Page 14 of The London Chance

You should strip. Put on a show,Magic-Mikestyle.

Leave your clothes on!

Lose the sweats first…slow shimmy and—

The sweats stay. Do not shimmy!

I was working through the shimmy debate when Roman hit me with a slow-moving, wicked grin that rendered speech impossible.

“Oh? You want to stay…here?”

I fixated on the stretch of his cashmere sweater across his broad shoulders, hoping to keep my gaze from straying south. No such luck. His scrumptious jeans hugged his cock to perfection. He might not be rock hard, but he was definitely rocking a semi. That had to mean I was on the right track.

“Yeah, I do,” I replied, tugging his tee over my head and tossing it on the counter.

Yep, the devil won.

Roman licked his lips, his gaze traveling over my torso appreciatively as he leaned against the counter and crooked his finger. “C’mere.”

I obeyed, stepping so close his sweater grazed my pebbled nipples. My cock was a beat away from tenting my sweats. I somehow controlled the impulse to strategically sway into his space. If something was going to happen, I needed him to make a move. I couldn’t be the guy who got wasted, passed out, sponged off a Good Samaritan, then made a pass at him. I needed feedback…or something.

This didn’t have to mean anything special. This could be casual. I hadn’t had casual sex in years, and I might not be good at it, but I was willing to try.

I raked my teeth over my bottom lip. “Well?”

Roman touched my lip with the tip of his finger before tweaking my nipple.

Mmm. I think I had my sign. I groaned loud enough to alert his neighbors. He did it a second time, shoving his tongue down my throat as if to keep me quiet.So much for taking the lead. I plastered myself against him and climbed him like a tree.

Roman took over completely. He squeezed my ass, tilting his pelvis as he slid his denim-clad erection alongside mine, devouring me with hungry strokes. The sudden frenzy of feels knocked me sideways. I didn’t quite know where to put my hands. I only knew I wanted more friction…and skin.

I plucked at his sweater, pushing it up his chest. He took the hint and pulled it off, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans before lowering them over his ass. Then he yanked the drawstring on my sweats and dipped his fingers under the elastic of my boxers, kneading my bare ass while he twirled his tongue around mine.

And now I was desperateandhorny. I couldn’t get enough of the feel and taste of him. My hands were everywhere, exploring all of this newfound sexiness—the curves and valleys of his legit six-pack and the dimples at the small of his back leading to his crack. His finger was already tracing mine, so I reversed course and gripped his cock through the cotton barrier. Fuck, he was thick.

I broke our feverish kiss to glance down at his girthy pole and the obscene wet spot soaking through his boxer briefs. I rubbed my thumb over the head, licking my lips as desire tore through me.

“You want it bad, don’t you?” he growled.

“Yes.”

Roman cupped my face in his hands. “Get on your knees for me, Chance. Show me how bad you want it.”

Say no more. I hit the ground hard enough to bruise both knees, pushing his jeans and briefs to his ankles. I held him at his base, studying the prominent vein on his rigid shaft before gliding my thumb over the precum pooling at the tip. I glanced up at him and licked my thumb clean. He grinned devilishly and tapped his cock against my cheek in a wordless request to get the show on the road.

I pumped his cock with steady, firm strokes designed to keep him happy until I could free myself. We must have made a porntastic picture with our sweats and jeans around our feet…and me with my dick in hand, my mouth open wide. Roman must have agreed. He murmured something about how pretty I looked. Geez, I felt it. Pretty, sexy, powerful…and he was a fucking god.

On that thought, I circled his crown with the tip of my tongue and swallowed him whole.

Roman’s breath caught somewhere above me. He let me set the pace at first, rocking his hips as he caressed my cheek. At one point, I was damn sure he told me I was a good boy and I was doing such a good job. And fuck me, I wanted to be his good boy.

I basked in his praise, dangerously turned on as I sucked, licked, and stroked him while working myself to the edge. I was going to come on his jeans and his kitchen cabinets if he didn’t—

“Stop.”

I took his offered hand and scrambled to my feet, blinking as if in a daze.

We panted as we surveyed the situation—our swollen lips, heaving chests, and our cocks at full mast—then lunged for each other. We crashed in a tangle of tongues, clawing, and groping in a valiant effort to be one. We seemed to come to the conclusion that there was a better way to make that happen.