“Oh, shit,” Vin said, his eyes as huge as saucers. “Shh! Hey, cut that out.”
“You said you liked my body but, but, but, but you lied.” Chris resumed smacking Vin’s chest, head, arms, anything he could reach with the ridiculous handbag. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the mover picking up the baggie and two women whispering over their fences nearby.
Vin looked about wildly, alternately ducking and trying to shush him.
Chris wailed louder. “Why don’t you love me anymore? Haven’t I given you everything? Don’t I go down on you whenever you want? Even when you ask me to do those nasty, nasty things, don’t I do them?”
“Shh! Yeah, baby, you do all that.” Vin held out his hands placating.
The bigger man’s hunched shoulders and panicked expression only fired Chris’ drama.
“And that time you begged me to put on the diaper and clown mask, you said no one had ever done that for you before.” Chris turned to the chuckling movers with tearful eyes. He gasped sharply. “Vinny! They’ve got my oregano! Vinny, make them give it back! I can’t make your lasagna without the oregano.”
“It’s okay, baby, I’ll get it back. I swear.” Vin turned and leveled a look at the mover with the baggie. “My wife wants her oregano. Now!” he thundered.
The hapless man tossed the bag into the air. Vin caught it and shoved it at Chris.
Nice save, Chris thought.
“Now, Christy baby, say you won’t leave me over a little call.”
Chris blinked, searched for something to harp on and came up dry. He sniffled instead. “Oh look, my mascara is going to run.”
“It’s okay. You look great. I think you’re sexy when you get jealous.” Vin said, a toothy grin mischievously split his lips.
“You don’t think I’m fat?” Chris wheedled.
“No, baby. You’re sexy as hell.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah, baby.” Vin gently cupped Chris’ hips and drew him closer. Close enough that Chris could see the way Vin flicked glances around them instead of looking at him. “Don’t like those wimpy, flabby chicks. I like the way you give as good as you get.”
Interesting. How far could he push Vin?
“Oh, Vinny,” Chris sighed. Then with a wicked grin of his own, Chris threw his arms around him. “Kiss me.”
Vin’s nostrils flared and his icy gaze locked on Chris’ uncertainly. Chris tightened his smile and fluttered his lashes in challenge. He knew the moment Vin committed by the steely determination in his crystalline gaze and the half-quirk of his lips as he accepted.
He descended, swooping down to take Chris’ lips in heated assault. Firm and full, they crashed against his. Day-end whiskers prickled the outer rim of Chris’ mouth. Strands of hair from the wig stuck like loose netting on Chris’ perfectly applied lip-gloss, distracting but not creating any resistance. Chris’ lungs expanded sharply yet the air he breathed saturated his senses with a hint of mint and oak. Only enough to make him wish he could breath deeper still. His stomach plummeted, or soared, or both, and deep rolling tingles engulfed unsuspecting nerves in his pelvis.
Whistles and hoots from the movers filtered through the roar of blood in his ears.
When Vin’s tongue swept into his mouth, Chris’ knees weakened. He blamed the damn heels-oh holy hell, his dick was on fire!
Oblivious to the pain, Vin’s fingers tightened on Chris’ hips, dragging him forward. In defense, Chris pushed at Vin’s chest.
“Stop,” Chris gasped for only them to hear. Groin burning, he clutched the front of Vin’s shirt to hold himself steady. The pain lingered-none too subtle proof that his restricted junk didn’t take kindly to stimulation.
“Your dare,” Vin reminded.
“My rules,” Chris finished, still wincing. Damn that man. He can fucking kiss.
“You look pale,” Vin said, holding him as he ducked to see Chris’ face.
Onlookers would see it as a lover’s embrace. Chris tipped his head aside. It would be a cold day in hell before he let the guy see how badly he wanted to continue that kiss. But maybe next time without restricted blood flow to vital parts of his anatomy. Shit, that hurt!
“You okay?” Vin asked. He scanned the neighborhood. “We should go inside.”
Chris had no desire to move just this second. Maybe in another moment or two when things went completely dead in his groin region. “Why? We look like the happy couple making up after a spat.”
“You look like you’re about to puke.”
“You mean you don’t get that reaction all the time? I’m shocked,” Chris said.
“Shithead.”
“Mutant.”
He ventured a look at Vin. Clearly, the lumbering giant had never tucked his stiffy before or there would be no confusion on his gorgeous mug. Admittedly, Chris hadn’t either, pantyhose being a new, and not delightful, experience. Well, he would hardly explain to Vin that the impromptu kiss had taken Chris well on the way toward a hard-on. Vin would never let that kind of information drop.
Pain subsided and Chris released Vin’s shirt. Chris shouldered his purse and swept past him, chin held high. He needed privacy to pull himself together. Okay, and let some of him out. Of pantyhose.
“By the way,” Chris said as Vin followed him into the house. “The Master suite is mine. You’ve got the guest room.”
He glanced back.
Vin scowled as though preparing to object.
Chris held up a finger to stop him. “It has a vanity table in the bathroom. When you have to put on makeup and set your wig, we can trade places. Until then, you can stretch your six foot huge on one of the twin beds across the hall.”
Chris watched the slatted track of light swing from one wall to the other as dawn advanced into early morning. He strained to hear beyond his door to where he’d relegated Vin. A man that big should snore. He should talk in his sleep or something. Chris heard nothing.
After the night before, he hadn’t heard so much as a grunt from the other man. The door had closed early once they’d eaten bologna sandwiches and potato chips at opposite ends of the couch. Meager, albeit expensive, furniture already graced their appointed places, the kitchen had been put away and the closets filled with clothes and linens. All because neither of them spoke.
He didn’t think it was a hardship for Vin. For Chris, who wanted to know if Vin had any thoughts about that kiss, it was torture.
Can a straight man kiss another man like he needed it more than air? Could Vin act that well? The Chief had said he had a blemish-free record of undercover work. There’d been nothing else to indicate Vin batted for the same team Chris did.
But that kiss.
It still made his breath catch and butterflies dance in his belly. And it still made his cock fill. The way it filled now. Chris reached beneath the sheets, firmly rubbing himself.
His breathing had just started quickening, his head just slicking with moisture, when Vin knocked on his door.
“What?” he yelled, pissed at the interruption.
“Get up.”
“I’m up.” Understatement of the year.
“Get dressed.”
“I’m busy,” Chris snapped, circling his thumb over his moist slit before sliding back down his cock. He watched the foot-shadows shift beneath the door. Finally, they moved away.
Chris quit stroking. He sighed and swore, then rolled out of bed. Looking around for a pair of jeans, he rolled his eyes when he realized there weren’t any. “Undercover ops suck.”
No evidence existed to prove he wasn’t who he said he was. Not even a fucking pair of sweats. He sighed again and reached for the godawful daisy robe. “I’ll fucking kill him if he laughs,” Chris muttered.