Somebody to Love (Tyler Jamison #1) - April Wilson Page 0,67

scratch of his short beard against my palms and lips. The way he smells, his taste… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s darker and muskier. It’s masculine. I don’t know why that turns me on, but it does. And I’m going to stop asking myself why it does and start embracing it.

I’m hard as a rock right now, my erection pressing against the front of my jeans. I lean into him, letting him feel how aroused I am. I grind my erection against his.

Ian lets out a ragged moan and clutches my arms, his fingers digging into my biceps. “Tyler!”

I grasp the hem of his shirt and pull it up and over his head. My gaze lands on his chest. He’s leanly muscled, his torso tanned from spending time in the sun. His chest is smooth, and the sight of his pierced nipples makes my cock throb. My gaze locks on the line of hair running down from his naval, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

God, I want this. I want to taste him. I want him in my mouth. I want to make him come. I want to fuck him.

I whip my t-shirt off and toss it aside. And then I face him, chest-to-chest. His eyes lock onto my torso, and he studies me with a hungry gaze. I’m no gym rat, but I do work out. My shoulders and arms are bigger than his, my chest broader, and I outweigh him by at least thirty pounds.

I slip my arms around his waist and draw him closer, until our chests are touching. I gently brush my nipples against his piercings, and he shivers.

“I got head last time,” I say. “It’s your turn.”

“No one’s keeping score,” he says, despite the glitter of excitement in his eyes.

I don’t know where we’re doing this, but it’s not going to be in the kitchen. “Where to?” I say.

He takes my hand and leads me down the hall, toward the parlor. “In here,” he says, pointing to a room across the hall.

I steer him into a much larger room that’s furnished with a couple of sofas, some upholstered chairs, a whole wall of bookcases filled with books, and a fireplace.

I walk him over to one of the sofas and reach for his belt buckle.

He grabs my hands. “Tyler, you don’t have to do this.”

“Hush,” I say as I pull his belt free. “I want to.” I can see that he’s hard as a rock, his face flushed with arousal. He wants this as much as I do.

“It’s not a competition,” he says.

I meet his gaze. “I know that. I want to do this. Are you saying you don’t want me to give you head?”

“Oh, hell, no!” he says, laughing as he slides his warm hands up my chest. “I want anything and everything you’re willing to give me. I’m just—I don’t want to rush you, man. That didn’t work out too well for us the last time.”

“I want this, Ian. I want you in my mouth. I want to make you come, hard. Have you got a problem with that?”

Ian’s eyes practically roll back in his head. “Jesus, man, you’re killing me.”

I drop down onto the sofa and pull him to stand between my legs. “Don’t get too excited. I’ve never done this before, and I may suck at it.”

He laughs as he threads his fingers through my hair. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s likely. We’re only talking about it, and I’m practically ready to come.”

I unsnap Ian’s jeans and lower his zipper, careful not to catch his erection. Damn. He packs a lot in his briefs. When I tug his jeans halfway down his thighs, the warm scent of him wafts out at me and my belly clenches tightly.

As I trace the outline of his erection with my finger, a damp spot appears on the fabric of his briefs. He’s excited, already leaking pre-cum. I smile, pleased that I’m affecting him like this. I want to turn him on. I want to make him hungry and desperate, like I was last night. Maybe I am keeping score, after all.

I pull his briefs down, freeing his erection. Damn. He’s thick and long, crowned with a beautiful ruddy head, the tip glistening with pre-cum. My heart jackhammers in my chest as I stare at him. God, I want to get this right.

I wrap my fingers around him, near the base, my fist brushing up against his wiry hair. Jesus. The sight of his