Page 18 of Key Change

“Exactly.” Cillian’s fingers trailed over the front of Anthony’s thigh. “We’re just playing, and if we happen to come, then that’s a bonus.”

“Just playing.” Anthony punctuated the words with kisses.

“No pressure,” Cillian agreed. His dick pressed against the fly of his jeans, ready for the bonus now. He wanted Anthony’s hands on him. Fuck. The ten-minute drive to his place would be either tense or a tease.

CHAPTER

TEN

Ever since Cillianhad invited him back for drinks, the tension between them had tightened. Thoughts of everything that might go wrong broke through the calm Anthony had fought to find. He glanced over. Cillian’s gaze was on the road, both hands on the steering wheel as if unwilling to be distracted. Or maybe because he was.

Anthony wiped his palms on his jeans. He hadn’t been this nervous since… since the first time he’d gotten naked with his first boyfriend. That had been a quick experience for both of them.

This wasn’t the same; he knew what to do and what to expect. He hadn’t forgotten what to do, but he had forgotten what it felt like to be with another person. And even though he suspected dinner might end up with the question of whose place, he hadn’t been ready for it. Yet at the same time, he wanted Cillian. His dick ached, and he was pretty bloody sure he was going to put in a lackluster performance.

He didn’t even know what to expect…

Anthony drew a breath and reached over to place his hand on Cillian’s thigh, something he’d once done easily. Hell, in thepast, he would have been leaning over and undoing buttons, kissing his neck. He wanted to, but he didn’t move.

Cillian’s lips curved. “Planning on getting started before we arrive?”

Should he not have touched him? He needed to stop doubting himself. “I wanted to touch you.”

He still didn’t understand why Cillian wanted him.

Yeah, he looked good—that hadn’t changed—and looks were enough for one night, but they’d had dinner. Their conversation had been easy as they’d shared a bit about their childhoods—nothing too personal and soul baring. Just enough to form more of a connection. They’d both worked hard to excel in their chosen fields until he’d fucked up. For a few hours, he’d been able to put that knowledge aside and pretend this was his life, and that it was great. Cillian made him feel like he could have a life, and that he was more than an ex-con who should be avoided at all costs.

He breathed out. This was going to be fine. He was not going to screw this up. “Are you going to tell me what you like?”

Cillian was silent for several heartbeats. Anthony gritted his teeth. Once he wouldn’t have worried, he’d have found out along the way. But he needed a lifeline to grab.

“I like lots of things…”

Anthony laughed at the obvious dodge, but the tension remained. “You know what I’m asking.”

“I do. Since you’re asking, you go first.”

He opened his mouth, about to say that he preferred to top, but stopped. That was what he’d liked ten years ago. If he wasn’t the same person, did he still like the same things? “I’m not sure anymore.”

Cillian glanced at him. “Over the last five years, what I like has changed, and my life wasn’t turned inside out.”

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you to relearn.”

He laughed. “Maybe I like the idea of being your first.”

Cillian was hardly his first, just the first in a long time. He slid his hand over Cillian’s thigh, his fingers edging closer to the tempting ridge in his jeans. His mind filled with possibilities.

Cillian placed his hand over the top and dragged Anthony’s hand to rest over his dick. “We’re almost there, so don’t get carried away.”

Anthony’s breath caught. Beneath his hand, the heat of Cillian’s erection pressed against his palm. He wanted to do more than rub him through the denim. He wanted to lick him, taste him. His mouth watered. Fuck it, he might as well take the chance. “I’m hoping you like getting head.”

“Yeah.” Cillian gave a single nod. “Who doesn’t?”

“I’ve known a few…”

Less than a minute later, he pulled into a parking spot beneath an apartment block. It was a leafy suburb filled with large houses, historic buildings that had been converted into apartments, and a few tall apartment blocks dotted in between.

“This is me. Sorry, it’s not the penthouse.”

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