Saturday, July 4, 2009

Dancing in the Dark by Jenna Byrnes

Unlocking his black SUV, Nick climbed inside. Checking his appearance in the rearview mirror, he nodded, satisfied. He still had the thickest head of hair in the group. Slightly overgrown, brown wavy curls wisped around his face and neck. His eyes were a clear, dark brown. He needed glasses to read, and it pissed him off, but otherwise, he didn’t feel his age. Daily workouts at the gym kept him in good physical shape. He was content, and wasn’t sure why Gil suddenly felt so old.

He fastened his seatbelt and pulled out into traffic slowly, driving with extra caution. He’d only had three beers, but didn’t want to take any chances. His record was spotless, and needed to stay that way.

The sunset cast an orange hue across the city, and he reached for his sunglasses. Slipping them on, the last of the blinding glare disappeared. Nick liked that time of night. He enjoyed cruising the neighborhood, watching the activity. Some New Yorkers preferred not to drive, taking busses or the subway everywhere. Nick loved being behind the wheel, having the freedom to go wherever he pleased.

He passed the Hub; the retail center of the South Bronx. Groups of people strolled casually down the sidewalks, taking advantage of the mild spring evening. Everything seemed quiet, without incident, and he drove on.

Several blocks further along, he spotted two men talking under a street lamp as it flickered on. Nick slipped into a no parking-loading zone at the corner, so he could pull up next to them. He pressed a button, lowering his passenger side window. “What’s going on tonight?”

The heavier of the two men leaned into his vehicle. “What are you looking for, sweetie?” He was greasy-haired, effeminate, and homely as hell.

Nick clucked his tongue and started to speak.

“He’s a cop, Sandy,” the man on the sidewalk muttered.

Sandy’s hands flew into the air as he scrambled back from the SUV. “I didn’t suggest anything. I just said hi.”

“It’s a bad idea to stand around on street corners, Sandy,” Nick told him, raising his sunglasses with one hand. “Maybe you ought to get on home.”

“On my way.” The man took a jogging step down the sidewalk, then stopped and looked at his friend. “You coming, Squeak?”

Nick glanced at the tall, thin man. His hair was short and spiked in front, cut up over his ears, but long, to his shoulders in back. “Nice mullet. I need to see your ID.”

Squeak rolled his eyes at Sandy. “Apparently not. Looks like Barney Fife wants to give me some shit before I go.” He leaned into the vehicle. “Do you have a hard-on for me, or something?”

“Show me ID, or get in the car,” Nick said firmly.

“Sorry, Squeak!” Sandy ran down the sidewalk, vanishing around the first corner.

“Fuck me.” Squeak opened the door and got in.

Nick took off without speaking, readjusting his sunglasses and driving purposefully down the road. He turned left, went a few blocks, and turned right. He finally tossed a sideways glance at his passenger. “Was that an invitation?”

“Oh, yeah.” Squeak smiled. “You never answered. Do you have a hard-on for me, or what?”

“Come see for yourself.”

The younger man leaned across the console between their bucket seats, and grabbed Nick’s crotch. “Whoop, there it is! Just for me?”

“Only you.” Nick cupped the back of his head, caressing. “Damned, new fangled automobiles. A roomy front seat used to make sex in the car so much easier.”

“My place is close,” Squeak whispered, rubbing Nick’s erection through his jeans.

“Your place is a room, and you share the bathroom with six other guys. It’s disgusting. No thanks. We’ll be at my house in a few minutes.”

“All right, then. We’ll just have to make do.” He tugged at Nick’s jeans, popping the snap open. Squeak unzipped the fly and slipped his hand inside.

“Jesus!” Nick groaned, sliding down in his seat to give the hand better access.

“Like that?” His fingers circled Nick’s bulging cock and squeezed.

“Duh. Yeah.”

Squeak chuckled, pulling Nick’s cock out into the open air. He drew the skin up and down. “You do like that.” With his other hand, he reached for the cock head and swiped a drop of pre-cum from the slit. He sucked the finger into his mouth seductively.

“Christ, babe. Don’t make me come, yet. It’d be a fucking mess.”

“I know.” Squeak released his staff. “And you’d rather make your mess fucking. I can live with that.” He moved back to his side of the car.

“We’re almost there.” He turned onto his street in the quiet, older neighborhood.

“I’ll shower fast.”

