Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Tate released them, snickering when Liam whined. He held his hand up to Liam’s mouth. “Spit.”
The dancer’s eyes flared. “Why is that so fucking hot?”
Tate waited until Liam complied and then he brought his hand to his mouth and added his own spit to the homemade lube.
“You’re filthy,” Liam whispered.
He winked, then grabbed their cocks again. This time, the slide of their combined spit eased the way. He tightened his fist and stroked them together. Liam leaked like a fucking sieve. Within seconds, their precum joined the spit, providing the perfect, slick tunnel.
“Yes,” Liam said. His gaze left Tate’s face and focused on where Tate jacked their dicks. “Harder, Tate. I love it harder.”
Fuck yes.
He slapped his free hand against the wall beside Tate’s head as he sped up and tightened his fist. The hot glide of Liam’s cock against his amped the pleasure tenfold. His eyes grew heavy, and his breathing notched up. The way they looked side by side in his grip, both hard, flushed, and dripping, added to the pleasure.
It was sexy as fuck.
“God, Tate, I’m close already.”
They both stared down, mesmerized by the sight of themselves.
“Me too,” he ground out as he shuttled his fist along their shafts. “Look at me.”
Liam lifted his gaze until it met Tate’s. His eyes were hooded and dark with lust. Pink flushed his cheeks. His unkissed lips were begging for his attention.
So Tate gave it.
He crushed their mouths together with the same intensity he used to stroke their cocks.
Liam moaned into his mouth, thrusting his tongue deep. He bucked his hips, fucking into Tate’s fist.
“That’s it, Luxe,” Tate muttered against Liam’s lips. “Give it to me.”
“Now. Oh, shit.” Liam shuddered as warmth flooded Tate’s fist.
As soon as he felt the rush of Liam’s cum, he lost the last of his control. His dick jerked and spurted as his balls emptied into his hand, and ecstasy washed over him. As his brain fuzzed, he stopped stroking and held their dicks against each other in a light grip.
“Mmm,” Liam said with a satisfied smile. He slumped against the wall, limp with his eyes closed. “Now that was damn good.”
“It was.” Now that it was over, Tate prepared for the familiar impulse to get the fuck out of there.
But it didn’t come. Instead, he felt a foreign desire to stay with Liam. To wrap his arms around the man and keep him as close as possible. To kiss him, touch him, and simply watch the man breathe.
“We’re messy,” Liam said without opening his eyes.
“I can take care of that.” An alien force must have invaded his body because Tate had never, not once, given a shit what a guy did after he came. He could stick around, go, stay covered in spunk, or clean up. Tate didn’t give two shits. So, the man shuffling to the sink with his jeans at his ankles, grabbing some paper towels, and waiting for the water to warm with the goal of cleaning Liam up couldn’t be Tate.
His brain cells must have shot out his dick with his jizz.
Once the paper towels were damp, he turned to find Liam watching him with a curious expression.
“You don’t need to do that,” he said in a low voice. “I know you have to head out.”
“I know.” He didn’t add that he wanted to or anything sappy like that. He just used the warm towels to clean the evidence of their hookup, then tossed them in the trash across the room.
“Thank you,” Liam whispered as he tucked himself back in the tights.
Tate put his dick away as he nodded. His throat felt thick and uncomfortable. Liam’s continued stare made him want to back away, but he forced himself to look the man in the eye.
“So,” Liam finally said with a smirk. “Next time?”
Tate found himself grinning back wondering what the hell had happened to him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LIAM HUNG UP the phone with a smile. He couldn’t stop himself from shimmying in his seat. Three, three classes at max capacity before he’d opened his doors. That had to be a good sign, right?
At the very least, his name was circulating in the community, and people wanted their kids to learn dance. At this rate, he’d need to hire a second teacher earlier than expected. That was a very desirable problem to have.
The loud clank of shattering tiles had him glancing toward the locker rooms with a flinch. This might be a good time to stop returning phone messages for the morning. The construction sounds didn’t make the best background music.
Still, excitement surged through him. This was happening. Really happening.
He owned a studio, had classes booked up, and the renovations were underway. Tate and his brother arrived about an hour ago to begin the demolition of the old tiles. He’d been instructed to keep his eyes peeled for a third team member who should arrive at any time.