“Be my guest,” I say, as sparks fly across my skin, as my blood runs with liquid gold. My whole world is like a fantastic dream sequence right now, with everything I’ve longed for coming true.

  And it feels better than I imagined.

  He grabs the blanket from the back of the couch, shakes it out like he’s a servant for a prince, then lays it on the carpet. “Welcome to my BMW Blow Job Extravaganza. Please, lie down and bask in the features of this car,” he says, with a carnal lick of his lips.

  Yeah, I think I’ll like this ride.

  I take off my socks, tossing them far away. “Sex with socks on is the worst.”

  “It’s an erection destroyer for sure,” he says, then glances at his crotch. “See? I’m even harder now that I’m seeing you sockless.”

  “I’ll just go barefoot the rest of the night then,” I say as I lie down.

  He tosses me a pillow from the couch. “Make yourself comfortable, hottie.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” I settle on the pillow and park my hands behind my head.

  Then River straddles me, sets his hands on either side of my chest, and dips his face to me. “Body by cake,” he muses and I chuckle, but then stop laughing as soon as his lips sweep across my pecs. He dusts gentle, sensual kisses over my chest, his tongue flicking over my nipples, and I can’t laugh anymore, because I’m already moaning, pleasure zinging along my skin.

  “Yes,” I murmur since I’m not as much of a talker as he is, but I also can’t be quiet. I just can’t, not when he travels down my stomach, licking a path between my abs until he reaches the waistband of my jeans. River lifts his face, his eyes shining with lust as he says, “I want to just lick you all over. You taste so good.”

  My eyes stray to my hard-on, bulging, insistent in my boxer briefs. “I’m into that, but maybe just start with my dick, River.” Then, since I bet he likes a little pleading from a lover, I arch my hips, and gasp out a throaty, “Please.”

  I’m not doing it for show.

  I damn well mean it.

  But I also have a hunch River likes a little bit of power play.

  A little begging to complement his bossiness.

  “Since you asked so nicely,” he says, then pulls on my jeans, wiggling his shoulders back and forth like he’s doing a dance of gratitude for my dick.

  He tugs them down my hips with a certain finesse, whistling appreciatively as he stares at my hard-on tenting my black boxer briefs.

  We are a feedback loop. I watch him gazing at my face, then my chest, then the ridge of my erection. Lifting my ass, I help him along, pushing my pants and boxers down.

  “Oh yes. So nice to meet you,” he says to my shaft. He takes a second to wrap a hand around my dick, and I babble incoherent words that would be bleeped out on a TV show.

  Then he jerks my jeans down each leg and off.

  At last.

  I’m completely naked and he’s still in clothes, jeans unzipped. I’m dying to see all of him, but I don’t want to interrupt his seduction plans, since the man seems to have a sex agenda for me. River prowls up my body, a low rumble in his throat as he nears my cock.

  His eyes narrow, darkening as he dips his face to me, then flicks his tongue along my shaft.

  One swipe of his tongue and I nearly lose my mind.

  And if that—just the trace of his mouth on me—makes me jerk and writhe, I’m going to be hitting another championship record soon. Fastest to come.

  River gives me a reprieve though. “Hold on a second,” he says, then sits up on his knees, reaches for the bottom of his shirt, and rips it off.

  A shaky breath falls from my lips as I drink him in. His golden skin, the perfect shade for a Californian, outdoorsy guy. His toned, lean chest and tight stomach. His trim arms, and that ink that travels from wrist to shoulder and says who he is. What he wants. How he loves.

  My heart aches with longing for this man.

  He stands to shed his jeans. In seconds, he’s completely naked in front of me for the first time, and I can barely breathe. As I drink him in, he kneels between my thighs again.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I say, and it comes out so reverently that I have to shut up.

  I’ve got to stop talking or I will blurt out words of affection. Words of love. Words that will make it impossible to put us back to the way we were if he doesn’t want to find a new way with me.

  So I push up on my elbows, thread a hand through his golden locks, then speak without words. I push his head down my body.

