Page 23 of Bull's Boy

Bull grunted when Malcolm gave him an experimental squeeze and a slow stroke. He glanced back up at Bull’s face and found his head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut.

He’d done that. Malcolm. The guy who’d been ghosted in the middle of his last date. Who’d been broken up with countless times for not being tall enough, or manly enough, or whatever excuse they came up with, but could they still be friends?

He’d turned Bull on before he’d even touched him, making his gigantic dick hard just by asking to see it, and then he’d given him pleasure with a single stroke.

It felt heady in a way he could definitely get used to. He felt powerful. Seductive. Sexy.

Bull’s obvious arousal and the fact thatMalcolmhad caused it was ratcheting up his own at a surprising rate. Well, probably no more surprising than anything else that had happened in the last fifteen minutes.

Or what he was about to do if he could muster up the rest of his courage.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bull was pretty sure he was having an out-of-body experience.

That or someone had drugged him at the clubhouse, and he was hallucinating his wildest dream come to life.

Malcolm—the same Malcolm he’d been obsessed with and doing his fuckingbestto not let know just how deep the obsession went—was gripping his cock and jacking him.

There was no way this was happening.

He squeezed again, and Bull grunted, fire racing through him. It was not even a good hand job, but it wasperfectionbecause it was Malcolm. His sweet face was staring at Bull’s junk like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening either… but he didn’t stop. He didn’t pull away in disgust or fear at the size of him.

Malcolm leaned closer, his warm breath lighting up the sensitive skin of Bull’s glans, and he needed to stop this. Or come. Or beg Malcolm to grip him tighter, spit on his dick, and gofaster.

No, he should definitely stop it. Before he shot come all over his employee’s face for fucking breathing on him too hard.

“We should—” His thick words turned garbled when his dick disappeared from view, the wild hair at the back of Malcolm’s head the only thing he could see, and thenwetness. “Christ.”

“Do you want me to keep going?” Malcolm asked, his lips brushing against the crown of Bull’s cock, and he was about to spank his perfect ass for teasing him and throwing his own words back at him.

“So you do have some brat in you,” Bull rumbled, tentatively carding his fingers through the wild waves he couldn’t look away from.

Malcolm shivered at the touch.

God damn.

“Ollie said being a brat is more fun than being sweet,” Malcolm whispered, rubbing his damp lips up and down Bull’s throbbing shaft. “Thought I’d try it out.”

“I regret letting you meet him.”

Malcolm lifted his head, and Bull sucked in a breath at the sight of him: flushed cheeks, wet mouth, and pupils blown to smithereens. “Really?”

There was an edge of… something in his voice, like he was honestly worried Bull could regret a single fucking moment of the night. He traced the shell of Malcolm’s ear. “No, baby boy. But don’t let him convince you to be anyone but who you want to be.”

A shy, beautiful smile broke over his face. “I won’t.”

“Good.” He licked his lips, wondering if it would be too much for Malcolm if he guided his face back down and encouraged him to go back to exploring Bull’s cock. Probably. No, definitely. “Do you want… What do you want?”

The flush in Malcolm’s cheeks deepened. “I don’t know. Can I just… do what feels right?”

“Of course.” Even if it killed Bull from a massive case of blue balls.

Smiling again, Malcolm shifted so he was on his knees, then leaned over the center console—the worst invention in the history of the world, Bull decided—and licked across his tip again, humming thoughtfully.

“I thought it would taste different.”

Bull thunked his head back onto the headrest, his thighs tensing automatically when Malcolm planted a hand on one to brace himself. “Different?”

---