Chapter 24

These new jeans are so tight they constrict the blood flow to the bottom half of my body, which I suppose is both a blessing and a curse. I'm so hard I could probably bust the zipper on the thing right open. On the other hand, with my circulation confined to my upper body, at least my brain will get enough oxygen to keep me from passing out in the middle of the club.

Gavin's obviously bigger than anyone I've ever danced with like this—if you can call what we're doing dancing—but there's something about the width of his shoulders and the way it narrows down to his hips that's so good it short-circuits my neural pathways. He feels more substantial in my arms and yet more delicate at the same time. The contrast makes my head spin and my knees weak.

My lips burn where they've scraped across his stubble and when I rub our cheeks together, the friction sends shivers shooting up my spine.

Gavin's just as hard as I am, his cock a thick bulge on my hip. Something hums deep inside me at that, at knowing I'm the cause of it, I'm the one he's hard for. It's something raw and primal and possessive. It's potent and powerful and all I want is to devour Gavin so I can get more.

I latch onto his neck, right above his pulse. His heart rate is surprisingly slow and steady against my tongue, somehow beating in time with the pulsing music around us. I move to its rhythm, losing myself in it, in Gavin. This man I've known my whole life and whom I'm discovering again for the first time.

One song bleeds seamlessly into the next and I don't recognize it, but it's obviously a crowd favorite. Everyone screams and throws their hands up, including Gavin, who smiles at me with more brightness and life than I've seen in him since I came up to New York.

"Oh my god, I love this song!" He shouts the lyrics at the top of his lungs, spinning around in a circle.

Colored disco lights shift over the planes of his face, across shoulders and chest enclosed in sheer, silky material. He's gorgeous like this. How come I've never seen it before?

I catch him when his back is to me and haul him against me again. Gavin doesn't hesitate to drop his head on my shoulder and wrap one arm around my neck. He slithers down my body, then up again, and goddamn, I feel like a fucking god.

"You're mine."

He gasps at my words, chest expanding under my palm, and he turns to tuck his face into the crook of my neck.

"You're mine."

He shudders and his blunt fingernails scrape across the back of my head.

My one arm is clamped possessively across his chest and I drag my other hand down his stomach to palm his cock. It throbs behind the soft leather of his pants. I sink my teeth into that spot where his neck meets his shoulder, into the muscle made tough from too many hours bent over a computer.

"You're mine."

And he comes, dick pulsing, body jerking, cum hot under my fingers, even through the leather fabric.

"Beau, Beau, oh god, Beau."

I take his mouth and drink down the way he says my name. Like it's a prayer, like it's hallowed and sacrosanct. No one else says it the way he does. No one ever has.

I love him. Of course I love him—he's my best friend. But I think I love him that other way too. Or at least I could. It doesn't feel like it's out of the realm of possibility. In fact, it feels like it's merely a matter of time.