That’s all the invitation he needs. The next thing I know, his bottle is on the trunk/coffee table next to mine and he’s in my lap. I’m tingling from head to toe just from smelling his damn shampoo and thinking of how fucking amazing it’s going to be when he’s got his hands down my pants and his lips on mine. With no pads separating us this time, I can feel every mouth-watering inch of him. Including the inches between his legs. Then his mouth clamps over mine, and all rational thought shuts off.
If our last kiss was a leisurely exploration, this one is an explosion, desperate and needy. Tongues tangle, bodies press, hands grasp. We’re both of us starving men, gorging at the feast.
My arms band around him because as close as he is, I want him even closer. He responds by sliding his hands up my chest, over my shoulders, and into my hair, where his fingers tangle between the strands, tugging lightly.
The pinch of pain is actually pleasurable. I moan into his mouth, the sound reverberating through him and back into me.
He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, gives it a little nip, then pulls back. The absence of contact is even more painful than the hair tugging.
I let my head fall back, and it hits the back of the couch with a dull thud. “Why are you stopping?”
He grabs the hem of my sweater. “Shirt. Off.”
“Only if yours goes, too.” Fair is fair, right?
“Deal.”
I’m practically salivating at the thought of being skin-on-skin with him. He pulls my quarter zip over my head and tosses it on the floor behind him. Seconds later it’s joined by his own shirt, leaving us both bare chested.
My eyes go immediately to the silver bar through his right nipple. “You have a—”
“Nipple piercing, yes.” He flicks it with his index finger. “Do you like it?”
Fuck, yeah. But actions are louder than words, so instead of telling him how much I like it I show him, lowering my mouth to his nipple and swirling my tongue around it. I’ve never been with anyone—guy or girl—who had a body piercing before, but now I can add it to my long list of turn-ons. I love the way it feels on my tongue. The hard metal is a stark contrast to his soft flesh.
He swallows a ragged breath and makes a low, sexy sound in his throat. I double down, sucking his nipple into my mouth and pinching the other one between my thumb and forefinger. Even without a bar through it, it’s incredibly responsive. I give it a tug—payback for the hair pulling—then use my thumb to trace teasing circles around it.
Kolby lets out a hiss and curses under his breath. At least, I thinkJiminy Cricketis a curse in Kolby-speak.
I give him one last suck before lifting my head to stare into his wide, deep-set eyes. They’re even wider now and glazed over with lust. A lot like I expect mine look right now.
“Do you like it?” I ask, echoing his question back to him, half legitimate inquiry, half taunt.
“I’d like it more if you stop teasing me and get down to business.”
“Is ‘get down to business’ code for ‘suck your cock?’”
“If you want it to be.” He rubs against me shamelessly, making me painfully aware of his hard-on poking into my stomach. I swear, he’s got to be a good eight inches. I’m not sure how I’m going to take all of him.
But I want to try. I really, really do.
“You still with me, Puck Boy?” Kolby’s voice seems like it’s an octave lower than usual, deep and gravelly. “If you’re having second thoughts, we can put on the brakes.”
“No second thoughts. No brakes.” I give him a hard, fast kiss, like an exclamation mark to prove my point, and jab a finger at the cushion next to me. “Sit over there and take off your pants. Underwear, too.”
“Yes, sir.”
He climbs off my lap. But instead of sitting next to me and wriggling out of his clothes like I expect him to, he stands in front of me and does a little striptease, first toeing off his shoes and socks then slowly unzipping his jeans, seductively sliding them down his legs, and kicking them off. Then he does the same to his boxer briefs, leaving him beautifully, breathtakingly naked.
His clothes may have hinted at the body underneath, but they didn’t prepare me for this. He’s not as bulked up as I am, but the muscles he’s got are perfectly formed, from his slim, sinewy shoulders to his smooth, squared chest to his trim, toned calves. Fuck, even his bare feet are sexy.
And that doesn’t take into account what’s between his legs. I think I was underestimating when I guessed it at eight inches. It looks closer to nine. Maybe ten. It’s definitely going to be a struggle swallowing that sucker down.
Challenge accepted.
“Sit,” I growl, stabbing my finger at the cushion.
He does, and I kneel in front of him, nudging his legs apart. My mouth is a breath away from his cock, and if I wasn’t drooling before I sure as hell am now.
