Somewhere in life Lucky must’ve done something right.
Should he ask how Bo managed to rig the living room chair without anyone finding out, or relax and enjoy the moment?
Oh. The chains meant Lucky couldn’t move much, and definitely restricted reaching out and touching. The song ended and another began with a sultry, driving beat. Bo nodded, hand on his hat, shadowing his face. He twisted and turned in time with the music. An embroidered dragon snaked up the back of the vest, bringing to mind Bo’s dragon collection and their rumored protective powers.
Bo didn’t need a dragon for protection, not with a cocky little bantam rooster around who’d take care of any threat.
Bo ran his hands down the front of his vest, thrusting his hips in an entirely provocative manner. He reached down, down, down, rubbing the impressive bulge at his crotch.
Lucky’s dick stiffened to the point of pain. He shifted in the chair to make more room in his jeans.
Turning, Bo offered a fine view, the twin globes of his ass framed by black leather, a thin cord from the thong disappearing between his cheeks.
“Oh, yeah. Shake that ass, baby.” Lucky’s fingers itched to caress firm flesh, to squeeze, rub, and reach between those gloriously rounded ass cheeks.
Bo whirled again, running his hands under the vest, closing his eyes and letting out a moan when his fingers scraped over his nipples.
No fair! Lucky wanted to touch too. He squirmed, but the chains held. Why had he ever admitted mild bondage turned him on?
Oh, because it did, though the man before him always would be his biggest turn on, in whatever way Lucky could have him.
In a dramatic move, Bo threw open the vest, letting the leather slide off his shoulders, down his arms, and onto the floor in time with the bass tempo. He kicked the vest away, running his hands over his bare chest, combing through the slight wisps of dark hair.
Settling his fingers on his belt, he thrust his hips, pantomiming an intimate act. Slowly, slowly, grinding to the music, he opened the belt and, loop by loop, parted the strip of leather from the chaps. They settled lower on his hips.
Bo bent at the waist, grabbing a zipper at his crotch and lowering the metal pull down the inside of his thighs to his ankles. The chaps leg flapped open while he repeated the process with the other side.
At last, he stood in thong, hat and boots, the dark hair adorning his runner’s physique painting an image of pure masculinity. He came closer, close enough for Lucky to catch a whiff of woodsy cologne, mingled with sweat and man.
Closer he came, and closer still.
Bo palmed the back of Lucky’s head and pressed his face into Bo’s groin.
Oh God! Forceful! Yes! Lucky grabbed the thong with his teeth and pulled.
Bo danced back, waving an admonishing finger. He jumped, spinning to land on his feet, back to Lucky, ass on display. The muscles in his back flexed, beautifully defined without excessive bulk. Oh, God, how Lucky wanted to touch, needed to touch.
A chain hung from Bo’s neck, the hummingbird charm—a gift from Lucky—glinting against his skin when Bo turned back around. His skin glowed under a sheen of sweat, the hair on his arms and legs darkening.
Damn, but he was beautiful, with his dark brown hair and eyes, five o’clock shadow, and sleek body. Lucky had never before had a type other than a man with a come-hither smile and no plans past a single fuck. Until Bo, Lucky had been strictly catch and release.
Now, no matter how much he saw of the man, Lucky remained fascinated. Each day revealed more new facets to love.
Sliding his fingers underneath the thong straps, Bo played peekaboo, lowering the pouch, showing a bit of dark curls and lifting the tiny bit of material back into place. No mistaking the bulge tenting out the front. Bo’s hardon couldn’t be missed.
Nor Lucky’s. He shifted again, but he wouldn’t find comfort with a raging stiffy seeking escape from his jeans, and his hands bound too tightly to remedy the situation.
Placing a hand on the chair arms on either side of Lucky, Bo bent down, putting his lips within kissing distance, then righting himself without losing a beat.
He danced like he did everything else: with his whole heart.
Back and forth he swayed, muscles clenching and releasing in his thighs and calves. The song changed to something more downtempo, and Bo slowed to match the beat. He danced close enough for Lucky to feel his body heat, occasionally brushing his crotch or ass against Lucky’s arm, and once bending over, giving Lucky the perfect view of where he wanted to be.
Lucky groaned. This man might be the death of him, but what a way to go. Dick aching, Lucky squirmed, grasping for any bit of friction available.
Clutching the chair arms again, Bo performed a modified pushup, lowering his face nearly to Lucky’s lap and up again.
“Stop torturing me!” Lucky groaned. He didn’t want to break the spell, but damn it. He needed.
