Page 14 of Fire Me Up (Front Range Motorcycle Collective #2)

Gael

I was completely fucked. Dylan’s words kept replaying in my mind, breaking my heart a little every time I heard them. Casual gay sex.

Was that all he’d felt? Because to me, that entire night had been mind-blowing. It had turned my world on its axis, and I didn’t want to ever put it right again.

My sisters were worried about how hard and fast I was falling, but I needed more. I needed everything he would give me, even if it wasn’t everything I wanted.

And now he wanted a night alone with me. A night to teach me all the things he thought I should know.

I’d followed his prep instructions to the letter. Spent an eternity in the shower making sure I was clean and perfect for him, working myself open with my fingers like he’d told me to, imagining they were his hands, his cock stretching me wide. The memory of it made my dick twitch in my jeans.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a short hallway with eight doors. Dylan’s loft was on the right. My palms sweated as I approached, fighting the urge to check my reflection in my phone camera.

I stopped in front of his door, raised my fist, then lowered it again. What if he’d changed his mind? What if he took one look at me and realized I wasn’t worth the trouble?

Fuck it. I raised my fist and knocked three times, sharp and decisive, before I could chicken out again. After a few seconds, I heard footsteps, the slide of a lock, and the door swung open.

Dylan stood there in worn jeans and a faded black T-shirt, his hair slightly damp like he’d just showered. He didn’t look surprised to see me, despite my radio silence all day. He didn’t look pissed either. He just looked… gorgeous. Beautiful enough to stop my heart.

“You came,” he said.

I nodded, suddenly tongue-tied. All my carefully planned explanations, all my apologies for running out on him, evaporated at the sight of him. All I could think about was how much I wanted to kiss him again.

“Well, come on in.” Dylan stepped back, giving me space to enter. I brushed past him, catching the scent of his soap—something crisp and clean that made me want to bury my face in his neck and inhale.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show,” Dylan said as he closed the door behind me.

I turned to face him, gathering my courage. “I’m sorry about last night at the club. I had a bit of a panic thing.”

Dylan’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes. “Yeah, I noticed. I was worried. I hope I didn’t move too fast.”

“No, not at all.” Fuck, if anything, it hadn’t been fast enough. “It wasn’t because I didn’t like it. It was the opposite. I liked it too much.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Too much?”

I nodded, heat flooding my face. “I’ve never felt anything like that wild desperation when we kissed.

I needed to touch you, to have my skin against yours.

Maybe it wasn’t anything different for you, but I…

I don’t even know how to explain how intense it was for me.

And, um You said it was all casual. I swallowed those words down. “I didn’t know what to make of it.”

Dylan grinned wickedly. “We’ve been denying ourselves, denying that we wanted each other for nearly a week. It was like sex after a long session of edging. Lust, combined with the new experience, made it really hot. Makes everything ten times as exciting.”

My stomach dropped as I realized maybe we weren’t both feeling the same thing. “So it’s not that intense for you? Because it’s not new for you?”

He studied me for a moment, then lifted a hand to cup my cheek, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. “Don’t look so sad, sweetheart. It’s hot as fuck for me, too. Just… you know, that’s how lust is. Burns hot and then it’s done. But I definitely want you.”

I opened my mouth to tell him he was so fucking wrong, that this kind of intensity didn’t come around every day. I’d never felt like this with anyone. But then I snapped it shut again, sure it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“But we might as well enjoy ourselves while it’s hot, don’t you think? Did you prep?” His hand slid down to where my neck and shoulder joined, giving a gentle squeeze.

The question sent a surge of heat straight to my groin. I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Every step.”

His eyes darkened, pupils expanding until there was just a thin ring of brown around them. “Good,” he said. “Because I’m going to fuck you tonight, Gael. Properly. In a bed. Not in some dirty club bathroom.”

I couldn’t stop the small sound that escaped me—half gasp, half moan. My cock hardened instantly, straining against my zipper.

“As long as you want that,” Dylan added, watching my face carefully.

“I want it,” I said, the words coming out rougher than I intended. “I want you.”

Dylan’s smile was slow and predatory. The hand on my shoulder curled around the back of my neck, and he pulled me down for a kiss that made my knees weak.

This was nothing like our frantic kisses at the club. This was deliberate, thorough, like he was mapping every inch of my mouth with his tongue. I melted into it, my hands finding his waist, pulling him closer until our bodies were flush together.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Dylan looked up at me, his lips slightly swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

“Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “Bedroom’s this way.”

I followed him back, feeling more nervous than I had any right to as I looked around his bedroom.

The bed dominated the space, already turned down with fresh sheets.

Lube and condoms sat within easy reach on the nightstand, a clean towel folded at the foot of the bed.

Dylan had prepared for this, planned for it.

Every move was thorough and deliberate. Would that be how he’d fuck me?

The thought made my cock throb against my zipper.

He stepped into my space, eliminating the distance between us. His hands found my hips, fingers slipping under the hem of my henley to graze the bare skin beneath. Even that light touch sent electricity racing through me.

“How did you feel while prepping?” Dylan asked, his voice dropping to a register that made my knees weak.

“It was… intense.”

“Intense how?” He slid his hands higher under my shirt, tracing the ridges of my abs.

“Knowing you’d be inside me,” I admitted. “Thinking about it while I fingered myself open. I’ve never been so turned on.”

Dylan’s pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the brown of his irises. “Gael.”

Then he was kissing me, and whatever awkwardness lingered between us burned away in the heat of his mouth on mine.

I clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer, desperate to feel the full length of his body against me.

He tasted like mint, his tongue exploring my mouth with the same confident precision he brought to everything.