“I might join you.” Nick pressed the button on his garage door opener, and drove straight in. He lowered the door, relieved he didn’t have to shove his cock back into his jeans.

Born to Run by Jenna Byrnes

Steam clouded the bathroom mirror. Sam used his towel to wipe a swath across the middle. He leaned in, studying his appearance. Not bad, for forty years young. Drawing fingers through the top of his short hair was the only attention it required. The sides and back were razor cut, extremely easy to care for. His neatly shaven face was smooth; complexion clear.

People told him his eyes were one of his best features. Bright blue with long, thick lashes, they seemed to be chick magnets. He fought girls off in school, dating a select few before he realized his tastes ran to the masculine. He bided his time until he graduated, and then the game was on.

He thanked God for the diversity New York City provided. He never had trouble meeting guys. There was usually someone around for casual, no-strings fun. It wasn’t until he joined the police academy that Sam discovered deep, true feelings for another man.

Nick used to stare into his eyes. When Sam caught him looking, Nick would give a sheepish grin. They usually ended up in bed, fucking each other’s brains out until all hours of the morning.

In those days, cadets weren’t as closely supervised. Hell, it was probably him, Nick and Gil who caused them to tighten rules at the police academy. Same sex relationships were forbidden now, but in the New York Police Department, the policy was don’t ask, don’t tell. A few of his co-workers knew he was gay. They also knew he was a damned good cop, so it wasn’t an issue.

The memories caused Sam’s cock to stir. He and Nick had some great times. When they met Gil, and got comfortable with each other, the three of them had weekend orgies at a nearby hotel. They were three young studs, able to go at it repeatedly for hours. Those were the days. Smiling, he stroked his staff.

He’d considered whacking off in the shower, but twenty minutes ago the idea was half-hearted. Now it fully sprang to life, his erection waving. Sam carried his towel to the bed, tossing back the covers and laid down. Pulling the length of his shaft up and down made his stomach tingle, balls pleasantly churning.

It seemed pathetic, jerking off to memories of his best friends, even though they’d shared incredibly hot sex. When their time at the academy ended, they went their separate ways, latching on to the best possible jobs for each of them. The three men decided their friendship was more important than slaking their lust, and ended the sexual encounters. Over the years, they’d formed very strong bonds, and couldn’t have been closer.

Sam closed his eyes, picturing a different man kneeling in his bed. He purposely didn’t give the body a face. No strings attached sex, his specialty. He focused on the nicely shaped ass cheeks and muscular thighs. Spreading the man wide, he envisioned a sweet, crimson rosebud. He leaned forward, pressing his tongue to the puckering anus. The tight outer ring blocked his advance but he pushed through, sending his tongue deep into his fantasy lover’s ass.

Sam stroked the length of his cock languidly, picking up pace as his imagination soared. He was on his knees, slathering slick lubricant over his weeping prick. A few gentle nudges put him inside the man’s tight channel, flesh slapping against flesh.

Pre-cum oozed from the slit in his crown. Sam smoothed it over the shaft. His balls drew up, preparing to release their offering with his shuddering orgasm. A few more forceful thrusts and the image of Bobby Rodriguez kneeling in a pool of his own cum sent him over the edge, cock spurting wave after wave of creamy seed. Milking the rod until the last drop escaped, Sam sighed.

Where had the image of Rodriguez come from? He remembered his rock hard cock at the pub the night before. The man set him off, no doubt about that.

Using his towel to clean up, Sam tossed it aside and stretched out, staring at the ceiling. It had been awhile since he’d actually been with anyone. One of his longest relationships had ended a few months ago. The guy was a sexy stockbroker named Brian. Things were great until Brian dropped a bombshell. He’d hired a surrogate mother and fertilized her eggs with his sperm. He wanted a baby, and intended to get one.

Sam couldn’t get away fast enough. Children were okay, as long as they were somebody else’s. He couldn’t imagine Nick choosing to even work with kids. They were needy little creatures, who only got worse as they grew up. Little ones cried all the time. When they stopped crying, they started talking. Once they did that, they never shut up. The older ones were mouthy, and a pain in the ass. That was his take on them, anyway.

He smiled to himself. Good thing he was gay. He’d have made a horrible father.

Wanted Dead or Alive by Jenna Byrnes

The driver’s license photo came out so well Dan skipped the haircut. Once he figured out what type of a job he was after, he could decide how much hair needed to come off. Maybe he’d be a fucking garbage collector, in which case the hair looked just fine.

