Melting Point by Kate Meader Page A

glance of his lips.
    Gage held his palm out to Brady to lick—which he did on a lusty groan—then started stroking his jutting cock. Brady tilted his hips into Gage’s fist.
    â€œGage . . . need . . . need your mouth.”
    Not content to wait for a response, Brady dragged Gage’s mouth to his in a raw, consuming claim. Gage continued with his rough stroke, palming Brady’s hard length, loving the power he felt as it enlarged in his hands.
    Gage didn’t bottom much. As in hadn’t done it since experimenting with what he liked in his teens. Giving himself to someone like that implied a depth of connection he had never wanted to indulge. Now he wanted full possession, the kind you get from one man inside another. He wanted to surrender everything to Brady and revel in the glory of Brady taking control by losing it in the best way possible.
    Inside Gage.
    He took care of sheathing Brady, then pushed him gently to his back. “Think this’ll work better if I’m on top.”
    â€œYou don’t want to be . . .” Brady paused. “Fucked from behind?” The way he said that sent Gage’s heart into a lurch.
    â€œNope. Along with raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, seeing your face when you come, Chef, is one of my favorite things.”
    That drew a laugh from his guy, and Gage leaned down and kissed that rare thing, Brady Smith’s smiling mouth. Better than any orgasm. The kiss tasted different. Joy always did.
    The smile melted away as they took the next steps. Gage uncapped the lube and spread it over Brady’s hand. Straddling Brady’s hips, Gage positioned himself for the easiest reach and grasped the headboard for balance. In the glow of the candlelight, Brady’s eyes turned as dark as a pocket as he slid a slippery finger over Gage’s ass, teasing at the entrance. This was the best part, that moment of anticipation when the pleasure ceiling was limitless. Gage trembled with the excitement and— oh fuck, that first touch to his hole made his thighs shake.
    â€œYeah,” he whispered.
    Dreamy possibility turned to ecstatic reality when Brady worked his way in to the first knuckle. Closely followed by the second. Sliding, stroking, stretching.
    Those magical digits. Gage had known it would be good, but a five-star chef with the tools of his trade pumping in and out? God, that was amazing. Brady scissored his fingers, getting Gage ready for more, for the girth of Brady’s cock. Twisting his wrist, Brady rubbed against his prostate and Gage’s brain started to splinter.
    â€œBrady, that’s so fucking good.”
    â€œYeah,” Brady grunted. “You’re—you’re tight.” Anticipatory pleasure joined forces with concern in those words. Brady’s thick erection throbbed against Gage’s thigh, demanding attention, foreshadowing what was to come. “Gage, are you sure you want this? I might hurt you.”
    â€œYou can’t hurt me, Brady.” No one could. He had built a wall of invincibility around him and kept it reinforced with his sunny good humor and attitude of don’t-give-a-fuck. And right now, Brady needed this. Gage could give it to him, even if Brady was the biggest he’d ever seen and he’d be holding his breath while that sucker worked its way in.
    Brady’s fingers slipped out, grasped Gage’s hips. Gage lined himself up and pushed down on Brady’s shaft, gently at first, taking Brady in slowly. This wasn’t so bad, just a feeling of pressure that he could so handle. Another push and Brady eased past that ring of resistant muscle until— oh shit, the burn. Not quite as pleasant as those thick fingers. Gage withdrew and somehow that was worse, the drag on his ass muscles, before he slid down that thick length again.
    â€œYou okay?” Brady asked, his free hand digging into Gage’s hip, staying his