I wanted to tear our clothes off, to feel his skin against mine, but Dylan set a different pace. Slow. Methodical. He broke the kiss to pull my henley over my head, tossing it aside before stepping back to look at me.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed, running his hands over my chest, thumbs brushing my nipples and making me gasp. He leaned forward and kissed my scar. “This okay?”

“Feels better every day.”

“Every time I see you shirtless, it’s like a punch to the gut. My dick goes instantly hard.”

His praise made me feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with my bare skin. I reached for the hem of his T-shirt, needing to level the playing field. “Your turn.”

Dylan raised his arms, letting me pull the shirt over his head.

I’d seen him shirtless before, but never this close, never with permission to touch.

His tattoos fascinated me, and I had the urge to kiss and explore every line of them, to ask what each one meant.

I traced them with my fingertips, following the ink across his warm skin.

“Beautiful,” I murmured. “Your tattoos are like a work of art.”

Dylan smiled, a flash of vulnerability crossing his face before he masked it with confidence. “I like yours, too.”

“They’re so random. I wish I’d laid them out with more thought.”

He shook his head. “The meaning behind them is beautiful. Are there more? I want to see all of you.”

We undressed quickly, shoes kicked off, jeans and underwear discarded in a heap. Dylan’s cock sprang free, hard and flushed against his stomach. Mine was equally rigid, just from kissing him.

“On the bed,” Dylan said. “On your back on the towel. Legs spread.”

The command sent a jolt of heat through me.

I did as he asked, crawling onto the bed and lying back against the pillows.

Opening my thighs felt impossibly vulnerable, exposing parts of myself no one had ever seen.

But the hunger in Dylan’s eyes as he looked at me made it worth the moment of discomfort.

“Is that position okay on your shoulder?”

I nodded, smiling up at him. “I’ll tell you if it bothers me.”

“Gorgeous,” he said, climbing onto the bed between my spread legs. “Every inch of you.”

Then his mouth was on me—not on my cock as I’d expected, but on my inner thigh, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there.

He worked his way up slowly, deliberately avoiding where I most wanted his touch.

Instead, he explored like he was mapping me, discovering all the places that made me gasp and squirm.

He licked into the crease of my thigh, nuzzled the coarse hair at the base of my cock, even dipped lower to tease my balls with his tongue. Each touch was electric, building a tension that bordered on unbearable.

“Dylan,” I groaned, fisting the sheets as he sucked a mark into my hipbone. “Please.”

He looked up at me, eyes dark with desire. “Please what?”

“Touch me. Suck me. Anything.”

His smile was pure sin. “I’m getting there. Patience.”

But he took mercy on me, wrapping his hand around the base of my cock and giving it a firm stroke. I bucked into his grip, a strangled moan escaping me. Then his mouth was there, hot and wet, taking the head between his lips and sucking gently.

“Fuck,” I hissed, fighting the urge to thrust deeper into that perfect heat. I watched him, heart stuttering as I realized how much it meant to me that it was him, that Dylan was going to be my first.

I ignored the nagging voice that told me Dylan should be my only.

His was the best blowjob I’d ever had by a long shot—maybe because he knew a man’s body, maybe because he was so patient with me—exploring with his tongue, discovering what made me writhe and what made me curse.

When he finally took me deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked, the pleasure was so intense I nearly came on the spot.

He sensed it, pulling back just enough to ease the pressure, keeping me on the edge.

The sight of his lips stretched around my cock, his purple-tipped hair falling across his forehead as he bobbed, was almost too much to bear. I threaded my fingers through his hair, not guiding, just needing to touch him, to ground myself in the swell of sensation.

He didn’t want more beyond this—but if this was all I could have of Dylan Kim, I would take it.

I would drink in every moment, memorize every sensation, tuck it away for later.

I knew how to deal with loss. That didn’t scare me.

It made me greedy; it made me want to take as much as I possibly could.

Dylan pulled off my cock with a wet pop, looking up at me with swollen lips and flushed cheeks. “You taste amazing,” he said. “But I don’t want you to come yet.”

I reached for him, pulling him up for a kiss. I could taste myself on his tongue—salt and musk—and it sent another wave of heat through me. I rolled us over, pinning him beneath me, wanting—needing—to explore him the way he’d explored me.

“My turn,” I said, trailing kisses down his neck, across his collarbone. I traced the lines of his tattoos with my tongue, learning the geography of his body with my mouth. Dylan arched beneath me, his hands gripping my shoulders as I worked my way lower.

I wanted to memorize every inch of him—the small birthmark on his ribs, the way his stomach muscles jumped when I licked across them, the exact sound he made when I sucked a mark into his hip. I wanted to carry this with me forever, even if he moved on.

“Gael,” Dylan gasped as I took his cock in my hand, stroking it slowly. “You don’t have to

“I want to,” I insisted, shifting my weight to favor my injured shoulder. “Let me taste you.”

I lowered my head, taking him into my mouth for the first time, and the surprising pleasure of it made my eyes roll back. I moaned softly, sucking him deeper, suddenly so desperate that I ignored my injured arm to force my body into the perfect position to suck his cock.

The weight of him on my tongue, the salt-musk taste of his skin, the broken moan he let out as I sucked him—it was perfect.

I might have been new to this, but I took my time, learning him.

I watched his face as I explored him with my mouth, learning what made his eyes flutter closed, what made his hips buck up involuntarily.

I memorized his shape, obsessed with teasing him—with the way his hips jerked when I found the right spot, with the velvet silk of his skin and the salty tang of his pre-cum.

Maybe this was why he liked armpits; it was the essence of everything masculine about him—his beauty and passion and arousal—and I was drinking it down like a man starved.

“Stop,” he said with a rough laugh, pulling me back up. “I don’t want to come yet either.”

He kissed me deeply, rolling us so I was beneath him again. The weight of his body on mine felt right, like coming home to a place I’d never been before.