SIX
Dante had no clue how he’d managed to get through dinner without jumping Cade Burnett’s bones. Every time the sexy Texan dipped the focaccia in olive oil and raised it to his lips, he left a shine behind. Every time he swallowed a ravioli and his throat bulged slightly, Dante’s mouth watered with the need to lick those lips and tongue his neck.
All morning and into the afternoon, Dante had typed text messages to Cade.
Don’t come over tonight was too abrupt.
I’ve had time to think and we should probably call a halt before we regret this was too wishy-washy.
This is a really fucking bad idea summarized the problem perfectly.
Yet none of them had made it out of the blocks.
Throughout dinner, Dante had done a masterful job of convincing himself that his intentions in inviting an employee—this employee—into his home had been benign. Listen without judgment. Nod wisely. Gay Yoda I am. He’d heard Cade’s worry about upsetting his father—yes, how he could relate—his heart checking at the vulnerability in Cade’s voice. Then he’d sent him to the living room so Dante could escape to the kitchen with the dishes. Hell, he could have used his erection to carry out half the plates!
Dante had it bad for this guy. So bad that he had now convinced himself that the only way to move on was to give them both what they wanted. Oh, the lies we tell. Lately Dante had found he could convince himself of anything.
Putting clothes on might seem counterintuitive to getting good and fucked, but Cade had a fantasy. Dante had every intention of turning this room into the Make a Dirty Wish Foundation and this kid’s dreams into reality.
Kid. Damn, Cade was so much younger than him. But what thirty-five-year-old guy didn’t enjoy the idea of a hot young stud chasing him to his bed?
Or sofa. Because they weren’t going upstairs. This was purely a bang-and-bolt situation, and no one would be getting comfortable, despite the fact they’d just shared a meal that Dante had slaved over for hours. This was a fantasy for them both, and fantasies were exactly that. Dreamed of, wished for, jerked off to. Ephemeral and slippery. While Dante figured out the lay of the land in Chicago, pun intended, he could scratch an itch this way. No harm, no—best not to think too hard about that.
“You’re still wearing clothes, Cade.”
“I’m just—” He shook his head, apparently unable to finish his thought. Bene, thrown again.
“You need help?”
“No—just—just sit.”
Dante sat on the leather couch and waited. He was good at waiting—witness his lengthy stint in the closet—but he questioned whether he truly had the patience to stand by and not rip Cade’s clothes off.
Just when the last of his fraying nerves started screaming in want, it began: Cade Burnett stripping in his living room.
First came a slow unfurling of his gray Henley, which on anyone else would look plain, but on Cade highlighted the man’s flawless body. Henley, meet floor. The man was a vision shirtless: defined ridges, perfect pecs, blocked abs.
Belt unbuckling occurred next, then off with his cowboy boots and socks. Jeans shoved down with his briefs. No longer slow, just an efficient recognition of need. For them both.
Thighs parted, Dante placed his hands on his knees, his mouth watering at Cade’s impeccable form. Of course, he’d seen the guy’s cock before in the locker room, but it had been off-limits. Now he would get to touch it. Stroke it. Love it to completion.
But apparently not much time to appreciate it, because Cade jackknifed to his knees in two seconds and wedged between Dante’s thighs. His fingers brushed over Dante’s bulging erection, and then he was pulling his zipper down, so fucking slowly Dante thought he might die with the want.
Those whiskey-colored eyes flared. “Commando, huh?”
Not usually, but tonight he wanted no barriers. He sprang free into the welcome of Cade’s ready hands.
“Love a two-hander,” Cade muttered, biting his lower lip. Leaning in, he took a moment assessing Dante’s erection, like he needed a plan of attack. A kiss. A lick. A suck.
All of it, Dante’s brain urged. Pleasefuckingplease.
Close enough for Dante to feel his breath hot on the plump head, Cade’s tongue darted out in a teasing lick, and it was like every nerve ending in Dante’s body was focused there, there, in that one sensitive spot.
“Jesus, Cade, just take it. Suck me hard.”
And he did, first with a lick of a thick wet stripe on the underside, then a tight draw that sent Dante’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. Jesus fucking hell. Cade took him in, inch by inch, and Dante worked to remain still, though his hips longed to thrust and his body itched to fuck that hot, wet mouth.
Hot, wet, perfect mouth. Where had this guy learned to give head? He’d said he was discreet with his hookups, but Cade’s talents had to be the subject of the best-BJ forums throughout Chicago.
So there’s this defenseman on the Rebels who could suck the orange off a carrot . . .
Dante groaned as Cade took him to the back of his throat and tightened over the head. The low hum of pleasure the Texan released vibrated all the way back up Dante’s cock, sending a jolt of pleasure to his balls that resulted in Dante’s hips flexing involuntarily. Cade looked up, his eyes lust-stoked to a dark chocolate, then he wrapped his hand around Dante’s dick and pumped. Up and down, the slickness of his mouth facilitating the glide, the extra pressure just what Dante needed to bring him home—but not yet.
