Because how could he take advantage of Dylan if he knew the neighbors might see? Dylan now looked more worried than confused.
He probably thought Alec was suffering from heat stroke. And, as usual, Alec failed to get his ridiculous tongue to work. But, thank God, this was a time for showing not telling. He placed his hands on Dylan’s chest, turned them both, and then pushed Dylan backward. Alec tried hard to forget that the last time he’d behaved this way he’d been flying high on alcohol. Shit, maybe he should drink more often.
On the third step back, Dylan bumped into the shelf behind him. Tools rattled, and comprehension lit his eyes.
“I’m all dirty, man,” Dylan said.
“Just how I like you.”
Dylan let out a bark of skeptical laughter. “You like me sweaty?”
How could the man be so dense? Alec traced the sweat-dampened hollow below Dylan’s rib cage, the ripples of abdominal muscles, and an embarrassingly loud sigh of contentment escaped Alec’s mouth. But, damn, he just couldn’t afford to care about keeping his feelings to himself anymore.
“Yes,” Alec said. “I like you sweaty.”
Dylan looked doubtful. “But I’m covered in grease from that rustbucket of a Triumph.”
Alec pushed Dylan’s T-shirt up, his palms sliding over Dylan’s nipples, and Dylan sucked in a breath. Apparently his concerns about hygiene were beginning to waver because he grabbed Alec’s hips and yanked him closer.
“Man.” Dylan’s voice sounded rough. “You have the smoothest hands. But I’m getting you all messy. Now your kakis have stains—”
“God, yes,” Alec groaned.
Alec glanced down and admired the black fingerprints smudged on his pants, courtesy of Dylan handling the bike chain. Oddly proud of the marks, Alec pushed Dylan’s shirt off with more force than necessary, tossing the fabric aside before burying his nose at Dylan’s neck. Alec inhaled the scent of motor oil, hot man, and musk, giving the moment the time it deserved. So perfect. So right. Except for one thing.
“Clothes,” Alec said as he slid his knuckles down the hard cock beneath Dylan’s jeans.
An encouraging sound scraped from Dylan’s throat, and he gripped Alec’s waist for balance, toeing off his work boots. Suddenly clumsy in his eagerness, Dylan shucked the right one easily enough but took two tries to finish the left. Alec scrambled to unfasten Dylan’s zipper and push the denim, along with the briefs, down. Once they were around his ankles, Dylan kicked the clothing aside and shed his socks.
Since the beginning, Alec had been fantasizing about Dylan streaked with grease and sweat. The day had come to stop being patient and do something about fulfilling the mental image keeping Alec up at night. Why had he waited so long? Now, he had every intention of seeing this through to the logical conclusion: Dylan…filthy and compliant, bared skin and muscle on display.
So when Dylan reached for Alec’s clothes, he caught Dylan’s wrist, stopping the attempt. Alec loved topping the hell out of Dylan, and they’d spent two weeks going at each other like crazy. But right now Alec needed more.
Eyebrows raised in question, Dylan stared at Alec. “What’s wrong?”
How to explain? This was all about being greedy and selfish, putting Alec’s need for more than just a fantastic fuck before everything else. For once he wanted to slow this wild roller-coaster ride down and simply enjoy Dylan’s body.
“Absolutely nothing,” Alec replied.
In a fit of inspiration, he turned Dylan until he faced the shelf. Alec lifted the man’s arms until they extended straight out, angled slightly above the level of his shoulders.
“Whatever happens,” Alec said as he threaded Dylan’s grease-stained fingers through the bars of the stainless steel shelf, “don’t move unless I say so.”
Alec placed his foot at Dylan’s instep and pushed out until Dylan complied, widening his stance. The spread-eagle position displayed his naked body in all of its beautifully-proportioned glory.
“Okay.” With a smug tone, Dylan tipped his ass back in invitation. “I know what you want.”
Alec ignored the smirk in Dylan’s voice.
“No,” Alec said softly. “I don’t think you do.”
You don’t know the half of what I want.
Two muggy seconds ticked by. Dylan waited, maybe patiently, although Alec couldn’t be sure. Dylan’s submissive posture tempted Alec to do exactly what Dylan expected, what the man no doubt wanted.
For Alec to bury his cock in Dylan’s ass.
Desire crawled up Alec’s spine, and he closed his eyes, imagining the sweet, tight heat, the pressure and the glorious friction. But Alec wanted something less frantic, less primal and more…personal.