Chapter 17

He tasted of wine and marinara sauce, and something else Rick couldn’t quite name, something all his own. The barely-there buss deepened; Rick felt it surge through him like an electric charge, from the tips of Marty’s fingers resting on his cheek down his spine to curl into his balls. His dick stiffened in the confines of his jeans as Marty’s tongue probed his mouth, tasting him, testing him, pressing into him eagerly. Rick moaned into Marty, just as hungry, wanting more.

It was over all too soon. Marty sank back to the booth, a little breathless, his face flushed. A few strands of dark hair sprayed across his brow. “Wow,” he said, licking his lower lip, as if he wanted to get every last drop of Rick he could. “Now that that’sout of the way…”

Rick drew in a shaky breath. “Damn. You hadn’t said anything about dessert.”