Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
ELEVEN INCHES.
That little fucking shit.
Tate mashed the gas pedal against the floor the entire drive from Tulsa to Swan. His cock was hard and trapped the entire ride. He’d tried pressing the heel of his hand to his crotch to find some relief, but all it did was make him growl with need.
He also hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off his face.
Eleven inches.
Tate chuckled. He had a damn good cock, if he said so himself, but eleven inches was a bit generous.
As the miles passed and he grew closer to Swan, his enthusiasm morphed into nerves. This truck, with the company’s logo, would be sitting in Liam’s parking lot while he was inside fucking the man.
Someone would see. Swan was small enough that whoever spotted him could be a friend, a coworker, or a family member. He’d be asked about it. By now, almost everyone in town knew that a dance studio would be opening in the next few weeks. They also knew the owner to be a gay man.
Randy would hear.
Yo, T, what the fuck were you doing back at the studio in the middle of the afternoon? Heard the truck was there for more than thirty minutes. What gives?
By the time he pulled into the parking lot outside the studio, his palms were sweaty, and his pulse jumped in his neck.
He should leave.
His stomach churned.
His chest tightened.
A figure appeared in the large front window of the studio.
Liam.
He stood in the studio’s front room, watching, waiting. Talking with him today had been fun. More than fun. He’d made Tate smile and laugh, which he did not do much of. He’d also made him hard. No, he hadn’t had a queer friend before. Aside from sneaky hookups in the club bathroom or back alley, he hadn’t had any interaction with queer people. If any lived in Swan, they kept their mouths shut like Tate. And he hadn’t tried to make friends with anyone he’d met at the club. What the fuck would he tell Randy when his brother asked why he was going for drinks with a queer guy?
No, it wasn’t worth the risk to his identity.
But this? Another chance to touch Liam?
That just might be worth it.
He sat there clenching the steering wheel for much too long, considering the clock ticked down to his next job. He wanted to walk in with his head high, grab the sexy man watching him, and kiss the hell out of him. What a normal thing to do—see someone he was attracted to and wanted him and act on it. How many times had he seen Randy kiss Whitney over the years? How many times had Randy swatted her ass or made a raunchy joke in front of their friends? How often did she hop on his back and tease him about taking her for a ride?
Countless.
They didn’t think twice.
All Tate did was think about keeping his attraction to someone from showing. It consumed him. And now there was a man he wanted to fuck enough he was considering taking the risk of being caught.
Go in or leave?
If he puked at Liam’s feet, the decision would be made for him.
“Fuck.”
Unsmiling, Liam pushed away from the windows and stalked across the wooden floor. The way he moved, even when walking, revealed his years of dance training. He flowed, muscles in perfect harmony like a sleek jungle cat.
Christ, the man was turning Tate poetic.
When he disappeared into the locker room they would soon be renovating, Tate’s heart sank.
He’d blown it.
“Fuck.” He slammed the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. “What the fuck do you expect?” he whispered. “Sitting on your ass like a damn wuss.”
Disappointment settled heavily on his shoulders as he reached for the key to restart the ignition. Jerking off alone would feel like a mockery, highlighting his inability to man up and take what he wanted.
What Liam freely offered.
The sight of Liam walking back out of the locker room froze his hand on the key.
“Holy shit.” Tate nearly swallowed his tongue.
Liam had shed his shirt and swapped his stylish jeans for light gray dance tights. The way they cupped his muscular ass and molded to his firm thighs should be fucking illegal. The erection, which had waned with Tate’s freak-out, surged back to life so fast it made him lightheaded.
Without so much as a glance at the parking lot, Liam grabbed the wooden bar along the wall of mirrors. Tate clutched the steering wheel and leaned forward. His heart lodged in his throat. He didn’t dare blink as Liam lifted his leg to the bar and executed a series of stretches that made Tate sweat.
Fuck, the man could bend.
His imagination ran wild, thinking of all the ways they could put that flexibility to good use.
