Page 127 of I Think They Love You

Uncertain, Braylon says, “You want me to take off my shirt so you can wash it… now?”

Denz thinks he nods. His brain’s a little distracted by other body parts.

“And there’s no other reason you want me to take my top off?”

“No?” Denz swallows so hard, his ears pop.

A taunting smile pulls at Braylon’s mouth. He shrugs, then peels his shirt off in the most painfully slow way possible. He tosses the shirt at Denz.

“Well, what now?”

Well, first, Denz needs to remember how words work. Second, he wants to thank whoever designed this apartment, because the kitchen lighting against Braylon’s smooth, honey-brown skin is Sistine Chapel worthy. Third, he should have a conversation with his erection, the one he hides behind Braylon’s balled-up shirt.

“Thing is,” he says. “I thought, like—”

In four steps, Braylon crosses to him. He grips the counter behind Denz, caging him in. His gaze drags from Denz’s eyes to his mouth and back up.

“For someone who’s so confident,” he says in a deep, goading voice that leaves goose bumps across Denz’s forearms, “so poised, so charming—” His tongue flicks over his lips. “—in front of a crowd, you’re quite…tentativewhen it’s just us.”

“I’m not…” Denz struggles to remember what he wants to say. “That word.”

Braylon dips his head. “Then tell me what you want.”

Denz takes a beat to make sure he won’t black out.

“What I want—” He drops the shirt. His hands move to Braylon’s waist. “—is to give you a tour of my place.”

He pops open the button of Braylon’s jeans. Yanks at the zipper.

“Starting with my bedroom.”

Braylon doesn’t look away.

“I want—” Denz wiggles the denim down. Braylon’s boxers are next. “—to show you my bed.”

His fingers creep over the coarse hair on Braylon’s belly. He watches him shiver. The tremble of his lower lip. He spits into one hand, gripping Braylon’s dick with intent, with a need searing through his bones.

“I want,” he continues, “to tie your hands above your head with your stupid gray shirt.”

He strokes. Soft and loose, at first. Then, measured and firm.

“Spread your legs.”

Braylon’s forehead glows with sweat. His dark eyes are unfocused. Denz can map out every vein in Braylon’s biceps as he struggles to hold on to the counter.

“I want to swallow you like you did me. Want your toes to curl. Want my name on your tongue.”

Braylon inhales sharply, his cock throbbing in Denz’s palm.

Denz leans up on his toes. “Ioweyou,” he whispers against parted lips. “I owe you big.”

“Th-this isn’t a competition.”

“You’re right.” Denz grins. “Because I’d win. Every fucking time.”

Before Braylon can retort, his accent thickened, words clipped, Denz kisses him. It’s quick and messy and perfect.

Braylon lifts Denz off his feet. A low swear leaves Denz’s lips after Braylon’s cock slides from his fingers. But it’s fine. He lets Braylon kick out of his jeans and boxers. Carry him to his bedroom, ease him down onto the mattress.

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