Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,31

giving to every bite while Summer let out soft, helpless, hungry sounds that did absolutely terrible things to Fox’s constitution. His control.

His restraint, as he let his fingers fall to dig into Summer’s hips, and pulled the aggravating young thing into him.

No room between them. No space for breath, for hesitation, for doubt when Summer gave himself over so willingly with a deep, husky moan—but suddenly he was shoving Fox back, pushing him with his body, challenging him with the pressure of flesh to flesh as he nudged Fox until his hips hit the desk and he slid back, settling atop the cherrywood, and Summer angled his hips between his knees—ah.

Ah.

Fox let his thighs spread, flanking Summer’s hips.

And as Summer leaned into him, pressed flush...

Ah, God.

The heavy, hard ridge of arousal was unmistakable, and the answering heat in Iseya was undeniable, a raw hot burst of throbbing pressure rising against his slacks, sliding against Summer until they were chest to chest, hip to hip, cock to cock, and their tongues twined in slow, deep mimicry of the subtle rhythmic movements between them, suggestive and hot and oh-so-slick, oh-so-enticing.

And Summer’s hands were on his waist, fingers strong and warm through his shirt, teasing against his skin in sensitive shudders as Summer’s soft luscious mouth begged with its wetness, with its warmth, with the delicious low sounds that slid between them each time their lips came together, locked, parted again before twined tongues drew them back in to taste deeper and deeper still, breaths lost between them and everything in Fox burning.

This was hell.

This was hell, and he was combusting in this damnable flame, and he wanted to hate every minute of it—the betrayal of it, the riot of his body and this quiet buried starved need for contact, for affection, for heat, the guilt of his traitor heart that wanted so much it almost didn’t care who even if the who wasn’t her.

No—no, that was the even deeper curse of it.

He did care who.

He just didn’t want to care that who was this young man who brought the same brightness as his name, this heat that illuminated everything beneath a wild and singing summer sun.

Gasping, Fox tore his mouth away from Summer’s, threading his fingers into Summer’s hair just to stop that needy, seeking mouth from following his; he didn’t remember closing his eyes, didn’t remember losing himself in the dark, but now he opened them, looking at Summer and that mouth turned into a bruise and a bloodstain and a bursting ripe fruit, glistening with Fox’s own touch.

Summer looked...

He looked like everything Fox had forgotten how to feel, captured in the graceful line of his jaw and the flutter of his pulse making his throat move in quick-sharp tremors and the way he looked at Iseya with eyes that were midnight in the brightness of his day, full of all the secrets and promises and intimacies that midnight could bring.

Too much.

Summer was too much, and even if Fox’s body hurt with how electrified he was, how hard, how hungry...

He let go, leaning back against the desk, letting his hands fall to brace himself as he turned his face away, staring off to the side at one of the hanging honeysuckle plants without really seeing it.

“That’s all you’ve earned for today,” he managed to say. His voice felt like a thick strange thing in his throat, sticking to its inner walls. “Enough.”

Summer didn’t move.

Not at first...until a hint of color intruded on Fox’s peripheral vision. Just the lightest touch, a ticklish skim, tracing his temple, tucking a loose strand of his hair back past the frame of his glasses, and Summer let out a deep, contented sigh.

“Well,” he said softly, warmth rolling into the throaty edge of his voice. “I think that answers the question of whether or not you like men.”

Fox’s heart skipped oddly.

Everything felt odd to him, as if he were an ancient and rusted machine whose circuits and pathways had gone dormant for so long that the first surge of sizzling lightning pouring through them was just a painful rush, electricity searing and burning and singeing fine and fragile things to ash because they just couldn’t handle it anymore.

Fox just couldn’t handle it anymore.

He didn’t know how to feel these things, and more than his body...

His mind, his heart didn’t know what to do.

“Don’t be impertinent,” he bit off, refusing to look back at Summer.

“I think you like me impertinent.” A smile in that voice, gentle, deepening it.