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His lips are soft, softer than I would've thought a guy's lips would be, and he tastes like beer and pizza and something else I can't quite place.
He's not moving, so I snake an arm around his waist and deepen the kiss, sending a bolt of fire right to my core.
You shouldn't be doing this!my internal alarm bells blare.
Yes you fucking should be!my body answers as I lower my hand, spreading my fingers out as far as they'll stretch over his firm, round ass, and then haul him into me so he can feel the effect he's having on me. Even with way too many layers of fabric between us, I can tell he's just as hard as I am.
I wrap my other hand around the back of his neck, and when he whimpers into my mouth, I'm done for. I've been dreaming about kissing Locky for months, but even my most detailed fantasies about what his lips would be like don't hold a candle to how good this feels.
I drag my fingers against his scalp and gently pull on his hair, forcing his head back, and plunge into his mouth. My tongue shows no mercy as it unleashes a frenzy of swipes inside Locky's mouth, desperate to remember the feel and taste of him forever.
I hope I'm not being too rough with him, but before I can pull back to check, Locky slides a hand between our bodies and starts stroking my bulge.
I almost come on the spot.
"Harder," he murmurs.
I don't know what he means so I ramp up on all fronts. My hand squeezes into his ass harder. My other hand pulls his hair harder. And my tongue dominates his mouth with a torpedo of swirls, I'm amazed Locky's still able to breathe.
I continue mauling him until I finally need to come up for air. I pull away, and there's a string of saliva between us. The skin around Locky's plump lips is red raw, his mouth is parted, and his eyes look like he's just had the best fucking kiss of his life.
I know I have.
LOCKY
Monty is speechless. Open-mouthed, but speechless.
Which, actually, isn't saying all that much. He's British, and closed-off in that typical British way. It doesn't mean he doesn't care, it just means he doesn't know how to express how he cares.
He started at the clinic after me, so we bonded because we're the two newbies, and despite the stiff upper lip thing he's got going on, I've taken a liking to him. Plus, since getting together with Jeremy, he's opening up a whole lot more.
If we happen to be on a morning shift together, and the stars align and we have a break in appointments at the same time, we like to grab a coffee together from Daly's bakery just down the block from the clinic. Best baked treats in all of Brookhaven.
"Wh-wh-what's wrong, M-monty?" Jeremy asks, bringing over our two coffees, and two freshly baked cinnamon rolls because kissing burns calories.
Correction, getting kissed by Roman Turner burns calories. Shreds them, in fact, until they raise their hands in the air—because yes, calories have spindly little arms—back away slowly, and promise never to return.
"I'm just surprised," Monty says when he's able to find his voice.
"M-m-mind if I-I j-join you, or w-w-w-w-w—"
Jeremy shakes his head in frustration.
Monty takes his hand. "It's okay, baby," he says soothingly.
Jeremy flashes me a look, and I simply smile. "Mate, take all the time you need."
I can see thethank youin Jeremy's eyes as he takes a breath and tries again. "Or w-w-would you like s-some privac-cy?"
"You're more than welcome to join us." I push out the spare chair at our table with my foot. "I was just telling Monty that Roman and I kissed last night."
Jeremy mustn't have heard me over the noise of the bakery because as he sits down, his expression doesn't change.
He looks at me and grins. "F-f-finally."
"What do you meanfinally?"
Jeremy and Monty look at each other, then at me, then back to each other. "Do you want to tell him or should I?"
