STORY EXCERPT:

Quinn sighed and scrubbed his tired eyes with the balls of his fists. If that damn ticking didn’t stop, he was going to climb up on these crappy plastic chairs he’d been sitting on for nearly two hours and tear the clock off the wall. He folded his arms across his chest and slid down the seat. His legs stretched across more than half the cramped waiting room. He didn’t even know why he had to come to these stupid appointments anyway. All that sour-faced old bag ever did was ask him how he felt in various ways. What the hell? How did she think he felt, having to drag himself out of bed at the ass crack of dawn to get some piss-stinking bus to the middle of nowhere to sit for an hour and talk about—Quinn grimaced—feelings.

An involuntary shudder went down his spine as he gazed around the gray waiting room. He supposed the color was meant to be calming, peaceful, but all it did was make him feel cold and lonely. He frowned. Even the white artificial flowers that stood in a vase on the shelf opposite him did nothing to brighten up the stuffy little hallway they called a waiting room. How long could one nutter talk for really? Chewing on his torn thumbnail, he wiggled his numb ass and sighed. He would give her another five minutes. Then he was out of there, the three-hundred-dollar-an-hour fee be damned. He scoffed. It wasn’t like he was paying for it anyway.

He’d already read all of the sticky magazines on the table next to him. Well, he’d looked at the pictures. Someone of Quinn’s size didn’t really need to know how to get a “beach body in seven days.” Not to mention that he only needed to look at a picture of the sun and he’d get burned. He shook his head, closing his gray eyes. No, beaches were for narcissists and idiots anyway. Quinn would much rather curl up in bed with a good book. Next time he should bring his copy of The Iliad with him. He’d have enough time to read it while waiting for her to finish with the other patient anyway. Despite himself, he quirked the corner of his mouth at his inside joke.

Four minutes—that would do. Scrubbing a heavily tattooed hand across his face and back through his glossy black locks, he heaved himself to his feet, wriggling his toes in his holey sneakers. He glanced at the wretched ticking machine above his now-vacant seat. Ah, good. He still had enough time for an Egg McMuffin if he hurried. He scooped up his threadbare backpack and flung it over his shoulder. He grimaced as the contents clinked loudly within the material. Quinn turned on his heel and ambled toward the exit. As if on cue, the sound of a door handle jiggling echoed around the drafty room. He rolled his eyes. Damn, no breakfast today then. No change there. Quinn craned his neck round to see silver light pouring through the doorway around two silhouettes, one broad and one not so much.

He eyed the twitchy little man who stepped from the bright room first. He was small, mousey, and his eyes darted around the room as if he was trying to determine if anything in the vicinity would hurt him. Quinn wrinkled his nose. The man reminded him of a rat. Ugh, he hated rats. Little did Rat Man know what had been running through the black-haired young man’s mind during his first hour of lingering. The rat man held his head low as he muddled past Quinn and out the door without so much as a word. Knitting his brows, Quinn looked back to the doorway and cocked his head. Standing there, in a curiously celestial hue was a figure much taller than Dr. McCubbin.

Quinn’s heart stopped and then started again with a painful jolt that left him breathless. He knew from the broad shoulders; the narrow, tapered waist; and the long legs that he wasn’t looking at Dr. McCubbin. He shuffled from one foot to the other as he stared at the other man. He looked tall, but that wasn’t hard considering that Quinn was probably what one would call pint sized. His hair was a shock of blond, trimmed neatly, just gracing the top of his perfectly shaped ears. His jaw was square and elegant like the carving of a marble statue, but his eyes made Quinn’s breath hitch. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but they appeared golden in the morning sun.

The man before him cleared his throat, rolling up the sleeves on his crisp, white button-down shirt. Shit. Had he been speaking to Quinn? The young man blinked slowly, hating the way his palms felt clammy and how a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. Quinn’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. His tongue had all but dried up, and he could feel color rising in his cheeks. The blond man tilted his head a little and moved to the side, indicating back into the office with a lithe, outstretched arm.

ADULT EXCERPT:

The air seemed to crackle around them with energy as Franklin’s eyes turned dark with lust, and he cupped Quinn’s face and began to kiss down his freshly shaven jawline. He shuddered beneath the amorous touch of Franklin’s fingers as he brushed them over his sensitive skin, leaving hot trails of pleasure. Franklin’s hands were large and manly, but they were soft and sensitive at the same time. Quinn could control himself no longer. He ground against the older man with abandon, feeling the swelling in the front of his pants brushing against the toned body in front of him.

