But Carter is too busy fiddling with the crotch of his get-up to care. “This thing is too loose. Do you have a sewing kit?”

  “I do,” I say, heading for the kitchen. Griffin loved to camp deep in the woods, so he taught me to always be prepared, including a sewing kit. “But I’m not sewing your mankini.”

  Carter sighs, relieved. “I can sew. I just need a needle and thread. I forgot to try this on when it arrived in the mail, and my balls are dangling.”

  I hold up a stop sign hand. “I didn’t need to know about the free-ranging.” I find the kit in a drawer and toss it to him. He catches it one-handed, naturally. “And maybe do your nude sewing in the bathroom or bedroom.”

  “Will do.”

  As Carter repairs his costume, I flop onto the beanbag again, about to click over to my book when I catch the time. Shit. We’re going to be more than fashionably late.

  I should let Jason know. That’s just polite.

  But when I thumb over to my texts, my phone buzzes.

  It’s like it can see inside my soul. The name Mister Social appears at the top of my screen.

  I click on his note so fast, then groan in anticipation as I read.

  Are you coming? I can’t stand not seeing you here. I need to see you. I need to talk to you. And I need to touch you.

  I read it again, once more, then I have to close my eyes and experience the heat flashing through my body.

  It’s bone-rattlingly good.

  I wasn’t waiting for a note from him. I tried to stuff any hopes on a top shelf in the closet, far out of reach.

  But I can’t lie. This is the greatest text message in the history of the cellular world. As I’m about to respond, the bathroom door swings open, and Carter marches out. “Say it! I look good.”

  He saunters through my living room, his costume fitting now.

  “You look good. Let’s go.” I stuff my phone into my back pocket, and we take off.

  Even though I’m the passenger in his car, I don’t risk replying as Carter drives us to Jason’s house. I don’t take a chance, either, as we park and walk down the street in the October night.

  I don’t dare respond as we bound up the steps.

  The second Jason opens the door, my pulse skyrockets. I’ve never been so affected by a person. I don’t know if it’s the residual effect of that text or what he’s wearing.

  Or not wearing.

  Either way, my brain is toast.

  Jason McKay is not a friend. I am not detached. I didn’t shut down a single emotion. They rage inside me. They rattle their cages. They fight to escape my mouth. Any second, I’m going to tell him he’s mine.

  First, though, the host admires Carter’s costume. “You. Win,” Jason tells the Super Bowl stripper. “But word to the wise—do not post a pic of that on your Date Night profile.”

  Carter pumps a fist. “I don’t know about that, McKay. Some women like mankinis.”

  “No. No, they don’t,” someone calls from the living room. A pretty redhead in a tennis skirt laughs at Carter as he struts past us and joins the sea of race car drivers, team mascots, and umpires downing shots in Jason’s home.

  The other guests seem so far away they might as well be on Mars. Here in the doorway, it’s just the quarterback and me.

  Two shirtless guys in their costumes. I want to pounce on him. He wants me too.

  His blue eyes are flames. He parts his lips to speak but barely gets out a sound beyond, “Hey, you.”

  He’s all rasp and fire. He looks like he’s about to combust. Good. His lust thrills me, and I take charge. “How’s your cat?”

  Jason blinks at the question, but I don’t need an answer. It’s only a means to an end.

  “Is he in the downstairs guest room?”

  Understanding jolts Jason into action. “Let me show you.”

  “I know the way,” I say as a mirage of heat wraps around me. I weave through the crowd as if heading into the downstairs bathroom, but instead, I duck into the guest room beyond, snicking the door shut.

  I set the foam finger on the floor, then count for an eon.

  Thirty interminable seconds later, the door creaks open. When Jason comes in and shuts it behind him, my libido tries to Incredible Hulk its way out of my chest. “Hey—”

  “I threw this party for you,” he blurts.

  I barely have time to react to that confession. He grabs my face, and I burn. His voice is pure desperation. “When I left your house last Friday, all I knew was I wanted to make plans to see you again. I had to find a way, so I threw this party just so I could see you again. Do something with you.”

