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)
“Liar,” he whispered, before sliding his hands down Fitch’s arms.
He pried the other man’s hands loose from the chair and dragged them down his glittering bare chest. Fitch’s breath hitched, but he didn’t fight the hold. His fingers flexed almost imperceptibly as they brushed Ansel’s nipples.
Sharp arousal spurred him further and he pushed those rough palms down his abs to rest on his hips. He held them there as he rode Fitch’s lap like they were fucking. He groaned as the image came to life in his head, but never looked away from the dark, grumpy face beneath him.
Fitch’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his body shivered. Then, with a slow blink of extra-long lashes, he finally looked up with a sort of confused wonder in his eyes.
Ansel stopped breathing, stopped moving. The music faded away. The crowd around them disappeared. The only sound was the throbbing pulse of his own heart.
He walked the knife’s edge. And usually he got off on the unknown, on the potential danger that lurked just beneath the surface. That was why he enjoyed flirting with the straight ones. But this was different. This was stronger. Deeper. Scarier.
This was something real.
He didn’t like it. If he were honest, it freaked him the fuck out. But Christ, it was as if his body, his whole being, had been taken over by aliens because he leaned down and pressed his lips to Fitch’s mouth. And what shocked the shit out of him—more than his own insanity—was that Fitch let him in.
Ignoring everything, even his own instinct to run like hell, he swept his tongue in and tasted the chocolate-mint flavor.
Yes, he was a Slut with a capital S. He fucked strangers, loved one-night stands, and usually didn’t even bother to ask for names. But this was different.
This felt inevitable.
He was caught in an electrical storm. Every nerve popped and danced, every cell shivered in pleasure. And then Fitch’s grip on his waist tightened, fingertips dug into the flesh of his ass, and Ansel gasped.
The kiss ended with them both stunned. A second later reality rushed back in.
Frozen with shock, he looked over Fitch’s shoulder. The girls stared at them with their mouths open. Something ugly solidified in his gut—regret. And another feeling, so totally out of character, he was half-convinced he’d died—guilt.
He was not familiar with guilt. Not since he made the decision to leave home and never look back. Not since he’d realized trying to please everyone else would end up killing him. He didn’t know how to handle guilt so he ignored it. Or he tried to.
He swallowed, gathered himself, then winked and flashed his signature smirk at the girls.
“There, I think he learned his lesson, don’t you? Try not to give him such a hard time in the future. He was a good sport.” Doing his best fake laugh, he flipped his hair over his shoulder perfectly and capped off the performance.
Their audience smiled, sort of, enough to break the tension. But beneath him, Fitch ground his teeth together, his mouth bruised and covered in red lipstick. The sight caught hold of Ansel’s chest and squeezed.
Shaken, he stood and wiped a thumb over Fitch’s mouth to remove the evidence.
“See you around, handsome.” He spun on wobbly legs and sashayed away.
Chapter Four
What the hell?
Fitch couldn’t catch his breath. He wanted to punch something, or someone. He wanted to fuck. He wanted to lose his shit and forget everything that had happened in the past two hours.
He couldn’t do any of that. He couldn’t even fucking stand because of the raging boner that wouldn’t fucking die. His heart thudded like a goddamn jackhammer. Not letting him deny. Not letting him forget. He’d never forget the fact that he’d kissed a dude.
And he’d loved every fucking minute of it.
God, how far would he have gone if his sister wasn’t sitting three feet away? Would he have taken the guy into the bathroom and gotten his dick sucked? Jesus Christ. Yes. He couldn’t lie to himself. Yes. He would’ve loved to watch those goddamn lips devour his cock. To see those gorgeous big green eyes blinking up at him with the long lashes and the sexy eye shadow. And he wouldn’t have cared that they belonged to another man. He wouldn’t have cared one fucking bit.
He had to calm down. He needed to get himself under control because damn, he wasn’t alone. He could feel his sister and her friends staring at the back of his neck, waiting.
The dancer had played the whole thing off as lighthearted and fun, thank the Lord. Hell, that’s probably all it was to the guy, just one more lap, one more dance. And Fitch couldn’t—wouldn’t—dwell on that because it was his only safeguard at the moment. Right now, all he needed to do was keep the charade going.