Page 88 of Dean

“You just lookreallyhot right now. Like sinfully hot.”

The way his eyes rove over me makes my cock thicken behind my jeans.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. All dirty and…manly.”

I tuck the rag into my back pocket and step toward him. “You want me to touch you, just like this? Get you filthy?”

“Oh god yes,” he moans, his nipples puckering behind that thin shirt.

My hands land on the bare skin of his hips, my thumbs stroking up against the muscles there, feeling them flex beneath my touch. I bet it’s leaving streaks of dirt as I go, grime and grease. Who would have thought someone like Avery would like that, but I can tell that he does. I can see it in the way his pulse flickers faster against his skin, the way his breath hitches and his cheeks pinken.

“Dean, shit, this isn’t why I came out here. I mean, it is, but I meant to say…I saw what was in those boxes. Kit helped me to open them…”

I sigh. “Fuck. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

He looks slightly chagrined. “I didn’t know what they were, but I love it. It’s for me, right? Because if so, I really fucking love it.”

“Yeah, they’re for you. So if you want to paint a picture, you should. I want to hang something on my wall,” I say, and he nods as my fingers tease him. He sways into me and his lips find mine.

“I can do that. I can so do that.”

It’s an explosion after that—my hands yanking him into me, lifting him into my arms and setting him on the closed tool chest to my right. It’s large, heavy enough to accommodate his weight, and the perfect height for him to wrap his legs around me.

As his ankles lock behind my back, I pull his shirt off, wanting to drag my hands across his bare chest, to leave marks against that perfect skin. I want to see the remnants of me against him for hours after.

A low, desperate moan leaves him as our lips crash back together, his chest bare, my fingers dragging up to his pecs, plucking his nipples softly until he’s panting and thrusting his hips forward.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about doing all day?” I ask.

“Tell me. I want to know.”

“Jacking you off,” I reply when our lips finally part and I start unbuttoning his shorts.

“Oh fuck. Yes. You can totally do that. Anytime. Anywhere.”

“Mm. Well, like I said before, I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Me too. I think about you incessantly.”

“I would have done this sooner, but Kit came and ruined it.”

He lets out a small laugh and then a groan when I drag his shorts down his thighs, leaving him in just a slutty pair of underwear that barely contains his dick. It’s hard and wanting, begging to be touched.

“But now I’m here and ready for all the things,” he says, his voice raspy and low.

“What if I don’t want to do them anymore? What if you made me wait too long?” I ask as I tug his underwear down, the head of his cock making an appearance. My thumb brushes over the tip and he whimpers.

“You so want to. You want to so bad.”

I huff a small laugh and then divest him of his clothes entirely. He’s sitting there, on my tool chest, completely naked, looking like a fucking dream. My hand moves to his hair, tugging the band from the end of his braid and threading my fingers through those long locks, loosening it. It falls in golden waves across his shoulders and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Fuck, you’re pretty. Never thought I’d say that about a man.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Here we are.”

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