“How would you know what it’s like? You’ve never been there.” Rich sounded angry.
“I have imagination.” Olly decided to tackle the situation head-on. “Are you still undecided about yourself?” Olly let go of the key and stretched his hand out to touch Rich on the arm. Lightly.
Rich didn’t pull away. “It’s not easy, you know,” he said quietly.
Olly squeezed Rich’s arm. “Maybe it is. What do you want? Deep down.”
Rich looked at the fingers on his biceps, covered them with his own and gently peeled them off. He held them and studied them before meeting Olly’s gaze. “I want you.” His words rustled.
Olly leaned in and pressed his lips to Rich’s in the briefest of kisses. “Come home with me. I’ll drive you back to Sandy’s in the morning.”
“Don’t you have roommates?”
“Teag works nights, won’t be home till two a.m. the earliest. There’s a fifty-fifty chance Dylan’s home, but I can convince him to leave for a few hours.” Dylan had already met a potential sugar daddy since the mishap at Ombre, and if things went well for Dylan, Olly would be looking for a new roommate soon. Although, knowing Dylan, it would probably fall through. Either way, Olly didn’t want to think about Dylan’s sexploits right now. He put a hand on one of Rich’s thighs, slipping it down between both. “I could show you my tattoo again,” he said in a low, sultry voice. “You might appreciate it better now, sober. I could tell you all the things Wade did to me after he finished inking me. Every dirty little detail.”
“Okay,” Rich said, barely above a whisper.
Olly lived in a two-story apartment building built around the twenties or thirties. It was a lot like Willard Keats—stylish but showing its age. The ornate wrought-iron balustrades along the staircase leading to the second floor were original but thick with many layers of paint, and the hardwood floor of Olly’s apartment creaked at certain spots. There was no central air, but all three bedrooms and the living room had window units.
The apartment stood quiet, but Olly dashed around to check. To his relief, neither of his roommates was home. He ducked into his own room, making sure it was tidy enough, and also shot off a text to Dylan, asking—no, begging—Dylan not to come home for a few more hours at least. Dylan replied with an OK and an obscene photo. All was well, Olly concluded.
“Nice crown molding,” Rich commented, staring at the ceiling when Olly arrived back in the living room.
Not what Olly hoped to hear. “That better be a double entendre.” Grabbing Rich by the arm, he led the way into his bedroom. He had a corner room, normally with plenty of light, but it was dusk outside already, plus he’d closed the blinds. There wasn’t much in the room aside from the bed, dresser and night table.
Rich had gone stiff, but not in the good way. However, he let Olly maneuver him around and push him down onto the mattress. He didn’t resist as Olly straddled his thighs and pulled his shirt off. His gaze stayed glued to Olly’s every move, lust mixing with sheer panic in his eyes. “I’m not sure I can do this,” he said, voice cracking.
Olly’s heart ached at the sight of such vulnerability. He bent his head and kissed Rich’s sternum. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you. Trust me,” he murmured and rubbed his cheek to Rich’s chest hair. Rich had a nice spread there, thinning out to a single line leading all the way to the hem of his jeans and beyond. Olly followed the trail, though he wandered off too, pressing his lips to warm skin, kissing and licking as he went. He was determined not to rush things this time around.
As the coyote fang dangling from Olly’s neck brushed against Rich’s side, he squirmed. “Oof, tickles.”
Olly thought of taking the charm off, but instead, he just turned it around. He grinned. “Ticklish, eh?” He bent his head and blew a raspberry onto Rich’s stomach between the belly button and groin. He felt Rich’s muscles lose their tension under his hands as Rich laughed. Keeping his head down, Olly unbuckled Rich’s belt and popped the button of the jeans free. He pulled the zipper down slowly, flaring his nostrils to inhale Rich’s scent—soap and musk. A few strands of hair poked out from under Rich’s black Jockeys. Olly tugged their waistband lower and saw more coppery goodness. Rich’s cock strained against the fabric. The tightly coiled desire burst across Olly’s chest, stealing his breath away. A low moan escaped his throat.
As Olly mouthed his cock through the cotton, Rich’s breathing became labored, and soon he placed his hand on Olly’s head. He dug his fingers into Olly’s hair, kneading, pressing and waking a tingling army of goose bumps on Olly’s skin.