Page 52 of Two Guys One Puck
“You want them off, you do it.” He crosses his big arms.
Not the answer I expected.
“Such a hardship.” I grab his shirt and yank him forward.
He doesn’t fight the pull, and his words surprise me again. “I like when you take what you want.”
“I guess we’re not fighting then.” I slide my fingers under his tee, inching it up while I indulge in the feel of him.
“It depends on what you think is going to happen here.” He barely lets slip a moan, and I want more.
“We did tie, so maybe a truce?” I stand, nudging against his arms so he lifts them.
Seaborn takes the hint and raises them above his head. “I’m listening.”
I drag his shirt off and toss it on the floor before taking him in while I consider my words. He’s gorgeous, and now that I’m not trying to ruin his face, I fully understand why women fall all over themselves for him. “We could flip fuck but—” He visibly stiffens, and I have my answer before I can even finish. “But,” I say again, “I’m sure the whole who fucks who first would become our issue, so why don’t we both have fun at the same time?”
He narrows his eyes but relaxes a little. “What do you mean?”
“Mutual fellatio?”
“In English.”
I don’t point out that is English. “I think you Yanks call it a sixty-nine.”
He considers it, then nods. “Okay.”
Neither of us moves.
“I don’t know how to start this without hitting you first,” he says at length.
“You’re the man whore, but I’m expected to direct?” I start to tug off my shirt, but he grabs my hand, tossing it aside so he can remove it himself.
“Guess you really don’t want to be the top either, then,” he deadpans, and I can’t tell if he’s serious at first, but then he starts laughing.
I don’t have time to come up with a snarky reply because he grabs my jaw and kisses me. I groan into his mouth, and he smiles.
“What are you so happy about?”
“Shouldn’t I be happy about getting my dick sucked?” he says between twists of our tongues, but I don’t buy it. He could be getting his dick sucked by anyone he wants tonight.
I very much like that it’s me.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Craving my dick that bad?” He pushes a hand between us, shoving his sweats down.
I help him out, dragging them and his boxers down to expose his ass. He steps out of them and then shoves me backward. I drag him with me, and we stumble the few steps to the bed. When I sit, he drops to one knee, hooking his fingers in my pants and pulling them off in one swoop. He stands but freezes.
“What?” I ask, wrapping my hand around my cock.
“Did I do that?”
I glance down, following his gaze to my bruised ribs, and smirk. “You did. Want to sign your work or something?”
He’s still hesitant, but why?
“I’ve had worse. And probably done worse to you. Like your bruised ribs last year.” I shrug it off, and my words seem to shake him out of it.
