Page 38 of Tinsel & Tools
His headlights stayed in my mirror down Aspen Street and up my road. He pulled into the same spot he’d parked in last time, and I hesitated for a beat. I sat there a moment longer than I needed to, hands tight on the wheel. Part of me was confused why I’d let it go this far again. The other part wanted another minute with him before the night ended.
I finally shut off the engine and slid out of the cab. Gavin was already getting out of his car and we headed up to the porch without a word, and I unlocked the door.
The house was warm when we stepped inside. I flipped the switch, and the lamp by the couch flicked on. When I turned back, the door clicked shut, and Gavin was leaning against it.
I moved first, or maybe he did, but our mouths met, hard. His hand caught my jacket to pull me closer, our bodies pressing together, and I could feel his erection that matched mine.
“What are we doing?” I breathed against his mouth.
“Don’t overthink it.” His lips brushed mine again. “If it feels good, it feels good.”
I stood there, torn between stepping back and giving in. My hand found his scarf and held him where he was. He let me have the choice, his eyes steady and breath warm against my mouth.
Finally, I pushed away from the door, dragging him toward the couch and shrugging out of my jacket. He stripped out of his coat, and we dropped down together, his knee bumping mine. For a second, we just sat there, then he swung a leg over and settled onto my lap, straddling me without hesitation. My hands landed at his hips, unsure whether to push him off or pull him closer.
“This is crazy,” I whispered.
“Then stop me.” He nibbled my earlobe.
I didn’t. Instead, I grabbed his chin and kissed him again, heat flooding through me as he pressed in, his weight solid on mine, every bit of distance between us gone.
“Gavin—”
“Don’t,” he cut in. “Don’t talk yourself out of it.”
He rocked against me, the slow grind stealing any words I thought I had. My dick strained against my pants, and I couldn’t stop my grip from tightening at his waist as he slipped his tongue into my mouth. His lips trailed from mine to my jaw, then lower to my neck. I sucked in a breath as my head tipped back against the cushion.
“This is wrong,” I forced out, even as my body arched toward him.
“Feels right to me,” he murmured against my skin, teeth grazing lightly.
Cursing under my breath, I caught his face in my hands to drag his mouth back to mine. The kiss turned fierce, neither of us giving ground. His fingers found the buttons of my shirt, fumbling them open one by one until the fabric hung loose around me. My palms slid under his sweater, over the warm stretch of his back, and he shivered before pressing closer. His hips shifted again, and a groan tore out of me.
He pulled back just enough to look down, eyes dark. “Still want me to stop?”
I swallowed hard, shaking my head.
He smiled, not cocky but confident, then he leaned in and kissed me slowly this time, like he meant to burn it into me. I moaned at the sensations. Every part of me was caught between wanting more and being terrified of just how much I already did.
“Let me,” he whispered.
Before I could ask what he meant, he slid off my lap to the floor. My chest heaved as I watched him settle between my parted knees. His hands went to my belt, pausing only long enough to look up.
“Tell me no and I’ll stop.”
I couldn’t get the word out. My head fell back against the cushion as he worked my pants open, his fingers brushing my stomach before sliding lower and pulling my dick out of my boxers. Heat flooded my entire body when his mouth closed around me.
“Jesus,” I panted, my hand gripping the edge of the couch. Every nerve in me lit up, every doubt drowned out by the pull of his mouth. He moved leisurely at first, using his hand and mouth to work me, then he engulfed me deeper, the tip of my cock hitting the back of his throat.
He eased back, his lips wet and eyes locking on mine. “Good?”
All I could do was nod. My chest felt heavy, and my words were gone.
He returned to sucking me until I was trembling and spilling into his mouth. When he pulled away, I caught his arm, dragging him back onto my lap. My mouth met his in a bruising kiss, on which I could taste myself. My hands slid under his sweater again, shoving it up until he broke away long enough to strip it off. His skin was hot under my palms, his breath sharp against my cheek.
I worked at his jeans, fumbling with the button until he helped. When my hand finally wrapped around him, his head leaned forward against my shoulder.
“Cole,” he gasped, his hips pushing into my grip.
