“I wanna fuck you,” he muttered against Boyd’s lips.
“Yeah, I got that,” Boyd said raggedly. He pulled back, glasses smudged and lips flushed and tender, and shrugged. “Okay.”
Morgan hesitated for a second, torn between how much he wanted Boyd and a flicker of something he supposed might be guilt. Although he didn’t know what the fuck for. He hadn’t asked Boyd for anything, just made an offer that Boyd had taken him up on.
“I don’t wanna—”
Boyd gave him a shove. It caught Morgan off guard, and he stumbled. The edge of the couch caught him behind the knees, and he fell backward with a thump. He ended up sprawled over the leather cushions, one arm slung over the back and legs stretched in front of him. He stared up at Boyd.
Under the heady daze of lust, his temper flicked like a sparked lighter. He didn’t like being pushed around—not by cops, not by foster parents, not by anyone. He clenched his jaw against the harsh taste of it in the back of his mind, and then Boyd took his glasses off and grinned smugly at him.
It was the first time he’d seen Boyd smile. The few days they’d known each other, Boyd’s expression had held steady somewhere between solemn and cautious. He looked like an idiot, completely unaware he’d been a wrong word away from a punch, and so happy it made Morgan’s chest hurt with the need to have him.
The last time he’d wanted something this much, it was a black ’67 Impala, and he’d spent his seventeenth birthday in jail for it.
It was worth it.
The corner of Morgan’s mouth tugged upward in a slow, wry smile as he let his head fall back against the cushions. He reached out and grabbed Boyd’s wrist to pull him down onto the couch with him, long legs straddled over Morgan’s thighs.
“Okay,” he agreed, a low rasp of need in his voice.
Chapter Five
BOYD SPENT90 percent of his life conscientiously making good decisions despite everything modeled to him by his dad and the erratic urges of Boyd’s own brain chemistry. It was the least he could do because he was the one who got to live.
But sometimes it felt like he just crammed all of his bad ideas into 10 percent of his time. He wasn’t really any more responsible. He just managed the time more efficiently.
Like this. Boyd crushed his mouth against Morgan’s and chased a groan between their mouths. He ran his hands over Morgan’s broad shoulders, all heavy muscle and thick bone, and down the taut lines of his arms. God, he was beautiful. He was hard lines and tawny skin, nothing soft anywhere on him.
Boyd’s balls felt heavy and too tight, the bite of hunger jagged in his cock and spreading out to a dull ache in the pit of his stomach and the backs of his thighs. Arousal prickled under his skin, spread under the rough skin and long fingers of Morgan’s hands as he gripped Boyd’s ass or slid them up under his T-shirt. The breath in Boyd’s throat was ragged and tasted like sweat, salt, and Morgan.
This was definitely 100 percent a bad decision, not that the knowledge made any difference.
It never did.
Boyd trailed a kiss down Morgan’s throat, the gilt stubble fine and soft under his lips, and scraped his teeth over the hard jut of his collarbone. It was crooked, bone mended in a hard lump halfway along, but Morgan didn’t flinch under Boyd’s mouth.
“How long’s it been since someone fucked you?” Morgan asked against Boyd’s ear, the flick of his tongue wet between the words.
“None of your business,” Boyd said.
He sucked in a shaky breath as Morgan bit his earlobe hard enough to sting and then licked the marked skin. The dull pain of it shot down his jaw and morphed into tingles of pleasure just before it hit his spine.
“A while?” Morgan guessed. He pushed his hands under the waistband of Boyd’s jeans and gripped his ass, fingers hard as he kneaded the flesh and muscle. Boyd whimpered under his breath as his cock thickened and ached in reaction, a line of hot sensation strung from his balls to his asshole. “This year? Ever?”
Boyd sucked in a breath warm from Morgan’s body.
“Don’t be an asshole,” he said.
“Well, it’s kind of my move,” Morgan drawled.
It surprised a laugh out of Boyd that he wasn’t entirely sure Morgan deserved. He licked the hollow of Morgan’s collarbone with a long, wet swipe of his tongue and pushed himself back.
“I’m not a virgin, and it hasn’t been that long.”
It took him a second to do the math in his head and remember exactlyhowlong. Four months, maybe. After the fire out in the old tenements on the east side of town, when he needed to blow off steam and hooked up with an ex. That was a mess.
Morgan smirked up at him, mouth wet and red from teeth and the scrape of Boyd’s stubble. “So you just want me that much. Good to know.”
