Connor liked the sound of that. He also enjoyed the growling mew Forest gave when Con hooked his thumbs into Forest’s waistband and tugged his sweats and underwear off in a single fluid pull.
“I don’t want to have to stop and do that later,” Connor rumbled. Then he eased onto the bed and covered Forest’s lanky body with his own heavy frame.
The room grew hot. Even stripped bare with nothing on the walls but flecks of old wallpaper glue and exposed woodwork, the house’s thick plaster walls normally kept the place relatively cool, holding in the city’s chill and keeping out the worst of its heated tantrums.
Connor shifted, moving to find the places he fit into Forest’s body while exploring the man’s unfamiliar planes with his hands. Their mouths were close, and Connor resisted savaging Forest’s lips. Their eyes held, and when Connor’s fingers dusted down Forest’s ribs, he gasped, puffing a breath over Con’s parted lips, and Connor knew he was lost.
He took what was his, sliding his knees between Forest’s legs to support his weight, and captured the man’s mouth, forcing Forest’s lips open so he could plunge his tongue past Forest’s sharp teeth and into the hot depths beyond. Connor suckled and pulled, drawing gasp after gasp out of the man underneath him. Unused to the sleek feel of another man’s skin, Con reveled in the newly discovered delight, his fingers roaming over his lover’s body, finding defined muscles. Then the nip of a nipple on Connor’s palm drew him in, and he played with the nub, rolling it between his thumb and finger until Forest gasped and thrust his hips up into a grinding dance along Connor’s belly.
Everything tasted different, tasted right, and felt even more glorious than Connor imagined. He didn’t know if it was the culmination of his surrender to desires he’d long held back or the sheer erotic pleasure of exploring Forest’s pale flesh. Either way, Connor knew in that moment he’d never let the man go. He’d never get enough of him—never feel or swallow enough of Forest to be satiated.
And he’d not even begun to sample the delectable flavors awaiting him beyond Forest’s mouth.
Connor moved onward—traveling down the man’s throat, then coaxing first one nipple, then the other into a hard peak he could have cut glass on if he so desired. Even there, the masculine hint of sweat and earthy skin was an explosion of sensations in Con’s mouth.
He dared his hands to go lower—to find the hard press of the man’s shaft and palm over Forest’s cock head and smear the leak he knew would be pearling at his lover’s slit. Connor wasn’t disappointed. Forest’s cock was wet and hard. Steel-firm and velvet soft at the tip, it bobbed before Con grasped it, sliding about on Connor’s palm until it too gave in—as Forest writhed and clutched at Con’s shoulders.
“Con—” Forest’s voice was tight, urgent, and begging. “I can’t—fuck, it’s been too long. I’m going to lose it on you.”
“Hold on, baby,” Con urged. “I want to taste you. My first—hell, my only. I want to take you in. Feel you there, okay? Can you hold on just for that? So I can feel you there? Pressed against the roof of my mouth?”
“Maybe,” came Forest’s husky whisper. “Yeah.”
His balls rolled in Connor’s palm, a curious, unique male thing only another man could understand. Connor knew the feelings Forest was having. Connor’s pants squeaked on the sheets, making him aware he’d wasted precious moments wearing clothes when he could have been lying naked on Forest’s hot body.
Con stripped quickly, tearing off his shirt and unzipping his pants before tossing both aside to land in a pile on the bedroom floor. The air cooled his skin, a brief, wistful chilly kiss over his skin, prickling his flesh with goose bumps, but his dick throbbed with its own coursing heat.
“Jesus, you’re fucking huge,” Forest muttered. “Lube. Better have a shit ton of lube.”
“There’s some in the nightstand.” Connor fumbled at the squat piece of furniture, digging out a couple of condoms and lubricant. “I’m not exactly sure how much a shit ton is, but there’s probably more than enough here.”
His dick left a salty trail on Forest’s arm and leg, his shaft tightening with excitement when the man grazed his fingertips over Connor’s uncircumcised head. He twitched, hissing at the touch to his sensitive tip, and Forest grinned up at him.
“Not what I expected,” Forest said, sliding his thumb around the base of Connor’s head. “You’re not cut.”
“No. Born in Ireland. They tend to leave the boys as they find them.” Connor hissed again, drawing back. “And stop that, a ghra. You’re not the only one close to the edge.”