Tate talked a good game, but he shivered again, and Donovan was almost positive his teeth were chattering. Yeah, he kept it relatively cool in the house, but it wasn’tthatcold. Or maybe he was more worked up than Tate. He reached between Tate’s legs, dragging his knuckles over the hard outline of his dick. No, that didn’t seem to be the problem.
When Tate shivered again, Donovan stood up. He grabbed Tate’s hand and urged him down from the counter, dragging him through the house to the sauna room. They’d used this room more in the past few weeks than Donovan had the entire time he’d lived in the house.
He’d had it custom-built at the back of the house so that it was accessible from inside as well as outside. The smallest part of the room was meant as a changing area for when he had guests who wanted to enjoy the pool. There was a vanity with a sink and mirror and a large closet on one wall where he kept towels and various pool items. Because he wasn’t a small man, Donovan had designed the sauna large—a ten by twelve enclosed space—giving him plenty of room to lay down for those times when he wanted to relax fully.
Of course, relaxing wasn’t really an option around Tate. Donovan was primed and ready damn near every minute of every day. He’d spent his entire life—all thirty-nine years so far—enjoying sex, but never to the point he craved it. With Tate, he couldn’t think of much else.
“Get undressed,” Donovan told Tate after opening the door to the sauna.
While Tate did that, Donovan went to the control panel to turn on the heater, letting it warm up. It wouldn’t take long, and since they would be generating their own heat soon enough, it wouldn’t matter.
After grabbing a couple of towels and stripping down to his birthday suit, Donovan joined Tate, pulling the door closed to seal in the warmth. The first few times they’d come in here, Donovan had kept his hands to himself, not wanting to overwhelm Tate. That had lasted about a week before Tate confronted him, revealing his equally desperate need to be with him. They were still playing catch-up and probably would for at least the next … oh, say, ten years or so. That might do it.
Tonight, Donovan offered no pretense that this was anything more than a seduction technique.
He joined Tate on the wooden bench that formed an oversized U, running the length of three walls. It was deep enough to lay down on comfortably, so he moved to sit behind Tate, leaning back and urging Tate to do the same.
Neither of them spoke as the space began to heat; they just sat there in silence, enjoying simply being. He progressed to massaging Tate’s shoulders and back, turned on by the sight of his hands moving over Tate’s skin.
When sweat began to form on his brow, Donovan tightened his arms around Tate. “Warming up?”
Tate nodded, relaxing against him.
Donovan kissed Tate’s shoulder, then let his lips glide up the side of his neck. It only took a second before Tate was fully relaxed, his head tilted, allowing Donovan to lick and suck on his neck. Tate was so sensitive, so responsive. His soft moans grew heavier as the air warmed. Tate’s hands began to slide over Donovan’s legs, slowly at first but becoming more frantic as Donovan continued to heat him up.
“So what else do you pretend to like but secretly don’t?”
Tate groaned. “Please don’t tell your mom I—”
He reached around Tate’s shoulder, pressing against his jaw to turn Tate’s head toward him. “I won’t,” he said as he pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling as he did. “I just want to know your secrets.”
“Mmm,” Tate mumbled against his mouth before turning around completely and straddling Donovan’s legs. “I can tell you, I definitely like the sauna.”
“Yeah?” He slid his hands along Tate’s thighs, moving to his hips. He dipped his thumbs into the crease at his torso, teasing him lightly as he pulled him closer.
“Mm-hmm.” Tate sighed, resting his elbows on Donovan’s shoulders and leaning forward, pressing his forehead to Donovan’s.
Unable to keep his hands still, Donovan explored, letting his fingers glide gently along the contours of Tate’s back and shoulders. The guy was small in stature, but he was built like a brick shithouse. More than once, Donovan had outlined those hard planes and rigid angles with his tongue.
“Besides tuna casserole, what else do you pretend to like?”
“Asparagus,” Tate said, his fingertips brushing the head of Donovan’s dick.
“Doesn’t count. Everyone pretends to like that shit. What else?”
Tate chuckled. “Those war documentaries your dad likes.”
Donovan grinned. He happened to find them interesting but to each his own.
“And…?” Donovan figured there had to be more.
“The scent of those laundry beads that Reilly likes. On her clothes, it smells fine. On mine, it smells like cheap perfume.”
Donovan gritted his teeth as Tate continued to tease his cock, using his thumbs to massage the head.
“What else?” he grunted.
Tate lifted his head, meeting Donovan’s gaze in the dimly lit room. “I promise, I don’t make a habit of pretending to like things.”
