Page 31 of Into the Fire

I closed the gap between us and kissed him. He kissed me back. He reached out for my shirt and pulled me closer. I crowded him against the wash rack. He bit my lower lip while I reached up for a handful of his hair.

Dante groaned into my mouth. It landed low in my body.

He broke off the kiss first, breathing hard, still gripping my shirt.

“Not here,” he said. “If Shep finds us at the wash rack, they’ll hear about it clear to Idaho.”

My office was thirty feet away. I pulled my keys out so he could see.

I opened the door, and Dante crowded in at my side. As I was closing the door behind us, he pulled off his shirt. I hadn’t seen him without a shirt since we’d lived in the bunkhouse five years ago.

He was leaner than I remembered and harder, fence-line muscle instead of jump muscle. He had a scrape across one shoulder from Whitmore, and dark hair ran down the center of his stomach into his waistband.

He watched me look at him. I kissed the scrape.

His breath was ragged. He slipped both hands under my shirt and dragged it over my head, then put his mouth on my neck, open and hot, teeth just short of marking me. He unbuckled my belt with impatient fingers.

We managed the undressing badly. Both of us were too tired for grace. He laughed once when my elbow caught the lampshade.

I got his jeans open and shoved them down off his hips with his shorts. I wrapped my fingers around his cock, thick and hot, already slick at the tip.

I backed him into the desk. A stack of papers scattered across the floor. He sat on the edge, knees wide, and hauled me in between them by my waistband. I opened my fly and pulled out my cock, rubbing it against his.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this for five fucking years,” Dante muttered.

He stroked me slow, root to head, thumb dragging over the crown on every pass, watching my face while he did it. Damn, he had excellent hands.

I spat in my palm and took him in hand. The strokes were rough, his fist and mine. The desk creaked under Dante’s weight. He reached out for my ass and pulled me even closer. I knocked his hand off my cock and stroked us both with my fist, rubbing together.

“Fuck.” Dante rolled his head back. “Keep doing that.”

His ass lifted off the desk, and his hips rocked up into my grip.

He kissed me again. “This an addendum, too?” he managed, against my mouth.

“Requal’s over.”

“Good.” His hand closed over mine, and we stroked with both our hands. “Then stop grading me.”

“I wasn’t—” He rolled his hips and twisted his wrist. I lost the ability to speak, and he laughed, breathless and delighted.

Dante came first, yelling “Fuck!” into my shoulder, the cum spilling hot over our fists. His fingers dug into my ass hard enough that I knew I’d feel it the next time I sat.

I was less than thirty seconds behind him. I drove into his grip and groaned into his hair while I shot over his abs.

I leaned in against him, and he held me in the dark while sitting on my desk.

When I could breathe again, I looked around. The lampshade sat crooked. The blind was open to the empty yard. There was a manifest folder on the floor, and my belt was hanging loose.

Dante had never gotten his boots off.

I kissed him hard and put my hand on his chest. His heartbeat was slowing.

We put ourselves back together without talking. Dante buckled his belt and found his shirt where it had landed on the chair. I ran water into the little sink in the corner and passed him the roll of paper towels.

I picked the manifest folder off the floor and set it back in place. Then I straightened the lampshade and gathered the Whitmore forms that teetered on the edge of the desk.

“You know somebody’s going to mess that desk up again tomorrow,” Dante said.