He cupped Cade’s jaw. “Stop.”
Burnett halted, his lips still enclosed over Dante, lust and surprise mixed in his eyes.
“Not yet. Come here.” Hand curled around his neck, Dante drew him in for a kiss. Cade’s mouth greeted Dante’s with an all-consuming, messy hunger. “Up in my lap, tesoro. Now.”
Cade stood, then knelt on either side of Dante, and for the fiftieth time tonight, Dante’s breath clean left his body. The man was a god. Dante spread his hands over his chest, shaping the contours, enjoying the possessive blast that heated his gut.
“Perfetto.”
Cade’s eyes widened. “Italian? You’re killing me.”
“Open the drawer.” He jerked a chin at the table beside the sofa. “Get the lube.”
Spurred on, Cade yanked at the drawer where Dante had stashed lube and condoms on the off chance he might one day bring someone home. Boy Scout badge for sex preparedness right there. Dante poured some on his fingers and gave Cade’s cock a long, slick stroke. Nice and thick, another man’s dick had never felt so good in his hands. Then he moved under his balls to his crease, slipping up, but not yet pushing in. Instead he just rubbed against his entrance, pressing slightly, teasing all the nerve endings while Cade shook his head back and forth like he was already losing it.
“Think you can hold out for a few, Burnett? Promise to make it worth your while.”
Not waiting for an answer, he breached Cade’s body and pushed in to the second knuckle.
“More. Please.” Cade moved his lips along Dante’s jaw, down his neck, biting on the cords of muscle there in a way that Dante felt all the way to his dick. He couldn’t get further because of Dante’s shirt collar, and something about that barrier—Dante locked up, Cade getting loose—only added to the pleasure.
Two fingers in now. Crazy fucking tight.
“This what you need?”
Cade was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, his body moving up and down on Dante’s fingers. He no longer sucked or kissed Dante, like he couldn’t coordinate that while Dante finger fucked him to oblivion. Fine by Dante. He would much rather watch how Cade’s expressions flickered through a range of emotions.
“Please,” Cade groaned. “Do. It.”
Dante assumed he meant that one spot inside him that would send him over.
“Just a little longer.” Nonnegotiable. Dante’s eyes dipped to the space between them, where Cade’s cock was leaking, begging to be touched and stroked. The sight of it, the feel of Cade’s muscles clamped over Dante’s fingers, the man’s begging moans, all made Dante dizzy with anticipation.
“Touch me, Cade. Make it good.”
Cade didn’t need to be asked twice. He wrapped his hand around both Dante’s cock and his own, rubbing them both together. It was uncoordinated and messy, but hell, it was working.
“How you doin’?” Dante asked, and he knew he was close himself, because his Brooklyn accent was stronger. All he had to do was grab a condom and throw this guy on his knees to finish the job. A few short thrusts and they’d both get what they wanted. But he didn’t want to break the connection, because Cade was staring at him, with all this desire and vulnerability and . . . trust. What had he said in the club?
I’m with you. That’s as safe as can be.
And Dante wanted to honor that belief and reward this man for taking this chance and not giving up on Dante, who really should know better.
He rubbed hard right over Cade’s prostate, and Burnett’s eyes rolled back into his head. There! Cade let go, his hand tight on their cocks, and Dante started to shoot off while Cade was still rolling through his own orgasm. He’d come at the same time as other guys before, but never like this. Never where it felt like a roughly choreographed ballet of sex.
Coming down off his high, Cade was breathing hard, his lust-blown gaze wide and disbelieving. Yes, Burnett, there is a Santa Claus. And Dante couldn’t take his eyes off the man he had no right to be looking at this way.
Whatever possessed him to utter the next words was a complete mystery.
“Gimme your mouth, tesoro.”
Cade’s groan was one of a man who needed water, comfort, anything after going years without. And then they were kissing ferociously, like this was the buildup and they hadn’t just orgasmed their balls off. As if they both realized how good this was and that it needed the extra recognition, a bonus acknowledgment, a kiss that punctuated the best sex they’d ever had.
Dante pulled away, panting, wondering how he could have reached that conclusion. It was sex. Admittedly amazing sex, but the best? They’d barely scratched the surface of what was possible, and Dante was already placing half a blow job, a finger bang, and an awkward handie into the pantheon of all-time great fucks.
But the way Cade was looking at him told the whole story. They were on the same page, and it was a cliff-hanger.
Cade leaned his forehead against Dante’s. “That was—” He shook his head, his sweat-sheened brow rubbing against Dante’s.
Yeah, it was. And it terrifies me.
But instead of saying that, Dante said something else. What he should have said before that kiss.
“You need to leave now.”