His First Surrender (Stonewall Investigations Miami 3)

There was a lot more to that question than I think Sam even realized.

“Do you want to give it a go?”

Maybe it was something in Sam’s carefree attitude that triggered my spontaneous side. Normally, I stuck to the rails and rarely deviated. I enjoyed the control of knowing what was going to happen and when, as much as I could know, at least. So spontaneity was never really my thing.

But, all of a sudden, here I was, already pulling my shirt up over my head before Sam could even answer.

“Noo, I’m okay.”

“Come on.” I grinned, feeling a kiddish sort of excitement spread through me. “We can chat in the pool. It’s the perfect day for it.” As if proving my point, the lone cloud that had momentarily shaded the sun shifted, my backyard flooding with sunlight.

“Wait, I don’t even have swim shorts with me.”

“You’ve got underwear on?”

Sam took a moment to think, smiled. “Yeah, today, yeah.”

“Mhmm,” I said, laughing. “Well, there you go.” I untied my sweatpants and let them fall, leaving me in a pair of black Armani briefs. I thought I heard Sam exhale a “wow” under his breath, but that very well could have been my imagination.

Sam’s open ogling definitely wasn’t my imagination, though. His eyes fell straight down to my package, before they jumped to my black-and-white thigh tattoo, the arrangement of flowers leading up so that they disappeared under the briefs before peeking over the waistband, a couple of flowers barely kissing my hip.

He seemed to like what he saw, his gaze working like a fire poker, tossing the lumps of coal in my chest and spreading the flickering flames.

It was nice. Not necessarily being gawked at—that happened more times than I could count, as arrogant as I knew that sounded. It really did get old after a while. But with Sam, it felt different. I suddenly wanted to stand there for as long as he needed to devour me with his gaze. I wanted to run a hand down my abs and over my bulge, just so I could put on a show for Sam, so I could really give him what I knew he wanted.

What I wanted.

Fuck. This guy’s got something special. I don’t know what it is, but… fuck. I can’t even think straight.

And not just because I was now picturing both of us butt-ass naked. For a flicker of a moment, I entertained the idea of grabbing him by the hand and leading him away from the pool. Taking him upstairs, up to my Velvet Room. In there, I could show him what pleasure really was. I could take him to heights I was sure he’d never witnessed. I didn’t have even a sliver of a doubt that I could turn him inside out, making time pass us by in waves, the door to the Velvet Room remaining shut as our bodies continuously became one. I had a feeling I knew why he was here, though, and it had nothing to do with me laying him out on a table and tasting him from head to cock to toes.

Instead of taking him upstairs, I shot him a sly smirk and motioned at him with my chin.

“Your turn.”

13

Sam Clark

Oh God, did he hear me say “wow”?

Oh bajeezus, now I’m staring. Like, I just fully checked him out. Did he notice?

My eyes almost fell out of my head before I was able to drag them back up to Rocky’s. His half-cocked grin told me everything I needed to know.

He totally noticed.

I could feel heat blossom in my cheeks, matching the heat that rose through my core. I audibly gulped. How the hell was I supposed to strip down to my (hopefully not ripped anywhere) Hanes boxers when this glorious man was now standing in front of me? He had a freaking six-pack, for crying out gay. And the six-pack had those little V-muscles that dipped down below his briefs, as if they were pointing the way to where my face now wanted a permanent residence.

And the tattoos. Holy shit, the tattoos. He looked like more of an art piece than the Banksy hanging inside his living room.

Also, what the flipping fuck, he has a Banksy. How much would that have even cost…

The thigh tattoo had an arrangement of photorealistic flowers, different kinds that complemented each other perfectly, some of them getting lost underneath the black briefs. An octopus’s tentacles curled around his leg, almost seeming like it was moving. And that wasn’t his only tattoo either. He had a colorful splash of words on his left rib cage saying “brighter than bright,” and he had a beautiful watercolor hummingbird on his chest, the vibrant blues and greens glowing like they were inked with stardust.

A full masterpiece stood in front of me, and I was floored.