Page 29 of A Guy Walks Into My Bar
“Mmm. I do, but you taste so good.” Fitz slides his lips farther down my neck. “I also happen to have a fantastic sense of timing. I know exactly how long it takes to get down the ice. By my count, I’ve got one-hundred-and-twenty seconds to leave you wanting more of me before I have to go.”
Groaning, I lean into my American lover, taking his kisses, savoring his attention. At this rate, though, I’m never going to leave his room. Straightening my spine, I slide another button through the corresponding hole. “I suspect this time, however, that Maeve will read it on my face straightaway. She’s smart like that.”
He laughs as he draws his lips along my skin, rubbing his scruff against me. “Or are you that transparent, Dean?”
I arch a brow in the mirror as I finish the last button. “What do you think?”
Fitz raises his eyes, giving me a thorough appraisal. “I’d say that’s the face of someone who’s given it good and gotten it good.”
“Great. Fucking great,” I mutter, but I’m not annoyed in the least. Annoyance is impossible in moments like this.
He slides his hand to my ass, squeezing it hard. “I call it like I see it. And, Dean, you look like you’ve been sucked hard and well by a man who wants you.”
His comment shouldn’t do anything more than ignite another bout of lust. But the intensity of his desire is a life force. It’s a light that draws me, and I want more of it.
“Hence my plan for preemptive confession,” I say, and I can feel a smile tugging at my lips, the admission that I don’t mind cleaning the floors or painting the walls or hauling rubbish or chopping wood or anything if it means another round with him.
It’s not just his tongue or his mouth, though, or his fantastic cock. It’s the other things he does with his mouth—it’s the things he says and the way we are with each other.
He’s the best time I’ve ever had.
I turn around so he can’t distract me anymore with those kisses on my neck. “Listen, I have to go to the bar. Take care of some business.” I look at my watch. “I’ll be done before seven. Meet me at Sticks and Stones at eight thirty. It’s nearby, and open Sunday nights, unlike The Magpie. I’ll text you the address. Since I believe you had a study to show me, from the society of Why the Hell Won’t You Have Dinner with Me. Tonight you should show me that, and then show me all the other things you want to do to me.”
He grabs my face, drags me in close, and kisses me like he owns my lips. And if I stay any longer, he’ll miss his appointment.
So I break the kiss, step to the door, and reach for the handle. I’m about to take off, when I stop, turn around, and close the distance between us again.
There are moments for games, and then there are moments for truth.
I’m not going to see him again after Thursday. He’ll be out of my life for good. So, if I’m giving in now, I want to experience all of the pleasure, all of the chase.
And I want him to have a taste of the addiction he’s giving me, to feel its power, to know its pull. I drag my hand up his chest, spreading my palm over his pecs, so firm under my touch. “I do want more of you, Fitz. I want all of you. I have since the night I met you.”
His eyes are glossy with both lust and gratitude. “I’m so fucking glad you said yes to me.”
“Ditto.” I tip my forehead to the door. “And now I do have to go.”
I leave, counting down the seconds till I see him again.
That’s a good thing, this impatience, this intensity, but I have a feeling it could also become a bad thing.
A very bad thing indeed.
15
Dean
After I do some work and go for a run, I head home, shower, and change for tonight. Jeans and a polo. Phone and wallet. That’s all I need.
I catch the Tube, and when it lets me out near Sticks and Stones, I text my dad, checking in to see what he’s up to. He replies immediately.
Dad: Poker. I plan to clean up with my mates from the old office. They’re rubbish at cards.
Dean: And you’re not.
Dad: I can bluff like nobody’s business, and I can always tell who’s trying to bluff me. What are you up to tonight?
Dean: Just heading out to see a friend. I’ll see you Tuesday for dinner, right?
Dad: Friend??? It’s hilarious that you think I don’t know what that means. Have fun with that Yankee.
I crack up as I walk the short distance to Sam’s pub, pinging Dad as I go.
