Thirst Trap (Men of Summer 4)

He stops at my kitchen, parks himself on a stool, and shakes his head. “Actually, I kind of like it better that you didn’t.”

“Oh. You like that I’m not an athlete-fucker?”

“Yeah. I do. Now that I think about it, I like that you had no idea who I was.”

I stride over to him, shoving a thigh against one of his knees, then the other one. I stand between his legs now that I’ve spread them open. “And you had no idea who I was.”

He arches a brow. “Should I have recognized you, Mister So Fucking Hot Fashion Designer?”

I run a hand down his arm, letting him know I appreciate the compliment. “It doesn’t matter to me. I care about chemistry. I care about spark.”

He lets out a staggered breath. “We seem to have that, don’t you think?”

Like this, with me in charge, he lets go of that athlete bravado. He strips away his cockiness—almost as if he needs someone who he doesn’t have to be a showboat around.

I’m all too happy to fill that role. I plant a hard, hot kiss on his lips and slide a hand down his chest, savoring the feel of his abs, all those grooves and muscles. When I break the kiss, I say, “Let’s see how you look in my new designs.”

I head over to my leather couch and sink down, my legs spread, and I point to the briefs I left out for him. He saunters over, a glint in his eyes. “These are all for me, Mr. Rodman?” he asks, almost as if he’s savoring the way my name feels on his tongue.

I run my hand along the front of my erection. “You showed the world how you looked in my designs. Why don’t you show me now?”

In a heartbeat, he whips off his polo shirt, dropping the fabric to the floor. Then he unsnaps the top button on his jeans, shoves them down, and kicks off his shoes and socks. He stands in my house in only his tight boxer briefs—only technically, the briefs aren’t his. They’re mine, the Rafe Rodman logo visible at the waistline.

They’re a white pair, one of our classics. In that color, he’s a blank canvas, ready for my designs. And he looks so very fuckable.

Gunnar runs a hand over the bulge. “You like these? Sometimes I put these on after a shower and I think about a filthy, dirty man doing dirty things to me.”

I groan as pleasure trips through my veins. “Take them off then. Let me see how much you like that idea.”

He slides the briefs down his legs, his thick, hard cock springing free. He curls his palm around his shaft and I lick my lips, my mouth watering at the sight of him. His cock is long, proud, jutting out from a thick patch of hair that I want to bury my face in. He leans over, grabs a pair of my new designs from the coffee table, then slides them on.

The devil on the front is big—and it’s perfect for the man I want to do all sorts of wicked things to.

“I thought you were supposed to be Lucifer,” he says, raising his eyebrows, a smile twisting his lush lips.

“I am,” I reply. “But I think you want to sin with me so very badly.”

Honesty flashes in his gaze, pure sincerity shining in his blue irises. “I do. I really do.”

There it is again—that spark. That moment of something more between us.

“Model them for me,” I command, because I’d be a fool not to enjoy every aspect of this man in something I created just for him.

He spins around, giving me a fantastic view of his firm ass.

He smacks a hand on one of his cheeks, then the other, glancing back at me with mischief in his eyes.

Dear God. He will be the death of me. And I will enjoy every second of this sexy death.

“Now another,” I tell him.

He slides those off, grabs another pair, tugs them on, all slow and sexy, teasing, taunting.

Then he’s got on a pair of cherry-red briefs with a love-heart design on them. He rubs his hand over his bulge. “How do I look, Mr. Rodman?”

I stand, close the distance between us, and shove them off him. I reach between his legs, wrap a hand around his shaft for the first time, my eyes floating closed at the delicious feel of him.

He groans. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

“Bet you’ll look better when I’m stroking you off while my cock is so deep in your body,” I rasp, then squeeze him tight. “And you’re going to beg me to fuck you harder.”

Gunnar’s lips fall open, and his breath comes out in a harsh pant. “Yes. Now.”

I grab him, shift him onto my couch, and shove him onto all fours. “Lift that fantastic ass for me. Show me how you want it.”