasn’t bulky, but the man was ripped. He knew he didn’t get that body being an EMT, but he certainly took care of himself in his downtime.
Donovan pressed his hand flat on Tate’s back, his fingers spanning from one shoulder blade to the other. Why did that turn him on so much? He’d never been into smaller men, but Tate … yeah, Tate did it for him. Donovan leaned in, kissing along Tate’s collarbone, nipping his pectoral muscle, then sliding lower to tease Tate’s nipple.
“Oh, fuck,” Tate hissed, his arms wreathing Donovan’s head and holding him in place.
Donovan bit his nipple, reveling in Tate’s hiss.
In one swift move, Donovan stood up, holding onto Tate before spinning around and dropping him onto the bed, moving over him. He planted his knee between Tate’s legs and leaned forward, bringing his mouth to Tate’s. He kissed him. Only once. Gently. Then he stood tall and took a moment to admire the man he was going to do naughty,naughtythings to.
***
Tate’s blood was rushing in his ears.
He was light-headed but doing his best not to react. He wasn’t sure what had compelled Donovan to come here, but as soon as he’d seen the man standing on the porch, Tate had vowed he would not have a repeat of what happened earlier at the store. If this was an early gift from Santa, by God, Tate was going to unwrap it and play with it before Santa realized he’d left it at the wrong house.
No, he didn’t want any promises, but regardless of what tomorrow brought, tonight wasn’t going to end with Donovan walking away. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Tate watched as Donovan stripped off his jacket and placed it on the desk chair that sat in the corner. His green eyes glittered in the overhead light as his gaze raked over Tate. He could practically feel the man touching every inch of him, and he wasn’t close enough to do so.
His heart pounded harder when Donovan toed off his boots, then freed the buttons on his cuffs before he began to unbutton his shirt slowly. He caught glimpses of Donovan’s heavily muscled chest, the dark spattering of hair as his hands moved lower. When Donovan had the shirt open, Tate held his breath, eager for him to take it off, but he didn’t.
Maybe that wasn’t so bad for now. Tate wouldn’t deny that he was known to drool over Donovan. The man’s rock-hard body had been turning his head since he was a teenager. Everything about the man turned him on. He was just so damn big, so masculine. So rugged. Tate had fantasized more than once about being manhandled by this beautiful, sexy man.
Donovan moved slowly. Like a jungle cat getting ready to pounce. Only he didn’t. He simply leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of Tate’s pajama pants and slowly slid them down his legs. When Tate’s cock sprang free, Donovan’s gaze shifted lower. He instantly wondered whether he measured up to any of the men Donovan had dated in the past, and Tate knew there had been many. None of those he knew about had been like Tate. Completely and totally average. Not only his cock, but the rest of him as well. Donovan tended to go for the muscle-bound linebacker types who could likely hold their own with him. Tate was not in the same league. Not by a long shot.
Feeling a tad self-conscious, Tate reached down to cover his cock.
Before he could, Donovan gripped his wrist. “That belongs to me now.”
Tate inhaled sharply.
“Unless you’ve got a problem with that.”
It wasn’t a question, but he could tell Donovan was gauging Tate’s reactions, probably to see how far he could take it.
