Page 21 of Undercover
This felt like a real kiss. I pulled back a couple of inches.
“What I see is pretty fucking great.” His eyes widened. “Believe me. I’m not disappointed.”
I reached out, finding his hand again. His fingers curled around mine, and those pretty lips curled up. Christ. I wanted to kiss him again, and the feeling appeared to be mutual, by the way he’d tilted his head just a tiny bit and leaned in, like he expected it.
His little puffs of breath warmed my chin. His hand trembled. He leaned forward a bit more.
Fuck it. One more kiss. Nothing with tongue, that was where I drew the line.
My mouth covered his, and Gabe let out a sweet little sound, parting his lips and pulling me in. His tongue flickered out to tease at mine, soft and wet.
All of a sudden I had my other arm wrapped around his back and crushing him against my chest, and I had my tongue in his mouth and my thigh shoved between his legs, and his hand had wrapped around the nape of my neck, fingers digging into my hair.
Gabe broke the kiss, pressing his face to my neck and panting out, “Home. Can we go home? Back to my place. Now, before I do something really inappropriate, like blow you.”
My whole body shuddered. That soft, hot mouth around my cock, Gabe looking up at me through those fucking impossible eyelashes, my hands buried in his thick purple hair, holding him steady while I thrust down his throat…
I couldn’t do that, I absolutely couldn’t, but I did let go of his hand so I could bury my fingers in his hair like I’d been fantasizing about and tug his head back for another kiss, using his mouth with my tongue the way I wanted to with my cock, until I was so hard it hurt.
Gabe’s erection dug into my thigh, and he had to be hard enough to hurt too.
And that finally broke the spell, letting me pull back, dazed and breathing hard. He felt so perfect in my arms. Releasing him took me a second, but I managed.
Sort of. Because he didn’t let go, and I had to gently take him by the elbows and detach him.
He looked like I felt: glazed eyes, swollen lips, flushed and rumpled. His shirt had slid down one shoulder, giving me a glimpse of the soft hollow between his collarbone and his arm. I wanted to lick him there, nuzzle in, see if he was ticklish or if he’d moan and rub himself against me like a cat in heat.
“What is it with you and parks?” Gabe demanded, his voice a little slow, a little slurred, like he felt as drunk with arousal as I did.
“You’re the common thread, not the parks,” I managed. Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that, because his eyes lit up, and he licked his lips. “But I—can’t. We can’t. We should—”
Belatedly, I took a look around to see who’d been watching our incredibly public, incredibly R-rated display. Not quite X-rated, thank Christ, but another couple of minutes of rubbing myself off against Gabe’s slim, perfect body would’ve gotten me there.
A couple of cyclists whizzed by on the nearby bike path, and a guy walking his dog passed in the other direction, off the path and strolling across the grass. No one looked particularly scandalized. Cords dangled from the dog walker’s ears. Earbuds. He was in his own world, luckily.
“We should what?”
I looked back at Gabe. He’d propped his fists on his hips and narrowed his eyes at me, which might’ve been more intimidating if not for the purple-and-blue hair, and the loose t-shirt collar, and the cut-off shorts, and the…everything. Gabe wasn’t intimidating at all.
But I quailed anyway. Inwardly, at least.
“We should take a breath,” I said flatly. “And then we should…” I swallowed hard. “Get some more coffee. We should definitely get more coffee.”
I did not want more coffee.
Gabe’s eyes narrowed a fraction more, and he threw me a scowl nearly as good as one of mine. “I don’t want more coffee,” he gritted out.
For a second, I floundered, trying to come up with a workable rebuttal to that entirely reasonable statement.
“We could get a drink instead?”
“Is there some reason why you don’t want to just go home with me and fuck my brains out?”
I wanted to double over with laughter—although my cock’s current full-mast position trapped inside my jeans would’ve made that uncomfortable, if not impossible—or maybe just sink straight through the ground.
What the fuck did I say to that? “We haven’t known each other very long,” I said, aware that my stiff tone made me sound like a prude. And also an idiot, given how hot he was. “Maybe we should go slow.”
Gabe couldn’t have radiated more skepticism if he tried, from the furrow in his brow to the fists still resting on his narrow hips to the tapping of one purple-Chuck-clad foot. “Slow. After you basically mauled me in a park.” I opened my mouth, and one of his hands flew into the air, an accusatory index finger—at least it wasn’t his middle finger—upraised. “Twice,” he added.
