Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Valenti found his arms were around O’Brian’s shoulders and O’Brian’s arms were around his waist, and somehow it was the most natural feeling in the world. His face was buried in the thick, red-blond hair, and the clean, male musk of his partner was making him feel almost drunk. He was hard as a rock, and he knew O’Brian had to feel it, but if he did, he didn’t try to move away or say anything about it. Then he realized that his partner was hard, too. He could feel it clearly through those skin-tight jeans, a lump the size of a Coke bottle rubbing against his crotch with a delicious friction that made him dizzy with want and need.
Why was O’Brian hard? Valenti wondered about it as well as his lust-fogged brain would let him. He knew for certain that it had nothing to do with O’Brian dancing close to him; the man just didn’t swing that way. Period. His friend was probably just hard from the buzz of dancing to the fast music earlier, Valenti finally decided. He knew, because it was fairly obvious in the tight pants O’Brian always wore, that his partner often got aroused during times of excitement -- during a bust or before a big date. Or when they went out dancing with girls -- this was the first time they’d gone dancing together, of course.
“Killing me softly ...” Roberta Flack crooned, and Valenti thought fuzzily, That’s exactly what he’s doing. Killing me, man -- I can’t take much more of this ... That was when he felt the soft, warm brush of lips against the side of his neck.
“Wha--?” he started to say, pulling back from his partner, but O’Brian shushed him.
“Just practicing, like the man said. Don’t look so surprised, Valenti; he’s watchin’ us. He doesn’t think we can do it -- let’s prove him wrong.” O’Brian smiled at him in the smoky gloom of the club, and Valenti’s heart sank even though he knew it was irrational to be disappointed. It was just O’Brian’s competitive nature coming out again, not anything special between them. He should have known -- trust his partner to get competitive about anything, even how well they could play gay. If Twonnie said they couldn’t, then O’Brian was determined to prove they could, simple as that.
“All right, you just scared me is all,” he said, reluctantly allowing himself to be pulled into his partner’s arms again. “Didn’t expect it.”
“Well, you should’ve,” O’Brian complained. “He did say to kiss your neck. And that’s a lot less than half these guys are doin’.” He nodded to the couples all around them and adjusted his stance so that he fit more snugly against Valenti’s body as though to prove his point. Valenti noticed that his partner’s hard-on hadn’t gone down a bit, although his own had decreased considerably.
“I’m not complaining. I’m just saying give a guy some warning before you start that. I’m not exactly used to it, you know,” he answered, settling his arms around his partner and burying his face in the thatch of blond hair again.
“Consider yourself warned then, babe,” O’Brian whispered in his ear, and then Valenti felt it again, that soft, gentle brush against his neck -- the tentative touch of his partner’s mouth on his throat.
“You smell good, Sean,” he muttered, having no idea what he was saying. His words seemed to make his partner bolder, because after a moment Valenti felt another kiss, this one stronger and more certain. Then O’Brian’s mouth, hot and deliciously right, was open against his throat and his partner was not just kissing but licking and sucking, drawing a groan from Valenti’s lips.
It didn’t matter anymore to him that this was just O’Brian’s competitive nature coming out. The physical stimulation was too strong to deny, and Valenti felt his cock grow rock hard and solid, throbbing in the denim prison of his jeans as his partner explored his neck with his warm, sensual lips.
“You taste good,” O’Brian murmured, at last pulling back to lay his head on Valenti’s shoulder. “Kinda salty ...”
“You think?” he murmured back. “Go figure -- must be my aftershave.”
“What’re you wearing?” O’Brian asked, nuzzling against Valenti’s chest.
“English Leather,” Valenti whispered back. He felt O’Brian twitch in his arms, and then there was a subdued snort of laughter.
“My men wear English Leather, or they don’t wear anything at all,” his partner quoted in a strangled voice. Suddenly the tension between them broke and they were holding each other and laughing until they got dirty looks from the other couples on the floor.
“C’mon, Valenti. We better go before they kick us out.” O’Brian towed him by the hand back to the rickety table where Twonnie was waiting.
“That was excellent right up until the last,” Twonnie said, steepling his slim brown fingers and staring at them both intently. “I don’t know what cracked you up, but try not to let it happen at the RamJack.”