So, yes, Reese admired him, liked him, even.
Which wasn’t the problem.
No, his issue was with the fact Brantley had promised they would take things slow, but turtle-crawl wasn’t exactly what Reese had envisioned when he’d made the statement. The orgasm he’d had simply from Brantley touching him felt like a lifetime ago, but his cock remembered it like only a few minutes had passed and the damn thing was interested in a serious replay.
Needless to say, he was rock fucking hard and Brantley … well, Brantley was doing what he did best when they were in a hotel room. He was passed out, having hit the pillow only a couple of minutes ago. When Reese had asked him about it this morning, Brantley had copped to having insomnia at home. But while on the job—how he’d referred to this trip—he knew he had to catch z’s when he could. So he was. How the guy did it, he would never know, but he envied him the ability. Seemed all the cool tricks Reese had learned in the military had evaded him, slowly slipping away the longer he was a civilian.
Which was the reason he was staring at the flickering television screen, wishing like hell there was something on that could bore him to sleep. Problem with that was he wasn’t paying much attention to the TV. No, he was currently wondering how inappropriate it would be to take his cock in his fist and jerk the fucker until there was a modicum of relief.
He rolled his head to the side, glanced over at the bathroom door.
Or he could take a shower, get himself off in there. Probably not quite as rude as rubbing one out only a few feet away from where Brantley was sleeping soundly.
Except, the thought of getting up didn’t appeal.
Cutting his eyes back to the television, Reese groaned.
“What’s the problem?” Brantley mumbled.
Fuck. “Nothin’. Go back to sleep.”
“Hard to when you’re makin’ racket over there.”
“I groaned one time,” he said defensively.
“But you’ve been huffin’ for the past ten minutes.”
“You haven’t been asleep for ten minutes, only—“ Reese glanced at the clock, grunted again.
Fine, so Brantley had been passed out for thirty, which meant Reese had been suffering for much longer than he’d thought.
“All you have to do is ask,” Brantley said.
“Ask what?” he spit out before he realized what Brantley was referring to. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
A soft chuckle sounded from the other bed.
“You find this amusin’, do you?”
Brantley rolled to his back, drawing Reese’s attention. The light flickering from the television cast him in shadows, highlighting his chest and the defined muscles of his abdomen. The sheet currently covering his lower half obstructed the view of more, but he could see enough to be intrigued.
Not helping.
At.
Fucking.
All.
But Reese would soon learn that torture was something Brantley excelled at.
He watched as Brantley slid one hand beneath the sheet and his imagination filled in the rest, right up until it wasn’t necessary. When Brantley flipped the sheet away, Reese got an eyeful of his cock. Christ Almighty. He was long and ridiculously thick, the head swollen and darkened from the blood flow.
“What’re you doin’?” he asked, the words coming out on a strangled moan.
“What you wanna do,” he said easily, his head turning so his attention was on Reese.
“Brantley…”
“Just watch. That’s all you hafta do.”
And watch he did. His gaze was locked on the fist that slowly wrapped around Brantley’s erection, stroking upward at an absurdly slow pace before reversing. If he didn’t know better, he would think the man was dragging this out on purpose.
Oh, wait. He definitely was.
The fucker.
“Watch me, Reese,” Brantley rasped. “Keep your eyes open.”
They were fucking open, all right. Hell, Reese wasn’t sure he could look away if he wanted to.
He was enraptured, checking out Brantley as he stroked himself slowly, surely, teasing the head of his cock, every now and again his torso rolling as pleasure assaulted him. It was the most satisfyingly erotic show he’d ever watched. If Brantley Walker wanted to make some serious money, he should probably consider porn.
But what made it so satisfying was seeing the way Brantley watched him while he jacked himself off. His eyes remained fixed on Reese, as though he was the fantasy that made this all possible.
Minutes ticked by, the only sound Brantley’s choppy breaths as he inched closer and closer to release. That and Reese’s own labored breaths ramped up by watching this sexy man touch himself.
“Let me see,” Brantley whispered.
The words brought his eyes into focus, his attention shifting to Brantley’s face. It was then he saw Brantley’s gaze had traveled south, watching…
Oh, fuck.
Reese hadn’t even realized he’d been stroking himself, his hand hidden beneath the sheet as he worked his cock in a rhythm that matched Brantley’s.
Peering back at Brantley, he met his gaze, saw the desire there. It was enough to lower his inhibitions, have him kicking the sheet away, the cool air caressing his cock like a lover. Enough to have his breath hitching.
