Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,37

what I was doing or what I thought might be gained by confronting him. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have gotten into his truck or met him on his doorstep. Part of our story was over, but we were far from finished.

I stared at the scar running from the corner of his mouth to the right side of his jaw. The jagged edge was mostly hidden beneath his end-of-day stubble. I remembered the night it happened. Justin was there too. It was a bar fight in Long Beach. Some idiot called him a faggot, and all hell broke loose.

That was the funny thing about Tegan. He was cool and laid-back…until you pissed him off. That guy got what he deserved, ’cause let’s be real, only a true jackass would go out of his way to taunt someone Tegan’s size.

So, what did that make me?

I let my gaze wander down his heavily tattooed chest. Fuck, he was beautiful. He looked like a modern-day knight. His uber-defined abs and impressive biceps were covered in a riot of colorful ink that read like a roadmap of his life. I knew the heart with thorns on his lower hip was his first. And I knew he got something new every other month or so. Even if it was small.

There was a time I loved that I knew little details about him, like his shoe size, what side of the bed he preferred, and how he took his coffee: eleven, the right side, and black. But now…it hurt to be this close to him.

The air was heavy with lust and need, making it difficult to breathe normally. My nostrils flared as I sucked in a lungful of his cologne. There was no way Tegan wasn’t thinking the same damn thing I was.

He cocked his head curiously and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not gonna—”

I sprang from the wall like I had Spidey powers and crashed my mouth over his. Tegan stumbled back in surprise. He regained his balance before he careened into the recliner. Then he pushed me away, gasping for air as he swiped his hand over his mouth and looked at me as if I’d suddenly turned into an alien.

If he wanted an explanation, he was shit out of luck. I had nothing but a headful of bad ideas and a rock-hard dick. A quick glance south told me Tegan was in the same state. That didn’t mean he’d do anything about it. He had a tighter rein on his self-control than most guys I knew. I braced myself for icy rejection or heated anger. But he stopped a foot away from me…and froze.

And somehow the air was even thicker now with a primal cocktail of lust, need, and anger. Words were a useless currency. He couldn’t hear me, and I couldn’t speak anyway. I opened my mouth, but before I could ask any stupid questions, Tegan kissed me.

Okay, it wasn’t really a kiss. It was more like a tongue-fuck. It was the office scene…times ten. He pushed me against the wall, tilted his head, fused his mouth to mine, and drove his tongue inside. The wicked glide was a rough possession. He sucked my bottom lip and nipped it, devouring me again.

I met him thrust for thrust, raking my fingernails over his spine. I flattened my palms on the warm skin above his belt, hooking my thumbs in the loops and pumping my hips to meet his in a manic quest for friction. And, oh my God, that slide of his rock hard cock alongside mine felt fucking amazing.

Tegan hissed at the contact, breaking the kiss to lick a trail down my neck as he cupped my ass and tilted his pelvis rhythmically. I loved how easily he manhandled me, which was weird because I usually liked being the one in control. Tegan didn’t give me a choice, and for once I didn’t give a fuck. I wanted him all over me, and I was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. I bit his shoulder as I snaked my hands between us to deal with my shirt. Tegan grunted in approval. He helped me with a few buttons, then got stuck, and ripped the motherfucker open.

The sound of torn fabric and buttons hitting the wall sent us into another sphere. Tegan pulled the shirt off my shoulders like a caveman and crashed his mouth over mine again. We made out