Page 54 of Play Dirty

He’s still across the room, arms at his side, mouth slightly open, eyes on me, then darting to her, then back to me as I walk towards him, slipping my shirt down my arms as I approach.

Alexander is like me. Not gay, not even quite bi, but… more than curious. Open, I guess. To whatever feels good.

I feel good. He knows this. We had fun back in LA. Even if it was more about hate and jealousy than anything approaching love or affection.

It’s not about hate and jealousy this time. Not about love or affection, either.

It’s about greed.

My gaze bores into his. I can almost feel the anger coming off his body. “Relax,” I say. “This is gonna be fun.”

“I don’t—”

But he doesn’t get any farther than that, because I lean in, take his face firmly in mine, and kiss him on the lips.

He’s muttering protests past my lips but I don’t give a fuck. I just push my tongue inside his mouth, grip his head so he can’t back away, and kiss him. Open-mouthed. Lots of tongue. Eyes closed. And the second he softens and begins to kiss me back, my hand reaches down for his cock.

He’s not hard, but he’s close.

I massage him as our kiss becomes less angry and more passionate.

My hands go to his suit coat and slip it down his arms, mouths still locked. Then I back away, smirking at him like I just won a very crucial battle. It’s a Bunker Hill kind of win. It’s fucking Normandy.

My fingers are on his tie, unknotting it the way I did mine a few minutes ago, only in reverse. It slides through his collar with that familiar sexy sound and goes sailing down to the floor.

“Jordan,” Augustine says, behind me.

“Quiet,” I say, not bothering to look at her. He’s the only thing that matters right now. “Don’t fucking move, Augustine. Or this ends, and I do mean ends.”

“You think you’re in control here, Wells?” Alexander asks me.

“Sure looks that way,” I answer back. I’m already unbuttoning his shirt. And he’s letting me, so…

I release him from my gaze and look down at his chest as my fingers work the buttons. The muscles beneath are revealed to me four inches at a time and when I get to the waistband of his slacks, I pull the shirt out and finish. Only then do I look back up at him and smile.

I reach for his hand, and he fights me a little, but I grip him hard with both of mine, and then release the cufflink and slip it inside his pocket, my hand purposefully brushing against his now fully erect cock. I do that again with the other hand and this time he puts up no fight.

Jesus. His first surrender comes quick.

Then I have the edges of his collar and I’m slipping his shirt over his shoulders. Letting my fingers graze his skin as I pull the starched cotton down his arms.

His breathing has quickened. It’s not heavy and fast like it will be very soon, but there’s no denying his heightened arousal now.

I throw his shirt to the floor and we stand there. Two shirtless, half-naked men. Similar build, similar height, similar objectives.

We both want to win. His win is… fuck, I have no idea. I don’t really understand these two. But you don’t always need to understand a person’s motives to catch them off guard and take control of their own game.

“I want to touch you,” I say, looking him in the eyes.

Behind me I hear Augustine let out a breath.

“So do it,” Alexander says. Impassive. Well, trying to be.

There’s only inches separating us, but a moment later those inches are erased. With one step my bare chest presses against his. My face tilts one way, his face the other. My hands on his belt, his hands on mine. The jingle of two sets of hands unbuckling two belts fill the room. And then there’s the sound of zippers being released. And breathing, absolutely heavy now, as his hand grips my cock and my hand grips his.

I close my eyes because it feels like the right move. But I open them quick enough to see he did the same.

He’s mirroring me. Unable or unwilling to lead when it comes to homoerotic moments. But I got this.