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It’s like those slow-motion moments in films.
I grab him.
Bracing my feet against the slippery inch of snow, I haul him against me, gritting my teeth as he sags in my hold. The guy isn’t a lightweight. He’s slender but packed with hard muscle and weighs probably as much as I do.
He clutches at my arms, his breathing frantic. He smells of cigarette smoke and man, a light musk to his skin when I find my face buried in his neck. We’re embracing like long-lost friends or lovers on the sidewalk as I try to steady him enough to let go.
Not sure I want to.
Let go, that is.
After jacking off to images of him fucking me and kissing me, after the moment I thought my heart would give out when he started to fall, and with his strong body trembling against mine in the falling snow, I don’t stand a chance.
I might be the one who kept him from falling, but I’m the one who’s fallen.
In lust.
“Sorry. Fuck.” He squirms in my arms, trying to stand, rubbing against me.
It’s getting me damn hard.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him, and he tenses more, his back rigid like a board under my splayed hands. “Relax.”
“What the fuck?” he mutters against my shoulder, and then gasps.
Is it because he felt the boner I’m rocking? “Riddick?”
“I’m all right,” he breathes and slowly pulls away.
My arms are still around him. His face is very close to mine, white with shock, his eyes wide. They’re the palest gray, like cloudy crystal, and he has the longest dark lashes I’ve ever seen on a guy.
He blinks, and they sweep across high cheekbones. “Ryan?”
Disbelieving.
“We meet again,” I say and throttle the urge to laugh. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I just…” He tries to step back again, and this time I let him. “Just slipped.”
“Were you coming to the gym?”
“Huh?”
“The gym.” I nod at the sign across the street.
“No. I was looking for my brother.” He grimaces as if he didn’t mean to speak the words. “I live close by. I just stopped for a smoke.”
“Smoking’s bad for you.”
He laughs. It’s dry and a little bitter, but my body reacts to it as if it’s a fist working my dick.
Jesus.
“Where is your brother?” I ask, to distract myself.
“Good question.” He scowls at the street and the swirling snowflakes. “He took off again.”
Uh-oh. Family trouble. This is something I should steer clear of.
