Heat Stroke (Beach Kingdom 2)

Marcus’s lungs emptied, his thumbs dropping away from his eyes. Had Jamie missed him? No. No, it couldn’t be.

Jamie cleared his throat hard and stepped past Marcus, ready to walk out the door. “I have to go—” They both ceased all motion when Marcus’s hand shot out and wrapped around Jamie’s elbow. “What are you doing, Diesel?”

“I don’t know.”

A frustrated sound left Jamie. A moment ticked by where they just stared at each other, Marcus’s chest huffing up and down like a locomotive, the boner in his pants vibrating like a tuning fork, begging for the surrounding pressure of a fist, friction, anything. Marcus could see how torn Jamie was. Maybe he was even a little pissed off and Marcus couldn’t blame him. He was a mess. A total fucking mess that really didn’t want Jamie to leave, even though he’d just said out loud he didn’t want to deal with his attraction.

A change came over Jamie, his manner going from frustrated to almost taunting. He faced Marcus fully and ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. “Caught you in the middle of something, didn’t I?” His eyes ticked past Marcus toward the coffee table. “How is that porn working out for you?

“Not good.”

The admission was barely out of his mouth when Jamie fisted Marcus’s T-shirt in his hand and walked him backward toward the couch. They maintained eye contact the whole way, and Marcus was so wrapped up in it, he had no idea where he was until Jamie shoved him hard into a seated position on the couch. Jamie reached back and snicked the laptop closed before slowly drawing off his own T-shirt, giving Marcus long, breathless seconds to watch the lithe flex of tight ridges play out on his stomach, the roll of muscle just above the low-riding waistband of his jeans.

Before Marcus could speculate on what came next, Jamie’s knees dug into the couch on either side of Marcus’s thighs. He picked up Marcus’s hand laid it flat on the center of his chest, before dragging it down, down, over his hot skin, the black, curling hair in the valley of his pecs, the hard stomach beneath. “You want me to stay? You’re damn well going to tell me why.” Leaving Marcus’s hand resting on his denim waistband, Jamie leaned in and breathed coffee and whiskey against Marcus’s mouth. Once, twice. Shaky. “Do you want my tongue to touch yours? Play with it a little?”

Jesus, he almost came in his sweats. Hearing those words out of Jamie’s mouth, feeling Jamie’s breath, their skin pressing together. It was sensory overload. His dick hurt like it hadn’t in…ever. Minutes before Jamie walked in—and most of the week—he’d been trying his best to get aroused to straight porn, but he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t get off anymore without thinking of Jamie and now he was there, giving Marcus no choice but to let go. Let his body get what it needed.

“An answer, Diesel.”

Openly panting against Jamie’s mouth, he gave a jerky nod.

“Uh uh.” Jamie touched his tongue to Marcus’s upper lip and his hips jerked off the couch, a groan rumbling from deep inside him. “Say it out loud.”

It all came out in a rush. “Yes. Please. I want your tongue.”

Conflict rose in Jamie’s eyes, but it cleared just as fast. Was replaced by an emotion Marcus recognized in himself. Lust. Jamie dipped his head, easing their lips together, gently letting his tongue slide into Marcus’s mouth. It was like time suspended as it happened. Their tongues brushed and they both pulled back, breathing heavily. Fear that Jamie would change his mind caught Marcus around the throat and he shot forward to draw Jamie into a kiss, melting back into the couch cushions and bringing Jamie with him.

As if on autopilot, his hands lifted to squeeze Jamie’s boobs. But of course, Jamie didn’t have those. Marcus kind of wanted to curl up and die but Jamie only laughed, a puff of sound that bathed Marcus’s lips in warmth. “I’m not a woman, Diesel.”

“Just double-checking.”

They melted back together. And kissing Jamie was nothing like kissing a girl—and he didn’t miss that softness or the awkwardness or fear of crushing a human to death whatsoever. The scruff of Jamie’s unshaven jaw raked over his chin, his cheeks as they deepened the kiss and the sensation was something he hadn’t thought to fantasize about. But he sure as hell would now. Marcus knew without a doubt that the bristled proof of masculinity would be more than enough to make him hot next time he needed relief. The physical power and strength of a man—the full extent of how much that worked for him was mind-blowing.

Only when attached to Jamie, though. Marcus might be confused, but there was nothing confusing about his growing hunger for something different being assigned strictly to Jamie. Which was scarier? Having sexual cravings he wasn’t familiar with? Or craving only one man?