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And then it hit him.
The article was gone.
The job offer was gone.
And Luca had no reason to be celibate anymore.
Oh . . . fuck . . .
Artair seeming to reach the same conclusion—no doubt helped by Luca’s own cock bouncing to life in his jeans.
Artair leaned back into the chair, entwining his fingers behind his head. That pose made Luca’s own dick swell even harder. The way the beefy arms revealed his messy armpit hair through the shirt. The way the soft stock of his midriff was exposed by the lift of the cotton. The way the tension from his splayed knees made the fabric around his iron bulge even more taut, emphasizing the girth beneath the gray.
“You, ah, aren’t wearing underwear, are you?” muttered Luca.
“Not sure. Why don’t you check?”
Artair sneered at that comment. Proud of himself. Knowing how good it sounded. In response, Luca throbbed so hard he thought the buttons might break on his jeans.
And just as Luca was about to throw his response into the dom-sub energy of the moment, Artair did the most adorable thing that Luca had ever seen.
Turning on a dime, Artair switched from a lounging power top and leaned forward, whispering exaggeratedly behind the back of his hand. “This is really hot and all, but if you want me to stop at any point, just say salami and I’ll be a good boy.”
Then, like an actor on a movie set, Artair returned to his prior come suck me position—powerful and commanding, as though his consent-seeking comment had never happened.
In response, Luca leaned over the man, a hand on either side of the chair. “And what if I don’t want you to be a good boy, Artair?”
Artair’s lips were hot and close. “What would you rather I was, Luca?”
“Nasty as hell?”
“Fuck yeah,” Artair whispered, the grin spreading wide across his beautiful face.
Their mouths met in the space between, hot and hungry and suddenly alive with the knowledge that there was nothing stopping them this time. Artair’s breath was as soft as his lips, bringing Luca in. Wanting more of him. Wanting all of him.
As their tongues melted together, Artair ran strong hands up Luca’s ample thighs. Squeezing the full curves of his ass. Tracing the soft edges of each mound. Making Luca moan at his sensual touch.
Artair looked up at him, those green eyes glowing. “I want to fuck you so hard, Luca.”
Luca’s throb was so strong and so sustained that a drop of his arousal stained his navy jeans the color of midnight.
Without missing a beat, or breaking eye contact, Artair pushed Luca back and slid out his tongue, catching the drop of precum on its tip, innocent as an angel with a mouth full of denim.
“Jesus!” Luca groaned, thinking about those lips and that tongue and the promise of what Artair just said he wanted to do.
Fuck him.
Claim him.
Artair’s tongue-tip pulled the sticky string of Luca’s precum away from the jeans, swallowing it greedily.
Luca melted into the expert stimulation of the hungry man. After weeks of teasing and temptation, he wanted to taste him back. To make him throb back. To make him groan back.
“Oneproblem... God, how are you so good at that,” said Luca, struggling to maintain composure through the slow teasing of his cock. “One problem. I didn’t bring any condoms.”
Of course he hadn’t. He’d never expected anything like this to happen. The whole summer was meant to be the opposite.
But where Luca might have expected annoyance, Artair’s eyes glowed. Because the man was already one step ahead of him. “I got a clean sheet a few weeks before I left Aspen,” he said, running his hands farther up Luca’s thighs. “You?”
