Page 21 of Line Change

His mouth passes mine and comes to my ear instead. His breath is hot against the skin below it.

“Eleven twenty-seven,” he whispers. “Knock if you want to find out everywhere I’m inked.”

The elevator stops and the doors slide open. Fraser steps out.

7

BEN

I can let the elevator doors close. I can go to my room, sleep this off, and never find out where Fraser’s tattoos end.

My arm shoots between the doors.

They bounce open before they touch me. I step into the hall with my heart slamming hard enough to feel in my throat.

Fraser is already at his room. Eleven twenty-seven, exactly where he said it would be. He’s holding the key card against the lock, but he hasn’t opened the door yet.

I might actually be losing my mind.

The hall is empty. Thank God. If Bobby or Caleb came out of a room right now, I have no idea what I’d tell them. I don’t know what I’m going to tell myself, and I’m the one who got off the elevator with my cock hard.

Fraser looks over his shoulder when he hears me coming. The corner of his mouth lifts. He doesn’t say anything.

I stop behind him and put my hand over his. His fingers tighten around the card. For a second neither of us moves, my palm covering the back of his hand and my chest close enough to feel the heat coming off him.

Then I press the card to the reader with him.

The light turns green. Fraser pushes the door open, and I follow him inside. It shuts behind me with a heavy click.

His hotel room is the same as mine. A short entry opens toward the bed and desk, with the curtains pulled over the window beyond them. I barely see any of it. Fraser turns, and the grin he gives me is filthy enough to make my cock press harder against my zipper.

Then the grin fades.

“What are you doing here, Ben?”

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him use my first name. Pope. Saint Pope. Once, Benjamin, when he wanted to be especially annoying. I stare at him for a second too long.

“Fuck if I know.”

I put my hand on the back of his neck and drag him close. His mouth parts, but I turn my head and press mine to the ink below his ear.

Then I lick it.

His skin is warm and faintly salty under the clean smell of hotel soap. The black lines aren’t raised. I knew they wouldn’t be, but my tongue searches for them anyway, following the edge of the tattoo down the side of his neck.

Fraser moans.

The sound goes straight through me. I lick him again, slower this time, and his head tips to give me more room. My hand tightens in the short hair at his nape. I drag my tongue over the same spot until his pulse kicks against it.

“This is a terrible idea,” he says. His voice is already unsteady.

“Shut up and get naked.”

Fraser pulls back enough to look at me. The filthy grin returns, but it doesn’t hide how hard he’s breathing. “So Saint Pope wants to fuck.”

I move before he can say anything else. My hand closes around his throat, fingers spanning the sides and my thumb pressing under his jaw. I don’t squeeze. I don’t need to. He goes still with his pulse beating hard against my palm.

“You talk too much.” I slide my hand up, cover his mouth, and press my thumb against his lower lip.