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We sat there for a moment. I wet my lips. His nostrils flared. “I’m not totally in opposition of maybe touching dicks in a friendly manner after dinner.”
“Who wants some coffee and bird’s milk cake?!” Jasha called after sticking his head between the swinging doors.
“Sure, yeah, after dinner dick touching is…sure. Yeah. Totally,” Marcus softly muttered.
“Totally.” All the air in the room felt steamy. “And kisses. Maybe more kissing?”
“Kissing is…” his eyes darted to my mouth then rose back up, “yeah, kissing is okay for friendly manner friends. Yeah?”
“Yeah? I mean, yeah.”
“Is not really bird milk in case you worry!” Jasha shouted as we sat there enraptured with each other’s faces and not replying to his query.
Well, lost in faces and the prospect of touching dicks. And kissing. Way more kissing.
Chapter Eight
Marcus
Iate my chicken. I think it was good.
Nothing that I could have put into my mouth could have possibly compared to the flavor of Baskoro. Unless it was his dick which, if we were still falling into this pit of total asshole choices, might be resting on my tongue soon. My prick ached like a stubbed toe. No, not painful enough. A toe that had been stubbed and then stepped on by a horse. A big horse. A Clydesdale. Yeah, that was comparable. And yet not nearly enough.
Jasha was the most gracious host I had ever met, filling our water glasses as we stuffed food into our faces, joking and winking, as if he knew something that we didn’t. Which he did not because we were not dating. Far from it. We had just had a moment of tongue on tongue action that might lead to his hand on my cock or mine on his or both hands on both cocks. This was a terrible idea for many reasons—the biggest being we were supposedly the scourges of each other’s existence on the ice—which was totally not the vibe we were now basking in.
Actually, we’d not been enemies for some time now. How could you hate a man who loved his nephew as much as Baskoro did? How could you despise someone who fawned over every picture you sent him of your daughter—and there had been a lot of images flying back and forth between us? We’d somehow crossed over that river of dislike, rode into the village of buddies, and now had entered the castle of desire. And all of that without a Hobbit to be seen.
“Come by anytime,” Jasha was saying as he gently steered us out into the cold. “Maybe when we are open. I find you seat by fire for more kissing in secret.”
We stumbled out the door, both ready to refute the kissing thing, but Jasha had already locked the door, flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, and turned out the lights.
And in all honesty, was there really any reason to rebut the comment? Nope. We had kissed. And right now, I wanted to kiss him again. So I did. I shoved him back into the door, took his face in my hands, and claimed his mouth. He moved into the kiss with a grunt, his arms cinching around my middle as I suckled on his tongue. The rich flavor of the dark coffee and chocolate cake we’d had for dessert lingered in his mouth. I wanted more. I wanted to douse his big, strong body in chocolate frosting and lick it off. I wanted to grind into him, cup his ass, stroke his dick, and make him come over and over.
A sharp rap on the glass behind us startled us. There stood Jasha giggling while pointing to our car.
“Yeah, shit, we should go,” I mumbled, taking Baskoro by the wrist to hurry him along. He seemed kiss drunk, his gaze and movements sluggish with desire. We got to the car, kissed again, and then I managed to separate to ask the most important question of the night. “Your place?”
He nodded just as his phone pinged. I smiled at the grimace of frustration on his face when he tugged his cell free from his back pocket to see who texted him.
“Shit, it’s Liam,” he huffed. “Fuck. He’s asking where I am.” He glanced up from his phone, a cold wind lifting some satiny black strands from his cheeks. “I kind of told him I was sick and couldn’t go to the team thing.”
“That sucks. What are you going to tell him?” I couldn’t help myself. I tucked his hair behind his ear. He leaned closer, his lashes fluttering at the touch.
“I’ll tell him I felt better and went to find some food,” he whispered as my lips skimmed over his cheek, the roughness of short whiskers sending a jolt of pure want to my dick. “And some meds. Christ, what the hell is going on here?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue,” I confessed as he wobbled a step away to type out his reply to his roommate. “Whatever it is, I am unable to get a grip on it.”
He reached out to cup my cock through my jeans. Hand to God, I nearly came right there in the parking lot.
“I have a grip on it, don’t worry. Can we go to your hotel room?”
A yes was on the tip of my tongue when some tiny bit of sensibility poked its head up through the fog of lust.
“I don’t think so. What if someone saw us coming or going?” I said, my fingers curled into a fist so I didn’t pull him back into my arms again. We needed some air, some clarity, or this was going to explode in our faces. Some space between us was good.
“Back seat?” he offered.
And all that good sense flew off in a cold autumn wind. We fell over ourselves to get into the car. I reached for his thigh as he kicked at a can of iced tea under the brake pedal.
