by Rie Warren
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I’m looking forward to finding out.” His voice dropped to a husky tone—the kind of wanna-fuck guttural timbre that made me regret not ripping off his suit in the elevator and fucking his brains out against the wall.
Chapter Twenty-One
Date Night Win
“YOU ARRANGED ALL THIS?” Michael asked.
This was a private dining room at Keens Steakhouse. Booking it may have been overkill, but I wanted a full serving of discretion along with our entrées. The fancy place almost made me break out in hives on contact from the linen napkin laid in my lap, but they had the best steaks in the Big Apple, and the maître d’ wasn’t above a little palm-greasing on short notice when name-dropping was involved.
Go figure.
Discreet was practically on the menu at Keens. From the start there were no extra waiters dancing in attendance but a sole penguin-suited dude slipping quietly in and out. His tact didn’t settle my nerves. Not one bit.
In fact, I was more nervous than when Margaret Morrissey had delivered her virginity to me in the backseat of my da’s Impala.
I fiddled with the silverware and swore. Then I apologized for dropping the f-bomb because this was our first date and I was going for romance, not goon.
Sitting beside me, Michael looked amused. “I’m beginning to think you’re just trying to get into my pants, baby.”
No brainer! Jesus Christ, then I blushed. And I blurted, “I’m not. I wouldn’t. I want to, but . . .”
“Liam, you don’t have any idea what you do to me, do you?”
Instead of looking at him, I studied the menu in some foreign language—or maybe I was just holding the damn thing upside-down. All I knew was I wanted steak. Or meat. Or Michael’s meat. In my mouth.
“When you blush, you, this perfect man made up of two hundred plus pounds of pure muscle, because of me? Fuck, Liam, you make me crazy.”
Placing the menu aside, I peered over at him.
“I wish I’d torn that suit off you the second you showed up at my door, and all of this?” Michael looked around the joint. “Makes me want to throw you onto the table and suck your hot cock for dinner, sexy.”
Goddamn ditto that.
Sitting up straighter, I pulled out my glasses and put them on. I slid my hand onto Michael’s thigh. He inhaled quickly, and the muscle beneath my palm tensed and flexed.
I made a show of studying the entrees, saying, “I don’t think my cock is on the menu tonight.”
Michael’s shoulders jostled when he laughed, and his laugh was a deep rumble from his stomach.
“Now behave, because if you say anything regarding cream and dessert in the same sentence, romance is definitely off the table, and I’ll have no choice but to fuck you raw. And I will keep my glasses on because I know how much they turn you on, baby.”
His groan was deep and long, and I wondered how we’d manage to sit through a full meal without fucking all over this over-priced private foodie haven.
Michael wasn’t about to go down without a fight, though.
He studied his menu then said, “Order what you want. I’ll let you.”
“You’ll let me?” I swung my head toward him.
“Hey, it’s your heart attack.” He smirked.
“Only thing that’s gonna give me a heart attack is the way you look in those pants, stud.” Holy shit, I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth.
I didn’t regret it one bit when Michael’s fingers trembled on his glass of wine. Or when his cheeks turned pink, the exact same color as his silky nipples on his big, broad chest. He wasn’t the only one capable of causing a blush.
I had steak. Of course I did. I ate it all, with vigor. Michael gave in and had prime rib, too. Farm-to-table veg, hot fudge sundae for dessert. Who knew chocolate could make your eyes roll back? It tasted good. Even better when we shared a spoon.
Over two hours later, the table was cleared with coffee on the way. The staff knew to leave us alone, but I still felt like someone was butting in on our secret sanctum. I didn’t want to spend the rest of the night thinking about the big Wade-shaped elephant in the room.
“Are you doing okay about . . .” I waved my hand, meaning that other guy.
“Wade?”
I jerkily nodded. Not that I wanted to know.
