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collarbones, or how the white of his shirt contrasted beautifully with the color of his skin.
    I tried really hard not to notice how well defined his arms were, how strong his hands were.
    Despite my slow start at conversation, we talked well into the afternoon about anything and everything. It was so easy, and I had no doubt this could go somewhere. I could see myself spending a lot of time with him.
    He told me about his mom and dad, how there was never a dull moment with them, and I told him about my mother, something only a handful of other people knew.
    How she died when I was seventeen, how that left me in state care for the three weeks until I turned eighteen, how the cops who came to tell me Mom had died in an accident were the ones to check on me every day, and how it was the support of the police who helped me, that made me enroll to be a cop the day of my eighteenth birthday.
    I told him how I inherited the house we'd lived in, how I had no other living relatives. It was only ever me and my mom and I'd never known my dad. I explained the house was kinda big, but after my mom died, it never really felt like home. "I just live there," I told him with a shrug.
    "But it's not really a home."

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    He listened like I held the secrets to the world; he hung on every word. I felt a bit foolish for spilling my secrets to a man I hardly knew, but there was just something about him.
    Eventually, he started to pack up what was left of lunch, and as he carried it into the kitchen, I followed him.
    But after all the talking we'd done, when he turned to find me just inches away, all conversation stopped.
    We were so close I wondered if he could hear my heart thumping in my chest.
    When he smiled, I was sure he could.
    He licked his lips, his perfect lips, and I stared at them. I could hardly see the mark where I hit him yesterday. "Your lip's better," I said.
    He smiled and said, "No one punched me in the mouth today."
    But he was staring at me with those so-brown eyes, and when he licked his lips again, I knew he was about to kiss me.
    "If you kiss me," I said quietly, "I won't be going home any time soon."
    "Good," he murmured, before he held my face and pressed his mouth to mine. Sweet Jesus, how he kissed me…
    His hands, his lips, his tongue…

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    When I slid my arms around him and pulled us
    together, I could feel his desire, his want, his need hard against my hip.
    He groaned and kissed me harder.
    I melted into him, his body, his warmth, his
    strength.
    That kiss was all I'd thought about.
    He was all I'd thought about.
    I wanted him. I wanted him to have me.
    Sliding my hands over the muscles of his back, I slid my fingers into his hair, and I pulled his mouth from mine.
    "Bedroom," was all I could say.
    He rested his forehead against mine. His chest was heaving, his lips were swollen. "Matt," he said, barely a breath. "If I take you into my room, I will taste you."
    My breath hitched, and my belly tightened. He
    cradled my face and brushed his lips against mine. "I will have you."
    "Please." God, it sounded like I was begging.
    Maybe I was.
    "Oh, God. Please."
    He grabbed my hand, led me out of the kitchen and took me to his bedroom. And my nervousness around him was gone. I was so sure about this.

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    This time when he kissed me, it was different.
    Slower, harder, deeper.
    He took his time undressing me, as though he was savoring every inch of skin he uncovered, kissing and licking as he explored. When I was lying down on his bed, completely at his mercy, his lips were trailing from my chest, down, down, until I was gripping the sheets at my side.
    I couldn't not watch him. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen. When his perfect lips opened to take my cock into his mouth, I was lost to the sensation. His warm, wet mouth was all-encompassing, sucking as his tongue swirled and lapped. His fingers were slick and