Down by Contact (The Barons 2)

Adrián’s lip curled. “I dunno, dude. That’s creepy.”

“Who you tellin’? But back then, I didn’t give a damn. I was a horny kid, interested in sex way too early, and closeted as fuck, so the options were real slim.” Thinking back to that time was weird, because it had been creepy and inappropriate, and my mama would have tore that boy up. “The first time I had good sex was in college. Before that, no one knew what the hell they were doing with their dicks.”

“Maybe because immature-ass dudes only care about trying to get off instead of how to please who they’re in bed with. That’s how I was until I was older,” he admitted. “Sex was just about blowing my load, until I went to college and got with girls who weren’t having that bullshit.”

“Heh. You expect me to believe you’re some sex master now?”

Adrián smirked, dimpling at me, and knocked his knee against mine beneath the table. “Let’s just say I know how to work my dick, and my stamina is the truth.”

A handful of braggy, mostly joking words, and my body was at attention. Dick twitching, heart pounding, and my stomach cramping up. I pressed my lips together and said nothing. Adrián pointed at me, delighted.

“You got nervous. I saw you, Simeon.”

“You didn’t see shit.”

“Shut the fuck up. I saw you get all serious face and back away. My bomb sex skills intimidate you. Admit it!”

“Keeping dreaming, Bravo. But I do have to tell you something.”

“Lemme have it.”

I extended one arm so I could lightly touch the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got something right there.”

The dark wings of his brows crashed down in consternation, and a flood of conflicting emotions danced across his striking face, but none of them was indignant or annoyed or disgusted—the reactions I was used to getting from straight men when I touched them and they weren’t interested. Or sometimes even when I touched them because of interest that was obvious to me and not to their own selves. Denial was powerful in most men, but Adrián Bravo settled on intrigued.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I brushed the pad of my finger against his lips, wiping the syrup away even though it left the remnants of sticky residue. Touching his mouth sent my thirst into hyperactive overdrive, and my mind betrayed me. Filled with images of dragging him closer for a messy kiss where I used my tongue to get him clean right before dragging him to the bathroom to get really nasty.

Where was my common sense? My inner angel to tell me to stop craving this bastard just because he had a pretty face and, according to him, a talented dick? Hadn’t I learned my lesson? My dick going from half-mast to fully risen proved otherwise. I would absolutely go down on him in the bathroom if the opportunity arose. I could hate him even while he was in my mouth.

He wasn’t reacting as much as I wanted him to, so I dropped my hand next to his and upped the ante.

“You got some on your fingers too.”

“Yeah? You gonna get all mother hen on me about that too?”

He thought he was so cool and collected. It was kind of cute how much he underestimated my competitive spirit.

“Not quite mother hen, but . . .”

I grabbed his hand after a quick scan of the diner, and brought it to my lips. His arm locked up briefly, a spasm going through his fingers, but he didn’t fight. Not when I parted my lips, and not when I enveloped the syrup-covered digits with my mouth. I sucked the syrup off, suctioning harder than I needed to for the current situation, and flicked my tongue.

“Oh fuck.”

We locked eyes. There was no hiding how dilated his had become. The way his breathing had picked up, or the bouncing of his knee.

I slid my mouth off, leaving his fingers coated in saliva, and grinned.

“I won this round, Bravo.”

Adrián grabbed a napkin with trembling hands and roughly wiped his fingers.

“Yeah. I guess you did.”

Chapter Seven

Adrián

“Are you happy with yourself?”

“Yeah, Dad. I’m fucking thrilled.”

“Watch your mouth when you’re speaking to me.”

I sat on one of the bleachers, hunched forward with my phone to my ear and my gaze on the kids. Two weeks into this program, and we’d finally managed to wrangle a scrimmage for the little suckers. We’d pressed to them that it would be no big deal if this all fell through and they didn’t get to play another team, but my heart had soared when we’d gotten the okay.

Simeon had jumped around like a kid, but I’d suspected these children from Staten Island had only come through because we were gonna be there. Or rather . . . the parents had only come through for that reason. A couple of moms were hanging on Simeon’s every word, and now Brayden’s dad was glued to his side like it was a competition.