Michael is an actor whose career could be taking off thanks to a lead role in the play, Key Exchange. If he gets it, that is. Everything Michael holds dear is either about to change for the better, or crash and burn. He wonders if he made the right decision to move to New York to be the new roommate of his former lover, Kit. Michael is desperate to reignite the passion they once shared. But is Kit?
Kit adores Michael, and he’s happy they’re back together. But something is holding him back. Just when things turn mushy one night a few days before Christmas, Kit disappears in an Uber on some clandestine date. Michael wonders who the new guy in Kit’s life could be. Can he ever have the love he wants, or something just like it? Michael knows what he wants. He believes in second chances, and hopes Kit does, too…
…“Let’s dance,” Joaquin said and licked my ear. Holy cat!
Ugh. Dancing wasn’t my thing. I tried to ignore the little voice in my brain from my teenage years that said, “How a man dances is an indication of what he’s like in the sack.”
However, I was feeling pretty relaxed and gave my walk a bit of a swagger as we pushed ourselves away from the bar. My cock did the Macarena in my pants as I walked, not quite straight, into his arms on the only available square inch of dance floor.
I felt a strong flash of guilt as I gazed across the room at Holt. He ran a hand through his hair, and then I saw a dark-haired guy sidle up to him. They began to talk. I was certain I saw a smile there. Maybe his mood would improve.
Joaquin’s mouth swooped over mine, surprising me. Man, he was a damned good kisser. My whole body reacted to his passionate embrace. He commanded all my attention and seemed to come alive as our lips and tongues met. Joaquin sighed into my mouth, closing his eyes. His hands roamed over my body.
Though the beat of the music was fast, he kept me in his arms. He rocked me, his ass moving sensuously yet in time to the music. I was getting harder, my body alive with desire, but also, astonishingly, some actual style.
People gave us envious looks. This wasn’t dirty dancing. It was fucking filthy dancing. I panted as he dipped me, then brought me back up again. I didn’t know how, but we danced like we’d been doing it for years. He barely took his hands off me and, emboldened, I put mine on his gorgeous ass and felt his cock stiffen against mine.
We traded deep looks.
God, I wanted him…
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