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“How are you?” Chris asked at the same time as Joaquin said, “Hang your suit in the closet if you want to keep it crease free.”
Chris turned away from the city view to look at him, his nervous laughter bubbling up. “Jesus, does this make you feel like a prostitute?”
Joaquin gave him a wry smile. “First time?”
“First time, what? Fucking?” Chris asked.
Joaquin shook his head, bemused. “No, hooking up.”
“No, but,” he blew out a breath.
Joaquin had come back into the room and he was just standing near the end of the bed, relaxed, like he did this all the time.
“Drink? Should we have a drink first? Talk?”
Joaquin gave him that smile again—it was like he was laughing at Chris. “What do you want to talk about?”
Chris didn’t know why, but that look made him feel even hotter for it. “I don’t know, we could get to know each other.”
“So far,” Joaquin replied, actually smiling this time, “you’ve suggested I’m a prostitute and I fuck around enough to not remember the guys I fuck.”
Chris huffed, but the way Joaquin’s voice slid over those words, his smile, it was doing things to Chris, making him wonder if he could just walk in here and fuck.
Still, he didn’t want to insult Joaquin. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just,” he gave Joaquin a deliberate look up and down, watched him allow it, “You make me nervous.”
Joaquin raised both eyebrows. “Why?”
Chris waved his hand at him. “You’re so calm and I, you know,” he looked at his feet, then met Joaquin’s eyes. “Like you.”
“You don’t know me,” Joaquin said, his voice losing the sexy edge from before. “This was a bad idea.”
And he was turning for the door.
Chris crossed the space between them quickly and pressed up against his back, his hand sliding around his waist boldly. “Don’t go,” he leaned down to say against his ear. “I’ll stop talking.”
Joaquin craned his head back and oh yes, this felt good—the warmth of him, the way Chris’ hardening dick rubbed up against the top of his ass.
“Promise?” Joaquin asked.
Chris felt his nerves evaporating under the arousal of having their bodies pressed so close. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” Joaquin went to turn in Chris’ hold.
“Can we kiss?” Chris asked as Joaquin looked up at him.
“I thought you were going to stop talking?” Joaquin leaned in and Chris pressed forward to meet him, their lips brushing.
Chris felt his heart pound, just from a hesitant caress of lips. Oh yeah, he fucking loved this part; he brought his hands up into the fine strands of Joaquin’s hair, tilted his head and pressed their lips together firmly.
Joaquin parted his lips and Chris slipped his tongue in, felt Joaquin answering him, stroking his tongue over Chris’.
He slipped one hand down to Joaquin’s ass to haul him closer, get their dicks lined up. Joaquin was hardening up and Chris pushed against him, his own dick straining against his pants. The kiss turned rough—Joaquin pushed into it with a desperation Chris could really get behind.
He broke the kiss but stayed close. “What do you want to do here?” he asked.
“Not talk,” Joaquin kissed him again.
Shit, but Chris was not going to come in his pants while they rutted together in the doorway. He knew once he came, it was game over, and he really, really wanted to drag this one out.