  “You didn’t need a party to see me. I’d have come over any night,” I admit, matching his confession with my own.

  “Fuck,” he says, his tone thick with regret. “I should have just texted you on Monday and asked you to spend the night then. I knew I should have, but I stewed on it instead. But do you get it, Beck? I was dying for a chance to see you, even with other people around. I wanted to see you again so badly, I planned a fucking party.”

  I’m buzzing all over. I’m going to rocket to the moon. It’s extraordinary to want and to be wanted. It’s exhilarating in ways football has only ever been to me.

  Music pulses beyond the door. Voices float from the other rooms. He doesn’t seem to care. I don’t either. He dips his face closer to mine and brushes his mouth along my jaw. His lips worship me.

  I want to climb him. But I’ve also learned a thing or two about Jason McKay—he likes a good, long tease. “Well, when does the party end?” I ask in a low and growly voice.

  “Not soon enough.”

  I slide a hand down his chest, over his abs, on a fast track for his cock. He groans when I squeeze his dick.

  “Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re going to kill me.”

  “Don’t die. Let’s fuck instead,” I whisper.

  “God,” he growls, then jerks up his gaze, staring hotly at me. “I’m not letting anyone stop me now. Most of all—me. Stay, Beck. Spend the night with me. Spend the morning with me. Don’t leave at five. Don’t leave tonight.”

  Jason McKay begging me to stay is the most surreal thing that’s happened in my life.

  I slide my hands up his chest, my fingers electric as I explore. I want to tease him. I want to drag out my yes. But my throat is dry, my body is aching, and my emotions can’t handle the on-again-off-again of the last several weeks. I want us all the way on even if it’s just after-hours. “I’ll stay, but tonight isn’t going to be the only time I spend the night with you,” I tell him, my voice hoarse as I lay myself on the line. “You better know that.”

  “I know that. I want that too,” he says, and he sounds like he’s begging me.

  I want to hold on to that sound forever. Only, it vanishes when he crushes my lips in the neediest kiss. As he consumes my mouth, I hear his desire in his sighs, his murmurs.

  I hear, too, the risk of this kiss. One hundred people are beyond that door, and he’s kissing me like he’ll go mad without me.

  I clutch at him, grabbing at his swim trunks, jerking him against me, feeling the hot, hard length of him against my jeans.

  Then feeling the bare skin of his chest against mine.

  When I break the kiss, I glance down at his shorts. He won’t be able to leave this room for a bit. I’m feeling pretty cocky about that as my eyes travel up his abs and torso, but I stop at the blue paint. A splotch of my number twelve marks his chest.

  Evidence of us.

  “Hold on,” I say, then wet a finger, and wipe it off. He’s protected me. I can protect him.

  “Thanks,” he says, and it sounds like he’s swooning.

  “I’ll see you later,” I say.

  Then I go and do my best to blend into the party. Once I have a beer in hand, I duck into the living room corner, near a shelf of books.

  Wait. Is that my hat? I glance around furtively. No one’s looking, so I back up against the purple Seductive hat, then push it behind some books.

  Whew. With that out of sight, I take out my phone and finally answer Jason’s text, fire scorching my veins as I type.

  I want to fuck you so badly. But when I top you, I want you to feel amazing, so I want you to top me tonight. And I want you to teach me how to make a man moan with pleasure. Show me how to make you feel so damn good with the way you fuck me.

  A few minutes later, his name lands on my phone, followed by ten fire emojis.

  28

  Saint Dick

  Beck

  * * *

  Time slogs on. I’ve never wanted an event to end so badly, but I also do my best to have fun. I hang out in the kitchen, chatting with Luke from the Leopards, who gives me a fist bump for my coming out interview, then to Hazel.

  “I heard you’re a writer. Which book of yours should I try?”

  She smiles, patting my shoulder. “You do know I write romance?”

  I frown. “Um, yes. Why would that deter me?”

