Arlo’s breath left him in a whoosh at the wet rasp of Dimitri’s tongue licking a line from the spot just above his now rock-hard cock to his belly button. Arlo’s fingers clenched in Dimitri’s hair, desperate for something to hold on to. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” Dimitri rasped. “I can’t help it. You smell so fucking good right here. It’s making me crazy. I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”
Before Arlo could plan a response, there was a knock on the door and Noah’s timid voice said, “Your change of clothes is outside the door. If you’re…um, busy…you can just leave your clothes in there. I can grab them later, or whatever.”
Arlo started to say, ‘thank you,’ but the words became a soft cry of surprise as Dimitri swallowed him down, the tight suction of his mouth causing Arlo’s knees to buckle. Dimitri’s grip on his ass was the only thing keeping him upright.
He shot his hand out to catch on the wall beside the shower. The shower they still weren’t in yet.
Arlo wasn’t about to point that out, though. His eyelids fluttered as Dimitri’s mouth worked over him until it felt as if flames licked along his nerve endings, sending pleasure pulsing through him.
Arlo tried to stifle the sounds pouring from his lips, but when Dimitri took his cock in hand and jerked himself in time with the long, sure pull of his lips, Arlo didn’t know how. It was too fucking good. His mouth felt so good.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, ” Arlo chanted breathlessly.
Dimitri’s fingers dug into Arlo’s ass cheek as he took him impossibly deep, swallowing around him until Arlo wondered if anybody had ever died from ecstasy. “Stop. You have to stop,” Arlo warned. “I’m so close. I can’t stop myself. You feel too fucking good.”
Dimitri didn’t stop, didn’t even slow his movements. Heat sparked along Arlo’s spine, his orgasm barreling towards him like a bullet train until his breath punched from him and he flooded Dimitri’s mouth. Dimitri swallowed it down, nursing every drop from Arlo’s cock until he hissed, his body too sensitive.
Even after Dimitri pulled off, he didn’t stand. He just pressed his forehead to Arlo’s hipbone, working himself with purpose, before he bit down on the fleshy part of Arlo’s hip, his body going rigid as he spilled his release onto the pile of clothes and the concrete floor below.
After a minute, he stood, walking Arlo backwards into the shower stall and under the scalding water before capturing his mouth in a filthy kiss that left Arlo sucking the taste of himself off Dimitri’s tongue. They continued to kiss as they soaped each other, Dimitri’s fingers lingering between the cleft of Arlo’s ass for much longer than necessary. Not that he was complaining.
When the water cooled, Dimitri turned it off, taking the single oversized white towel from the rack and drying first Arlo, then himself. Arlo wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected as far as spare clothes went, but it wasn’t the fitted black pants, graphic tee, and cardigan that sat outside the door. They were a little snug but not so much that Arlo would complain about it.
Adam had been right. His clothes were couture. The jeans Dimitri dawned were Armani, the hoodie Chanel. He looked exceptionally good. So good that, for a moment, Arlo forgot about the dead body in the trunk or that he’d killed somebody. No, not just somebody. A fucking federal judge’s son.
“Hey, don’t get too in your head about this,” Dimitri said. “We’re going to be okay.”
“We should have been somewhere public an hour ago,” Arlo reminded him.
“It’s not when we get there,” Dimitri assured him. “It’s making sure people notice we are there.”
“Where are we going to go where people will notice us?”
Dimitri gave him a smug look. “Oh, I know just the place.”
Arlo frowned. “And you think this place will be busy enough to establish an alibi?”
Dimitri brushed fingers through Arlo’s damp hair. “Stay nice and close, keep looking at me the way you are right now, and I promise, nobody will forget we were there.”
Unease trickled along Arlo’s spine. “Where?”
Dimitri grinned. “You’ll see.”
Arlo was not a party person. Most days, he was barely a person. His idea of a good time was walking around a bookstore or playing video games on his futon. Maybe he was riding the post-orgasm bliss, but of all the things he thought he and Dimitri might do to create an alibi, this one had never occurred to him.
Arlo’s stomach dropped when Dimitri parked illegally across the street from the giant white two-story home with its immense columns and black shutters. It wasn’t the house that threw him, but the letters painted over the entrance signifying the Sigma Chi fraternity. “Please, tell me we’re not going in there.”
Arlo hated all of fraternity row, but the Sigma Chi’s were the worst of the worst. Or maybe they were just the guys Arlo saw most often. They would swarm the coffee shop every day to take up space, buying just enough coffee to keep them from being booted for loitering. He didn’t know how Dimitri tolerated them. They spent their time shooting spitballs at each other while calling each other ‘bro’ and lying about how many girls they banged.
They were just like Holden. Arlo hadn’t liked Holden either, but he’d been so desperate for him to want him, to like him, to accept him. Arlo definitely needed to go back to therapy. Maybe Holden was right. Arlo was still this great big sucking hole of neediness, constantly looking for the worst people to fill him up.
He shook the thought away. Holden was dead, and Arlo didn’t have time for the breakdown he truly deserved. He had to get away with murder first. He looked at Dimitri, hoping he could convince him to come up with a Plan B, or C, or D. He would be fine with any plan that didn’t involve letters written in Greek.
“We need to be remembered, right?” Dimitri asked.
Arlo sighed. He couldn’t handle a house full of Holdens, not with the original one still stuffed in his car in the middle of the garage where Dimitri had sucked him off just thirty minutes before.
“I hate Greek life.”
Dimitri arched a brow. “I’m Greek and you seem to like me just fine.”
Arlo cast a sullen glance towards the house where guys in boat shoes and board shorts were spilling from the house onto the porch, yelling and laughing. It was forty fucking degrees outside. “Those assholes treat me like I’m a servant.”
Dimitri leaned across the seat to cup Arlo’s cheek, turning him so they were eye to eye. “And that’s why they’re going to take notice of us. I’ve been to hundreds of these parties. Do you know how many times I’ve brought a date?”
Arlo soured. “Is this supposed to be making me feel better?”
Dimitri grinned, leaning forward and biting the tip of Arlo’s nose in a weirdly affectionate gesture. “None. I’ve never brought a single date here. Do you know why?”
“Because Mandy would have skinned them alive and worn them as an accessory?” Arlo muttered.
Dimitri snickered. “No.”
“Because it’s a house full of homophobic douchebags?” Arlo quipped.