  A light laugh comes from him. “I hear ya, cutie. I hear ya loud and clear,” River says, returning to the center of my world right now.

  My aching cock.

  And this man, bless him. He swirls his tongue around the crown, licking off that first drop of liquid arousal like he’s tasting his favorite cocktail.

  Well.

  I swallow roughly, my whole body buzzing, my bones humming, and he’s barely touching me.

  Until . . . he is touching me.

  And my hips roll.

  And buck.

  River draws me into his mouth, humming around my dick. He takes several long, indulgent strokes, flicking his tongue up and down my length as my thighs shake. I’m a firework, and he’s lit me up. I’m sparking hot and fast.

  And everywhere.

  Flames flicker across my body. Lust coils tight in my veins. My hands wrap around his head, but I’m not rough like he was with me. I just keep him there, where I want him, where he wants to be, enrapt in sucking me off.

  I moan with every lick, grunt with every suck, and lose touch with the rest of the world every single second.

  Screw the rest of the world. I want only this.

  My hips buck as he lavishes sinful attention on my dick, then my balls, sucking them in his mouth while he strokes me with a tight fist, and this is not fair.

  I can’t last.

  I can’t survive something so good.

  I don’t want this to ever stop, but I’m on the verge already.

  I can’t stop moaning or saying his name. I’m a broken record panting out yes and fuck and River, and it’s all just so damn good. Just so intense as he returns his mouth to my dick, and my body heats to inferno levels. Then I burn even hotter as he slinks down, settling between my legs. Pushing them apart, he wraps his arms under my thighs, and tugs me even closer to his face.

  River looks so insanely sexy, I think I might die from lust. He’s got me, and he’s taking me apart with his mouth.

  His sounds electrify me.

  His groans of pleasure thrill me.

  And the tight wire in me snaps.

  All those noises, all those moans, all that evidence of his need for me cuts my razor-thin hold on this moment, and I detonate.

  “Coming,” I warn him. I curl my hands tighter around his head, and then I lose it.

  Panting.

  Breathing ridiculously hard.

  Gasping for air.

  And River delights, just utterly delights, in sucking the last remnants of my orgasm with a wet, loud pop.

  He raises his face, his eyes wild, his lips red and bruised, his expression filthy.

  “C’mere,” I say, beckoning.

  River climbs up me, and I wrap my arms around his smooth back, pull him close. “BMW?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Bugatti.”

  I kiss him again.

  Tasting myself on his lips.

  Tasting us.

  And all at once, I’m both incredibly satisfied and terribly hungry for more.

  This must be what it means to not get enough. That’s how I feel—like I just can’t get enough of him.

  15

  River

  “So you really do want me to become a popsicle,” I say, casting my new lover a skeptical look as we stand by the door to the deck, poised.

  “I thought it was a melted popsicle,” Owen says, giving a gentle tug on the towel around my waist, but not enough to jerk it off. “Besides, it’s going to feel really good.”

  “But what if I die on the way from the house to the hot tub?” I ask, pointing to the twenty feet I have to traverse in the subarctic conditions. “That feels like a real possibility.”

  “You didn’t die when you went out there earlier to check it out, did you? Are you a ghost? Did a ghost give me a blow job? Holy shit. I just had a good blow job from a ghost,” Owen says.

  “Yes, and that’s why it was so otherworldly,” I say, as we debate whether to cross the short path from the house to the hot tub. Or rather, I debate. Owen seems convinced this is a good idea.

  Steam wafts from the jacuzzi like an invitation. He turned the hot tub on fifteen minutes ago.

  But the path to it is a veritable icebox. It’s twenty-eight degrees, which is forty degrees less than I like. “What if we get locked outside?”

  Owen jiggles the doorknob. “The door is unlocked. We’ll be able to get back inside. Also, hello? There’s a code. So we’re good.”

  “We better get back inside. I’m going to have to sleep curled up by the fire all night.”

  “Everything is going to be fine, you sun worshipper. And the water is going to feel amazing. Didn’t you just want to have fun tonight?” he says, nudging me. “Make the best of being snowed in?”

  Fun.

  This is fun.

  We’re just having fun.

  The word tugs on my heart a bit, because I think I want a little more than fun.

  But I don’t want to be a buzzkill.

  “That is the operative word, isn’t it? That’s what tonight is all about, right? Fun?”

  “That’s what you said,” he tosses back, in a tone I can’t read.

  “True. I did say that. And I’m having a blast,” I say, but I also want to tell him that the kitchen and the fireplace was so much more than fun. That pleasuring him and being pleasured felt like more than just sex. That it felt intimate. That it’s making me think of all sorts of arrows being fired by Eros. “So, the hot tub is part of making the best of tonight?”

  Owen takes a beat, and in those few silent seconds, I swear the cogs are whirring in his mind, then he nods. “When else are you going to be trapped in a cabin in the snow with a jacuzzi just waiting for you and a hot guy to join you in it?”

  I make a mental note that he didn’t answer the question.

  But I also don’t press.

  There might be a reason he didn’t answer.

  Besides, he makes a damn good point. Will I ever have this chance with him again? “Let’s do it.” I open the back door and a blast of arctic air hits me. “I’m dead. It happened. You witnessed my death tonight at nine p.m. on a Friday.”

  Owen grabs my hand and links his fingers through mine, and tingles whoosh down my back—from him holding my hand as we run to the hot tub.

  This is so freaking boyfriend material, I can’t stand it. Only, I so can.

  When we reach the hot tub, we drop our towels, then Owen goes first, and, as I scramble in too, I watch him like the perviest hawk in existence. His Greek god-like frame sinks into the water, his sculpted ass disappearing first, then his back—mmm, yes, I want my hands on that back when he’s under me. He spreads his arms behind him, and tips his forehead to the spot by his side. I scoot right next to him, wrapping my arms around myself.

  “Are you really cold, River?”

  “I told you. I’m like a jungle cat. I’m not equipped for this kind of brutal weather.”

  “But the hot tub is nice and toasty, isn’t it?”

  “It’s like swimming at the equator,” I say as the heat of the bubbles and the water slide over my skin even as my face remains cold. But the effect works. I’m warmed up in a few seconds. It doesn’t hurt that he shifts toward me, rubs my shoulders, then drops a kiss to my nose.

  My pulse surges, and my heart squeezes at the same time. He’s doing all sorts of things to my insides. Making my organs jump around.

  “You’re awfully affectionate,” I say.

  He tenses, then lets go of me. “Do you not like it? Affection?”

  I scoff. “Are you kidding me? I love it.”

  Owen smiles, like I’ve stolen the sun for him, given it to him as a gift. “Good,” he says, then takes off his glasses and sets them on the edge of the tub. He closes his eyes, lifts his face to the night sky. Like that, with his eyes shut, I study his handsome features. Those lips I got to know intimately tonight. The strong lines of his jaw. His carved cheekbones. Those eyes that see inside me.

  “How long have you worn glasses?” I blurt out.

  His eyes fly open. “Since I was four,” he says.

  The image of a young Owen in glasses is almost too much for me to handle. “You must’ve looked adorable.”

  “Yeah, I looked fantastic. A near-sighted kid who could barely see a thing, tripping all over in his own house, needing glasses at a ridiculously young age.”

  “Can you see without them at all?” I ask, suddenly eager to gobble up every last fact about Owen Hayes. I’m desperate to know him better, to hear the secrets no one else is privy to. I want him to share the hidden corners of his heart and mind just with me.

  “A little. Everything’s kind of blurry that’s more than a few feet away,” he says, squinting as he stares in the distance at the hills coated in snow. “All I see is a canvas of white.”

  “But you took them off during sex,” I say.

  Owen swings his gaze to me. “Well, you’re close now and you were pretty close then, River. I was able to see all of you and I was definitely able to get a good visual on your dick.” He slides a hand along my thigh under the water, grabbing my leg. “My, what a big cock you have, dear. This is your cock, right?”

  “Yes, you got my third leg,” I say, then his hand sneaks between my thighs, and he gives my dick a squeeze. “Ah, got it now.”

  Owen lets go, but I’m not satisfied. I’m ravenous for every last bit of info. “Do you ever leave your glasses on during sex? Would you? Or is it the sock rule?”

  His lips curve into a curious grin. “Well, do my glasses destroy your erection?”

  I shake my head. “The opposite. They enhance it.”

  “Do you have a glasses fetish, River?”

  “No, I just think they’re super-hot. But evidently, I find everything about you super-hot,” I say, waving a hand at him.

  “Is that so?” He sounds thoroughly delighted.

  “Yes,” I say, no teasing, no flirting. Just the plain truth. “Though, honestly, I always knew you were gorgeous. But apparently, I’m just realizing tonight how attracted I am to you. It’s kind of hitting me hard, and all at once.”

  “Thank you,” Owen says, then parts his lips like he’s going to say more, but instead, he just adds another “Thank you.”

  He sounds grateful, but now I wonder—do I sound like I only want the physical with him? Like I’m simply objectifying him for the way he looks? Like a hot, built, Clark Kent lookalike I want to bang?

  Ugh. It does sound that way. Even though that’s not the full truth. I want to bang, kiss, and cuddle him.

  Then see him again tomorrow.

  This is why it’s so hard to mess around with a friend. Do I talk to Owen like any other guy I’m dating? Do I ask if he’d consider me as boyfriend material?

  But on the other hand, if he says yes, am I truly ready for the risk?

  What if we don’t work out as a couple?

  Tonight, we’re all new and electric. But this is a honeymoon. What would we be like in three months, six, a year? Would I fall out of desire for him? Would he for me? And would we truly stay friends? I’m not convinced we could, and the possibility of us splintering feels like losing a vital piece of my heart and soul.

  My head spins with too many terrible outcomes, so I shift gears. “What were you like in high school?”

  Owen laughs. “Do you mean if I was a jock or a nerd or a popular or a geek?”

  My eyes roam up and down his chest. “No. What were you like? Were you outgoing? Were you quiet? Were you friendly? What did you do on weekends? I already know you wrote for the school newspaper and did the morning news. And let me tell you, if I saw you on my high school TV station, I would have always known whether we were having quinoa or tofu for lunch.”

  “Is that what your high school served?”

  I arch a dubious brow. “I grew up in a Northern California hippie community. You bet your sweet ass those were the choices. And I bet yours were the same at your private school in the city.”

  Owen shrugs. “You’re not wrong. And to answer your question: I wasn’t quiet, but I wasn’t as outgoing as I am now. I didn’t have the confidence I do now, to go to bat for my players in my job. To listen and to learn and to find just the right opportunities to tell people’s stories—all of that comes down to confidence and patience, and I think I honed both in college.”

  “Me too,” I say, breezily as the water sloshes around us, and a bead of sweat slides down the side of my face. “Well, not how to be amazing at PR and insanely patient, since that’s your thing. But how to have the guts to chat with anyone. How to make people feel better—how to listen.”

  “You’re good at all that. A great bartender, and a business owner too.”

  I wiggle my shoulders. “King of the gay bars.”

  “Is that what you envisioned you’d be when you were in high school?”

  “Ha. No. But I wish. If I knew then I’d be the Mayor of Gay San Francisco, I’d have had more confidence to ask out guys.”

  Owen growls, like a dog warding another away from its toys. “Jealous?” I ask.

  He shrugs, then laughs. “Pretty dumb to be jealous of guys you didn’t date in high school. But I do think it’s amazing you’re the Mayor of Gay San Francisco now. Well, self-proclaimed mayor,” he says, nudging me with his elbow.

  “Honestly, I thought I was going to be a therapist. I figured I’d study psych and become a shrink.”

  “And that’s kind of what you are, River,” he says.

  “I suppose I am. And I love it. Wouldn’t change a thing, even though, trust me, if you went back in time and saw me in high school, you’d have been shocked. I didn’t have a single date. Not one.”