Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,68

narrowed in an unspoken dare. “You were worried about me, and now I’m back.” He spread his arms as his grin broadened. “What are you going to do with me?”

Ricardo glared at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“Ricky. Honey.” August slid his palms up Ricardo’s chest. “I thought we were past this. I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Ricardo growled, and shoved August back a step, hating himself for how disappointed he was when August’s hands were no longer on him.

But the idiot wasn’t giving up. “Did I, though?” August regained some of the ground he’d lost. “Because I’ve seen you eye-fucking me whenever we’re—”

“Have you been using whatever people cook upstairs in this place? Because you haven’t seen a damned thing.”

“Yeah. Okay.” August lifted his chin and stared challengingly down his nose at Ricardo. “I know what I’ve seen, and now we actually have a little time where no one’s trying to kill us. No one who knows where we are, anyway.” He stepped closer, back into Ricardo’s space. “And with as worried as you were about me, I think you’re—”

Ricardo shoved him back and pinned him to the cabinet by his throat. Not hard—not enough to cut off his airway—but enough to make it absolutely clear that he was not fucking around. “Do you ever stop talking?”

August grinned, and if Ricardo didn’t know any better, he’d swear August was pushing his throat against his hand. Because he liked getting choked or because he liked being restrained? Either way, he was enjoying the shit out of this.

“I do stop talking sometimes.” August licked his lips in an obviously deliberately pornographic gesture. “If my mouth has something better to do.”

Ricardo begged his own face not to respond to all the ways he could interpret that suggestion. Especially all the ways he wanted to interpret it. “Is that how you get laid? Irritate men until they shove a dick in your mouth to shut you up?”

August bit his lip this time, and fuuuck, that wasn’t helping Ricardo stay in control of himself or the situation. Neither was the smarmy, “Well if I just came out and asked, that would make me sound slutty, wouldn’t it?”

Ricardo blinked.

The little fucker laughed. “Don’t act surprised.” His hand came out of nowhere and cupped the front of Ricardo’s jeans, prompting a startled grunt from him and a low, sultry moan from August, followed by a whispered, “And don’t act like you don’t want it.”

Oh, he did, and the long fingers teasing him through his clothes weren’t helping him pull his head together, never mind pull away from August. “We’re supposed to be figuring out our next move.”

“Mmhmm. And it’s going to be hours at least before Silva finishes vetting me and making contact with his guy through God knows how many liaisons, so…” His eyebrow arched. “I’d say we have time.”

Ricardo shook his head. He started to pull back, but the strong hand on his cock squeezed just right to almost drop his knees out from under him.

“Just do it already,” August purred, his voice thrumming against Ricardo’s hand.

“Why? What makes you think I—”

“Bitch, you’ve wanted to kiss me again since we faked it in my closet.” He narrowed his eyes. “So what’re you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Or do you prefer hidey holes in half-exploded crime scenes and—”

Ricardo kissed him. At first to shut him up, because it was either that or choke him, and Ricardo still kind of needed him for this plan to go through. So…he kissed him.

And…

And…

Jesus. Annoyance may have driven them together, but hunger kept Ricardo there, his hand still on August’s throat so he felt every single soft moan as their lips and tongues moved together.

It was August who finally shoved them apart, though Ricardo still kept a grip on him. He met Ricardo’s gaze, his eyes gleaming with need and his lips swollen. Breathing hard, he said, “We’re not doing this in the kitchen.”

“No?” Ricardo ran his thumb up and down the side of August’s throat, which made August close his eyes, bite his lip, and moan as if Ricardo were stroking his dick. “You’ve never been bent over the counter and fucked?”

A low sound of pleasure reverberated against Ricardo’s palm, and August’s eyes fluttered open again. “Oh, I have. But I keep the lube in the bedroom, and olive oil doesn’t really go with my cologne.”

Ricardo huffed a laugh. Then he slid his hand down and started to grab August’s collar, but August snatched his wrist.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled,