Page 74 of The Lineman

“Oh, God. I think I’ve died and been reborn in a porno.”

I reached out and placed a hand on his chest, feeling to make sure what stood before me was real. I mean, I knew he was big. I’d seen him in tight jeans and even tighter Ts, but none of that had prepared me for the naked truth, so to speak.

Standing before me was Henry Cavill inSuperman, but two inches taller and twenty pounds heavier—and possibly with two more abs. I lost count at six. I was sure there were more.

His shoulders were wide and round, his arms fucking softballs or mini bowling balls—I wasn’t sure which. I couldn’t find a single hair anywhere, except down below where he’d trimmed his jungle into a neatly pruned hedge that made his already impressive manhood look even more intimidating—and it didn’t need the help. His chest was as broad as the rest of him and even more defined, with sharp, deep lines forming between his pecs and outlining below where his torso began. Perky nipples the color of dark sand stood out against his well-tanned skin.

“Elliot,” I breathed, barely able to speak. “Jesus.”

He grinned, then reached out and spun me around, slamming me against the door. The next thing I knew, his lips were pressed against mine, all heat and passion. Hard. Hungry. Like he was starving for it.

And that wasn’t the only thing that was hard. Fuck me running. As we kissed, his body smothered me even more than his mouth, and I felt him grow bigger and bigger and—

I think my butthole squeezed shut, threw a padlock on, and sent a note asking for the National Guard to come save it from imminent destruction.

And suddenly, I forgot about Mrs. H, though she wasstillbarking from outside.

Hell, I forgot about everything.

All that mattered was Elliot.

His hands were everywhere, gripping my waist, sliding up my sides to my head, fingers curling into my hair like he was terrified I might disappear.

“Your house. Where do you want to go?” he murmured against my mouth, pulling me deeper into the house.

“Couch,” was the only word I could get out before his tongue tangled with mine and English became my second language.

By the time my back hit the couch, Elliot was on me—

His body, solid and warm, just beginning to sweat. In any other situation, I would’ve been grossed out by all his sweat; but in that moment, I wanted him to slime his way across my body and make me smell like him for weeks.

His lips trailed fire down my neck.

And me?

I was a mess.

“Jesus Christ,” I gasped as his mouth found my collarbone, his teeth scraping, tongue soothing.

Elliot just hummed, pleased with himself. “Told you I was good with my hands.”

“Those are teeth, not hands. And shit, you might make me come if you keep doing that.”

And, fuck.

“Less talking,” I breathed against his mouth. “More of everything else.”

Elliot was sprawled above me, completely bare, skin pressed to skin, heat sinking into heat. I was panting now, my body arching, hands gripping his waist.

“I need you,” I whispered, raw, pleading. “Please, Elliot.”

Elliot groaned, wrecked. “You’ve got me, Mike. I’m right here.”

He kissed me again, softer this time, letting it linger, letting itmeansomething.

After an eternity of our mouths smashed together, he raised up enough to breathe, then licked his way down my neck. I don’t know why “The Star-Spangled Banner” played in that moment, but my brain was mush, and every part of me was standing up and saluting. When Elliot started nibbling on my right nipple, I thought my whole body might leap out of my skin.

“Oh shit, those are sensitive. Careful!”

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