Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I needed to know more of how the shoot worked, but not now. If I got my way, I’d have the rest of the summer to ask those questions.
Without acknowledging me, Mace continued the silence. He drank two beers in record time, tossing the empty bottle into a trash can. The quiet was unnerving, leaving me unsure how to continue. Mace was making a big decision.
Which again, circled around to me not needing this kind of chaos in my life.
But the way Mace’s muscles flexed as he moved… The perfect curve of his ass. The way he appeared to be this easygoing guy who was anything but that.
Yeah, we’d be versatile.
“I don’t know you well enough to know what this quiet response means,” I finally said when Mace used a key to open a door along the back wall.
“This room’s free, but severely outdated. There’s lights and that’s about it,” Mace explained. I leaned as far as my seat allowed to see inside the sparse room. Mace kept a wide berth as he changed directions, heading to the front door of the building. He locked it before shutting off the overhead lights. “We can do it there. Condom?”
“I brought a condom, but I’m on PrEP,” I said, scooting off the bar stool.
“I got some lube. I need to wrap up. It’s been a while, but I drink quite a bit, and I’m not picky. Whoever’s drivin’ through town, or if I get away from here, it’s a free for all,” Mace explained, walking past me again down the hallway toward the back of the bar, shutting those lights off as he went.
“We have a similar style then,” I said. The only light was a warm orange hue from dusty light covers and the red exit signs that I could see. I had no idea what to do so I waited, listening to Mace’s footsteps. The powerful attraction I’d been battling stabilized.
Mace’s dark burst of laughter came from what I assumed was the kitchen area. “You and I are not the same.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Nothing personal. It is what it is. We aren’t the same.” Mace’s voice was different, firm, strong. He came around the curve from the kitchen, his stride long and in charge.
I narrowed my eyes, a small voice niggled its way through my desire, instructing me to duck, turn tail, and run. I didn’t. Instead, I willingly followed Mace into a room that might have been last updated in the seventies, and then it wasn’t done by a professional. Dingy old paneling ran from the floor to the ceiling. In the center of the room was a large round table with folding chairs lined against the wall.
“It’s a poker room. The table’s sturdy.” As Mace spoke, he pulled the hem of the T-shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Everything else faded, my entire attention landed on the surprisingly ripped chest. Mace was strong, his stomach muscles tight, his defined chest sprinkled with a decent amount of chestnut-colored hair. “I’ll bottom.”
I drank in Mace’s entire body as he was now toeing off his unlaced work boots. My mouth watered as I absently pulled the tails of my polo free of my waistband.
“Did you hear me? I’ll bottom.”
Mace was finally looking directly at me. He hadn’t since we entered the room. He’d been almost clinical in his approach to removing his clothing, but now the detachment showed in his eyes.
Which should have been fine. Great even. Sex was sex, but at this moment, I wanted more.
I didn’t want to keep the reins on any of these new feelings.
I dug a hand in my pocket and pulled out a condom and lube packets I’d placed there before coming tonight. Just in case it was a requirement.
In all honesty, I’d been antsy as hell. The aloof Mace was a mystery, becoming more complicated with each second that passed. “Here.”
“Don’t waste it. I got a box.”
If for nothing more than a reason to approach Mace who began releasing his belt, I stepped into him, maybe a foot from where he stood. He held his ground. My hand circled around his wrist, drawing Mace’s palm up to tuck the wrapped condom there.
“Put it on me,” I whispered, husky, the neediness showing in my tone. Mace’s fingers wrapped around the packet while I outmaneuvered him, threading my fingers with his other hand. “What else do I need to know?”
“Go easy. I don’t do this much.”
I extended our joined hands, tipping Mace’s chin up until our eyes met. “Why won’t you look at me?”
Defiance gathered in the center of Mace’s brow, his eyes narrowed while staring into mine. “What does it matter? It’s sex, not a commitment.”
Finally, Mace joined this interaction. The shared meaning inside the quiet stare confirmed one of my many theories. This guy operated his life in quiet trauma. He’d been hurt before.