Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Holy hell.
His cock was long and slim, just like Ansel. And his balls were completely hairless. The sight sent a zing of excitement all the way down to his toes. Fitch was so shocked by the sight, and the feeling, that he grunted.
But Ansel didn’t stop. His eyes were squeezed closed, his bottom lip tortured by teeth. A veil of rapture transformed his beautiful face, and the air in Fitch’s lungs evaporated.
Hot, hot, hot.
So much better than the porn he’d been watching.
Then those beautiful made-up eyes popped open and Ansel’s desire pierced him. All of a sudden, Fitch was overcome with a need to put that look on Ansel’s face himself. He wanted to be responsible for Ansel’s pleasure, not just a witness.
This was what he’d been waiting for.
Nerves suddenly came to life in his gut like a hive of angry wasps. He swallowed with a sandpaper tongue and focused on Ansel. Christ, he didn’t know how. But he wanted—no, needed—to try.
“Stop.”
“Hold on, just a little more,” Ansel said.
“No. Stop, now.” He used his gruffest, most commanding voice and added an extra tug on Ansel’s hair, but it only seemed to spur the guy on, if his delighted gasp was anything to go by.
“Don’t worry, I’m still young enough to go again. I promise,” Ansel said, but the words sounded like they were being forced out with every gasping breath.
“Please.” Fitch changed tactics, gentled his hands and cupped Ansel’s cheek.
Ansel’s desperate strokes slowed and he sighed. “Damn, I didn’t take you for a sadist.”
Choosing not to reply to the taunt, he hooked Ansel under the armpits and helped him stand. Because Ansel had kicked off his heels they were finally the same height. Fitch smoothed a few stray hairs off Ansel’s glistening face, trying to get a grip on the swirl of thoughts and emotions twisting his insides. His stomach was a chaos of nerves. His heart was beating way too goddamn fast. He was still coming down from the best blow job of his life and his brain was suffering from lack of blood and oxygen.
But still, he wanted more.
Silently, he gripped the hem of Ansel’s T-shirt and, with great patience, slid it up to expose pale skin. Obediently, Ansel raised his arms until Fitch could tug the shirt over his head. His necklaces cascaded out of the tangle of arms, hair, and cloth and fell into place on his newly bared chest.
Fitch’s fingers trembled when he reached out to trace the shallow dip and curve of a well-developed pec. He wanted to learn all there was to know about his dancer’s body. Ansel’s nipple pebbled under his scrutiny and he found the reaction exquisite. He did the same thing to the other side. Ansel let out a breath but didn’t move, didn’t speak, no doubt sensing his need to explore, to understand. He lifted one necklace and placed it on the counter, a long gold chain with a cross. He did the same for the second piece. But when he tried to remove the third and last—a worn metal ball chain with a pair of scarred dog tags and an ancient-looking key—Ansel caught his wrist.
“Not that one. I never take it off.” His voice was hushed and serious.
Fitch released the chain. There was a story there, something important, but now was not the time to start digging. He smoothed a palm over his dancer’s slender shoulder, down his firm biceps, over his muscular but still elegant forearm, to his bangled wrist. God, the man was so solid under all that grace, so strong. It was some kind of weird deception that from a distance Ansel seemed so delicate.
Sliding the whole group of metal bands off, Fitch gave them a home near the necklaces. It was the same for the bracelets on the other wrist and the three rings Ansel wore on his left hand.
With every item he removed, another part of Ansel’s armor fell away. If Fitch was going to do this, he wanted there to be no hiding. No running from the truth, no trying to trick himself later that the whole encounter had been with a female. He didn’t want there to be lies or mistrust, regrets or worry. So when he finally allowed himself to look down, past Ansel’s toned stomach to where the tight black pants hung open and his long, slim cock jutted up from a hairless sack, he couldn’t deny the instant heat the sight produced, the twitch of interest from his tired dick.
Nor could he deny the tiny flash of fear.
* * *
Ansel couldn’t remember ever having a lover take so much pleasure in undressing him. The way Fitch studied his body with hungry eyes and gentle hands, he felt like a piece of clay taking shape before a master artist. Even though he itched to stroke what lay beneath Fitch’s clothes, he remained still under the scrutiny, some part of him unwilling to lose Fitch’s attention. His dick leaked and his balls hurt from denied pleasure, but when Fitch ran a work-roughened fingertip up his length, he was glad of the ache. Otherwise, he might have shot his load right then.