Page 43 of Hot Doggin'
My heart’s hammering away at my chest, and the anxiety in my belly is swirling with adrenaline. I just hope I don’t pass the fuck out when his mouth touches my cock.
Stiles continues to pepper kisses over my shoulders, and I roll my neck to the side to give him more access. This right here, this touching and affection. If this is all he ever has to offer me, it would be enough. More than enough.
More than anything, I want to turn around and return his kisses with the same passion, but that wouldn’t be just friends blowing each other. That would be something more.
That would be love.
Stiles didn’t agree to love.
“I may not know what I’m doing,” he whispers in my ear, “but I’m not a quitter. Not giving up until you fall apart inside my mouth.”
Holy fuck. “You want to swallow me?”
“I’m curious to know what it tastes like.”
“I’ve read that not all cum tastes the—” My words are cut off by a knock at the door. “Who’s that?”
“Ignore it. Maybe they’ll go away.” He skates his hand down my chest, pulling me back against him.
The knock comes louder this time, like they’re trying to bang the door down. Only one kind of person would knock like that.A Bitch.
Stiles lies back with a disappointed sigh. I could cry from the loss of his touch. This time, a boot connects solidly with my front door and the echo reverberates through my tiny apartment. “Holy-mother-of-nuts-on-a-Sundae!”
Stiles chuckles and tosses a pair of boxers at me, the brand new hotdog ones. “Here, put these on.”
I roll my sleeve back up my thigh and reach for my prosthetic, sliding it in place. Then I step into the boxers and pull them up. “I swear to God, there are not enough days left in my life for me to forgive, or forget, how much I hate whoever is on the other side of that door.”
He laughs, getting up to put his pants on. “I’ll probably forget by tomorrow,” he jokes. “But you’re welcome to remind me.”
I jerk the door open hard enough to knock a few sticky notes to the ground. West grins back at me. “Took you long enough.” He saunters in as if I had invited him inside.
“You have the worst timing in the world.”
“Nonsense. Brandt says I always come on time.” The teasing reference to at least one of us being able to finish, not me, obviously, only pisses me off further.
“Nice boxers.” He shoots a smirk at my shorts and then at my face. “They look about as absurd as your haircut. Yo, Stiles! Grab the trimmers from the bathroom and we’ll cut McCormick’s hair.”
Emerging from the bedroom, Stiles laughs, shutting the door behind him. Fucking sellout. I'm beginning to think he absolutely hates my haircut.
I flip the party in the back to emphasize the length. “Please, this Tennessee Waterfall is absolutely gorgeous. Looks good from every angle.”
“Tennessee Waterfall,” West chokes. “More like Achy Breaky Big Mistakey.”
Stiles laughs harder, and I’m positive he hates my hair. Weird, he’s always had such good taste.
“Is there a reason you stopped by, other than to laugh at me?”
West moves to the kitchen and helps himself to a root beer from my fridge. “I tried calling, but no one answered. I was in the neighborhood, so I just stopped. We’re doing karaoke tonight at the Tavern.”
A night out with the guys? No, thanks. I’d rather stay home and get my dick sucked. “We can’t make it.”
“Yeah, cause you’re so busy. You’re going. Both of you,” West insists, popping the top off his can. “I need good entertainment, and nothing beats you two singing.”
“We’re in,” Stiles agrees easily. As if he hadn’t been getting ready to stuff his mouth a minute earlier.
A streak of disappointment knifes through my heart. “I shaved my balls for this?!” What a fucking let down.
West makes a face. “Nobody wants to know what you do with your balls, McCormick.”