He drove around Camille’s neighborhood, the Montclair district of Oakland, California. It was a nice suburb with decent houses and plenty of shopping. Dan had never spent much time in Montclair, though it was only ten or fifteen minutes away from where he grew up in the suburb of Laurel. He intended to visit Laurel soon, once he felt ready. All part of the step nine thing.

He cruised the streets slowly, finally admitting he was looking for Trey’s motorcycle. If the man was true to his word, he might not be back to another AA meeting for a week. That’d suck. It would also mean Trey wasn’t as interested in him as he hoped.

When the afternoon sun was setting and Dan’s gas tank approached empty, he pulled into the parking lot of the community center. No motorcycles. He hadn’t really expected one but had to admit, he would have loved to see Trey again.

There was approximately the same number of people at the meeting as had been there the previous day. Dan saw a few new faces, but many were the same. He listened, perfunctorily, and spoke when it was expected, but his heart wasn’t in it.

The meeting was almost over when a voice from the row behind spoke quietly in his ear. “You heard enough? I’m ready to get out of here.”

Dan glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Trey. “I uh, have to get my attendance slip signed.”

“I’ll sign the fucking thing. Come on.” He headed out the back door.

With a surreptitious gaze to the front, Dan slipped out behind him. He walked to where Trey leaned against his motorcycle. “What are you doing here? I thought you only came to meetings once a week.”

“I do, when I’m coming for the meeting.” He stared into Dan’s eyes. “Been thinking about you. A lot.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Dan maintained eye contact. “About you, I mean.”

Trey chuckled. “You’re still nervous. I’d hoped you’d get over that.”

Dan shrugged. “Like I said last night, it’s been awhile. I might be rusty, but the equipment still works.”

Trey moved to within an inch of his face. “I have no doubt about that.” He glanced around quickly and Dan followed his gaze. There was nobody else in sight. Moving swiftly, Trey cupped Dan’s head and dragged him forward for a kiss.

Bookmark and Share

Never Say Goodbye by Jenna Byrnes

“Oh yeah, give me more of that.” Damien Hall shoved his ass higher in the air and buried his face in a satin-covered pillow. He’d recently discovered silk sheets were slippery as hell, but still thought they were more luxurious than the rough cotton he was accustomed to.

Charles Austin gripped Damien’s ass cheeks and pried them apart, driving his cock deeper until their balls slapped together. “You’re insatiable. I’ve always liked that about you.”

“Look who’s talking.” Damien wanted to say more but knew Charles didn’t like a lot of chatter during sex. More importantly, he was rendered speechless when his lover withdrew and plunged back in. The movement snapped his neck like whiplash, but instead of pain, intense heat churned in his ball sac as the orbs drew up and tightened. “Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his throbbing cock.

“Close, so close.” Charles said through what sounded like gritted teeth, his fingers digging into Damien’s hips.

Flashes of light streaked the blackness behind Damien’s closed eyes as his orgasm erupted. He gripped the slick satin beneath him and fought for breath. He emptied into the towel in several waves, each spurt sending a successive shudder through his sweat-slicked body.

Before the quaking had completely subsided, Charles grunted and released, the heat of his climax warming Damien’s sensitized ass. Still clasping the slender hips with a death-grip, Charles ground their bodies together as he came, panting and gasping loudly.

Damien accepted the vigorous treatment, but once they were both sated, he crawled forward enough for Charles’ cock to slip out. “Damn.” He stroked his dick with the sticky towel and turned to look at Charles, still kneeling, attempting to regulate his breathing. “You were on fire tonight. Lie down, I’ll get a warm washcloth.”

The blond-haired man grinned at Damien and obliged, rolling onto his side then flopping on his back. He eased the full condom off his rapidly deflating shaft and handed it over. “Thanks, babe.”

“No problem.” Damien took care of the rubber, as he always did. He washed up quickly in the adjoining bathroom then took a warm cloth out and tended to his partner. Partner—not quite right. ‘Lover’ was not an accurate description, either. ‘Employer’ fit the best, but that one made Damien squirm. It’d been two weeks. He’d thought he would have been used to the idea by now.

“Come over here, handsome. Snuggle with me.” Charles nodded his head, motioning to the bed.

