UK cities, a family manager who was young, gay, sharp, and fucking gorgeous. Yeah, what wasn’t news about all that? Especially the manager’s sex life.
“Max?” Seve was staring at me again. “You don’t believe everything you read in that trash, do you?”
“Hey!” I held up my hands in mock surrender. “I don’t believe everything I read anywhere. It’s none of their business who you fuck.”
“Who they say I fuck.” He seemed disproportionately angry about it.
“It’s none of my business either,” I said. The words felt like individual lumps in my throat. It was bizarre, arguing about his sexual diary when I was stretched out under him and aching for him to bend down. Aching for him to fuck me. If things continued like this, I’d start to dwell on the thought of him lying on a bed, panting and naked apart from his sweat, with three or four ridiculously cute pop stars, their lips on his skin and the trail of hair on his belly, their hands curled around….
Yeah. Looked like I was jealous, though it was neither sensible nor my right. I started to struggle back up to a sitting position, but his hand landed firmly on my chest.
“Get back down.” The growl was back.
“You want to do it right here?” I peered out the car window. The rain was running freely down it now, the lingering drops glistening like little silver Christmas tree lights against the darkness outside.
“Right here, yes,” he hissed. “I do it when I want it, where I want it. That makes me hot. It’s more exciting, more risky. Don’t you agree?”
“I—”
He laughed softly. “But I know you do—because you came with me again.”
I didn’t have any other defense. It was true. When Seve leaned over the central console and put his warm, moist lips on my neck, I welcomed it, wriggling on the seat to get a more comfortable position. He slid his hands up under my shirt, pulled it out from my jeans, and jerked the buttons apart with such impatience that one of them sprang off into the depths of the car. His palms were damp with sweat and his fingers were rough. When he ran them up my chest to my left nipple and twisted it sharply, I yelped.
“Hurts, Max?”
I lay back against the cool leather and panted. “Like hell it does.”
His smile made a damp shape on my belly where he kissed it. He licked up from my navel to the other nipple. He flicked it back and forth with his tongue, occasionally sucking it between his pursed lips. I felt the vibration all the way down to my toes, and my knees pushed out against the sides of the seat cushion.
Seve laughed softly, running his free hand down between my thighs. He teased at the seams of my jeans, the material now sticking to my skin with my own sweaty desire. “Soon, Max. Soon I’ll fuck you.” He cupped my groin, rubbing firmly up and down my thickening dick. It made the ache much, much worse. I heard a zip go, but to my selfish disappointment, it wasn’t mine. He slid a hand up to grasp me by the neck again, and for a few long seconds, he thrust his tongue into me, moaning his lust into my mouth. I grabbed him in return, trying to get a grip on his cropped hair, holding his head close.
Then he pulled away. He was panting too, and he fumbled under his own seat with clumsy movements. The back of it jerked down, though it didn’t settle as flat as mine—just enough for him to lie back. His hand was still on my neck, and he tugged my head over his prone body. When he pulled open the flies of his jeans with rather gratifying impatience, I saw he had no underwear on. The cloth parted and his cock was there, nestled against crisp dark curls, already filling and straining to get out into the night air. The skin was flushed and dark; the tip was weeping for attention. My mouth watered.
“Suck me again.” His whisper was hoarse. “It was so good.”
I bent awkwardly from the waist, avoiding a minefield of buttons and switches, and leaned over him. I trapped his nearer arm
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