Page 52 of Flake It Til You Make It

He’d have a long list of men panting after him, and Taylor was just one in that line, but then, who was kissing him now? Kissing him so good that Rocco was making these hot, little desperate noises in the back of his throat.

But the kiss was so much better than anything his weak imagination could conjure up.

Taylor’s fingers delved into his hair, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing Rocco’s, and he swore he heard his brain functions ticking off one after one.

Before this moment, he’d wanted exactly this, but he’d known it wasn’t a very good idea. But now itonlyseemed like the best goddamned idea he’d ever had.

Rocco rolled them back, and the rest of the blood in Taylor’s brain evacuated, heading down south, as he lay that perfect, compact, surprisingly strong body on top of his own. Sure, there were what felt like dozens of layers between them—coats and sweaters and jeans—but Taylor felt flayed naked.

Naked.

Oh yeah. That was what he wanted. To be naked and to gaze up, worshipping Rocco’s no doubt gorgeously naked form above him.

He didn’t thrust his hard cock against Rocco’s ass, but it was a near thing.

He wanted . . .he wanted so goddamn badly, but it wasn’t just the pulse of insistent desire that pulled him out of his fog and off Rocco’s mouth, but the way the ice around his heart was undeniably melting.

Taylor wrenched his mouth off Rocco’s, and a second later, Rocco slid off him and shot him a look that said a thousand things.

Why did you do that?

Did you know it would feel like that?

How are we not going to do that again?

Do youwantto do that again?

It occurred to Taylor, then, that not only had he kissed him when he’d said he wouldn’t, when they’d discussednotcomplicating their faux relationship this way, despite their attraction, that he’d notoncebeen tempted to saygoat cheese.

Shit.

“What the heck was that?” Rocco asked.

That underlying frustration in his voice might exist because Taylor had kissed him even though they’d established they wouldn’t. Or it might be because he’d stopped and he wanted to keep going.

Yes. That. Lean over. Kiss him again. Let it carry you both away.

But Taylor pulled himself together.

“What wasthat?” he retorted, tossing a little bit of snow in Rocco’s direction.

“I was just trying to pull you out of your head,” Rocco said.

He heard what Rocco wasn’t saying.I wasn’t the one who kissed you.

“I . . .I’m sorry if I overstepped.” Taylor lifted himself to his feet and held out a hand to help Rocco up.

Rocco shot it a vaguely suspicious look, but took it eventually, brushing off his jeans when he stood.

Andyeah, the snow hadn’t affected Rocco’s situation below the belt either.

Taylor didn’t know whether he should be flattered or horrified.

“You should have stopped me,” he said, because apparently his brain-to-mouth filter was dead, gone, buried, truly burnt to a crisp by the heat in Rocco’s lips.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Rocco muttered.

“I should have stopped myself,” Taylor said, apologetically.

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