  “Well, a lot of guys look down on the genre,” she explains diplomatically.

  “I’m omnivorous when it comes to a lot of things, books included,” I say with a smile. “Now, tell me which book of yours to try.”

  “Try Plays Well With Others. If you like it, I have a signing event next week with a few other authors,” she says.

  I take my phone from my pocket and make a show of buying her book on my e-reader and downloading it in front of her.

  She hugs me. “If you hate it, don’t tell me, but I already love you for buying it.”

  I smile. “I won’t hate it. I’m sure I’ll like it.”

  Hazel beckons me to step closer, then cups my ear. “Whenever you leave, I’ll make sure the party wraps up, and then you can come back in thirty.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Does she know everything about Jason and me?

  She senses my unsaid question. “Don’t worry. I figured it out. But that’s kind of what I do. I got your back,” she says like I’m her friend now too.

  Briefly, I picture being friends with his friends.

  And, as I catch sight of Jason in the living room, toasting to Carter, I can see him being friends with my friends.

  I like the images.

  Eventually, Carter’s ready to take off, and I leave with him.

  When I’m home, I take a shower, washing the paint from my chest. But I have a bigger goal than hygiene—jacking off. I don’t want to fire too soon with Jason, so I get one out of my system now, picturing tonight. Takes all of two minutes.

  When I’m out of the shower, I pat on the aftershave Jason likes, then pull on fresh boxer briefs, jeans, and a T-shirt he’ll strip off in seconds.

  Good. I want to be naked with him all night long. My phone buzzes from the bureau. A text flashes.

  Hazel cleared everyone out. When you’re a block away, call me, and I’ll open the garage. Here’s the code to get into my house.

  I grab some clothes for tomorrow, stuff them into a canvas bag, and then get the hell on my way. I’m bouncing with hormones and excitement as I drive and ring him when I’m near his house.

  “And,” he says, as I hear a rumble in the background once he’s pressed a button, “you’re in.”

  The garage opens, and I feel like a rock star as I pull in next to his car and cut the engine. The garage door closes, sealing me in for the night.

  I get out of the car, punch in the code, and walk inside. His house is eerily quiet, especially since we were on the phone less than two minutes ago.

  Weird.

  I slide off my shoes, leaving them at the door, then pad up the stairs to the foyer, canvas bag in hand. I peer around the first floor. Black and orange streamers line the couch, empty glasses litter the coffee table, and plates with half-eaten chips and dip decorate the kitchen counter.

  A gentle thud breaks the silence as Taco lands there, beelining for a plate of nachos. He sniffs the cheese.

  I scoop him up. “Not a good idea, buddy,” I say, and the critter purrs in my arms.

  I’m tempted to call Jason’s name, then hear the patter of falling water from upstairs.

  He’s in the shower.

  It’s a gift from Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the patron saint of two dudes fucking.

  Saint Richard, I believe.

  Gently, I set the cat down on the floor and then take the stairs two at a time. But before I reach the top, the faucet squeaks. The shower’s off.

  Dammit.

  Seconds later, there are footfalls from the main bedroom, and I turn down the hall toward the sound, stopping in the doorway and dropping my bag on the floor.

  I stare shamelessly as Jason strides from the bathroom into his bedroom. A towel is slung low around his waist, and he’s drying his hair with another. Droplets slide down his broad chest.

  Thank you, Saint Dick.

  “Had to get the gel out of my hair,” Jason says, then tosses that towel on the bed.

  “Glad it’s gone now,” I say, mesmerized, as I cross the room and rope my hands into his wet hair.

  I kiss him hard and ruthlessly, setting the tone.

  He’s on my wavelength, his hands merciless as he grabs at me, riling me up with his explorations. Soon, I don’t know who’s touching who. My life narrows to hands, heat, and breath. To us.

  I break the kiss, look into his eyes, and say what he already knows. But I’m learning how much I love telling him my dirty wishes. “I want us to fuck. A lot. I want to do everything with you, Jason.”

  He grabs my jaw. Holds me rough, the way I like it. “You telling me what you want turns me on so fucking much.”

