Page 25 of Fire Me Up
Including me. Especially me.
“Oh.” He glanced around, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t think—I mean, I figured I wasn’t that
“You are,” I cut him off, needing him to understand. “Trust me. You are exactly that.”
He took a large swallow of his whiskey. When he lowered the glass, his eyes met mine, dark and full of trust. “Good thing I’ve got you to protect me, then.”
I clenched my teeth, fighting the urge to admit I was the biggest threat to him in this entire club. If he knew what I was thinking about doing to him, he’d probably run for the exit.
“Let’s dance.”
The floor was a heaving mass of bodies, the bass vibrating my ribcage. I kept him close, one hand at the small of his back as we pushed through to a pocket of space. His skin was hot under my palm, a thin sheen of sweat already forming from the heat of so many bodies crammed together. The DJ shifted to a faster beatand lights swept across us, turning Gael’s skin blue, then red, then purple in quick succession.
As always, he moved with surprising grace for such a big guy, finding the rhythm easily, finding the way our bodies fit like instinct. Watching him roll his hips, arms raised, face flushed with exertion and pleasure, made my mouth water.
I slid closer, hands on his hips, guiding him. His eyes locked with mine—dark, hungry. He came in, his hands landing on my shoulders, then sliding down to my chest.
“Is this okay?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Heat radiated off him as we moved together, the space between us shrinking with each beat. The tension between us was so thick I could taste it, metallic and urgent on my tongue.
A guy to our left caught my eye—tall, muscular, shirtless. He was watching Gael with open appreciation, inching closer with each song. When Gael spun and backed into me so his ass pressed against my crotch, Shirtless Guy’s eyes widened with interest.
I glared over Gael’s shoulder—a silent warning, completely ignored. Gael, oblivious to the territorial pissing contest, ground back in a way that made my cock throb painfully. His head tipped back to my shoulder, exposing the long line of his throat.
The music shifted to something slower, darker, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Gael turned to face me again, our bodies flush, one thick thigh pressed between mine. His hands slid into my hair, pupils blown.
Shirtless Guy chose that moment to slide in beside him, placing a hand on Gael’s lower back. “Can I cut in?” he shouted.
Something snapped.
I grabbed Gael’s hip with one hand, cupped the back of his neck with the other, and pulled him flush. “You’re with me tonight.” Then I crushed my mouth to his.
Nothing gentle: teeth and tongue and barely controlled desperation. I half expected him to push me away, tell me I was overstepping. Instead, he made a soft, broken sound and kissed back just as hard, his hands fisting in my shirt.
Shirtless Guy might have backed off; I didn’t care. All I could focus on was Gael—the taste of whiskey on his tongue, the solid warmth of his body, the way he kissed me like he needed it to breathe.
We were still technically dancing, bodies rolling to the beat, but that was secondary to the heat building between us. I slid my hands down to grab his ass, hauling him tighter so he could feel how hard I was. He groaned into my mouth, his erection obvious through those tiny shorts.
“Dylan,” he gasped when we broke for air, voice wrecked. “I want
“I know,” I cut in, kissing him again, deeper.
Around us the crowd moved, the music pounded, but we might as well have been alone. Everything narrowed to this: Gael’s mouth, his hands, the sweet friction as we ground with growing urgency.
Why the fuck had I waited so long? It wasn’t enough. I needed more. Needed privacy. Needed to control my impulse to fuck him right here in the middle of the dance floor.
I broke the kiss, both of us breathing hard. “Come with me,” I said, taking his hand and pulling him through the crowd.
We stumbled off the floor, past the bar, down a dim corridor toward the bathrooms. Halfway there, it felt too far. I pushed him into a support column and kissed him again—nothing but hunger and need.
“Fuck,” he panted against my lips, hands sliding under my shirt. “Is this part of the lesson?”
“A hands-on component.”
We moved farther down the hall. This time he pressed me to the wall, his bigger body caging me in as he kissed with surprising skill. His confidence was fucking hot; the way he took control made my cock ache.
I spotted a dark alcove near the end of the corridor—not private enough for what I really wanted, but better than the middle of the hallway. I steered us there, backing him into the corner, my hands already pushing up his tank.
