Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Tate wanted, needed to mess it the fuck up while he choked the guy on his dick.
He was fucking beautiful.
He stared for a few more minutes before setting his empty beer bottle on the floor against the wall. As though in a trance, he closed the distance to his prey. Each step brought him closer to all that beauty and grace. That’s what it was. Somehow, while vibing to club music, the guy managed to convey grace and elegance.
Randy would drop dead on the spot if he had a front-row seat to Tate’s thoughts. But Tate couldn't stop them, just as he couldn’t keep himself from tucking up behind the dancer in pink.
The guy sensed his presence and opened his eyes before Tate got close enough to touch. But he could smell him, and, damn, did he smell intoxicating. The man shook his head and opened his mouth, probably to tell Tate to fuck off, but then his gaze went hot and dark as it took a slow journey up and down Tate’s body. He couldn’t help but puff out his chest and didn’t bother hiding the tent in his jeans. Everywhere that heated gaze touched, fire licked across his skin. Tate was burning up, and all they’d done was stare at each other.
If they touched, he might turn to ash and blow away.
His heart pounded harder than the time he’d chased after Whitney, who tried to run down Randy with his brother’s own car. That day, he’d thought he needed to drive himself to the hospital once he caught up to Whitney. His heart nearly shot out of his chest.
If he went into cardiac arrest now, there’d be no shortage of sexy men willing to blow air into his lungs.
But only one had his dick hard as a fucking railroad spike.
The dancer’s chest rose and fell, showcasing strong but not bulky pecs. If Tate could have given God a list of characteristics for the man he wanted crafted for his personal pleasure, this guy was it. A body made for moving.
He raised an eyebrow. An invitation.
The guy licked his lips, and Tate grunted as his damn dick twitched, which earned him a smirk.
“Liam,” the guy said, still moving in the most seductive way imaginable. “And yes, I’d love to dance with you.” His voice fit him well—smooth like honey, confident and strong. His honey-colored eyes sparkled with interest.
Without knowing a damn thing about the man, he knew Liam didn’t live a life hiding his identity as Tate did.
Envy twisted low in his gut, but he shoved it aside. Tomorrow, when he wove a fake fucking tale about the woman he fucked on this trip to Tulsa, he could feel that envy. Tonight, he just wanted to feel Liam.
He hooked his finger in one of Liam's belt loops and tugged the smaller man to him. Liam’s eyes flared as their bodies collided. “Tate,” he whispered in Liam’s ear.
He rolled his hips into Liam’s, grinding his erection against the man in time with the music.
“Shit,” Liam mumbled. He looped an arm around Tate’s neck, bringing their chests flush.
His skin was damp from dancing. All he wanted was to lean in and lick the salt off Liam’s neck. He came close, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of the man’s cologne. It had a beachy undertone, perfect for a steamy summer night.
“You didn’t come to play,” his dance partner said as he began to rock them to the music.
Tate chuckled. He could feel Liam’s cock growing against his own, and he let the other man lead, following wherever his hips went. “That’s exactly what I came to do.”
Liam groaned. “I wasn’t looking for anything more than dancing tonight, but I have a feeling I’d regret turning you down for the rest of my life.”
“Fuck yeah, you would.”
They didn’t speak after that. The music took over, and Tate lost himself in Liam’s perfect body. Zaps of electricity coursed through his veins, bringing him to life in a way he hadn’t experienced in ages. Where Liam moved, Tate followed, and before long, they found a rhythm that worked despite Tate’s two left feet. Every time their cocks bumped, Liam breathed out a little puff of air that tickled Tate’s neck and tightened his balls.
The song changed, and neither noticed, continuing straight into the next one, rolling, grinding, and breathing each other in. For all he knew or cared, the rest of the clubgoers had gone home, and only he and Liam remained dancing.
Sweat, the beachy cologne, and desire all rolled into one, invading his senses. As Liam’s scent overwhelmed his brain, Tate’s ability to think disappeared, and all he could do was feel.
And want.
He couldn’t keep his mouth off the man any longer.
He dragged his tongue up the side of Liam’s neck, gathering the trail of sweat that had been torturing him for the past thirty seconds. The move drew a long groan from his dance partner.