Page 72 of The Lineman

Mike was still hysterical, his breaths coming in short bursts as heaving laughs eased.

“Oh . . . my . . . God.” Mike snorted again. “What was that?”

I grabbed the bottom of Mike’s shirt and yanked it over his head.

“Fuck whatever that was. I want you naked. Now.”

Mike froze, then the biggest smile reached all the way up to his eyes.

His shirt flew across the den.

I dropped to my knees and undid his jeans.

“Oh, shit,” Mike said, swaying. I had to brace him to keep his body upright. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Nope. I’m fucking your brains out tonight.”

Snap. Zip. Yank.

“Well, shit,” I said. “You don’t wear underwear.”

Little Mike flopped free, his balls hanging impressively down, dangling really, like hairy doorknockers waiting for the right guest.

“Step,” I ordered.

Mike complied.

Jeans joined shirt.

I stepped back.

Mike was everything I hoped he would be. Pale as a sheet. Stunning, bright red hair covering every inch. Just enough muscle to be defined, but not a body of a workout fiend. More that of a runner. A sexy, beautiful, ginger runner.

My cock throbbed just staring at him.

His head ducked.

With my index finger, I lifted his chin so our eyes met.

“Mike Albert, you’re amazing,” slipped out somehow.

He blinked a few times and tried to duck his head again. I didn’t let him.

“I mean it. God, you’re beautiful, Mike.”

“If you make me blush all night, I will never forgive you.”

“Would you rather I insulted you?”He thought a moment. “That might be easier.”

I reached up and ran a hand through his hair. It was all thick and tangled and sprouting in every direction. I could lose myself in his hair and never find my way home.

Unable to resist a moment longer, I stepped forward, spun him around, pressed his body against the back of the door, and kissed him again. This time, like on our date a few nights earlier, our kiss was slow and deep—and about as passionate as anything I’d ever felt. It was as though my heart had crawled up my throat and onto my lips and was determined to show me what a kiss was really supposed to be.

Mike’s whole body melted. He slumped into my arms, and I held him tight.

“Don’t let me go, Elliot. Please.”

At first, I thought he was worried about hitting the floor, being drunk and all. But the longer we stood there, the longer we kissed with him naked in my arms, I wondered if he’d meant something else.

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