Page 153 of The Lineman

But I was a good soldier and knew how to follow orders.

My shirt went first.

Mike’s hand gripped his shaft. His eyes dilated slightly. His off hand reached up and grazed my now-bare chest.

He began stroking, slowly, so fucking slowly. His head vanished into his palm, then reappeared. The extra fold stretched, allowing him to break free. I could’ve watched him all night.

“Pants. Now,” he ordered, his strokes steady.

“Yes, sir,” I said, earning a smirk.

My pants hit the floor, and his fingers found my cock, teased my balls, then lapped the dribble forming at my tip.

He raised that finger to his lips and . . . fuck me . . . he smeared it over his lips like it was gloss.

“Lick it off.”

I thought I might die right there.

But instead, I leaned over him and let my tongue do the talking, sopping my seed from the mouth of my man.

Holy shit.

I rolled my hips down against him, pressing him into the mattress, loving the way his breath caught, the way his fingers dug into my shoulders. His body was so responsive, every little touch pulling a reaction out of him, every movement making him press up against me like he was trying to get closer, even though there was barely any space left between us.

“Elliot—”

I growled low in my throat, cutting him off with another kiss, rougher this time, desperate. Our chests and stomachs and legs . . . and cocks pressed together, slid against each other, a perfect fit somehow blazing to life. He moaned into my mouth, tilting his head, letting me take whatever I wanted.

God, he tasted so good.

His hands slid down my back, nails dragging, making me shudder.

“Get the lube,” he said, surprising me. Everything had been so slow, so methodical, but now?

I popped the cap and made to squirt into my palm. His hand shot up, stopping me.

“Pour it all over my body.”

Jesus.

“But give me some first,” he held out his hand, palm upturned.

I filled his palm, then watched as he smeared the lube across my chest, coating me with slickness, making my skin glisten in the lamplight. In all my thirty-one years of life, I’d never felt—or seen—anything so sensual.

“Now, mark me,” he said, invoking every paranormal fantasy I’d ever seen.

When we were both shimmering and silky, he reached up, capped the lube, and pulled me onto him. Our bodies slipped and slithered, squishing in a slimy, yet wholly erotic way. It felt weightless. Somehow, the slickness of the lube and how it made our bodies slip frictionless together made my nerves fire, shooting pleasure to parts of my body I hadn’t known existed until that moment.

The lube coated our cocks, but not through any intentional act. All the squirming and sliding had coated them better than either of our palms could. Mike, already hard, already a few strokes ahead of me, throbbed beneath my weight—and I swear, his dick added heat and wetness that felt different from the lube already coating my skin.

Mike’s breathing was hard, labored, almost panting.

I pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “Still got something to say, Professor?”

His lips quirked. “Always.”

I grinned. “Not for long.”

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