Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Tank squinted. “And you… don’t want that?”
Drake rubbed his face, hoping the pressure of his hands would wipe off his expression somehow. “No. What I’m saying is that it changed. Or is it just me?” he asked, meeting Tank’s gaze while his heart galloped.
“I haven’t changed. You let me touch you,” Tank’s voice was infuriatingly steady. As if none of this tormented him the way it did Drake.
“And you… what? You like that? Touching me?” Drake asked, and his gaze gravitated to the bottle. But no, he’d had too much already. He’d be driving home soon and couldn’t have any more.
“Yes.” Tank crossed his arms on his chest, watching Drake from head to toe. “I like kissing you. I like touching you. I like to smell your hair. I love it when our dicks rub against each other in Clover’s tight twinky ass. Shall I continue?”
“No. That’s enough,” Drake uttered before taking his seat again, just so that he wouldn’t awkwardly stand in front of Tank as if he were trying to pass an exam. His brain raced. So at least he knew the attraction was mutual. Maybe there was no point in beating around the bush after all. They could agree whatever they were doing already was a nice addition to their relationship with Clover and be done with it. Maybe he’d end up getting more of those dominant yet weirdly arousing kisses? Maybe he’d get his cock touched? Maybe he could invite Tank into his bed sometimes?
“I also like those.”
Tank took a deep breath and leaned forward. “So why’d you stop me?”
A sinking feeling dragged Drake’s stomach down, and he slowly rubbed his hands, pulling on the fingers until their joints creaked. “It was… I mean, you’re nothing like Clover. You’re like a machine, and you’re so fast with everything. You give me no space,” he said, embarrassed to talk about issues he should have gotten over years ago.
“Are you saying… things were moving too fast for you?” Tank’s question sounded serious, but the fucker was biting back a smile. “Should I ask you out on a date first? You already met my gran.”
Drake snarled, frustrated with the mocking. “What I’m saying is that I’m feeling… stuff for you, and I don’t fucking know how to deal with it,” he said and got up from the chair, torn whether he should continue this embarrassing spectacle or cut his suffering short and leave.
Tank grabbed his hand. “Sorry. Okay. Let’s rewind. What would you like to happen?”
Tank’s patience was both a blessing and a curse. If Tank was more brash with him, angry that things hadn’t gone his way, if he rolled his eyes one time too many, it would have been much easier to spark a fight with him, leave, and then try to forget about the whole mess.
But no. He was a good guy, of course.
He stared at the big hand holding his, and slowly, very slowly breathed in that glorious cologne. Its presence in the air made thinking so hard. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I’m confused. And I think that regardless of what I might want, we could just be incompatible, and that’s that.”
Tank squeezed his hand and got up to face him. “But you do like this, right?” He kissed Drake on the cheek. Then a bit higher, under the eye.
A shiver ran down Drake’s body, and he found himself nodding. This was ridiculous. He was almost thirty, he was gay, but he couldn’t shake off the sense that the proximity of a guy Tank’s size, a guy who exuded this kind of dominant energy, was a threat. “Yes. You’re just… much.”
Tank sighed and stroked Drake’s hair. “Can’t really get any smaller, Drake. And I wouldn’t want to. If you don’t like that then I’m not sure what we’re doing here. Are we talking about platonic feelings?”
“No. I’m just… you’re so hot it’s intimidating. I guess I’m scared,” Drake admitted, stuffing his hands into his pockets, because he’d be clawing his fingers otherwise.
Tank took his time processing that, but never stopped stroking Drake’s hair in that lazy rhythm that felt so soothing Drake imagined he could fall asleep to it. “You wanna cuff me? It’s not generally my thing, but I’m down with it if that helps.”
Relief made Drake’s muscles lax, and he cupped Tank’s face, for a moment just watching him as his emotions translated into thoughts. “Thank you. That would make things easier.”
Tank gave him a cocky smile. “Will be a first for me. I usually do the cuffing.” He gave Drake a kiss and sat in the chair, placing his arms behind it as if nothing about this unnerved him. “Go on.”
Drake was so overwhelmed he didn’t know where to start, but he always had cuffs on him, in case someone needed restraining, and he walked behind Tank’s chair, gaze sliding over the strong shoulders and thick neck. Tank wasn’t as inked as Pyro, but his skin was covered with quite a few tattoos. Some generic, of motorcycle parts and skulls, some more personal, like the jackal outline Tank’s whole unit had gotten before leaving Iraq.