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My breath hisses. “Yeah?”
He nods against me, his face inches away, his stubble so near I can almost feel the sandpaper burn. I want the sandpaper burn. “Yeah. Like this.”
He curls his hands tighter over mine, like he’s showing me his grip. But he’s showing me his want instead.
“And then what?” I ask.
“Then you swing, but not too…hard.” It’s said like a tease. Like a dirty invitation.
I weigh my choices one last time. Heads, there’s friendship. Tails, there’s desire.
And…desire wins the coin toss.
But before I can even turn around and grab his face, he’s running his nose along my neck, inhaling, drawing in deep hits of me.
And I’m letting him. Inviting him. Wanting him. I inch back, pressing my ass against his pelvis for the first time.
And hello.
That’s another answer. I didn’t need it, but I like it now that I’m close enough to feel it. Oh, do I like the hard ridge of his erection.
More answers come in the heat of his breath. The shape of his hands over mine. Then his lips coasting along my jaw.
I’m vibrating.
I don’t care about anything else at all. Not football. Not friendship. Not a damn thing.
I drop the club. Then, I make the next first move.
I whirl around, pull on the neck of his shirt, and tug him past the waterfall, into the cave, under the rocks. I grab his face in two hands, and I crush my lips to his.
I kiss him deeply and thoroughly. Tasting his longing. Giving him all of mine too.
We kiss hard and passionately, like this tension has been building for months, and the rocket is finally blasting off.
Lips crush. Tongues delve. Hands grab.
All that banter, all those barbs—they were foreplay. They were flirting. They were leading to this.
To the sexiest kiss of my life.
My friend is kissing the fuck out of me, like he needs to get closer and closer still. Like this kiss is everything he’s thought about late at night when he’s alone.
He pushes me against the fake rock, and my libido is so glad he planned this date. So glad he picked this place. I hope he picked it for this reason—to get me here, right here, away from the not too crowded course.
In this private little cave, he slams his pelvis against mine. My brain scrambles. I slide a hand down his strong arm and grab at his hip so I can keep him in place as I rub against him.
My hard-on seeks his and happily finds it. As our dicks meet, we both moan. But we don’t stop. We keep going, hands grappling, tongues tackling, erections grinding.
As he devours my lips, he groans. It’s the most carnal, horny sound I’ve ever heard. He follows it with his hand rushing down my chest, tugging at the waistband of my jeans, his fingers dancing perilously close to the button.
Holy fuck. He’s so aroused he wants to strip me in public. He wants to get his hands all over me.
I’m buzzed. Especially when he fingers the button, almost, almost undoing it right here.
I’m dying for his touch. But I need all of it, so I grab his hand, stopping him, then I break the kiss. “Want to get out of here?”
“Hell yes.”
8
FILTHY RETALIATION
Tanner
There’s no harm in one time.
I’ll just get Luke out of my system.
That’s all this is. That’s all it can be. He doesn’t want more, so there’s nothing wrong with the way we’re racing out of Strokers, calling a taxi, and fighting to keep our hands off each other as the cab veers toward Gramercy Park.
Longest ride of my life, and it’s only several cross-town blocks.
I can’t wait to get my hands all over him.
At our building, I give a quick hello to the doorman, then the concierge. Nothing obvious about us walking in together. We’ve done it a million times before. Zero to worry about.
I stab the button for the elevator. “C’mon,” I mutter.
“These things need to go faster,” Luke says.
“No kidding.”
The car arrives a few seconds later, and Elsie Rubenstein steps off. I groan privately, but publicly, I slap on a smile.
She grins too, wagging a finger at me. “Told you he was a cutie,” she says, then winks.
Shit.
Is that going to freak out Luke? I don’t need him to worry now. Now that I’ve got my chance to set all this red-hot lust free.
“And watch out for Sedgwick tonight,” she says, mentioning the Miami Aces starter. “His curveball is like a magic trick. Now you see it, now you don’t.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I say.
“Watch the ball, not his leg kick. That fancy leg kick is just a ploy,” she says, then she marches off, pushing her shopping stroller.
When the doors close, Luke arches a brow. “She knows I bid on you?”
“She thinks you’re cute,” I answer quickly, not wanting to waste time or breath on anything or anyone else right now. “Said so before the auction.”