Michael sat back, his leg crossed at the knee. He looked relaxed, but his mouth pinched in at the corners. “It’s going to take some time, and it’s not even just the emotional fallout. I mean, he was my friend as well as my lover, and I think the way I broke up with him destroyed anything good we’d had.”
I felt like such a schmuck because I couldn’t even tell Michael I was sorry about that. The fact was, I was glad Wade was out of his life. I took a sip of wine instead of talking.
“Then there’s all the crap like our furniture, the belongings, both his and mine . . .”
“So, I shouldn’t get my hopes up.” I pushed in closer to the table and leaned my head on a hand.
“You should definitely get your hopes up, Liam.” Michael reached over to cup my face. He pulled me closer. “I’m sure as hell hoping we have something together.” His lips brushed against my jaw. “Can we stop talking about that shit? I want to sit here and enjoy you.”
“I just want to sit here and look at you.”
“That’s all I’m good for? Sexual objectification?”
“Pretty much. Especially during yoga.” I winked.
“You like that?”
“I like everything about you.” I scooted closer and kissed the corner of his mouth. “We’ll take it slow then?”
“We can take it as slow as you want, rookie.”
I barked a laugh. “I ain’t no rookie.”
“I probably don’t want to hear about this.”
“It’s not first date or any date material.” I glanced at him. “But you are my first date with a man, Michael.”
He was heart-stopping breathtaking when he smiled at me.
Hooking his fingers beneath my chin, he pulled my lips to his. “You get right to the heart of me, Liam.”
I shivered in my skin, submersed in every touch of his fingers and lips.
Throughout the coffee that would have me hopped up all night long, we held hands. We didn’t talk much, the deep and meaningful over for the moment. In place of words we shared easy smiles and light touches promising more as the thrum of arousal gathered force inside me.
When the bill arrived, Michael pulled the plastic from his wallet before I even had a chance to grab the folder.
I shoved his credit card back at him and snagged the bill before he saw the outrageous amount. “We are not going Dutch.”
“Can I at least leave the tip?” he asked.
“Hell no, you can’t. I asked you out.”
It was a simple act, paying for our meal, but I wanted Michael to know—well, shit—that I cherished him. And that meant I was gonna hold open doors for him, take care of him when I could, as well as ogle his incredible body every chance I got.
We zipped back to our building, and once we reached the lobby, Michael asked, “Since you’re so old school, you’ll probably want to walk me to my apartment?”
“I wouldn’t be a true gentleman if I didn’t.”
Invitation granted. Invitation greedily accepted.
His fingers trailed beneath my jacket and settled on my ass. “That’s what I thought.”
We didn’t hold hands or even touch during the ride up in the elevator. Tension rolled off me in waves while Michael sent me a naughty smile as he lounged in the opposite corner. He looked like a predator on the prowl. My heart thudded even harder in my chest.
At his door, I bit and licked the back of his neck, nuzzling my nose into his hair. For a moment, he wasn’t predator but prey. My prey. The muscles in his shoulders knotted. His ass flexed when I fitted my hands to the back of his pants. He turned the key in the lock then hauled
me inside.
He slammed the door, pressed me away, and slid off his jacket. “I’ve got something to show you, baby.”
Shivers rolled up my spine when he called me baby. Christ, maybe I’d get that sexy little endearment added to my ink.
“What? Your apartment?” I turned around and strolled through the entryway.
After all, this was my first time in his place, and I wanted to snoop around.
He chuckled—a low, delicious, rasping sound—as I walked away. I took off my jacket, too, letting it slide to a chair. His kitchen was homier than mine, with mugs lined up from the cities we’d visited and a copper crisscross of hanging pots and pans. There was also a filled-to-the-gills wine rack, whereas I had a six-pack of Gatorade Ice Punch.
I pointed at the well-stocked wine, shooting a glare at him. “Not fair.”
Michael ambled closer.
He unknotted his tie.
“You’re the one who wants to be the champ.” His hand trailed down my chest over my shirt.
The sensation of his touch felt like we were already skin-to-skin.
