18th October 2010
He was doing the right thing. The high plea said so.
“Ya-az.”
That one.
“Mm?”
“Yaz.” Ali’s voice was thready and weak, and he stretched his neck back even as he protested. “Yaz, I need to shower. Seriously. I’m rank.”
Lies. All lies. Yazid lapped at that neck, fleeting taps and tracks down from ear to collarbone, and he could taste salt and sweat and Ali, heady and hedonistic. He tasted of s*x and life, and Yazid had every f*****g intention of reapplying the scent right now.
“Yaz,” Ali breathed again, tangling a hand in Yazid’s hair. “Oh my God, there. Right there.” He was pressing his shoulder up into Yazid’s lips. Yazid found that exact point, the little swell where Ali’s n****e and his pectoral muscle met, and bit.
“f**k! Ohhh my God, yes. Yes-yes-yes…”
“What
