It’s another half hour before he can close
the door to Ryan’s room, lock out Mrs. Talonovich and the rest of
the world, and get his boy to himself. Dante barely has a chance to
drop his bag to the floor before Ryan has both hands fisted in the
front of his jacket, pulling him down for a hungry kiss. “Come
here,” he murmurs against Dante’s lips as his fingers unsnap the
jacket. “I’ve missed you.”
“I smell horrible,” Dante tells him
when Ryan’s hands slip inside the jacket and push it away. He lets
his boyfriend help him out of it—it falls to the floor in a rustle
of leather and then Ryan’s fingers are picking at the hem of
Dante’s shirt, smoothing across the flat muscle of his stomach,
toying with the waistband of his pants. Despite the desire rushing
through him, Dante catches