  I reach for his towel and whip it off, so his dick pops free, proud, standing at attention.

  Quickly, but hardly fast enough, he strips off my shirt, and I shed my jeans and boxers. We tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and muscles and need.

  When Jason bites my neck, my dick twitches against his. When he licks my Adam’s apple, my whole body shakes. And when he rumbles out a throaty mmmm against my skin, my brain overheats right along with my body.

  Breaking free of his grip, I meet his eyes. “I jerked off in the shower,” I tell him, thrilling at the naughty confession.

  His eyes darken. He’s picturing me naked under the water. “Want to watch you do that.”

  “Same,” I say.

  “Here’s a preview,” he says, then sits back on his knees and grips his cock. Sliding his thumb over the head, he teases out a drop of arousal.

  Groaning, I stick out my tongue.

  He brushes his thumb over my lower lip, and I dart my tongue over it. “You taste so fucking good.”

  “Bet you do too,” he says like he has a secret. “Get on your hands and knees.”

  I blink. “Already?”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “Baby, I’m not going to fuck you yet. I won’t even be touching your dick.”

  Oh God.

  Oh hell.

  I connect the dots, wild excitement tripping through me. In a flurry, I get on all fours. He moves behind me and palms my ass. I crane my neck, needing to watch.

  “Mmm. Want you,” he moans, then he drops his face, kisses the top of my crack, and makes me shudder every-fucking-where.

  My body feels heavy and woozy. When he flicks his tongue down my ass, my brain goes haywire. It sparks and crackles.

  A warm brush of his tongue there. Right there.

  My elbows wobble. My dick aches.

  I had no idea anything could feel this good. I murmur something, I don’t know what. I’m grasping for words. I don’t know anything anymore except this decadent pleasure zooming through my body.

  Noises surround us. Grunts and groans fall from my lips. But he’s loud too. With every stroke of his tongue, he moans. With every hot kiss, he murmurs.

  He eats me like he’s obsessed with my pleasure, and I’m obsessed, too, with these wild, new sensations torpedoing through me.

  He spreads me apart, teasing me with the tip of his finger while he licks. “You taste fucking incredible,” Jason murmurs, and he sounds like he’s high.

  My entire body jumps with pleasure. “Want to do this to you,” I mutter.

  He freezes, then kisses my ass cheek. “Yeah? You sure?”

  So fucking sure. “Yes. Can I?”

  Another kiss. “Next time. If you do this to me, I will come so fucking hard, and right now, I want to shoot inside you,” he says.

  I’m cooked. We have to screw, stat. “Get me ready,” I demand, stroking my cock furiously, not even caring that I might come soon.

  Laughing, Jason licks a long, slow line down my ass before he pulls away. “On your back and stop playing with that beautiful cock till I’m inside you.”

  In a heated daze, I flip over, watching him stride to the bathroom, admiring every inch of his body. His muscular thighs, his thick cock, his strong chest.

  I hear the sink, then the sound of brushing and spitting, and a few seconds later, Jason comes back to the bed, grabbing the lube from the nightstand. “You still good?”

  “So good.” Telling Jason what I want in bed is freeing. I love speaking my mind to him. It’s the antithesis of worry. “But next time, you need to finish me that way.”

  He grins, shaking his head in amazement. “You are the most fearless man, Beck,” he says, settling between my legs.

  I’m so aroused, but I want to make tonight good for him too, and he likes it when I taunt him. I give him a show, parking my hands behind my head, lifting my hips. “C’mon. What’s taking you so long?”

  “Such a greedy lover,” he says as he pours some lube onto his hand. Then, with a quickness I don’t see coming, he drops his face between my legs and hoovers my dick into his mouth.

  Sparks skitter across my flesh as he hauls my cock down his throat and pushes a finger inside me.

  My brain relocates to my dick. Hell, my heart too, beating in my cock. Everything aches intensely between my thighs. My entire world is there, right there, and Jason McKay is lighting up my body.