I arched into his hand but then backed away. “You wanna fuck the champ.”
“Maybe when you win the title belt.”
“I bet you a hundred bucks you can’t wait that long.”
“Yeah. You got me.” His growly tone curled around my nads like fingers softly stroking my most sensitive places.
Taking a deep breath, I continued my exploration of his apartment. I tried to ignore his electric presence. It looked like Michael had lived here for years unlike my slap and dash IKEA ready-order. His furniture was old but cared for, the colors dark and bold. Books and magazines and newspapers cluttered an oak coffee table that might be large enough to fuck on.
I found him watching me from across the room.
Approaching him, I kept my steps slow and steady until I had him cornered. “So you really are a smart boy, judging by all these books.”
He gripped my hips in strong hands. “You really are a hot boy. And I wanted to give you the grand tour of something else.”
Shiver.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Property of L.S.
AFTER OUR POLISHED NIGHT out, I needed to know exactly what Michael was wearing under his clothes. Absolutely fuckin’ nuthin’, tight little briefs, or a kinky jockstrap. I didn’t have to wait long.
He leaned against the wall and moved my hands to his backside. Loosening his belt, he made me slip both my hands down inside, over his ass. Onto his completely bare butt cheeks. They were firm and smooth and hot and silky.
My head fell to his shoulder as I grabbed two handfuls of sexy male. Getting to the outside of those muscular hemispheres, I fondled the stretchy fabric framing his ass. One of my fingers strayed down his cleft, circling his button. Michael kissed my neck in long, slow sweeps mirroring the motion of my fingertip up and down his downy crack.
“Undo my pants, baby.”
I rutted against him. My dick wet my briefs, already one light touch away from total cock explosion. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
He just smiled and slid his belt free of the loops. I took over with shaking hands. The zipper sounded so loud alongside my sharp breaths. His hard-on rapped against my knuckles as I spread the fabric open. I kneeled down, taking his pants with me. Shoes, socks, all of it came off except for the jockstrap. And I almost drooled as I skimmed my palms back up the thick sinews of his legs.
The material was hot from his erection when I touched him and wet where come leaked out of the head of his cock. Bright blue against his tanned skin and muscled thighs smattered with light bond hair, the jockstrap barely contained him.
I sucked his hardness inside the fabric until my lips were swollen and his jock was plastered to his cock.
Grabbing my hair in a tight fist, Michael pulled me off.
His eyes gleamed, dark and craving, as he looked down at me. “Read it.”
Down the centerline I’d wetted were bold white letters.
“PROPERTY OF L.S.”
“That’s right. This cock”—he drew his tight blue jockstrap down to bright blond pubes then snapped it up again—“belongs to you, Liam Shaughnessy.”
Fuck. Me.
On my knees, I ripped my pants open and gripped my shaft. I shoved Michael against the wall and cupped his round testicles. Lightly running my fingertips over the head of my dick and his thick flared tip at the same time, I groaned.
“I like these. Where the hell did you get them?”
“I’ve got my resources, just like you.”
“I don’t have resources. I have handlers.”
“But I’m the only one who handles you from now on.”
“I guess so, since this”—I gripped his cock—“is my property.”
I tugged the jockstrap lower until his dick was at a perfect ninety-degree angle harnessed by that stretchy material.
Michael combed back my hair and cupped my face. “Fuck, baby. This is one of my fantasies come true.”
Mouthing his rigid cock as it strained inside the fabric, I stroked his thighs. “Mine too.”
Our breaths came hard and fast as I slipped his balls out beneath the elastic. They were hot pink, hot to the touch, and shifted inside my mouth as I tongued them. I reached up, flitting my fingertips over the hard, leaking shelf of his cockhead when it reared out of his jock. God, his tip was soaking wet with precome. I held my palm beneath his freed balls and sucked them back into my mouth. My other hand never strayed from the deep red dome-head of his cock.