“One minute.” Damien rinsed out the cloth and hung it in the bathroom, then brushed his teeth and quickly scrubbed his face. He glanced at himself in the mirror. His curly brown hair could be unruly, but it had been recently trimmed and still looked neat over his ears, tight at the sides and neck. He was clean-shaven; his skin clear and freshly tanned. He’d been pale when he’d arrived, but two weeks of lounging by the pool had remedied that. I wonder if all pool boys have it this easy?

He returned to the other room and slipped back into bed and Charles’ arms. He really didn’t wonder. Damien knew most pool boys actually took care of their employer’s pools rather than hung out by them, but that’s why Charles had the assistant pool boy. Rick cleaned the pool a couple days a week. Damien warmed the lounge chair every day and Charles’ bed every night.

Charles ran his hand over Damien’s back and lightly over his ass. He squeezed tight and sighed. “You feel so good. I wish we could stay this way all night.”

“No, you don’t.” Damien replied good-naturedly. It was his employer’s choice that he never spend the night. If he’d truly wanted it, Damien would have obliged. He always did what Charles wanted.

“You’re right,” the older man chuckled. “I’d never get any sleep. I’d wake up and feel this hot little body next to mine and I’d want to fuck again. You’d wear me out from sheer exhaustion.”

“Not that little.” Damien bristled at the implication. At five-foot-six, he was shorter than lots of guys, but plenty muscular. He’d spent the last five years in Corcoran State Prison lifting weights to bulk up his small frame and his battered ego. For a slight-of-stature gay man in the penitentiary, it was imperative to promptly squash the idea that shortness implied weakness of any sort. His bravado and brusque facade had paid off; the other cons figured out not to mess with him. He developed a thick skin and a set of killer abs.

His dark curly hair had earned him the nicknames ‘Hobbit’ and ‘Frodo’. Damien was used to the constant teasing in prison, but didn’t want it to continue now that he was out. Every time Charles made a comment he politely rebuffed it, hoping the man would get the message.

Charles gazed down at him with an almost condescending smile. He ran a hand through his own crop of thick blond hair, something he did when he was nervous. Moving Damien away gently, he sat up. “Of course, I didn’t mean ‘little’.” He leaned down and nuzzled his face in Damien’s pubic hair. “You’re the perfect size everywhere that counts.” His tongue flicked the head of Damien’s dormant cock and it stirred.

Damien groaned. No matter what patronizing things Charles said or implied, the man definitely made up for it with his actions. He inhaled as Charles nibbled his cock, his tongue continuing to circle the sensitive spot behind the crown.

“Mmm.” Charles lifted his head enough to speak. “Somebody likes that.” He maneuvered his body between Damien’s legs so he had better access and began sucking in earnest. His head bobbed up and down, first drawing back slowly, then driving deep and swallowing hungrily.

“Damn!” The only coherent word Damien could utter. His mind soared and his cock throbbed, the warm, familiar mouth knowing all the right moves. It teased and prodded his shaft, until Damien wasn’t sure he could take any more. His body flushed with heat, balls tightened and drew up, churning once more at the imminence of another glorious release.

That’s it, suck me. Harder! Yes…so good. Words filled his mind, but Damien remained quiet, other than heavy panting. No one spoke to Charles in that manner, during sex or otherwise. Damien was allowed the occasional utterance, but there was never any doubt about it, Charles was in charge.

His nerve endings shattered and Damien lost it. Quivering, he shot load after load of cum down Charles’ throat. He heard what sounded like an appreciative grunt and Damien smiled. He relished the idea of Charles swallowing every drop he had to offer.

Relaxed and more sated than he remembered being in a long time, Damien closed his eyes. It’d be so easy to fall asleep there on the spot; he was already groggy.

Charles moved up his body, continuing to ply his skin with long strokes of his tongue. “Up and at ‘em,” the man whispered in his ear, nibbling the lobe. “I’ve got a busy day tomorrow and need to get some sleep. Did I tell you, I’m flying to San Diego?”

“No.” Damien’s eyes popped open. “How long will you be gone?”

“A couple of weeks. There’s a series of marketing seminars for the software my company developed, and I have several meetings lined up after that.” Charles pressed a line of kisses along Damien’s throat before rolling onto his back.

“A couple of weeks!” he exclaimed. “What am I supposed to do here without you?”

Charles smiled. “You’ll have to figure that one out. Find something you like and do it.”

“I found something I like.” Damien rolled onto his side, looking over the naked, supine man.

