Page 39 of Not That Ridiculous

No. Phil wanted his treat.

The moment was well and truly broken. I slid out from between Kevin and the counter, and— “Mmm.” Kevin caught me, put me back against the counter, and kissed me again. “Wait. Kevin.”

His hold tightened but he lifted his head and stared down at me.

“I…Phil…”

He raised a brow.

“Treat,” I said. “Phil wants his treat.”

“Where do you keep his treats?”

“Uh. Same cupboard as the kibble?”

Kevin shoved himself off me, strode over to where he’d watched me putting the kibble away earlier, and dropped into a crouch. He opened the cupboard, rummaged around, and came out with one of Phil’s chew sticks.

He held it up questioningly.

Phil had accompanied him on his mission, and he immediately deep-throated the thing the second Kevin had taken it out of the cupboard. He bustled off.

Kevin stood and looked at me from across the room.

I put my hands to my hot cheeks.

He kept looking at me as he washed and dried his hands at the sink, then stalked back to me.

He didn’t stop coming until he was leaning against me again, gripping the counter either side of my hips.

“Your latte will go cold,” I said, reaching for the cup. I hooked the handle with a forefinger and dragged it closer. “It’s the perfect drinking temperature. Here.” I passed it to him.

He took it off me, set it down without drinking it, and kissed me again.

Who ever would have guessed that sweet, gentle Kevin Wallis, who I’d always assumed would be into nothing other than missionary-style heterosexual sex, had it in him to push a man up against his own kitchen counter, hold him there, and kiss the wits right out of him?

He was so damn confident at it, was the thing. He angled me just how he wanted me and rolled his tongue lazily into my mouth, hot and assured, like he had all night to do it. Like we could stand here for hours, kissing and groping.

Oh.

We were groping now?

“Ohhhhh,” I sighed when he palmed the front of my trousers. My hips curled forwards without permission, seeking more friction.

Kevin’s hot, damp lips curved in a smile and he gave a filthy-sounding grunt of pleasure as he did it again. He stroked his tongue over mine and at the same time stroked the length of my extremely hard dick. He pressed into it, and rubbed his fingers over the head.

Sensation arced through me, sharp and riding the edge of being unpleasant. I’d been chastely gripping his burly shoulders, too taken up with what he was doing to my mouth to even think about touching him, but at that, I swung an arm down and smacked his hand sharply.

He growled, pushing into me.

“Kevin,” I panted, managing to tear my mouth away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Lemme touch you.”

“What?Why? I don’t—oh f-fuck. Mmmmm. Kevin.”

“Yeah? You like it when I do that? You’ve got such pretty lips. Want to suck on them all night.”

The cognitive dissonance of having Kevin Wallis telling me he wanted to suck on any of my body parts cannot be overstated.

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