Brad’s head spun, and for almost five whole seconds all he could process was touch – lips, Nate’s, on his, warm soft Jesus f**k so good – before he came to his senses and pushed Nate away.
Nate went easily, not resisting, as if he had been expecting the move, but whatever Brad had been going to say once they were apart (anger pain don’t f*****g mock/pity me) died on his lips when he saw Nate’s eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with what could only be lust, fastened on his own mouth.
“But,” is all he managed to stutter, unable to understand what was happening. It was over, all his dirty distasteful secrets on display; Nate was supposed to be leaving, not kissing him, not giving him what he so desperately – and then Nate was moving forward, not touching Brad but relentlessly advancing upon his s
