18
Mickey watched from his bedroom window as the matte black SUV pulled up outside. It was already dark, concealing Benito from view, but even without hawk-eyeing the car like a stalker, Mickey reckoned he’d have known the moment he arrived.
Everything was different when Benito was close—light, and yet somehow addictively darker.
Benito opened his car door. Mickey took his cue and jogged downstairs to meet him, opening the front door before he could knock.
He caught Benito with his hand raised, long fingers curled into a fist.
Benito blinked. “Don’t want your neighbours to see me?”
“You think I give a shit what my neighbours think?”
“You did that one time I came here to—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey grabbed Benito’s wrist and yanked him inside. As ever, they fell naturally against the door as it swung shut. Mickey crowded Benito against it, leaning in, their faces inches apart, a whisper away from the rough kiss he’d been dreaming of for days. “I don’t care what my neighbours think,” he said lowly, in case there was any confusion.
Benito smirked. “You should.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m done with the cute game we’ve been playing for weeks now. I—fuck, I needed it, but Iwantyou, and I don’t know how much longer I can wait to have you again.”
“Have me?”
“Figure of speech. You know what I mean.”
Mickey let a slow grin warm his face. “Well, we have all night, so maybe you can show me what you mean.”
“Now?”
“If you like. Or later. Or both. You are staying, right?”
“If you want me to.”
“I do.”So fucking much. The first, last, and only time Benito had slept in Mickey’s bed was hazy, but the blurred memories of Benito in his arms for hours and hours and hours were enthralling enough that Mickey knew he wanted it again.
And again.
And again.
As much as he wanted Benito naked and writhing beneath him.
Benito pushed off the door, squaring up to Mickey like he had the first time they’d been alone together in the by-the-hour room above Freefall, but the aggression Mickey had craved from him then wasn’t there, and Mickey didn’t miss it. The release he desired now was primal in a different way.
Sweeter.
Deeper.
He released his death grip on Benito’s wrist and slid his arms around his waist. Their bodies fit together with perfect alchemy, but it had nothing on the magic of Benito’s lips brushing his, lightly at first, but then with enough force to rock Mickey backwards.
A low sound escaped him, or maybe it was Benito’s broken moan. Together, like this, he couldn’t tell. All he knew for certain was that the few weeks they’d spent without moments like these had done nothing to calm the inferno that blazed between them.
Kissing Benito was everything. It stole Mickey’s breath and his ability to think about anything except the next sweep of his tongue in Benito’s sinful mouth. Only the fact that he’d barely let Benito through the door made him pull back. “Come on,” he said. “I bought food from the posh supermarket and put it in the oven.”
“You cooked?”
“Not even close, but keep thinking I did if it makes you smile like that.” Mickey spun around and padded barefoot to the kitchen.