Read Playing for Keeps (Glasgow Lads Book 2) for Free Online Page B

Glasgow.
    “What do you think?” Fergus said.
    John jerked his gaze up to Fergus’s face. “Sorry?”
    “About the Clyde Arc Bridge? Seeing as you’ve lived here all your life.”
    “Oh.” John took a hasty sip of beer, trying to wrench his mind back to reality. “Well…it means a lot to us Southsiders. Easy access to City Centre and West End, so we feel less cut off. But there’s more traffic now and…” He wet his dry lips. “I’m sorry, I cannae do this. You are a fascinating person with intriguing opinions and bountiful knowledge, but right now I cannae pretend to think about anything but fucking you. I just…can’t.”
    Fergus stared up at him, then straightened to his full height and stared down at him.
    “Good,” he whispered, a moment before he gave John a kiss he would never forget.
    = = =
    Though they’d left the balcony door open when they moved to the living room, John couldn’t hear the sounds of the street outside over the rush of blood in his ears.
    Never had the phrase “all over each other” seemed so apt. Curled together in the corner of the sofa, they groped and kissed, every breath a gasp of longing. There was no playing it cool, no fake-coy seduction, no angsty ambivalence. There was only this glorious, eager, happy wanting that would soon turn into having .
    Fergus undid the second button of John’s shirt, then slid his hand inside. John pressed forward into his touch, feeling like his heart would leap out of his chest at Fergus’s command.
    Another button, and Fergus lowered his head, kissing a path down John’s collarbone, murmuring his delight at each new inch. John threaded his fingers through Fergus’s auburn hair, something he’d been dying to do all evening.
    Two more buttons, and soon Fergus’s tongue was twirling over John’s right nipple. John moaned—with pleasure and gratitude, as it seemed few men thought to do that to him.
    As Fergus undid the last button, his littlest finger brushed the bulge in John’s trousers, as if by accident.
    John groaned and tugged him up by his hair to kiss him again. He couldn’t get enough of this tongue. He wanted it everywhere, but most of all, he wanted it in his own mouth.
    As they kissed, Fergus began to stroke him through the chinos’ thin cotton, and for a moment John thought he might come then and there. So he lifted Fergus’s shirt over his head and wound it around his wrists, binding him.
    With a hum of approval, Fergus lay back on the couch, arms stretched above his head. “All yours, lad.”
    John moved between his legs, then reached out to glide his fingertips down Fergus’s chest. His touch left flushed trails in the fair skin, and he noticed how the hair under Fergus’s arms was a brighter red than that on his head. John had never found gingers a turn-on—or a turn-off—and his handful (literally) of experiences with them had thus far been confined to dark places.
    Suddenly he understood what all the fuss was about.
    John planted a kiss below Fergus’s navel, threading his tongue through the trail of fine, fiery hairs leading beneath his waistband. He planned to work his way up, exploring every inch. But the warmth down here multiplied Fergus’s scent ten times over, swamping John’s senses. He wanted him naked. Now.
    “Not here,” Fergus said when John tugged at his belt buckle. “My room.”
    “Thought your flatmate was away all night.”
    “She is, but technically, this is her sofa.”
    John got to his feet, nearly tripping on the edge of the black area rug. He helped Fergus the rest of the way out of his shirt, then shut the balcony door before following him down the hall to his room.
    Fergus gave a cry of dismay as he hurried to the bed, which was strewn with trousers, shirts, and belts. “Sorry, I’d a bit of a difficulty deciding what to wear tonight. Just a moment.” He yanked open his wardrobe door and started tossing the clothes inside. “So embarrassing.”
    “No, it’s adorable. And