After loosening up each limb and his spine in ways that had Tate panting, Liam moved to the center of the room. This time, he looked straight at Tate.
“Fuck me,” Tate whispered. He was so damn hard. Instead of soft denim encasing his dick, his jeans felt like a steel cage imprisoning his erection.
Liam winked.
Tate’s cock jumped.
Then it was on. Liam rose onto his toes, lifted a leg, and began to dance. Tate stared, completely mesmerized by the complicated twists, leaps, and tricks. He understood nothing about dance technique, yet somehow, he knew every move and pose, and every pose was perfect. Liam would accept nothing less.
He was stunning. As the minutes passed, Tate was transported back ten years to the time he first realized he was attracted to the same sex. It’d been a dancer back then too. He hadn’t accepted it that day. Hadn’t understood it was inevitable. He’d had no control over who his body wanted back then, just as he had no control over this intense attraction to Liam.
He understood himself now, ten years later. His desires made sense, and he’d embraced them. Owned them.
Have you?
Spying on Liam from his car like a Peeping Tom instead of going inside didn’t scream self-acceptance. Neither did hiding his sexuality from the entire world.
Liam arched into an impressive back bend with one leg in the air and one on the ground before spinning into a complicated twirl that tested his balance. He didn’t bobble once. Then he kicked his leg so high his knee reached his ear before bending forward, giving Tate a prime view of his mouth-watering ass in those fucking tights.
Tate clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. He itched to barge in there, tear the ass-hugging material off Liam, bend him over, and—
“Fuck it.”
He opened the car door and surged into the early afternoon warmth. He powered toward the building after slamming the truck door so hard the whole vehicle rocked. Liam must have noticed him because he was already on his way to the hideous seventies locker room by the time Tate made it inside.
It felt as though he was walking with a damn brick in his pants. As soon as they were surrounded by old, beige tiles, Liam closed the locker room door and turned the deadbolt. He made eye contact, ensuring Tate understood they had complete privacy and security.
Sexy and considerate.
“I only have fifteen minutes,” Tate said. If he hadn’t been a coward, he could have had another twenty to do with Liam as he pleased. But then, he wouldn’t have had the pleasure of the private dance.
Liam pouted. “Guess we better get to work then, huh? Too bad we don’t have longer. The drive here gave me plenty of time to think about what I wanted you to do to me.”
“Next time,” Tate said as he crowded Liam against the wall.
One perfect eyebrow rose on Liam’s gorgeous face.
Yeah, he got it. He’d just committed to another hookup. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about right then, but he wouldn’t deny it either.
Instead of talking, he cupped the bulge, trying to burst through Liam’s tights. It was hot, hard, and so fucking tempting. “You put these on to fuck with me, didn’t you.”
Liam’s head hit the wall. “Ah, I, no… I always wear them when I da… oh shit.”
Tate squeezed him. “You knew exactly what they would do to me.” He rubbed up and down the outside of the tights, alternating the pressure.
Liam’s pupils blew wide. “I… oh fuck, you’re a sadist. I thought you needed some motivation to come inside. Worked, didn’t it?”
“Much as I’d love to come inside , we don’t have time for that today. Get these fucking tights off. I want to see your pretty cock.”
A smug grin curled Liam’s lips. “You think my cock is pretty?”
“I think all of you is pretty.” He’d never been one for compliments and didn’t care what the guys he fucked thought of him, but seeing the mix of happiness and desire all over Liam's face as he praised the man’s cock might have him rethinking that policy.
“God,” Liam whispered. His hands shook as they went to the waistband of his tights. He wiggled, shimmying them over his slender hips and round ass. The damn things were so pasted to his skin that his dick sling-shotted out once free.
Tate tore at the button on his jeans. He shoved them over his ass, hissing when his dick popped out. Liam reached for him, but he batted the other man’s hand away.
“Mine,” he said with a growl as he thrust his shaft against Liam’s and wrapped his hand around both of them. Even dry as the desert, the slide of Liam’s cock against his caused a full-body jolt of pleasure.
