rolled his hips forward, hard erection pressing into Bridge’s navel, he couldn’t remember ever feeling anything so amazing.
And they were both still fully clothed.
Which brought to mind his interrupted mission of unwrapping Eric like a Christmas present. “Clothes.” He pushed Eric’s jacket off his shoulders, but it got caught at the man’s wrists, earning a grunt of frustration from Bridge. “They gotta go. All of ’em.”
“We’ve got all night, cowboy.” Eric chuckled and sat up, stripped himself of the jacket, and tossed it on the floor.
“And we best get to making the most of it,” Bridge said. He didn’t know if there would be another night after this, if Eric would wake up in the morning and decide screwing with their friendship really was a bad idea. That wasn’t going to happen if he could help it, though. He couldn’t predict the future, but right now, this very moment, he knew he wouldn’t accept anything less than a life with Eric Palmer.
Eric smiled and began unbuttoning his shirt, but Bridge reached out and stilled his hands. “Let me,” he said, his voice a breathy whisper.
Bridge watched his fingers as they worked, feeling the weight of Eric’s stare on him, the press of Eric’s body in his lap, the burning caress of Eric’s hands where they rested on his torso, and a thrill of excitement trembled through him. Eric leaned down and kissed his forehead, above his brow, his nose.
Fuck, he couldn’t ever remember feeling this high, this alive, or so completely aroused. Not with the one man he’d been with before, not with any of the women he’d been with, but Eric . . . Eric was in a whole other zip code of desire and want. He was like Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and a birthday all in one. Better even. Yes, definitely better. By far.
Not because anyone before had been bad or lacking, but the fact that it was Eric made every contact and look somehow . . . more.
He slipped the last button through its hole and then slowly parted Eric’s shirt to reveal a lightly furred chest, defined abs, and honey-colored skin that looked like it might taste just as sweet. His mouth watered at the sight, and he licked his lips.
“Touch me,” Eric whispered.
Bridge looked up to meet Eric’s eyes. They were dark, glittering, devouring him without even touching him, and fuck, he couldn’t stop trembling. He flattened his hands over soft skin and hard pectorals and slid upward, nudging the shirt off Eric’s shoulders, following it down impressive biceps until the shirt caught at bent elbows, but Eric didn’t move. He sat still, watching, letting Bridge explore at will.
He brought his hands back to Eric’s stomach, let his fingers ride the small roller coaster rise and fall of firm muscle and solid rib, and then circled dusky, peaked nipples. He rolled them between his forefingers and thumbs, and a groan spilled from Eric, and his eyelids fluttered; Bridge couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. “Found a spot, did I?”
Eric chuckled. “Just you wait.” He slid his arms the rest of the way out of his shirt, and with the most seductive grin Bridge had ever been on the receiving end of, Eric said, “My turn.”
Eric reached out and began working the buttons of Bridge’s shirt, and Bridge let his hands slide over the heated skin of Eric’s sides to grip the dense muscles of his back, marveling at the feel of so much power under his palms, wanting to experience the full force of that power, to know what it would be like to have it unleashed on him.
And then skillful hands were on his skin, palms flat, moving over the surface of his chest, his abs, his navel, and their heat sent his skin ablaze, leaving an inferno in their wake that melted his bones. His breath came faster, shallow and raspy, and his heart pounded a rapid beat against his rib cage. And they still had their damn pants on. He was about to make his dismay known when the hot cavern of Eric’s mouth
And they were both still fully clothed.
Which brought to mind his interrupted mission of unwrapping Eric like a Christmas present. “Clothes.” He pushed Eric’s jacket off his shoulders, but it got caught at the man’s wrists, earning a grunt of frustration from Bridge. “They gotta go. All of ’em.”
“We’ve got all night, cowboy.” Eric chuckled and sat up, stripped himself of the jacket, and tossed it on the floor.
“And we best get to making the most of it,” Bridge said. He didn’t know if there would be another night after this, if Eric would wake up in the morning and decide screwing with their friendship really was a bad idea. That wasn’t going to happen if he could help it, though. He couldn’t predict the future, but right now, this very moment, he knew he wouldn’t accept anything less than a life with Eric Palmer.
Eric smiled and began unbuttoning his shirt, but Bridge reached out and stilled his hands. “Let me,” he said, his voice a breathy whisper.
Bridge watched his fingers as they worked, feeling the weight of Eric’s stare on him, the press of Eric’s body in his lap, the burning caress of Eric’s hands where they rested on his torso, and a thrill of excitement trembled through him. Eric leaned down and kissed his forehead, above his brow, his nose.
Fuck, he couldn’t ever remember feeling this high, this alive, or so completely aroused. Not with the one man he’d been with before, not with any of the women he’d been with, but Eric . . . Eric was in a whole other zip code of desire and want. He was like Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and a birthday all in one. Better even. Yes, definitely better. By far.
Not because anyone before had been bad or lacking, but the fact that it was Eric made every contact and look somehow . . . more.
He slipped the last button through its hole and then slowly parted Eric’s shirt to reveal a lightly furred chest, defined abs, and honey-colored skin that looked like it might taste just as sweet. His mouth watered at the sight, and he licked his lips.
“Touch me,” Eric whispered.
Bridge looked up to meet Eric’s eyes. They were dark, glittering, devouring him without even touching him, and fuck, he couldn’t stop trembling. He flattened his hands over soft skin and hard pectorals and slid upward, nudging the shirt off Eric’s shoulders, following it down impressive biceps until the shirt caught at bent elbows, but Eric didn’t move. He sat still, watching, letting Bridge explore at will.
He brought his hands back to Eric’s stomach, let his fingers ride the small roller coaster rise and fall of firm muscle and solid rib, and then circled dusky, peaked nipples. He rolled them between his forefingers and thumbs, and a groan spilled from Eric, and his eyelids fluttered; Bridge couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. “Found a spot, did I?”
Eric chuckled. “Just you wait.” He slid his arms the rest of the way out of his shirt, and with the most seductive grin Bridge had ever been on the receiving end of, Eric said, “My turn.”
Eric reached out and began working the buttons of Bridge’s shirt, and Bridge let his hands slide over the heated skin of Eric’s sides to grip the dense muscles of his back, marveling at the feel of so much power under his palms, wanting to experience the full force of that power, to know what it would be like to have it unleashed on him.
And then skillful hands were on his skin, palms flat, moving over the surface of his chest, his abs, his navel, and their heat sent his skin ablaze, leaving an inferno in their wake that melted his bones. His breath came faster, shallow and raspy, and his heart pounded a rapid beat against his rib cage. And they still had their damn pants on. He was about to make his dismay known when the hot cavern of Eric’s mouth
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