Still didn’t. Benito had banged that dude seven ways from Sunday. How the fuck did that make him shy?
They left the club behind and climbed the stairs to the handful of rooms on the second floor. Benito’s nerves jangled with every step. He’d made the trip before, but it had been a while, and Mickey wasn’t like anyone he’d ever fucked before. For starters, he was light years hotter. But there was something else. His gaze, perhaps, the way it seemed to drill holes in Benito’s brain and give voice to a fantasy he’d never known existed.
Mickey stopped at the third door in the dimly lit corridor. He unlocked the room and stepped back to wave Benito inside.
More nerves dug jagged claws into Benito’s chest.
He swallowed them down and slipped into a room that was set up like the hotel rooms he’d hidden out in when his old life had first come crashing down. A double bed and a tiny bathroom. Pink-bulbed lamps and a stack of towels. There was an industrial style cabinet at the side of the bed. Mickey went to it and crouched down, rummaging through the shelves before he came up with condoms, lube, and a small metal bottle.
Benito leaned against the door, tracking his every move, soaking up Mickey’s muscled back and strong shoulders. His elegant neck, and the light brown hair that was slightly shorter at the sides and longer on top. He was wearing dark jeans like Benito, and a black shirt. On his feet, battered Vans softened the look, but Benito was hooked on his big hands and how they’d feel on his heated skin. He’d already had a taste—he wanted more.
Mickey set the metal bottle on the bedside table and tossed the rest of the supplies on the bed. He turned to face Benito and arched an eyebrow. He didn’t speak, but the challenge in his gaze was clear. You ready?
Benito stepped forward. Yes.
A heartbeat passed.
A snatched breath.
Then everything changed. Mickey closed the distance between them and shoved Benito back, propelling him into the door. The impact was loud, and jarring, and sent heat rocketing through Benito’s body from his scalp to his groin, to the tips of his toes. For a moment, instinct told him to stay still. To wait for Mickey and take whatever he brought to the table.
But Mickey didn’t come. He stood, arms spread, a tiny snarl curling his lips.
He waited.
For Benito to bite back.
And oh man. It was on.
Heart in his throat, Benito pushed off the door and tackled Mickey, hard bodies coming together with a brutal thump. Mickey staggered, and Benito thought he might fall and it would be over before it began, but Mickey caught himself at the last second, a low sound rumbling from his chest. “Yeah. This is what I like.”
Benito liked it too. Long months of rage-laced frustration bubbled to the surface, tempered only by the growing desire in his veins. Mickey went for a leg sweep. Benito blocked and threw him back, separating them for a split second before he lunged again, unable to keep his hands to himself.
Clothes disappeared, wrenched free and tossed aside. Chest bare, Mickey was every bit as strong as he’d first appeared, his cut torso covered in tattoos that made no sense, his arms corded with sinewy muscle. Without his smart clothes, danger seeped from him, the kind Benito recognised, but his brain was too clouded with heat to think clearly.
He took a breath and found himself against the door again, Mickey crowding him, jeans undone, the bulge beneath a hard mass against Benito’s leg.
Mickey braced his forearms on the door, either side of Benito’s head. “You’re good.” He shifted and ground his arousal into Benito’s. “Better than I imagined.”
“Yeah?” Benito could’ve escaped or fought back, but he didn’t, just for a moment. “When did you imagine it?”
“The second I saw you.”
“Liar. You were so sure I wouldn’t want this.”
“Didn’t stop me pretending you might.”
“It’s not pretending if it’s true.” Benito pressed his hands to Mickey’s chest. Push him off. Keep going. But Mickey’s dick felt too good against his. He couldn’t give it up.
Mickey smirked, perhaps sensing victory.
Benito dug his fingers into flexed muscle and then slid his hands lower, curving around Mickey’s ripped torso, urging him closer.
Mickey hummed out a low, gravelly moan and dropped his mouth low enough that Benito thought he might kiss him.
He didn’t. He dug his teeth into Benito’s shoulder, fast and sharp, then moved like a snake, snatching Benito from the door, spinning him around, shoving his face against the cheap wood.
Benito laughed. In his right mind, no fucker could ever have pulled that move on him, but Mickey’s bulk behind him felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. He pushed back, claiming the sensation of Mickey’s entire frame against his—thighs, hips, Mickey’s chest to his back. “You said you’d fuck me.”
“I’m going to.”
“Yeah? Feels like you just wanna play.”
Mickey grabbed the back of Benito’s neck, his hot hand tightening in a bruising grip. “I’m not playing.”
“Prove it.”
“I’m gonna.” Mickey strengthened his hold. His other hand swooped lower, unbuckling Benito’s belt and ripping the buttons from his fly so fast Benito gasped.
Mickey tugged the jeans down Benito’s thighs, taking his underwear along for the ride. Cool air hit Benito’s weeping dick. He was so hard his stomach hurt, every nerve alight, anticipation and longing so sharp it could’ve cut glass. I need him inside me.
Benito shivered. He’d bottomed before, submitted even, but not like this. Not with so much want and soul-deep desire for a man he’d just met.
Mickey kicked Benito’s jeans aside and wrestled with his own. He seemed to disappear, then he was back, and his sheathed dick pulsed against the heat of Benito’s bare skin.
Benito shuddered again and fought Mickey’s hold until he could shift freely. He braced himself on the door and let his head drop, stealing himself for the pain of Mickey pressing inside him, but it didn’t come. Not yet. Mickey rubbed soothing hands over Benito’s back, paying special attention to the tender flesh he’d already manhandled, a fleeting kindness that gifted Benito a moment to catch his breath. But Mickey’s cock remained hot and hard, and his hands eventually drifted to where Benito wanted him most, one to his aching dick, the other to his crease, spreading his cheeks.
Cool lube dripped onto Benito’s hole, then probing fingers worked him open.
“I want to slam inside you,” Mickey whispered. “But as much as I like throwing you around, I won’t hurt you.”
Benito hunched his back, a ragged groan escaping him as Mickey’s fingers grazed the sweet spot that made his eyes roll. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I can take it.”
“You don’t need to. I’m gonna save it for when it matters most.”
“Yeah? When’s that?”
“Now.”
Mickey withdrew his fingers, replacing them with the blunt head of his condom-sheathed cock before Benito could blink. He eased inside, inch by inch, filling Benito so entirely his jaw unhinged.
On the door, Benito’s hands curled into fists, short nails digging into his palms. Burning pain spread through him, blooming deep, but he welcomed it, chased it, and pushed back against Mickey with a silent plea for more.