Nate grinned. “Give me something else to do, then.”
That made Flynn laugh. He turned his head to the side and pressed a kiss against the underside of Nate’s wrist. The contact of wet lips and heat sent a shudder through Nate that started in his fingertips and ended in his balls. He caught his breath.
“This time,” Flynn said. “You go first.”
He took another step forward, and Nate mirrored him. His heel caught on the first step of the stairs and made it rattle. Nate stepped back onto it and was briefly the taller of the two, but it didn’t last long. Flynn joined him on the step, crowded his body up next to Nate’s, and pressed against him from shoulder to hip.
A grin flicked up the corner of Flynn’s mouth. He slid his hands back to grab Nate’s ass and pulled him in ever closer, until their cocks rubbed together through their clothes. The jolt of pleasure that hit Nate was sharp enough to almost be pain. He bit his lip hard and hung on to Flynn for balance, his knees suddenly loose under his weight.
“Shit,” he muttered into Flynn’s shoulder.
Flynn laughed and pressed his mouth against Nate’s ear. It tickled as he murmured, “Now that seems hot enough,” and then traced his wet tongue around the shell—which didn’t help Nate get his legs underneath him. He shuddered, clenched his fists, and pressed his knuckles against the long strap muscles in Flynn’s back.
“Don’t get me wrong. I really want to do this,” he said. “But your stairs aren’t made for fucking, Flynn.”
Flynn snorted and gave Nate’s ass a rough squeeze. “You saying my stairs aren’t good enough for you, Granshire boy?”
“I’m saying the hickey was bad enough. I don’t need a waffle pattern on my ass too.”
“I liked the hickey.” Flynn scraped his teeth down Nate’s jaw—half kiss and half bite. “I might like the waffle pattern too.”
“I wanted a bad boyfriend,” Nate reminded him. “Not a weird one.”
Flynn’s laugh vibrated through them both. It was a rough rasp that dragged an answering chuckle out of Nate. He grabbed a handful of Flynn’s T-shirt and pulled the thin material up and over his head. It ruffled Flynn’s hair and then caught around his arms. He had to let go of Nate’s backside to take it off the rest of the way himself.
Like the jacket, he left it where it dropped.
They stripped their way up to the bedroom. Nate toed off his sneakers on one step and lost his shirt and a couple of buttons to Flynn’s impatient fingers on the next. Another step and Nate fumbled the button fly of Flynn’s jeans open. His knuckles brushed against Flynn’s stomach as he did so and made Flynn flinch and suck his breath in through his teeth.
“Your hands are still like blocks of ice, Nate,” he grumbled.
“And I told you, warm me up, then.” Nate grinned and slid his hand down into the gaping waistband and palmed the rise of Flynn’s cock. It was heavy and eager in his fingers—soft skin over hard flesh and the hot pulse of blood. He rubbed his thumb over the come-slick head, and Flynn’s hips jerked toward him. The groan that escaped him had nothing to do with the chill. “Better?”
It must have been.
Flynn bit out a strained curse between his teeth and dragged Nate up the last few steps. The lights were off, and the moon was the only source of illumination, but in a room that was 90 percent glass, that was enough. The walls curved in almost invisible lines, confusing the eye about where the room ended and the velvet-black, star-studded night began, and a massive rumpled bed dominated the room.
“Wow,” Nate said as he paused to admire the view. “This is….”
“I can hear you writing the ad in your head.” Flynn wrapped an arm around Nate’s waist and pulled him back against his chest.
That wasn’t entirely true. Nate had written the ad years before. He was just editing it on the fly in his head. It probably wasn’t the time, but his brain had briefly skipped tracks.
Flynn slid his hand down until he cupped Nate’s cock through his trousers. The quick squeeze, hard fingers, and the chill scrape of the zipper against sensitive flesh brought his mind back to what they were doing.
“Only a bit,” he promised. His breath hitched, and caught in the back of his throat when Flynn squeezed again. His voice was ragged as he added, “Stunning vistas. What stunning vistas.”
“Smartass.”
Flynn pressed a kiss against Nate’s neck. The sharp pressure of his teeth gave way to the wet softness of his lips, and he scooped him up. The sudden gesture made Nate yelp and grab for Flynn’s shoulder as his feet left the floor.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, half laughing.
Flynn grinned, skimmed a kiss over the tilted corner of Nate’s mouth, and tossed him onto the bed. “Distracting you.”
It worked. Nate spluttered out a laugh as he sprawled back on the soft mattress. The memory foam gave under his elbow as he watched Flynn wrench off his boots and shove his sagging jeans down to his ankles. Moonlight glazed the heavy planes of practical muscle as he straightened up, and silvered the threads of gray in his hair and on his body.
Nate felt his mouth go dry. He knew what Flynn’s body was like—the breadth of his chest, the dense, dark arrow of hair down to his balls, and the heavy, curved shaft of his erect cock. But it was like that story about the blind men and the elephant. He’d missed the heavy, dark-haired thighs and the knotted bloom of scar tissue that slashed across one leg like a twisted garter.
