Chapter Twenty-Two
He damn sure didn’t have to be a detective to piece together the clues that Judge didn’t kiss. Otherwise they would’ve slobbered each other down by now. The dark, neatly trimmed mustache that framed those plump light-colored lips called to him. Michaels loved to kiss, though he didn’t get the opportunity very often. When he saw his teammates kissing their men, he always found himself daydreaming, wishing. Damn, to make out like a teenager again. To kiss so heavily in a car that the windows got all fogged up. To rent a movie on a Friday night and before they were halfway through it, be ravaged by a thick, hot tongue until the credits started to roll. What was so bad about it? It didn’t have to mean undying love; it was a form of foreplay, plain and simple. Judge was going to kiss him, one way, or another.
Judge dug in deep, hitting his prostate again and Michaels thought his legs were going to give out. It’d been a while since he’d had a good prostate massage, even longer since he’d bottomed. He didn’t mind it, knew it felt amazing if done right, but the guys he’d screwed around with never would’ve gotten it right. Justin had done it right a few times; he was a natural at it. Michaels thought they really could’ve had something if Justin’s closet wasn’t so fucking small.
He closed his eyes and breathed deep, sucking in the steam that whirled dramatically around them. He was sweating like crazy. Judge’s hot, hairy chest plastered to his back, his thick cock stabbing him in his ass cheek, his balls, all while he expertly stretched him with those thick fingers. Hands the size of a linebacker’s easily controlled his erratic hips. Damn, he was in need, but he didn’t want to whine and he absolutely refused to beg. Just fuckin’ do it already.
As if Judge picked up on his thoughts he reached in front of him and got the gold foil package from the soap ledge. Michaels’ pulse amped up and his chest rose and fell with every anxious breath. Jesus. He was going to let this big fucker pound his ass until he wasn’t… what… angry anymore? What am I thinking? Hell if he knew. Something about Judge called to him like no other man he’d encountered. Powerful, strong, controlling, a big-ass bear of a man whose eyes were as dark as charcoal when he was aroused. The type of man that lived only in his fantasies, and now… was right there with him.
The sound of latex on skin was scary and exhilarating. The thought of being penetrated again made him sweat profusely, while a nervous chill racked his body. Judge’s sweetened breath was ghosting across his cheek, so close to his own lips that they twitched, wanting to turn and take what he desired. He guessed he’d have to be satisfied with one thing at a time.
“Take a deep breath,” Judge said, quietly.
“Shut up and just do it, already.”
Judge’s meaty hand was on his throat fast, squeezing hard enough for him to get pissed… and his cock hard as fucking sheet rock. He took one hand off the tile and grabbed at Judge’s thick forearm.
“I told you to keep your hands on the goddamn wall,” Judge rumbled, harshly nipping the shell of his ear. It was almost embarrassing the way Michaels’ dick jerked and leaked from the commanding tone. Oh, so slowly, he slid his hand back up there with the other one. Judge waited, completely still, until he’d complied with the order. Michaels wanted to tuck his chin to his chest and growl himself, but the fist around his throat was preventing it. The cock nudging against his tight hole was startling enough to change his mind.
Judge’s hand opened a little and Michaels took in a deep breath, barely aware it had been restricted. Damn, his dick was so hard it was sore. He exhaled and then drew in another lungful, and as soon as his chest was fully expanded, Judge snapped his strong hips forward, pushing the head of that cannon just past his ring of muscle. Michaels’ eyes slammed shut and he threw his head back against Judge’s wet shoulder; stunned by the burn.
“You were so angry at me earlier.” Judge grunted against his back. “You wanted to fight me, didn’t you?”
Michaels didn’t know if he was supposed to answer or not. He actually felt bad about it. He was a grown man, not some adolescent bully.
“Why fight, sweetheart, when we can do this instead?” Judge pushed in deeper, spreading his ass nice and wide.
“Holy shit,” Michaels hissed. It wasn’t the pain so much as the burn. But hell if it didn’t set him on fire in a much better way than he’d felt in that truck stop bathroom. That type of rage-fueled heat coursing through him didn’t make him feel the burn; didn’t make him feel alive. He knew the fire in his channel would soon extinguish, but Judge was still pushing forward, inch by agonizing inch. “Fuckin’ bear dick.”