Page 23 of Fire Me Up
Dylan’s grin turned predatory. He set his drink down, pushed my arm up. “Seriously.”
Before I could process it, he leaned in and dragged his tongue along my armpit in one hot, wet stroke.
“Holy shit,” I gasped, electricity shooting through me. I’d never considered my armpits erogenous zones, but the slick heat of his tongue against that sensitive skin sent fire straight to my groin.
“Mmm,” he hummed, inhaling, then licking again. “It’s this masculine scent—the taste of your sweat. So fucking hot.”
His mouth trailed across my chest to my nipple. He flicked his tongue over the hardened nub, then caught it gently between his teeth. “Love a guy with big tits.”
I couldn’t hold back the groan. My head fell against the couch as he teased, alternating between gentle bites and soothing licks. I threaded my fingers into his hair, holding him there, wanting more.
A high-pitched laugh broke our bubble, and Dylan pulled away, settling back like nothing had happened. He took a casualsip, though the bulge in his jeans matched mine. I wished like hell we were alone—that he could keep going.
“So yeah,” he said, voice rougher, “lots of things are attractive in men.”
I stared at him, chest heaving, skin burning where his mouth had been. Part of me wanted to drag him back down. Another part spiraled.
“I feel so clueless,” I blurted, the words bursting out. “Like how would I know about licking a guy’s armpits? And when guys flirt with me, I barely know what they’re talking about—it’s all in code. Like the bandana code? I don’t know half the terms. Watersports? Is that… sex while swimming?”
Dylan chuckled, shaking his head. “Definitely not swimming. It’s a… harder kink.”
I groaned and stared at the lights. “I guess I’m pretty boring and vanilla.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said with a shrug.
“I don’t even know what I want. I mean, I think I’m a bottom? The idea of… of being pinned down and fucked by a guy I’m into… it turns me on. I like the thought of having a guy inside me…” I trailed off, cheeks hot, unwilling to admit you, I mean you. “But I want to try the other way too, just to know. But how do you even—I can’t just—” I broke off, frustrated by the mess of desires and fears.
“Hey,” Dylan said gently. “It’s okay. Everyone starts somewhere.”
“Not at twenty-eight,” I muttered.
“Age doesn’t matter.” He shifted closer, our thighs touching. “Gay sex isn’t a mysterious ritual. It’s just sex. It’s about pleasure and connection. You communicate what feels good, and so does your partner—same as good straight sex, I’m sure.”
I breathed out, grounding in the steady warmth of his leg against mine. “I know. I just… I don’t want to look like an idiot.”
He studied me, eyes dark and unreadable, then knocked back the rest of his drink and set the cup down.
“What if I helped you?” he asked, tone casual. “Like, showed you the ropes. No strings attached.”
What if I wanted strings? Frustrated, I raked my hands through my hair and winced as pain sliced through my bad shoulder. Dylan’s face shifted from flirt to worry.
“I think you need more time to rest and heal before we start with the sex,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to my scar. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“I don’t want to go home.” I sounded like a petulant kid, but he just took my hand and helped me up. Then he rose on his toes and kissed me—hot, hungry.
“Be a good boy,” he murmured against my mouth. “We’ll meet here again tomorrow.”
I wondered if good boys went home and jerked off while thinking about their dance buddies. Because that was definitely my plan for the rest of the evening.
Chapter 8
Dylan
Gael was late, but this time I wasn’t nervous—I was fucking impatient. Why hadn’t I just fucked him last night and gotten it over with? He’d looked more than eager.
All I’d thought about since then was getting my hands on him again. Teaching him. Showing him exactly what his body was capable of feeling. The memory of his mouth against mine had kept me hard and distracted for days.
A group of guys laughed as they passed, throwing curious glances my way, probably wondering why I was hovering by the club entrance like some creep. I ignored them, scanning the street for any sign of a tall, muscular firefighter.
