Page 27 of Tempted By the Safety

For a second I forget how lungs work.

“H-how do you even know that?” I manage.

“You told me yourself.” Spencer doesn’t move back an inch. “Last night in the driveway.”

I search the wreckage of last night for that particular memory and come up with nothing but a vague, horrifying sense that my mouth has been operating without my permission.

Drunk Milo, you absolute menace. You had one job, which was to survive the night, and instead you handed him a confession on a silver platter.

None of that reaches my face, though. I lift my chin instead. “So what if I did?”

Spencer’s jaw sets as he steps in, closing the last of the space I thought was still mine, my back against the island, his body crowding in.

“So next time,” he says right against my ear, “you should let me watch.”

I push up off the stool and get my mouth on his, and it’s not gentle, not for one second. His hand comes up and fists in my hair, and I taste vanilla and maple syrup. Our teeth clash before we figure out the angle, and neither of us cares. His tongue meets mine and I moan, helpless, both hands knotting in thefront of his sweats like I need something to hold on to or I’ll come apart right here. He groans against my mouth.

I pull back, and my gaze flicks down. The front of his gray sweats is tented out, the fabric doing nothing to hide what I already knew was generous.

Spencer catches where I’m looking and reaches down, grabbing himself through the fabric.

“You see what you’re doing to me?” he asks.

“I thought you were straight.” It comes out breathless, and only half a joke.

“Apparently, my dick didn’t get the memo.”

I kiss him again, and my hands find the drawstring at his waist and work it loose while his tongue works against mine. I push the sweats down along with his underwear in one motion, and his cock springs free, hard and flushed dark at the head, curving up toward his stomach.

I wrap my hand around him, and Spencer groans, his hips twitching forward into my grip.

“Holy shit, you’re huge,” I breathe, stroking him slow, watching his face for every flicker. “And I’m not being nice, I’m being accurate. I’ve held a lot of dicks, Spencer, and this is the one.”

He laughs. Then his cock twitches hard in my hand, and his breath goes ragged.

“Milo.”

I tighten my grip a fraction, drag my palm up over the head where he’s already slick, and his eyes fall shut, jaw dropping open on a silent curse. I keep stroking him, cataloging every twitch and shudder I can pull out of him. His eyes are still closedwhen his hand finds the waistband of my shorts and yanks, dragging them and the briefs underneath down my thighs in one motion. I’m still perched half on the stool, one foot on the floor for balance, and now I’m bare from the waist down. His hand closes around me like he’s been waiting to do this.

I whimper, and my own hand on him falters, losing rhythm entirely.

“Spencer—”

He presses his cock flush against mine and reaches down to adjust my grip so my fingers wrap around both of us at once. The head of his cock slides against mine, precum smearing between us until there’s nothing but a slow, easy glide.

He covers my hand with his, engulfing it completely, and we both groan.

We start moving together, his hand guiding mine, slow drags up and over both our heads and back down. I’m not going to last very long like this, not with his cock pressed hot against mine and the sound he’s making low in his throat.

His other hand lands on my hip, steadying me, keeping me from sliding right off the stool, and I grab his bicep with my free hand, fingers digging into muscle that doesn’t give an inch under the grip.

“You’re so hard for me,” I babble, because apparently I never learned when to shut up, drunk or sober. “Wanna make you come all over me—”

“Jesus, Milo.” His voice is wrecked. “That dirty mouth’s gonnafinish me off before your hand does.”

“Mm, I’d love to put it to better use,” I say, picturing exactly how he’d taste, how he’d sound with my mouth wrapped aroundhim instead of just my hand. “I’ve wanted to get on my knees for you since the dressing room—”

He curses, and a few thick drops of precum spill from his crown. His hips start to stutter against mine, the rhythm gone.