“Can’t sleep?” Grier asked, bringing Lil back to the present.
He turned toward the familiar voice and observed his life partner. He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his bare chest, dressed in nothing but low-slung pajama bottoms. His dark hair was tousled and a worried frown registered his concern. At thirty-three, Grier was far better looking than the hot number who had caught Lil’s attention almost eight years ago at the Taste of Chicago. That tattooed bad boy had been sweet but a little rough around the edges with a long list of hang-ups. This Grier was a man in his prime, a confident, stable, and amazing lover who still managed to set Lil on fire without even trying. Lil appraised the tight body on display and could honestly say he’d never seen anything as enticing. The tiny blue stars tattooed around Grier’s navel disappeared beneath the drawstring, and Lil had a sudden urge to tug on the cotton pants to admire the design in full.
“Did I wake you with my chattering?”
“I reached over to hug you and all I got was a pillow,” Grier pouted.
“Come here, love.”
Grier ambled toward Lil and broke into a grin when he saw the look in Lil’s eyes. “What did you have in mind?” he asked huskily, straddling Lil in a face-to-face position.
“Now you’re talking.” He wiggled around to get comfy and observed Lil’s tenting robe. “I see we’re fully engaged.”
“And then some.”
“Let’s go back to bed.”
“I’d gladly sit on your cock, but I didn’t bring down the lube.”
“Did you ever see Last Tango in Paris?” Lil asked, drawing the white porcelain butter dish a little closer.
“There was one scene that had the censors in an uproar.”
“It involved butter-slicked fingers up Marlon Brando’s ass.”
Grier raised an eyebrow. “Tell me more.”
“Why don’t I show you rather than tell.”
“Do it,” Grier said, eyes widening in anticipation. He lifted the cover off the dish and watched Lil intently.
“Take off your pants,” Lil ordered. Grier scooted back, shoved his pants down, and kicked them halfway across the room.
Lil cinched Grier’s waist with impatient hands and drew him closer. “Sit,” he commanded.
Grier climbed back on board, settling his naked bottom on Lil’s long legs, which he’d spread apart slightly. From this angle, Lil would have easy access to all of his partner’s dangly bits, starting with his pierced nipples that puckered in arousal. He skimmed over them with a light touch and moved down over the new tattoo that wound its way from Grier’s armpit to his thigh in a fiery dragon design. It complemented the colorful sleeve that had drawn Lil’s attention way back when. Lil picked up the soft brick of butter and squeezed, watching it ooze through his fingers in a creamy yellow mess. “Pull my robe apart,” he prompted, dangerously close to losing his shit before they’d even started. He was so hard it hurt.
Grier obeyed, trancelike. His breath stuttered into a low moan as he observed Lil coating his stiff cock with the slippery goop. “You look good in yellow,” he rasped, licking his lips in anticipation. His eyelids drooped slightly, but his gaze never wavered.
Lil was transfixed by the hunger radiating from the deep-set eyes. Grier’s visceral response was far more effective in alleviating Lil’s irrational fears than a handful of pills. It awakened his inner alpha, which had been pretty dormant lately, thanks to his glass-half-empty attitude. Although the partners switched without a problem, Grier loved bossy Lil, and thrummed with excitement whenever he showed up. Lil swiped some of the butter on Grier’s lips, glossing the soft pillows that parted at his touch.
“Kiss me,” he demanded, craving a taste. Grier bent down and brushed their lips, groaning loudly when Lil began lapping at the buttery corners of his mouth.
“You’re delicious,” Lil pronounced. “My guilty pleasure.”
“What about your cholesterol levels?”
Lil chuckled. “Fuck ’em.”