“Fuck, I love your hands,” Liam said, panting as his own hands latched onto Tate’s waist.
He snorted. “They’re beat to shit. Covered in scars and calluses.” He stroked them with a light fist.
Liam moaned. “Yes, exactly. Feels out of this world on my soft dick.”
“Ain’t nothing soft about this dick,” Tate said, increasing the pressure.
Liam’s chuckle turned into a gasp. “Y-you know what I mean.”
Tate released them, snickering when Liam whined. He held his hand up to Liam’s mouth. “Spit.”
The dancer’s eyes flared. “Why is that so fucking hot?”
Tate waited until Liam complied and then he brought his hand to his mouth and added his own spit to the homemade lube.
“You’re filthy,” Liam whispered.
He winked, then grabbed their cocks again. This time, the slide of their combined spit eased the way. He tightened his fist and stroked them together. Liam leaked like a fucking sieve. Within seconds, their precum joined the spit, providing the perfect, slick tunnel.
“Yes,” Liam said. His gaze left Tate’s face and focused on where Tate jacked their dicks. “Harder, Tate. I love it harder.”
Fuck yes.
He slapped his free hand against the wall beside Tate’s head as he sped up and tightened his fist. The hot glide of Liam’s cock against his amped the pleasure tenfold. His eyes grew heavy, and his breathing notched up. The way they looked side by side in his grip, both hard, flushed, and dripping, added to the pleasure.
It was sexy as fuck.
“God, Tate, I’m close already.”
They both stared down, mesmerized by the sight of themselves.
“Me too,” he ground out as he shuttled his fist along their shafts. “Look at me.”
Liam lifted his gaze until it met Tate’s. His eyes were hooded and dark with lust. Pink flushed his cheeks. His unkissed lips were begging for his attention.
So Tate gave it.
He crushed their mouths together with the same intensity he used to stroke their cocks.
Liam moaned into his mouth, thrusting his tongue deep. He bucked his hips, fucking into Tate’s fist.
“That’s it, Luxe,” Tate muttered against Liam’s lips. “Give it to me.”
“Now. Oh, shit.” Liam shuddered as warmth flooded Tate’s fist.
As soon as he felt the rush of Liam’s cum, he lost the last of his control. His dick jerked and spurted as his balls emptied into his hand, and ecstasy washed over him. As his brain fuzzed, he stopped stroking and held their dicks against each other in a light grip.
“Mmm,” Liam said with a satisfied smile. He slumped against the wall, limp with his eyes closed. “Now that was damn good.”
“It was.” Now that it was over, Tate prepared for the familiar impulse to get the fuck out of there.
But it didn’t come. Instead, he felt a foreign desire to stay with Liam. To wrap his arms around the man and keep him as close as possible. To kiss him, touch him, and simply watch the man breathe.
“We’re messy,” Liam said without opening his eyes.
“I can take care of that.” An alien force must have invaded his body because Tate had never, not once, given a shit what a guy did after he came. He could stick around, go, stay covered in spunk, or clean up. Tate didn’t give two shits. So, the man shuffling to the sink with his jeans at his ankles, grabbing some paper towels, and waiting for the water to warm with the goal of cleaning Liam up couldn’t be Tate.
His brain cells must have shot out his dick with his jizz.
Once the paper towels were damp, he turned to find Liam watching him with a curious expression.
“You don’t need to do that,” he said in a low voice. “I know you have to head out.”
“I know.” He didn’t add that he wanted to or anything sappy like that. He just used the warm towels to clean the evidence of their hookup, then tossed them in the trash across the room.
“Thank you,” Liam whispered as he tucked himself back in the tights.
Tate put his dick away as he nodded. His throat felt thick and uncomfortable. Liam’s continued stare made him want to back away, but he forced himself to look the man in the eye.
“So,” Liam finally said with a smirk. “Next time?”
Tate found himself grinning back wondering what the hell had happened to him.