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“I’m not in the habit of paying for it,” the older man muses, and there’s definitely a tease in his voice as he tightens that hand down around Corey’s neck, pulling him close. Hard. “But I think we can say this isn’t part of your job description, then?”
“What isn’t?”
“This,” Jeremiah murmurs, so close Corey can taste his cologne. And now his breath tinged warm and wonderful from scotch and smoke and something, something deeper, something unique and vigorous and urgent. And now his lips. And now his tongue, the first gentle thrust lighting the younger man up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. The one single thrust, the probing push of…
“Can’t say I paid for that, now can you?”
Corey closes his eyes and tries not to beg for more. Fuck, that, that, that was…
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