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Then he did it again.
“You really need to stop,” I breathed between kisses.
“Or what?” the bastard asked.
“Or . . . I’ll forget how I’m supposed to be a gentleman, how I wanted to impress you and make you feel, I don’t know, like you could trust me, like I wasn’t all the other guys in Atlanta who only want—”
“To fuck?” he asked, grinding himself against me as he said the words.
“Oh, God, yes, that.”
I was so hard now, my cock throbbing in my jeans, begging to be free, leaking against denim and probably soaking through to Mike’s—
Oh, damn. He was hard, too. I could feel his head nudging mine.
My brain completely short-circuited, and I forgot how to speak.
Mike’s mouth moved from my lips to my ear. “You make me feel safe, Elliot Hart.”
Oh, holy mother of pearl. How did he know my buttons, much less the perfect way to press—or grind against—them?
“You . . . you feel safe?”
“Very,” he cooed. “Know what would make me feel even more safe?”
Oh, shit.
“What’s that?”
“If you weren’t wearing all these annoying clothes.”
I think I came in my pants right there. My whole body shuddered, and stars flashed against the ceiling. Mike’s hand reached down and gripped my cock, squeezing it like he was checking a fruit for ripeness.
“Mike . . . you’re . . . damn . . . so . . . fucking . . . oh, shit . . . that feels . . . you need to . . .”
“Clothes, now,” he ordered, in a tone I hadn’t thought possible from the nerdy man.
His fingers, colder than an Eskimo’s ass, slid under my shirt and pressed into my stomach.
“Holy shit. Can you blow on those or something?”
He grinned and rubbed them against my skin, as if to warm them.
“Not what I was thinking,” I said, loving every minute of his flesh touching mine.
“Hands over your head, please.”
Disoriented, I complied. He wasted no time, working my shirt up, despite me lying on the floor, finding a way to yank it up and off before tossing it carelessly onto the couch.
“Elliot Hart, damn, you’ve been holding out on me,” Mike said, his eyes owlish as he took in my body. His fingers trailed my chest, outlining my pecs before teasing my nipples. Then he dragged his index finger down the center of my torso, along the line of fine hairs that trailed to my belly button. When he reached that point, he dug his finger in and wiggled it back and forth.
My whole body spasmed.
“And he’s ticklish!” Mike declared in victory, his other hand joining the first, digging into my side with religious fervor.
I tried to curl into a ball, to protect myself, but he still lay atop me, holding me down, keeping me stretched out.
“Mike Albert, you evil fucking sprite!”