Page 5 of Wildfire

Maybe the man had murdered Matthew, and now he wanted to kill Wilder too, to get him out of the way. To keep him from telling the authorities that the man from the scene of the crime had been named Hermes, and his brother owned Hysteria.

The lascivious smile that crossed Hermes’s lips, however, implied otherwise. The way he licked his lips and his eyes strayed to Wilder’s own mouth. “What do you say, hot stuff?”

Wilder quirked a deeply unimpressed brow at him. “Never heard that one before.”

“Not trying to be original,” Hermes said easily, with a shrug. “Just trying to get some dick. You seem like you’ve got one.”

So, Wilder had been picked up in clubs before. He’d been picked up in this club before, in fact. He had never met anyone so thoroughly artless at it, though. No lines, no flattery, just an offer.

Would the guy stab Wilder the minute he got his pants down? Better yet, why was he even thinking about agreeing to—Hermes slid his hand down the front of Wilder’s slacks, cupping his cock and getting its attention more than effectively.

He was cute. Short, with a sharp smile and a clever mind. Just Wilder’s type.

But he hadn’t even thought about sleeping with anyone since David left. Much less hooking up in a bathroom. He generally avoided that on principle.

Between the stressful day losing a student and dealing with the cops, the empty silence of the apartment since David left, and Wilder’s inability to impress his boss... It was so easy to give in and take what was being offered.

Wilder backed him up against the wall, shoving their bodies together from chest to groin. He grabbed Hermes’s face, fingers curling under his jaw and thumb on his chin, and mashed their lips together.

He’d never been one for kissing—even when having sex, he and David rarely had—but something about this situation cried out for it. The way this tiny man had manhandled him, an iron grip on his arms and serious set to his lips even as his eyes twinkled with mischief. He was enjoying himself, enjoying seeing Wilder squirm, and Wilder needed to turn things around.

So he pushed his tongue into the man’s mouth, wet and messy, their teeth clicking together lightly before he stopped moving and just let Wilder take. So he took. He devoured. Claiming the man’s mouth with a sweep of his tongue, grinding his fully hard cock forward into Hermes’s.

He twined their fingers together, taking control of his hands. Maybe it was illusory control, but it was there and Hermes let him have it. So Wilder pushed his hands over his head and pinned them there with one of his own, and then reached down with the free one do undo first his pants, then Wilder’s own, shoving his boxers out of the way—the guy was going commando, apparently—and sliding their cocks together.

Wilder’s hand couldn’t wrap around both of them, but he did his best, stroking their cocks together in the slick slide of sweat and precome, only pausing in the ravaging of Hermes’s mouth for long enough to catch his breath.

“Holy mother of fuck,” the man whispered when Wilder broke away panting, still stroking their cocks, fast and sloppy, in a broken rhythm that matched his labored breaths. “Knew you were hot, didn’t realize you were fucking fire, hot stuff.”

Wilder’s chest shook with the effort of holding back a laugh. Was he for real? Cracking fire jokes while Wilder was stroking him off? Obviously, he needed to do a better job of it.

He tightened his grip, almost too hard, and Hermes gasped, his head falling back. It would have smacked against the tile wall if Wilder hadn’t moved their twined hands behind it.

Hermes grinned manically. “Look at you. A regular Prince Charming. Protecting a guy from a concussion.” He leaned in and whispered in Wilder’s ear, “Don’t worry about me, burning man. I like it a little rough.”

His hand stripped their cocks so damn fast Wilder wasn’t sure it would be visible to the naked eye, and he squeezed even tighter on the fingers against his slick skin.

True to his word, Hermes moaned and his head fell back again. “Fuck yeah. Fucking do it.”

“That’s a filthy mouth you’ve got there,” Wilder whispered.

Hermes tried to grin back, but lost the expression to another moan. “You... have no fucking idea.”

Wilder leaned down and bit the spot where Hermes’s neck met his shoulder, and that was it for him. He groaned, long and loud, come spurting between them, coating his hand and the hem of his own shirt.

As he caught his breath, Wilder kept going, face buried in his neck.

Hermes turned so his lips were at Wilder’s ear and whispered, “Maybe next time you should wash my mouth out with your dick.”

And somehow, as ridiculous and jokey as it was, that was what set him off, biting at Hermes’s neck again and adding to the mess on his shirt.

When Wilder pulled back, panting, Hermes stared at the mess, then up at Wilder, a look of wonder on his face. “You got all that on me. Is that a skill you’ve cultivated to keep your perfect suit clean?”

Wilder shrugged and stepped back, but Hermes grabbed his hand and gave it a lick before he could pull it away. Then he deliberately wiped it on Wilder’s suit jacket.

“You’re an asshole.”

“That makes two of us,” Hermes agreed. He got up on his toes and pressed another kiss to Wilder’s lips.

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