Keats licked his lips, tasting the remnants of sex and salty skin. “Can I touch you? I want to make you feel good, too.”
Colby kept hold of Keats’s wrist and his mouth flattened into a tense line. “You’re tempting me more than you know with that hungry look you’re giving me. But tonight, I’ll handle things myself.”
Keats’s stomach dropped and he straightened. “You don’t want anything from me?”
Colby smirked and laid Keats’s hand over his rock-hard erection. “I want it all from you. Give me a list of sordid acts, and I’ve thought of every one in the last ten minutes. But things often look different in the light of day. This is your out. If you wake up tomorrow and regret any of this, you can write it off. Lots of straight guys would take a blow job from a willing mouth, regardless of who was giving it. It wouldn’t make them any less straight.”
Anger rose quick in Keats, and he yanked his hand out of Colby’s grasp. “What the fuck, Colby? You just had your goddamned fingers in my ass, and I licked my come off you. Even my ability for denial isn’t that spectacular. I get that what we’re doing means I’m not exactly who I thought I was. Daylight isn’t going to change that.”
“I hope it doesn’t. But I’m leaving that option available.” He bent down and unhooked Keats’s ankles.
Keats stepped out of the cuffs and stalked across the room to grab his jeans and yank them on, annoyance rolling through him. He kept his back to Colby. “Whatever. If you’d rather use your fucking hand, then I’m going to take a shower.”
He didn’t know why this was pissing him off so much. It wasn’t like he even knew how to give a blow job. But he would’ve damn well tried.
“I’m going to give you one pass for talking to me that way,” Colby said, warning in his voice. “I haven’t released you yet.”
“So sorry, sir,” he said, bitterness edging his tone.
As swift as a breath, Colby’s hand was locking around the back of Keats’s neck again. He squeezed hard. “Get on the fucking floor. Nose to my boot, knees underneath you.”
“What the f—” But Keats didn’t get a chance to finish it because Colby dug his fingers into Keats’s neck even harder and guided him down by force. Keats went to his knees, and Colby pushed his head down toward his shoes. The curved tip of Colby’s cowboy boots filled his view.
“Wrap your hands around my right foot and press your forehead to the leather.”
Keats could barely process what was happening, it was all going down so fast. But that take-no-prisoners tone of Colby’s had his stomach flipping. Not knowing what else to do, he shut down the argument and followed the instruction.
“Now stay there until I tell you to kneel up.”
Keats could hear the sound of denim moving, the squirt of the lube again, and then the distinct sound of slippery skin. Fuck. Colby was jerking off above him, and Keats wasn’t even allowed to look up.
“You will learn how to show me respect. And you will accept my orders and trust that I’m doing shit for your own good. Push me and you’re not going to like the consequences.”
The hot-as-hell sound of fist over dick had Keats’s own cock perking up again, but he didn’t dare move. Not even when he could feel his still-unfastened jeans sagging down and exposing his ass again.
“Nice view, sub,” Colby said, his voice changing with what Keats recognized as Colby’s bedroom voice. “Kneel up now and give me something to aim at.”
Keats quickly released Colby’s boot and pushed himself up
to a kneel, finding himself staring at the big, slick cock he’d seen only from a distance when he’d spied on Colby. Fuck, the dude was hung. Of course, lucky Keats, he’d have to get interested in an overachiever in that department. He tried not to think about how tight those two fingers had felt inside him.
But the worries over that were soon eclipsed by the erotic sight of Colby’s big fist moving over his cock. The guy wasn’t gentle with himself, and Keats found himself transfixed.
“So you think you’ll still want this in the morning, huh?” Colby taunted, fucking his hand with more speed now. “Guess we’ll find out.”
With that Colby’s release jetted out and splashed against Keats in hot streams, landing on his shoulder, his chest, his jeans. He didn’t look down, though, because he couldn’t pull his attention away from Colby’s lost-to-the-moment expression and the deep groan that escaped him. The guy looked fucking sinful when he came.
Colby stroked a few more times, milking the last of his orgasm, then let out a long breath. With economy of movement, he tucked himself back in his jeans and zipped up. His gaze tracked over Keats and the dripping mess he’d become. He nodded in his direction. “Rub it into your skin, Adam. Every drop of it.”
Keats blinked at the unexpected command. “What?”
“It wasn’t a request.”
Acting as if on autopilot, Keats moved his hand over his chest and stomach, rubbing the fluid into his skin.
“You can wash your hands but you’re not allowed to shower until the morning. You don’t think you’ll regret tonight, and I hope that’s true. But I guess we’ll see when you wake up tomorrow sticky from my come and covered in my scent.”
The thought sent a trail of goose bumps up Keats’s back.