Bookmark and Share

The Craft of the Wise 3: Rule of Three by Dee Carney

Liana Everton volleyed her gaze from Ava to Aaron, knowing in the pit of her stomach that she was losing the argument. Careful to keep herself from seeking help from the high priestess of the witch’s coven, she tried another tactic.

“We’ve already established that we must go on the offense. We’ve said it more than once, yet we sit here waiting for the demons to swoop down on us and at the most, hope for the best.” She tried to keep her voice neutral and disguise her mounting frustration.

Ava shook her head. “To send witches and werewolves to the demon realm is begging suicide, Liana.”

“With all due respect, princess, locating the ebony athame was sheer luck. We still need to find the other very specific magical tools with which to fortify you. And finding them guarantees us nothing. Without the Book of Shadows, we…” She exhaled forcefully. “We need the book. It’s in the demon realm. It’s as simple as go there and get it.”

The silence in the room gave her the moment she needed to reflect on what she was doing. Liana Everton, coward extraordinaire, felt compelled to risk her life to help the others. In truth, she’d love nothing better than to curl up on her couch with a good paperback where other women risked their fool necks. Until a few weeks ago, when all hell had broken loose within the coven, the most reckless thing she’d ever done was jaywalk. There was also that time she’d driven eight miles over the speed limit instead of her normal three, but that had been when she’d discovered a bee trapped inside of the car with her.

If Ava’s cousin Dina hadn’t stolen the book, the world wouldn’t be facing the threat of being overrun by demons. But Dina wanted the same power the book would eventually convey to Ava. Never mind she betrayed witchdom by joining forces with their natural enemies. Nevermind she forced a renewed alliance between witches and werewolves because of her greed.

She glanced to her right.

True, they now had another magical tool which would help them all in their fight thanks to their coven’s diviner, Jenna, and her red-haired warrior mate, Vince. Those two had only recently stopped arguing with each other to discover a deep-seated love that would not be shaken. Even if Liana wasn’t the second most powerful witch in the room, she would not have wanted Jenna to leave his side. Ava was too new at practicing the Craft and Mayda, as the current high priestess, was too––Goddess forbid her ever hear the words––old for a mission like this. Besides, the two Valentine women were the most valuable to the coven. To the future of man, really.

Being a damned good witch, but having a yellow streak that ran clear down her back sucked because that left her to find the stolen Book of Shadows. No choice for it. She didn’t like it one bit, but she’d manage. Somehow.

“Aaron, my brother and I could accompany the witch. A small group might be able to pull this off,” a soft-spoken voice said from behind her.

Her pulse picked up a notch as if a direct injection of adrenaline had been pumped into her system. She didn’t need to turn around to recognize who spoke. Ronan fueled her heartbeat into pounding faster every single time.

Since his voice came from the left, the presence sidling up to her right probably meant his twin, Jarod. The staccato tempo her heart picked up confirmed it.

Aaron, alpha to the wolves, shook his head. “I’m sorry but our charge is to the princess. I can’t afford to spare men for a side mission.”

He inclined his head toward Ava. Liana could see her lips move, but from the distance would be hard pressed to hear what was exchanged. Aaron’s eyes softened as he listened. As Ava’s protector and mate, his love for her could not be doubted.

He gave a curt nod to Ava and turned back to Liana. “Very well. But I am not comfortable sending two men with you. One brother should be sufficient to guard a single witch.”

The brief moment of elation for Liana gave way to dread. Choosing which twin wouldn’t be left to her, would it? That was like choosing between heady white chocolate and silky milk chocolate, choosing between a crisp, crunchy apple or a juicy, succulent orange, choosing between slow, savory sex...and rough, sweaty sex. An almost impossible decision, in other words.

“Aaron?” Jenna stretched forward until the alpha could see her unobstructed. She held up a single Tarot card toward him. “Their paths are intertwined. Liana would fare better with both brothers, I would think.”

Interesting that the coven’s diviner chose to contradict the alpha leader. Jarod shifted and she felt rather than saw Ronan move, as if in response to the conversation surrounding them. Ronan seemed to tense, but then relaxed his pose after Jenna’s announcement.

“Christ,” muttered Aaron. “Am I still in charge of my men?” His dark eyes stared into Liana’s. “Can you be done within a few days?”

“Yes.” She nodded hesitantly. “I think so.”

“Jarod? Ronan? Whether you’ve found it or not, you are to return within three days. That’s the best I can do. I still think that’s way too long without both of you here, but it seems I am outnumbered in my opinion by the witches in the room. Godspeed.”

