“Ah, a slogan for the world.”
He takes a sip, and heat kindles in my stomach as moisture sheens his lower lip. It’s as full and biteable as a cherry. He turns and catches my gaze and then deliberately licks along that lip, showing a pink tongue.
I shift on the stool, feeling my jeans get a whole lot tighter. “Tease,” I say gruffly and can’t help but smile when he laughs. It’s such a lovely sound—exuberant with youth and full of glee. My smile dies as he spins on his stool, facing me. He opens his legs, forcing his body closer to mine, and I catch a fresh, warm scent.
I spare a quick look around, but the barman is talking to a couple at the end of the bar, and the only other patron is a lone businessman having a heated discussion on his phone.
A hand slides up my thigh, and I jerk, reaching down to grab it. “What are youdoing?” I say hoarsely.
His eyes widen mockingly. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.”
I blink. “What about?”
He wriggles his hand and pouts when I don’t let go. “I’m sorry your advanced age has led you to not be able to recognise a come-on.”
I swallow. “A come-on?”
He nods solemnly. “Yes, indeedy.” He wriggles his fingers again, and my body acts before my brain can scream a warning. I let go, and he slides his fingers up my thigh slowly. His ocean eyes are sleepy and heavy-lidded like he’s already been thoroughly fucked. My thoughts fly away as he cups the length of my cock.
“Nice,” he says throatily.
For a second, I sway towards him, consumed by the need to bite that lower lip and then soothe it with my tongue. My cock is throbbing. Then reason returns, and I grab his hand, setting it back on the bar.
“Rest easy, Sergeant,” I say wryly. “My cock and I like my men to be legal. Silly of me, I know. I’m such a sentimental old fool.”
“But Iamlegal,” he says crossly.
I pat his hand. “I really don’t think so, kid.”
“I actually have my birth certificate to prove it.”
I stare at him. “So why didn’t you show the barman?”
His eyes twinkle. He has a merry feel about him, like laughter is just waiting to peek out. He leans even closer. So close I can smell the minty scent of his breath. A strand of blond hair falls over his face, and I clench my fist to stop from brushing it back. “Ah, well, there’s a teeny problem with that.”
“What problem is that?”
“It’s down my pants.”
I start to laugh. It’s too loud, but he amuses me.
He grins. “No, really. I’ll let you retrieve it, but no one else. A boy has to have some standards.”
“Retrieve? I’m not a cocker spaniel.”
He studies me, assessing. “No, not at all. I’d say you’re somethingcompletelydifferent.”
The silence stretches between us, slow and treacly. “And what—” I stop to clear my throat. “And what would that be?”
He puts his hand on my shoulder and whispers into my ear, “I think you’re a wolf.”
I shudder at his breath washing over my ear. “Is that right?” Jesus. He’s fucking potent.
He nods. “Yep. And you don’t even bother to wear sheep’s clothing.” We stare at each other, and then he turns away and drains his juice. Disappointment sears through me that’s far too intense for what was just a silly flirtation.
“You off?” I say hopefully casually.
He nods, climbing off his stool. He stretches his lean body, and his T-shirt rides up, showing a delectable golden strip of skin, tight and defined. I swallow hard. “I’m going to my room for a lie down,” he says.
