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“I thought you would go.” His words are soft groans.
“Didn’t think I’m tough enough to go out with a plug in my ass? What the hell would make you think that?”
I feel him smirk against my neck. I hug him closer. “I will go.” I slide my hand up his nape, fingers stroking into his hair. “I’ll do whatever will help you. That’s the way it is with you and me, yeah?”
He lifts his head, his glazed eyes reaching for mine. His lips press together, bringing both his dimples out. “I want you to stay,” he murmurs.
Cool relief spins through me. “Not gonna fuck you up?”
His lips twist. “Nothing new.”
Same here, bud.
I kiss his sad mouth. We start slow and soft, but I can feel him quaking again—this time from desire. Soon we’re wrenching apart, gulping air back. He shoves me against the shower wall, kissing like he means revenge as he strokes my cock so good that I’m gripping a rail for support.
“I’m gonna come,” I groan out.
His bites my throat. “Good.”* * *LukeWe stand on the mat after the shower, drying ourselves, and when I tie my towel around my waist, I notice he’s grinning.
I narrow my eyes in exaggerated skepticism. “What?”
His smile widens, and he shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“What?”
“I’ve gotten off like ten times today.”
“Oh. So it’s like that.” I arch a brow in mock condemnation.
He ruffles my hair. “Yeah. I drop everything for a painful emotional gamble that requires relocating myself and my giant marble centaur for a few orgasms all the fucking time.”
“Ten’s more than a few.” Then his words sink into my head: painful emotional gamble.
My whole body tightens, and he notices.
“Fucking shit, man.” His hauls me up against his hard chest. “That was overstated. Especially the painful part. I don’t even have real feelings. Got my DNA test, turns out I’m ninety percent android.”
I give a choked laugh. “Not worried about your feelings, buddy.”
He grins, and I jerk one of his curling locks.
“You like that curly-Q thing it does after showers?” He smirks. “My mom used to think it was adorable.”
“Yeah.” He steps back a little and starts toweling his gleaming shoulders, exposing his lower body. I touch his hip where it’s stained purple. “So…adorable.”
Vance tosses his towel over the shower door and walks into the bedroom, leaning over to dig in his suitcase. I can tell he’s flexing his glutes, so I take my towel off, twist it, and pop him.
“Fuck!” He whirls on me, adorably incredulous, and shoves my chest the way he likes to do—and so of course I have to grab his arm and walk him to the bed and bend him over…rub myself over his purple-stained bottom.
“Someone’s been to the gym,” I say.
“Fighting.”
I trace a ridge of muscle along his hip. “That so?”
“Just a little MMA to take the edge off.”
“I can tell. You’re bigger.”
He turns over, showing off his six pack and his long erection. I can’t help stroking it—and my own.
“You missing the twink look?” he says.
I grin, remembering when I first met him. Guess he was a little twinky. “I like every way you look.”
“Sincerity…” He’s panting, gritting his teeth as I pump him. “You’re off Team Android,” he says.
“Please. You’re the most emotional dude I’ve ever met.”
“What?” He tries to sound offended, but he’s pumping my cock now, and his eyes are lust-glazed.
“I’m just teasing.” I’m not, but I don’t want to piss him off. And anyway, I like the way he is.
“Oh fuck.” His dick thickens in my grasp.
“I know,” I groan. “Me too.”
A few more strokes, and we both have to clean up before putting on our underwear, which makes me laugh…which makes him get this smirky look.
“What?”
He smirks more. “Nothing.”
“Really, what?”
“I like you.”
And it happens—that thing. I feel really hot, and all my thoughts sort of congeal. He leans in and kisses my jaw. “Don’t let it go to your head, preacher boy.”
I laugh. “I thought I was preacher man.”
“You were.” He looks proud of himself for giving me a status downgrade. I reach out and flick his nipple.
He leans away. “Shit, man, I’m about to eat my hand. You’re gonna be carrying me and the food down to the microwave.”
I was so wrapped up in all this, I forgot for a little while there that he might not have eaten today. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I think you kept me filled up pretty good.”
He scoops up the food boxes as I tug my boxer-briefs on. “Here.” I try to take the boxes from him, but he lifts a dark brow. “I got ’em…buddy.”
“Not your buddy, pal.”
“I’m not your pal, preacher.”
“I’m not your preacher.”
“Yeah, you’re not,” he quips as we walk into the hall. “I’m Buddhist.”
“What?”
He chuckles.
“Are you?”
“If I am, do I get plugged or sent home?”
I laugh. “Neither.”
He snorts as we walk down the stairs toward the kitchen. “I’m not really. I mean, sort. But I’m an unsuccessful Buddhist. The not wanting things…” He lifts a shoulder. Softly, he says, “Not so good at that.”