“Blessed be,” Ava said softly next to him.

I'd Die for You by Jude Mason

“Want some company?” The words were out before he even thought about them. He was attracted to Abel and it had been a long time since he’d felt anything like it. He wanted to see where it led. At least for the night.

“Sure, it’ll be a little while before I can get out of here, though. Clean up and getting the dishes done will take about half an hour.”

“No problem, unless you cut me off. Oh, and I would like to fill up my bike.”

“Cash on the gas?”

“Yeah.” Snake reached for his wallet and dug out a twenty. “This cover the beer up til now, too?”

“Yup, you’re good.” Abel took the bill and went to the cash register. Opening it, he tucked the bill inside. “Fill your bike whenever you’re ready.”

Taking another chug of beer, Snake thought he’d better fill the tank before he had anymore. He put the mug down carefully, and got to his feet. “Back in a flash.”

Walking toward the door, he felt the bartender’s eyes burning a hole into his back. He wondered if the man liked what he saw.

Pushing open the screen door and stepping outside, heat hit him like he’d walked into an oven. Sweat trickled down his sides and back. The sun glared, making him squint. For a second, he felt lightheaded. He shook it off and went toward his bike. Behind him, he heard the scraping of chairs.

“Come on Joe,” a gruff voice said, then he’d moved too far away to hear more. The Harley sat exactly where he’d left it, in the shade of the overhead. At least it wasn’t in the direct sun, he thought and unlocked the gas cap.

While filling the tank, he watched the patrons of the bar troop out and get into their separate vehicles. The men joked about who’d pay next week and one of them moaned about his old lady being mad he never took her out. Snake ignored the banter, simply noting when they left.

Replacing the cap, he put the nozzle back and flipped the guard down. Christ, the cost of gas is insane. His twenty was stretching pretty thin.

When he’d been released from COR, one of his first stops had been to his bank. The money he’d made inside would tide him over for a while, but it would be nice to know he’d be good for a lot longer. The AIDS test had been next, and he remembered the relief when he got those results. His parole officer turned out to be an okay guy, and after the first few weeks of meetings, he’d agreed that Snake could contact him by phone instead of physically visiting him. They’d agreed on a password, and if Snake forgot to say it, the law would be after him.

The last vehicle to leave the parking lot headed north with a rooster tail of gravel sent into the air behind it. The truck jerked onto the pavement and then trailed after the others, it looked like a parade, and traveled at about that speed.

Snake grabbed the handlebars and kicked the stand up, then wheeled the Harley toward the shade side of the grill. Putting it back on its stand, he stepped back and swiped his arm across his forehead, wiping the sweat away. He hurried back inside, anxious to get out of the heat.

“I hope that beer’s still waiting,” Snake called to the front of the bar. The cooler air made him shiver, but he was still ready to down a beer or two.

Abel looked up from his chores and smiled. “I just poured you a fresh one, right here. Why?”

“It’s like a fuckin’ oven out there.” He weaved around tables and chairs until he
stood at the bar, his mug of beer still more than half-full. He lifted it and took a long drink. Three swallows and a sudden sharp pain encompassing his head made him tear the mug from his lips. He winced and cringed. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Brain freeze.

Abel laughed. “Serves you right for guzzling it.”

“Oh fuck off, smartass.” Snake ran the cold mug across his forehead, loving how it felt against his hot flesh, annoyed at the pain inside his head. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Slowly the ache faded, and he opened his eyes. He aimed a gruff snarl at Abel.

“Nice,” the man said in a jovial tone. “Here I offer to stay open so you can drink more beer and all you can do is growl at me.” He continued loading the glass washer and clearing minor debris off the work surface behind the well polished bar.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, cry me a river,” Snake teased enjoying the man’s easy banter. It had been too long since he’d had the chance to flirt.

“You going to continue ragging on me or would you rather give me a hand so we can get out of here? I do have beer at my place.” Abel came around from behind the bar, this time stopping in front of Snake and placing his hands on his hips. He thrust his middle toward Snake, as if consciously drawing attention to the bulge in the front of his jeans.

Snake’s gaze automatically lowered to that bulge and his mouth went dry. The man’s cock was outlined, the pale blue material stretched almost to the tearing point by its length and girth. Snake’s mouth filled with saliva and it took all of his willpower to keep his hands from reaching out.