Page 74 of Game On

Dorian gave a huff of a laugh.

Jamie nibbled at his balls for a moment—couldn’t fucking help himself—then climbed up Dorian’s body, stretched out on top of him, then rolled them until they were facing each other.

Exactly how they’d started last night.

Dorian inspected his face, his torso, his soft cock. Gave himself the same perusal. The bed too. “We need to clean... everything.”

“Meh. We can just move to my bed.”

Chuckling, Dorian fell onto his back and stretched, all of that glorious skin on display. His chest was smooth aside from a line of hair that stretched from his belly button to his groin, and the dark hairs on his legs had been soft to Jamie’s touch.

“What time is it?” Dorian asked.

“No idea. I don’t know where my phone is.”

“You don’t think Poppy did her business on my living room carpet when we didn’t let her out at eight, do you?”

“How do you know it’s not eight yet?”

Dorian cracked an eye open. “The angle of the sun through the blinds seems wrong. It’s probably closer to...” He pursed his lips. “Nine-ish?”

“Bet?”

The other eye opened. “Loser gives the winner a blow job?”

“Not right now.”

“God no,” Dorian said with a laugh. “Not right now.”

Neither moved.

“What time’s brunch?” Jamie asked.

“Elevenish at any cousin’s in Richmond.”

A phone pinged.

Still, neither moved.

“Do you think that was you or me?” Jamie eventually asked.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

Another few minutes passed in comfortable silence. Finally, Jamie stretched and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll let Poppy out. You get the shower started.”

Dorian huffed but he got up.

It was almost ten, Jamie discovered when he went downstairs in his birthday suit and checked the time on the microwave, so they were both wrong. Poppy hadn’t done her business in the living room, but she waited eagerly by the back door, nose to the bell that alerted them to her need to go out. Jamie let her out, filled her bowls with food and water, and let her back inside before joining Dorian upstairs.

Dorian’s bathroom was huge, with wood-fronted cabinets that matched the hardwood floors and a glass shower with a rainfall showerhead. Neither had the energy for another round, so they showered and rinsed and snuggled under the hot water for a minute before drying off and getting dressed.

The doorbell rang as Dorian was stripping the bed. He stood, sheets bundled in his arms, and frowned. “Now I know how Charlie feels when I drop in on him unannounced.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Can you get that?”

“On it.”

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