Page 10 of Speed

“I think so, yeah,” I replied with a shaky breath.

His mouth met mine then, the tug on my hair pulling me that half an inch required to be tight to him. It was a tentative press of lips to lips. He seemed unsure now, the kiss breaking off as he pulled back a little. Uncertainty flared to life in his gaze.

“I need you to be sure,” he whispered, cupping my cheek to caress the new whiskers as if he’d never felt stubble. “Ineed to be sure.”

Reeling a bit, I moved in for another kiss to make sure as he insisted. Pops always said that you never got to Graceland if you didn’t drive your pink Cadillac with bravado. Which was Pops-speak for being shy never got a man on the team. You had to be forward, self-assured, and know what you wanted. Brody stiffened when my tongue traced the seam of his lips, but then, he not only accepted my tease, he devoured it.

He swept into my mouth, his fingers tightening more on my hair as he probed every molar I possessed, his taste was whiskey and heat and sex. I grabbed his jacket, tugging him into me, and he tugged my hair firmly. A sound I didn’t know I could make filled my chest. Not exactly a growl. Not quite a mewl. It was a whimper of pleasure. He moaned gruffly. I released his tux to grab his hips so I could get some friction. He was hard and thick. I met his kiss with a fire I’d never experienced before, and I’d been with some incredibly hot people. Rachel was a gorgeous girl. Pike, one of the guys on my college hockey team, and I had hooked up whenever the mood had struck, and he was fucking stunning. And while I’d been turned on by both of them, it was nothing in comparison to what feeling Brody’s stiff dick rubbing against mine felt like.

“Fuck,” I gasped when we broke for air. He held me in place, his fingers tight in my curls, to stare into my eyes as if plumbing my soul for answers to some universal questions. I had no answers. Shit, I didn’t know my name right now. All I could think about was the hair-trigger I was working to keep from going off. “So what are we doing here?”

Someone had to ask. If we were going to get into some hot frottage, something I was down for, as I loved some steamy frot, somebody here was going to have to lock the door or make a move for the fire exit.

“Your hotel,” he said. I nodded. He rubbed his cheek against mine, murmuring something that sounded like “I never knew,” which was confusing as hell.

Never knew what?

Then, he kissed me again. Slower this time, with a tender touch, his mouth less punishing, his hold on my hair lessening. With his mouth on mine, all sensibility left me. I wiggled a hand between us to palm his cock. Brody came unglued. The sweet little kiss turned into a ravenous exploration of my mouth. We pawed at each other as he steered us expertly—as a race car driver would—against the door. The same door that was the only barrier between us and a slew of rich people doing the hustle. He had his dick and mine freed from our pants before I could catch my breath. Not that I wanted to breathe. Oxygen was overrated. Right now, all I needed was Brody Vance. He fumbled with our dicks. I slapped his hand aside. He pulled my head back, his fingers once more fisting my hair.

“Let me,” I panted as I got our cocks lined up.

He placed his mouth on my throat, inhaled, and then, licked a wet stripe up my neck. His prick was leaking all over, as was mine. I rocked into my fist, my cock gliding up and down beside his. Brody made low, animalistic sounds against my jugular that ratcheted my need to blow a nut up several thousand increments.

“Shit… I… close,” I ground out.

He bucked into my hand, coating my fingers with hot cum. That did it for me. My balls tightened as that white-hot flare at the base of my spine gave me a millisecond of warning before I was spurting as well. He bit down on my throat, the soft burn of his teeth scrubbing my neck, adding to the explosive orgasm. My knees wanted to fold, but I pressed my ass against the door while we both fucked my fist like rabbits. The smell of sex clouded my mind, as did the pulse of our cocks. I twisted free of his hold to find his mouth. Brody kissed me back with wild abandon. His tongue twisting around mine, his hold on my head possessive, perfect. I lapped at his mouth wantonly.

The shrill sound of microphone feedback filled the venue, slicing through the fog of lust we were still bumbling around in.

“Christ,” Brody coughed, stepping back, my hold on his lapel keeping him close. “Christ,” he said again, stumbling away.

I released his jacket. His eyes were wide, and he spun from me to tuck and zip.

“Uhm…” I said as I felt cool air on my sticky dick. Blushing hotly, I stuffed my spent cock back into my briefs, zipped, and let my shoulder blades rest on the door. I fished out the pocket square Pops had given me to wipe my hand on. “You good?”

“Not in the least,” he replied roughly, his shoulders tight, his head hanging low. “That was not good. Not good at all.” He turned to face me.

I shoved the dirty hanky back into my pocket. Well, shit. I’d seen that expression of utter devastation once before. Back in high school. Big keg party at some cheerleader’s house when her parents were away. One of the football players had been stupidly drunk. Guess he was feeling his bi self once the alcohol hit because he had pulled me into a guest bathroom where I’d given him a sloppy blowjob. I’d been drunk, too, something I rarely did because it fucked with my numbers so bad. But yeah, I’d been tipsy. That dude, Phil, his name had been, acted like Brody did now after he’d shot down my throat. That horrified expression screaming this was a dude who thought he was super straight but had just gotten off with a guy.

“I’m not gay.”

Yep, there it was. Shit. Shit. Double shit with a shitty cherry on top. “I’m not either. I’m bi.” If I had a dollar for every time I had to clarify…

“That was… I’m not into men,” he maintained as his gaze darted to the door. If I hadn’t been leaning on it, he would have bolted by now.

“Right. Well, you seemed to be pretty into me when you were fucking my fist, but hey, whatever lie you need to tell yourself is fine.”

He gaped as if I’d slapped him. “Fuck you.”

“Nice, really nice.” I did not need this shit from this guy. Or any guy. If he had been cool about it, then, fine; I get it, it’s a lot. But to get rabid? Nope. I moved away from the door, then opened it. His eyes flared. I didn’t say a word, I waited, my hand on the antique brass knob.

I could see him chewing on something. If it was an apology, he could keep it. If it was a confession of how he was beyond confused about how good his dick felt next to mine, then cool. The door was open. I could close it. We could talk. It wasn’t easy to be out. I got it.

“That stays between us,” he snarled as he raked a hand through his hair, then stormed out of the lounge.

“Oh, trust me, asshole, I havenoplans to tell anyone what a gigantic moron I am for thinking you were hot and cool.” I slammed the door shut. Hopefully, it hit his uptight ass. Drawing a shaky breath, I stared at the oil painting above the fireplace. Some dour old man with tiny glasses resting on his nose stared down at me. “Don’t even say it,” I barked at the portrait as shame coursed through me. I flopped onto a settee, checked my sugar, frowned at the results, and ate a couple of Skittles to steady my fluctuating numbers.

I hadn’t counted on the physicality of sex.

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