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rise and fall of his Adam’s apple beneath clear skin. God, he’d always been obsessed with that smooth neck.
    Cole slammed his lids shut. “Damn it, Brad,” he growled, giving in to the need torturing him since yesterday. Since the day they first met . “Do it already.”
    Cole had expected a crash landing of their mouths. Because that was Brad’s MO. He barreled his way through life. No regrets. No second-guessing himself.
    Leap first, set the broken bones later.
    Instead, Brad slotted his mouth against Cole’s, fitting his lower lip into the dip beneath Cole’s as if they were two pieces to a puzzle. As if relearning the texture. Cautiously testing his welcome. Several seconds passed as Cole adjusted to the feel of Brad’s hard thighs around his hips, that amazing mouth shifting above his, the burn of stubble against his chin.
    Though the intent behind the kiss slowly grew, Cole resisted. Until Brad groaned and gripped Cole’s hair, forcing his head back and his mouth open, and Cole couldn’t fake his ambivalence anymore. The moment Brad began to fuck Cole’s mouth with his tongue, Cole moaned, the tumbler slipping from his fingers. The glass hit the floor and rolled noisily across the wood, leaving the smell of Scotch in the air.
    The kiss went from curiously exploratory to wet, hot, and filthy in an instant, rendering Cole powerless.
    He headed up a trauma team consisting of several doctors and nurses. He directed codes with ease on less than four hours of sleep. What few relationships he’d had in the past, he’d always been the one to assume the dominant role, both in bed and out. And there was something disturbingly hot about being handed his ass on a platter and being owned.
    Especially when the one doing the owning was Brad Kelly.
    His body celebrated with a silent yes when Brad pushed Brandy’s hands from Cole’s shoulders before tunneling his fingers under Cole’s shirt. Taking possession. Brad splayed his hands across Cole’s ribs as if to help keep the thundering heart beneath from bursting.
    Cole clutched Brad’s waist as Brad slid his fingers higher up Cole’s chest, mouth hot on his. Cole finally became aware of the rutting of his friend’s hips against his own.
    And there was no way Cole could resist the action.
    His cock nearly howled with relief when he began to rock his hips in time with Brad’s, seeking friction. Seeking heat. Seeking relief . Knowing that years of waiting and wanting couldn’t be so easily satisfied.
    Pulling his head back, Cole dumbly stared up at Brad’s flushed face.
    Green eyes locked on his, Brad said, “Brandy, give us a minute alone, please.”
    Neither one of them watched to see if Brandy complied.
    As far as Cole was concerned, he’d finally achieved just about everything he’d ever wanted, only to be proven wrong when Brad’s hands fell to the front of Cole’s pants. Brad’s heated, dark gaze focused on the task as the sound of snaps and zippers and shuffling clothes filled the air. Brad reached into Cole’s boxers and—
    “ Christ ,” Cole hissed, the feel of Brad’s hand on his dick almost too much.
    Brad shifted his hips until their cocks lined up, hard flesh pressed against hard flesh. The whimper that escaped Cole’s throat was louder than it should have been. He reached up to press his palm between Brad’s shoulder blades, his free hand twisting in the edge of the unbuttoned shirt and hauling Brad down for a kiss. Arching into him until their sweat-slicked cocks slipped against each other, and the last of Cole’s brain functions shut down.
    He closed up the running commentary in his head telling him this was a bad idea. That, somewhere, Brandy might still be in the room. That he didn’t want to be part of some sexual experiment on Brad’s second-to-last night of freedom.
    Cole gave himself over to the sensation, riding the waves of pleasure with a greediness that could only be described as undignified. Their mouths never broke