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“The hair on your chest. It’s darker than what’s on your head and in your beard, and I was dying to see just how dark and how far it went down. I like that it disappears into your jeans. So damn hot.” He stroked Abe’s stomach, then stopped and took a long, shaky breath. “I think we’re going to have to slow this down.”
Regret laced every word, but it was obvious he meant what he said.
“Why?” Abe asked, tightening his fingers and chuckling at the way Dom gasped and thrust up into his hand.
“Because I really like you, and I know how you feel about dating. I don’t want to just hook up with you, so I want to go slower, too. So you’ll know it’s real to me.”
“Feels pretty damn real to me.” He frowned. “I’ve heard the stories, Dom. You don’t do slow.”
His eyes opened and the green shimmered in the low light of the lamp behind Abe. “That’s just it. Nothing about this feels anything like what I’ve done before.” He curled his fingers in Abe’s chest hair again. “This matters, Abe. Really matters. You like the way it feels to kiss me? Touch me?”
“I like it a lot more than I expected, and I expected to love it.”
Dom’s chuckle was so low and throaty, Abe’s dick jerked in his jeans and he winced and glanced down at it.
“Well, I’ve been with a lot of men. Enough to know the kind of excitement I’m feeling right here with you is more important than a hookup.”
Abe stared at him, his heart still slamming against his chest and his cock still hoping for more action. He stared until he clued in that this was important to Dom. He meant every word. He reluctantly uncurled his fingers, but he used both hands to tug the waistband of those silly boxers out so he could look inside. He grinned when Dom groaned.
“That’s cheating.”
“I just wanted to see what I have to look forward to. You going to teach me what you can do with that thing?”
This time, his eyes squeezed shut and he purposely slammed his head back against the wall. “I’m an idiot. Never mind. Ignore everything I just said and slide your hand back in there.”
“Nope,” Abe said, kissing the corner of his mouth as he refastened Dom’s jeans. “You’re right. I want us to both be ready for that first time.”
“But there will be a first time, right?” Dom’s eyes shot open and narrowed on him. His hair was stuck up all over the place, and he had beard burn darkening his cheeks and jaw—his pale skin flushed red down his neck.
So. Damn. Hot.
“There will definitely be a first time. And probably a second. And a third.” He stepped back.
“God, I’m an idiot,” Dom repeated. “You find us a movie—not on Netflix, dammit. Something with lots of explosions. I’m going to run out to my car. I got us a nice baby bourbon. No telling on me that it’s from New York.”
Abe just flat-out liked him. “Bourbon sounds good.” He watched Dom hurry out his front door and he walked over to his freezer, opened it, and stuck his head inside. Holy shit, he was on fire. He’d had passion in his life, but this was unreal. Kissing Dom was like taking a shot of a good, one hundred percent bourbon. Smooth and a little sweet with a kick that left a man warm, horny, and fired up for more.
When he felt sufficiently cool, he got out a packet of microwave popcorn. Popcorn and bourbon? He was up for trying something new. Or…something else new.
He had absolutely no doubts that he was going to love any and every kind of sex he was going to have with Dominic Walsh.
When the popcorn was done, he poured it into a bowl while watching his front door. He wasn’t sure what sent alarm skittering down his back, but within moments, he was out the front door and the sight of Dom running from around the back of his house had him rushing out to his driveway to meet him.
The absolute fury and fear on Dom’s face made his food turn into a lump in his stomach. “What’s going on?”
“Fuck, Abe. I’m so sorry. I have to go. Now. But I’ll be back with paint to take care of that tomorrow, okay?”
“Take care of what?” Confused and worried, he grabbed Dom’s arm to stop him from getting into his car. “Paint? What’s wrong? You look…scared.”
Dom pointed and Abe followed to see some black letters on his white garage door. He let go of Dom and walked close, realizing as he did that they weren’t letters, but stick figures in different poses.“These are just like the ones you said neighborhood kids did on your door.” He crossed his arms and stared at Dom, taking in how pale he looked in the light of the streetlamps. “Talk to me. This is obviously not kids—not ones who followed you to my neighborhood. What do these figures mean?”