I slipped my slick fingers into my mouth to taste him on my lips. Salty-sweet and absolutely addictive, and that was just his precome. I stood to kiss Michael, moaning when he dragged me against him. My shaft rolled against his half-bared one, the sensation one step away from setting me off.
Michael must have felt the same because he attacked my mouth with his, fueling my need to return his rough kisses. He ate my lips, my chin, my neck. Breaking away, he licked his lips and stared at me with eyes almost-black.
Then he grunted, “Too fucking hot for your own good, Liam.”
I swallowed hard. I tried to grab him, but he shook his head, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. Big tease. I had no idea he’d be so explosively sexy. Sliding away, he walked to the sofa, showing off those amazing round ass cheeks. I was left reeling from arousal as he sat down and beckoned me to his lap.
I straddled him slowly, knowing he could handle my body on top of his. We were mostly dressed, but still I said, “I thought we were taking this slow.”
In one powerful move, Michael ripped open my shirt.
What was I thinking about being mostly clothed?
He didn’t seem to have time for more talking tonight. Instead he devoured my chest—grunting, groaning, sucking on my nipples like no one ever had before. My cock pressed against his in his lap. And the heat, his tongue-lashing, the maleness of this moment stretched my resolve to the breaking point.
“I like this.” Michael trailed his tongue along the Celtic cross on my pec. “I really like this.” He lifted my arm and nibbled the black and red dragon tattoo that wrapped all the way down my forearm. “Know what I love?”
“My cock.”
“Funny boy.” He smacked my ass, and the heat of the unexpected blow seared me.
“I dare you to do that again if you want me to shoot all over you.”
“What I want is for you to stand up and turn around.”
Oh fuck. Where is he going with this?
Standing up on huge thighs that trembled, I turned around. My body rippled with the heat of his gaze I felt like a torch on my skin. My undone pants dropped down my legs. I kicked them off my feet. I stood in only a tight pair of black briefs.
“You love my ass?” I croaked.
“I do love your ass. And I’m going to love fucking your ass.” My hole flared at his words. “But I’m talking about your wings, baby. Flex for me.”
“Michae
l, I—”
“Do it.”
I sucked in a breath. I was going to come if he said anything else in that commanding tone. He didn’t even need to touch me. I pulled my arms up, bent them at the elbow, and flexed every single muscle four years of nonstop training had given me.
Michael groaned, and then I felt him stand right behind me. His lips then his tongue went to work on the tattooed wings pushed into high relief by my classic bodybuilder pose.
“On a wing and a prayer.” His short nails rasped down my back.
I hissed and my hips kicked out, my cock seeking something hard to ease the agonizing arousal building beneath my taut skin.
“That is so you.” His mouth landed on my spine and traveled to my neck.
I couldn’t take any more. Rounding on him, I pushed him onto the couch. I crouched above him on my knees. Grasping his shirt in both hands, I tore it off.
“I like your ink, too.” I bit out my words just before I attacked the tat of the bird of prey with my lips and tongue and teeth.
I grabbed his nipple, so near the bird’s eye, with my teeth. Michael threw his head back with a shout.
“What is it?”
“A hawk.”
“Why?” I circled the pink nub of his flesh over and over.
“Why? Christ why what? I can’t think when you’re in the same room with me, let alone when you’re sucking on me.”
“Just wait ’til I get to your cock.” I chuckled when he rocked his groin against me. “Answer me. Why the hawk? Why the words: Fight and Flight?”
“Fight I had added for you, baby.”
I grabbed his shoulders in both hands and stared at him. “When?”
“When I knew I’d never get over you.”
With my forehead bent to his, I ran my fingertips up the sexy tat that laddered along his muscled ribs. “Flight?”
“Because you look like you’re flying when you’re in the ring. And you’re free, for once.” His mouth moved to my ear. “I want you to fly with me.”
I groaned as our lips met.
“You should’ve been a fucking poet,” I gasped when we broke apart.
“And you should do nothing but what you’re doing right now.”