Kisses. Pressure. Friction. August’s slacks moved easily against Doren’s denim. His ass cheeks fit perfectly in Doren’s palms. Doren held tight, rocking underneath August, grinding their bodies together, sending shivers up August’s back. August’s eyes had never looked so bright, his cheeks never quite so flushed. Doren had no clue how far August would let him go, all he knew was that if August decided to walk away again, he planned on leaving August as frustrated as he knew he would be. He didn’t break their kisses for any longer than a breath, didn’t give August time to think, and as the rush of arousal amped up the beat inside them, August began to respond to Doren’s motion as well. “I can stop…” Doren said, his statement open-ended, the question obvious.
“You have to,” August panted. “Or I’ll—” His voice caught on the word, embarrassed, and Doren grinned.
“Come?”