He thought glumly that they might actually spend their nap time napping, and that irritated him no end.
“Well, Hunter radioed while you two were driving here and told me to have you wait until he and Grace get back. You’ve got until three, but I’m thinking we should meet for lunch at one.”
Carl chuckled. “You know, I keep thinking it’s twelve or one or something. It’s only 9:00 a.m. That plane trip was the longest half hour of my life.”
Michael found himself laughing too. “One o’clock for lunch sounds fantastic,” he said.
What he was really thinking was that he and Carl had time to be naked together after their shower. The thought was starting to dominate his every brain cell.
CARL TOLD him to shower first because he had phone calls to make, and he was ready to step in as Michael stepped out. He looked preoccupied, Michael thought, and he realized that yes, Carl’s brain was probably on the job, and on Mandy, and on calling Torrance Grayson and moving falcons and on stupid velociraptor murder birds.
Michael, who was usually very good about putting practical matters first, suddenly wanted his full attention.
Carl was under the spray, wetting his hair, and Michael moved to the bedroom to dry himself off. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went to his suitcase—or Carl’s suitcase, since Carl had luggage and he did not—and was sorting through his clothes when a puff of air from the vent danced across his shoulder blades and he was made abruptly aware of his nakedness.
And how much he wanted Carl’s attention.
Michael cocked his head and listened to Carl, grumbling to himself in the shower, and thought about how badly he wanted to be touched. Then he pulled the lubricant from his shaving kit, where he’d tucked it, just in case, and set it on the end table of the king-size bed, making sure it was in plain sight. They’d discussed their status before this, and they were both negative. Michael had been put on PrEP in prison after his first visit to the infirmary, so they both knew condoms wouldn’t be needed if they took that next step.
And he really wanted to take that next step.
He had wicked, sinful thoughts of lying naked, legs spread lewdly, cock in his fist, while he fingered himself, but although they made him wiggle with arousal—and grow more than a little bit hard—he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to follow through.
However, by the time Carl emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair dry, another towel knotted firmly around his waist, Michael had managed to be under the covers, hair combed, underarms deodorized, all creases dried off and ready for action.
Carl paused in the act of going through his own suitcase—the big brother to the one he’d loaned Michael—and took note of Michael lying on his side, propped on his elbow and looking hopeful, obviously naked underneath the sheet.
Michael watched as Carl blinked once, all the busy thoughts in his head appearing to stop. He blinked again, and it looked as if his mind was yanking itself back on the track Michael needed it to be on.
One more blink and he was wholly, completely in the same room with Michael, and the realization that they were both naked, both alone, and they had a couple hours to kill seemed fully upon him.
A slow, sultry smile curved his lips.
“You have some plans, Mr. Carmody?”
Michael nodded. “You have a problem with that, Mr. Cox?”
“Not in the least,” Carl said, still smiling. He grabbed a comb from his suitcase and dragged it through his thick blond hair, which was probably a good idea since if it dried tangled, it would be a mess. Then he draped his two towels over the back of a nearby chair and moved to Michael’s side of the bed so he could bend down and offer a kiss.
Michael took the kiss and raised the passion, sitting up and scooting back until Carl was on the bed with him, their mouths feverish, their hands sliding smoothly on clean, soft skin. The kiss went on and on, their lovemaking confident now, and Carl moved to Michael’s nipples, sucking and nipping until Michael moaned and rolled to his back, spreading his knees and giving himself over.
He knew what it was like to trust someone with his body now. He wanted things from Carl that he’d never willingly taken from any man, and the thought of receiving them made him shiver from pleasure, not fear.
Carl kissed his way back up, along Michael’s neck, nibbling his jaw and earlobes until Michael let out a hum of arousal.
“Michael,” he whispered, and Michael shuddered from hearing the name he’d chosen said intimately in the shell of his ear.
“Yeah?”
“You got out the lubricant. Was there anything you wanted?”
He moaned. “Yes.”
Carl reached below the covers, caressing the soft skin of Michael’s stomach before going lower, grasping his cock for a smooth, long stroke.
“You’re going to have to say it,” Carl murmured, licking delicately around his earlobe.
“I want—” Michael said, right before Carl squeezed his cockhead gently. “Augh!”
“Want what?” Carl whispered again, cupping Michael’s balls before starting his next stroke.
“Want you to fuck me,” Michael rasped a little desperately. His hips were thrusting and receding, and if Carl hadn’t been fondling his balls, he might have gone facedown on the bed, knees up to his chest in blatant invitation.
“You’re sure?” Carl asked, his fingers drifting lower, and Michael spread his knees and lifted his ass, begging him silently to take the hint.
“Please?” Maybe not so silently.
Carl’s low chuckle told him he’d do anything Michael asked. He slid down to the bottom of the bed again, stripping away the sheet so they were both naked in the unmerciful light of the hotel room.
Michael didn’t care. He could trust now, and it didn’t matter about the scars and imperfections that life had left on his body. Carl had seen them all, touched them, owned them for Michael, and Michael wasn’t afraid.
When Carl fitted himself between Michael’s spread knees and lifted his hand imperiously for the lubricant, Michael turned it over without a qualm.
Carl took it but didn’t use it right away, parting Michael’s cheeks first, licking, rimming, stretching, while Michael lost himself in the sensation, loving it even more now that he’d performed this act and had seen Carl come apart from the feel of his tongue and fingers.
Fingers.
Carl had snicked the lid already, had dripped some lube on his fingers, and was tracing lazy figures across Michael’s hole. Trace, tease, slip in for a moment, slip out. One finger, in, out, in, out. Two.
None.
One.
Michael clawed the sheets, digging his heels into the mattress and arching his hips, allowing his body to respond, not caring about the begging noises—he’d heard himself make them before, and Carl never let him beg for long.
Oh God. Two fingers again, scissoring, stretching, every atom of Michael’s body exploding outward, then stopping. He gasped, caught his breath, and moaned some more.
Three fingers, stretching.
“Please,” he begged, the word coming easily. “Please. I want it. All. Please. Please.”
Carl pulled his fingers away and paused to engulf Michael’s cock all the way to the root. Michael cried out, but Carl sucked hard, pulling back until it slid out with a pop, and he was bereft, his entire body aching for possession but not a finger touching him.