He roved his hands up and over the sculpted globes of Franklin’s shoulders, stopping at the sharp pressed collar he still wore. He gazed up, wide-eyed. He wanted to ask if this was okay, if he could continue, if he should, but the words clung to his tongue when Franklin smiled sweetly and nodded as though he could read Quinn’s thoughts.

With fumbling fingers, Quinn began to unbutton the shirt. His mouth practically watered at the sight of the golden flesh. Soon, his inked hands were sliding over the compact muscle of Franklin’s pecs as he pulled the soft cotton from his body, watching it float to the floor. Burrying his face in the taller man’s chest, he took each of his power pink nipples into his mouth, one by one. He swirled his tongue around each and tugged lightly at them with his teeth as they became hard little stubs.

Puffing like a pair of athletes after a triathlon, Quinn felt his stomach flip when was lifted from the floor and his back was pressed to the cool wall. He shivered a little, but more from excitement than anything else. His cock was straining painfully against his trousers. Automatically, he wrapped his legs around Franklin’s tapered waist as they kissed ferociously once more. His heart pounded violently when, all too suddenly, he became aware of Franklin’s large bulge pressing against his stomach while his own cock trapped snuggly between their thighs. Color began to rise in his cheeks, but he knew he wanted this. Quinn had wanted nothing more in his life.

He flung his head back, his mouth agape as Franklin massaged his ass and nipped and sucked as the patterned flesh of his neck. His moans fueled the fire burning in his loins. The look in his eyes told Quinn that all he wanted was to get him of those clothes before he exploded. Allowing him to slide down over his hips, he shuddered and groaned aloud as their pricks rubbed hard against one another. Franklin sank to his knees and hooked his fingers in the loose waistband of Quinn’s sweatpants which were tenting comically at the front. As he pulled them down, Quinn heard his breath hitch when a long, thick cock sprang free, its ruby head glistening as it bobbed toward his nose. He groaned in anticipation.

More elaborate designs covered Quinn’s thighs. Franklin slid his hands up over the smooth skin, tracing over the drawings. He blinked when Quinn slid his hands into his blond curls. He tugged him forward toward his woefully neglected cock. A slight smirk spread over Franklin’s lips before he opened them wide, and he flicked his tongue out and grazed the underside of Quinn’s helmet. Shivers coursed through him as he wound his fingers in the glossy tresses of hair on Franklin’s head, urging him forward harder and harder. Quinn needed to feel him. He needed to feel that hot, sweet mouth around him. Franklin dropped his jaw and slid along the length of his shaft.

Franklin ignored the tug on his scalp as he pumped his neck back and forth. His own swelling erection was pressing painfully against the zipper of his trousers. Keeping one hand on Quinn’s taut thigh, he massaged his swollen cock, panting past the rod of flesh in his mouth as pleasure pooled in his groin. Deviously, he slid his tongue around Quinn’s prick, his groans eventually becoming unashamed moans as his chest heaved, and his crushed his blurry eyes shut. Franklin knew, if he didn’t stop now, it would all be over too soon. It seemed Quinn was of the same mind as he slid his cock free. Franklin’s lips were swollen and red, glistening with moisture as he rose.

In a quick jingle of a buckle and the rustle of fabric, Franklin shucked out of his pants and stood in just his tight black boxers, massaging his covered prick with a glint in his eye. Quinn swallowed as his gaze caught the prominent swelling between Franklin’s thighs. Smoothing his hands down his sharp hipbones, Franklin pulled him toward him, grinding their leaking cocks together. Before Quinn knew it, he was being spun on his heel. He braced his hands against the cold wall and bit his bottom lip savagely as his cheeks were spread. He curled his hands into tight balls when a hot, wet softness smoothed over his quivering entrance. He pounded on the wall, not caring who heard them now.

Franklin swirled his tongue around Quinn’s pretty pink bud, occasionally sliding inside, enjoying the way the man before him went stiff, then shuddered every time he did. He massaged rough circles into Quinn’s ass cheeks as he went about his business, lapping at Quinn’s asshole like a thirsty pup. Then he added his fingers, driving them into the smaller man in long strokes. Franklin’s own cock twitched when he heard Quinn gasped as he began to stretch him as far as he could go. Franklin was sure he was pretty close to ready. At least he hoped he was. He didn’t think he would be able to contain his own arousal much longer. Straightening, he pulled his aching cock from his boxers and slid his hand from its root to tip roughly, smoothing the precum over the burning flesh.