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It was easy to imagine André tucked into his couch, his reading glasses perched on his nose, a book in one hand and a cup of tea sitting on the end table. There was only one way to find out if he was right. Dante climbed the three steps to the porch, lifted his fist, and knocked.
When the door opened just moments later, Dante found himself as close to André Dear as he had been in months. He must have recently taken a shower; his hair was still slightly damp. Instinctively, Dante breathed in, filling his lungs with the scent of him, a combination of spicy aftershave and the last traces of lavender body soap that was uniquely André.
“Dante,” André said, almost as if he’d been expecting him.
“André.” Dante was at a loss for words. He should have planned this better.
“What do you want?”
André’s glasses were perched on the top of his head. His uniform had been replaced with jeans and a white t-shirt. His feet were bare, even though it was October. Dante’s cock twitched.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t go all caveman when he got the chance to talk to André again. Resolve crumbled into dust. Dante wanted André Dear naked. He wanted to make the man beg and make him promise that he’d be there the next time Dante came over. That never again would Dante knock on a door and have it answered by the wrong person.
FIVE
André
Again, he’d known it was Dante before he opened the door. The man couldn’t just knock. The sound had to be an authoritative announcement of his presence, a demand to enter. André briefly considered pretending he wasn’t home, but a heady mix of anticipation, desire, and curiosity won over self-preservation.
“André.” Dante growled his name, pushing past him into the house as if he belonged there.
André shut and relocked the door before turning to face his “guest.”
Damn the man. The minute André had spotted him at The Steam Donkey last month, he’d wanted to wrap his arms around him, breathe his scent in, and never let him go. He had tried to convince himself it wasn’t Castone, but he’d known the truth. His reaction had been ridiculous because they’d meant nothing beyond a good lay to each other.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” André was at least going to try and do the right thing.
“Of course, it’s not a fucking good idea,” Dante agreed pleasantly, closing the distance between them again. Dante’s scent, a blend of the aftershave he used—something with spice—and sweat, had André’s dick very happy. “That’s never stopped us before.”
It hadn’t. He opened his mouth, intending to add more to his protest, but he was too slow, addled by Dante’s presence in his house. A hand grabbed his chin, holding him still. Rough lips pressed against his, then Dante’s tongue flicked across his mouth, leaving fire in its wake as he demanded another form of entrance.
“God, André,” Dante groaned. “I need this so much.”
André couldn’t argue; hell, he couldn’t speak. There was no point in trying to hide the fact that he wanted Dante too. Wrapping his arms around Dante’s waist and grabbing his tight ass, André pulled the other man’s body flush against his. They were both fully clothed, but the press of Dante’s cock against his own erection was fucking heaven. And history told him they would be naked soon enough.
Getting their clothes off and being skin against skin was the priority. Whatever reason Dante had for showing up they could talk about later.Afterward.
“Clothes off,” André hissed.
“Yes,” Dante agreed.
Thick fingers and clumsy thumbs tugged at buttons, snaps, and belt loops. Impatience winning out, André pushed Dante’s hands away to shove his own jeans and briefs down, finally kicking them off and away. Even more quickly, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. The offending shirt caught on his reading glasses and flung them to the floor, where they landed with a clatter.
A second later, Dante’s shirt, jeans, and boxer briefs landed on the same pile.
“Jesus, André, you look good.” Dante’s electric-blue eyes were dark with need. “Good enough to eat.”
André’s cock twitched at his words and at the sight of him naked. In André’s humble opinion, Dante Castone was a work of art. The dusting of dark chest hair became thicker as it headed downward to cover his cock and beefy thighs. When they’d first hooked up, André had felt lesser, too old. His own lean runner’s physique, graying head of hair, and sparse body hair made him self-conscious, but Dante had kept coming back—until he hadn’t—so there must have been something the younger man liked about him.
“Where’s your bedroom?” Dante rasped. “We don’t want to give the neighbors a show.”
André gestured behind him toward a hallway that led away from the kitchen.
“Second door on the left.”
Following his direction, Dante started toward the bedroom with André on his heels.
“Nice,” Dante said once they were inside. André wasn’t sure what was nice about it. It was a boring room with a boring queen-size mattress covered with a bland comforter and two pillows.
