How often Mike had traced his fingers over the page, following the journey. What lay beneath the jeans? He’d seen a grainy photo on the Internet someone claimed to be Trickster’s lead singer, naked, but in the bad lighting, who could tell?
Soon. Soon Mike would see expanses of skin, taut muscles, and feel callused fingers caressing his own body. Would Killian want to top or bottom?
Oh, how Mike wanted him to top, to feel this man deep inside, stroking him both outside and in.
Mike wouldn’t turn down a chance to top, either. Oh, crap. He nearly grabbed his groin to stave off the shear burst of pleasure threatening to undo him.
Get yourself together, man!
Soon enough he’d have Killian in bed. The double bed in the tiny room of Mike’s rented shoebox, too cheap to even have real curtains on the windows.
If he could, he’d take Killian somewhere great, make love to him properly. Judging by his ad, however, all he’d wanted was a casual hookup.
A hookup.
With Killian Desmond.
Did Mike have beer in the fridge, or food to offer if Killian got hungry? He’d definitely not thought this thing out.
His heart pounded so loudly they could use the beat for a drummer in tonight’s set, pounding harder with each minute ticked off toward the trailer.
* * *
The tiny trailer Killian parked in front of had seen better days. Old and battered, it appeared deserted. A faded towel hung from the front window instead of a curtain.
“It ain’t home, just where I’m sleeping this week,” said his host.
Based on the no-frills lodgings and beaten-up Bronco, Texas wasn’t a high maintenance kind of guy. In the past, Killy might worry about someone hooking up and blackmailing him later. For all appearances and purposes, Killian didn’t have much more than Texas.
Killian liked the even playing field.
Time to stop thinking and get back to the matter at hand: a willing body, and a fine one at that. Texas’s nicely rounded ass made a pleasant distraction as he led the way across the yard and up three steps to unlock the door.
Despite its outside appearance, inside the trailer was pleasantly cool. A lone recliner and tiny TV sitting on a plastic milk crate occupied the front room. Nothing else. The place smelled dry and dusty, with the faintest hint of pine cleaner. Okay, he’d seen the sights, now for…
Texas ushered Killy farther inside. “Can I get you a beer?”
What is wrong with you, Killian? Fuck the guy, catch a nap, and get on with your life. Socializing is nearly as bad as kissing. Just fucking fuck and leave!He knows too much already!Why the fuck had he admitted who he was? If Killy didn’t get out of town fast, his hookup might alert the media, might… “Nah, I’m good.”
Nothing worthwhile left to lose made a man reevaluate his priorities.
Texas paused, a “what now?” look in his eyes.
Did he really not know?
Killy would gladly show him the next step in the dance. He grabbed Tex by the shoulders and slammed him against the nearest wall hard enough to rattle the cabinets in the kitchen a few steps away. The cowboy’s masculine scent filled his nose and started a fire in his groin.
Texas grinned. “Oh, you like it rough, huh? I can definitely do rough.” That thin layer of dark beard grew close; Killy ducked away.
“What?” Texas asked.
“I don’t kiss.”
Again, a black crow’s wing brow questioned him. “Why not?”
“Kissing leads to caring.” Just look where caring had gotten Elliot.
“What’s so bad about that?”
