From the groan that Nate could feel as well as hear, he liked it quite a lot. So it was a surprise when Flynn pushed him back. He sprawled onto his side of the car, his arm braced against the window. Before he had a chance to catch his breath enough to complain, Flynn crawled after him.
His tanned, scuff-knuckled hands caught Nate’s knees and repositioned his legs with one hooked up over Flynn’s shoulder. The discomfort at not being in control, not setting the order of events, made Nate squirm. So did the impatient jerk of Flynn’s hands at his trousers as he unbuttoned the fly and tugged them down. The night air was cold against his balls for a second and made them twitch up to his body. And then Flynn’s mouth was there.
“Son of a bitch,” Nate groaned. He let his head fall back against the window with a soft crack. He could feel the wet slick of Flynn’s mouth around his dick and the hard pressure of his tongue pressed against the shaft and then flicking the head. He could feel the tight pressure as his dick thickened and ached under Flynn’s ready tongue. “That feels… fuck… good.”
He reached down and wove his fingers through Flynn’s dark curls as Flynn worked his tongue around Nate’s dick.
Pleasure twisted around and through Nate’s shaft and balls, pulled at the nerves with satin fingers, and tugged at his spine impatiently. Nate braced his sneaker against Flynn’s back and felt his sweaty ass sticking to the pleather seat. It was unbelievably hot, yet still ridiculous.
Or maybe the word he was looking for was fun—“sticky, sweaty, completely inappropriate for men of their age” fun.
Nate chewed on the inside of his mouth. The nip of his teeth on tender skin was a leash for the release he wanted… but not just yet. He flexed his fingers against Flynn’s head and felt the salt stiffness at the roots of his hair.
Parked up in the hills, no one around for miles unless the Father was cursing his way up the road, it was quiet. It made the wet sucking noises of Flynn’s mouth around him sound louder and more lewd.
Flynn tugged Nate’s trousers down further and slid a hand between his legs. He kneaded the heavy weight of Nate’s balls, and the rough squeeze of his fingers was payback for earlier. It dragged a whine out of Nate, and the noise was so ridiculously vulnerable that it made him flinch and made his balls throb with tight pleasure.
“Flynn, fuck,” Nate rasped out. His ass clenched, a feathery tickle of warning flickered down at the base of his dick, and his control gave up the ghost. “I’m going to come.”
Some guys didn’t like it. Flynn apparently didn’t care. He made a smug sound around Nate’s dick, and the sound vibrated all the way down to the root as he swallowed the length. The slick squeeze of it, of Flynn’s tongue pushed hard against the underside, just wrung the come out of Nate. He clutched the back of the seat, dug his fingers in so deeply he had to leave nail marks, and bucked up into Flynn’s mouth as he orgasmed.
Flynn swallowed and let Nate’s dick slide wet and slippery out of his mouth. He crawled up Nate and kissed him hard. His tongue pushed the salt and warm-penny taste of Nate’s own come into his mouth.
“You know what?” Flynn asked. He cupped Nate’s face in his hand and dragged his thumb along his lower lip.
“What?”
Flynn’s eyes looked pale in the moonlight, and something wicked sparked in them as he smirked. “Your turn.”
“Really?” Nate teased. “Because I paid for dinner, and—”
The abrupt angry clatter that interrupted made them both jump back to their side of the car. Nate fumbled at his dick as he tried to stuff it back in his trousers. He didn’t have the instinctive Catholic guilt that creased Flynn’s face, but no one wanted to be yelled at by an angry priest with their genitalia drying in the wind. It wasn’t as though he could even run—his leg had gone dead from the knee down.
Except the windows were empty, with no scowling face peering through the raindrops. Nate finished zipping up anyhow. Just in case.
“What the hell?” Flynn growled. He shifted uncomfortably and reached down between his legs to tug at his jeans.
“He died on the way up, and his ghost is pissed?” Nate suggested.
It took a second burst of rattling before they realized what it was. Phone. Nate sniggered—well, he’d gotten his—as Flynn scrabbled for his cell phone on the dashboard. Once he had it, a glance at the screen made him curse.
“Hell, I need to take this,” he muttered.
“Really?” Nate asked.
“It’s Rescue. I don’t get to blow them off.”
Nate raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean I don’t get to blow you?”
For a moment Flynn looked conflicted. He let out a breath that was almost a groan and answered the phone.
“Delaney,” he said. There was a pause as he listened. To Nate the voice on the other end was an almost unintelligible chatter. He caught a few words—emergencyandfucking idiots, but not the gist. After a second, Flynn broke in again. “I’m off duty tonight. I’ve had a beer. What about—”
Whatever the buzz on the other end of the line said made Flynn’s jaw clench and his mouth twist in annoyance.
“Fine. I’ll go, but I’m not happy.” Flynn hung up and tossed the phone at Nate. “There’s a kid fell down a sinkhole at the old Deacon farm. I need to go provide backup. You’re going to have to come along. Just stay in the car.”
Nate glanced pointedly down at Flynn’s crotch. His erection was a stubborn bulge against the fly of his jeans. “You going to pole vault them to safety?”
Flynn threw the jeep in reverse and hit the accelerator. Gravel sprayed out from under his wheels as he backed up at speed down the drive. He hooked one arm over the back of Nate’s seat as he twisted around, and steered the car with the other.
“I’m going to do my job,” Flynn growled. He spun the car as they reached the end of the drive and hit the accelerator. “Then I’m going to do you.”
That shut Nate up, and his skin prickled at the images the gruff promise conjured up. Even though he was starting to doubt he’d be able to sell the “bad boyfriend” thing to anyone but Teddy and Max. Even his mother would doubt the gossip if it got out that Flynn went around rescuing small children on weekends.
As he wriggled his numb toes, he supposed that he should call the whole fake-dating thing off. The idea stood there for a second with its chilly feet on the forecourt of his brain. After an uncomfortable second, he dismissed it.
Nobody liked a quitter. He might just need to… rejig the running order of it all. No reason to call it a day yet, not without giving it a chance to work. That was only fair.
Besides, he didn’t want to call it off. Not yet.
