Page 54 of The Locker Room

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shoulder.

46

Amy Lane

Chris grunted then, and opened his window, because the upstairs

was stuffy, even with the A/C, and some more of that warm valley air

rushed in over them, tainted, thank heavens, with the coolness of dawn.

“Come back,” Xander complained, feeling piteous, because they

were both used to sweating, and he didn"t care how hot it was. He

wanted Chris"s touch on his body as he lay there, replete and amazed.

Chris did, laying his head on Xander"s shoulder and rolling into

him, touching lips in an openmouthed, languidly passionate kiss.

Xander fell into it without protest. Chris tasted like Chris—like

sunshine and cookies—but now he also tasted dark and bitter, like

Xander, and the result was powerful and good. Xander tried to

surreptitiously wipe his hand on Chris"s sheet as Chris deepened the kiss,

though, and Chris backed up with a grin.

“You think? Really?” he chided, and then he pulled Xander"s hand

up around his shoulders and started suckling on Xander"s fingers, one at

a time, and at the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, and at the

sticky palm, and Xander groaned because, dammit, he was getting hard

all over again.

“Oh God, Chris!” he complained, and Chris popped his index

finger from a pouty, swollen, come-glazed mouth and looked at him with

pure sin in his well-dark eyes.

“You ready to go again?” he asked breathlessly, and Xander

chuckled, helpless, as always, before that boundless enthusiasm.

“Thinking so!” Xander muttered, and Chris grinned and turned in

his arms, kissing his shoulder, and then his neck, and then his chest. His

mouth closed on one of Xander"s dark pink nipples, and Xander"s cock

woke up and screamed like sex had just been invented and he was pissed

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