Besides, he didn’t feel right using another woman simply so he could release all the turbulent emotions that Reese instilled in him.
He’d just have to make do with his own hand. Later, when he was in the privacy of his bedroom. And definitely after Reese was asleep, so he wouldn’t have to hear her moving around the house they shared. Then again, if she was sleeping, that meant he’d be picturing her lying in bed when he had his hand around his cock. Picturing her long red hair fanned on the pillow, one silky leg hooked around the thin blanket, her bare breasts pressed against—
“Sloan, wait up.”
He halted at the bottom of the stairwell, his entire body tightening at the sound of Rylan’s voice. Son of a bitch. He hadn’t even heard the other man’s footsteps.
A blond head appeared at the top of the stairs, and then the man was bounding down to the basement landing.
“What do you need?” Sloan barked.
Rylan’s blue eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Sloan gritted his teeth. Usually he was better at masking his emotions, so either he was doing a shit job of it right now, or Rylan was more perceptive than he’d given him credit for. “Nothing’s wrong. What do you need?” he repeated.
There was a pause.
“Spit it out. I’ve got shit to do.”
Rylan ran a hand through his hair. “Was hoping you could help me out with something.”
The anger rose again. He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what kind of help Rylan needed. “If this is about Reese, go harass someone else. I’ve got a genny to fix.”
He took a step toward the stairwell door, but Rylan stepped in front of it. “How ’bout this? I’ll help you fix the genny, and then you help me by coming to a private party.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Let me guess. It’s a party of three.” When the other man grinned, Sloan’s patience eroded to dust. “Not interested. Now get out of my way.”
Rylan’s groan of annoyance bounced off the cinder block walls. Under the flickering fluorescent lights, the man’s eyes were an even more vivid shade of blue, as vibrant as the cornflowers Reese liked to keep in pots on her windowsill.
“Seriously, what’s wrong with you guys?” Rylan asked in exasperation. “I’ve never met two people who are so against orgasms. What, you allergic to them or something?”
Sloan clenched his teeth again.
“We both know you were hard as a rock the other night, Sloan. That filthy show Reese and I put on for you? You loved every second of it. You loved holding her down while I pounded into her from behind. I saw your face. I saw this”—before Sloan could blink, Rylan’s large hand was cupping his groin—“hard as a rock,” Rylan repeated. “So why do you keep putting up a fight? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Sloan pushed that large hand away, but not before the other man felt him hardening. When Rylan smirked, a growl tore out of Sloan’s throat. “What’s wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you, jackass?”
Rylan blinked. “Me?”
“Are you addicted to sex, is that it? You got some sort of sickness that prevents you from keeping your cock in your pants?” Sloan curled his hands into fists. “You can’t go three goddamn days without getting any action? Jesus, man, you came half a dozen times that night. And then you got your rocks off again, jacking yourself in front of Reese—”
A smile flitted across Rylan’s lips. “She told you about that?”
The visible amusement only intensified Sloan’s anger. Breathing hard, he planted his palms against Rylan’s solid chest and backed the other man against the cracked concrete wall, until their faces were inches apart.
“Why is everything a goddamn joke to you?” Sloan hissed.
Those blue eyes locked with his, then lowered to his hands, which were flattened against Rylan’s pecs. “What are you doing, brother?” Rylan’s voice was low, curious.
“Giving you what you want,” Sloan bit out. “Sex, right? Orgasms? Seems like those are the only thoughts your pretty blond head is capable of producing.”
“Fuck you.” A heavy hand clamped on Sloan’s shoulder as Rylan tried to shove him away. “So I like to screw. Big goddamn deal. Not everyone is as uptight about sex as you are—”
Sloan crashed his mouth down on Rylan’s before the bastard could finish that sentence.
The kiss was brutal. Merciless. A hard collision of mouths that drew a harsh grunt from Rylan, a hiss from Sloan. He thrust his tongue past Rylan’s parted lips and deepened the kiss, grinding his lower body against the erection straining behind Rylan’s zipper.
Lust surged through his blood, clouding his senses, fogging his surroundings. It’d been ages since he’d had his tongue in someone’s mouth, his dick rubbing up against a warm body.
“This is what you wanted, right?” he rasped against Rylan’s lips. “Is this party private enough for you?”