Not Just A Pretty Face

6. Gideon

It was impossible enough to resist Leonel when he came into work wearing clothes that draped around his body and highlighted his every curve and plane of muscle.

When my new eye candy was dressed in clothes designed to highlight the rounded curves of his ass, his t-shirt pulling across his pecs and riding up his back and stomach to expose a sliver of deliciously smooth skin?

Christ, I was half-hard from the moment I walked into the studio and caught a glimpse of the light streaming across his bare lower back.

And as much lip as Leonel gave the photographer, he technically hadn’t been wrong. He’d resisted poses that he’d clearly known weren’t the right ones for him, favoring flattering angles.

And Clive had been too handsy. He should have known better than to yank around our talent. I was going to get someone to yell at him later about that. No matter how much attitude a model showed, nothing justified that.

Raymond needed to get a photographer who could win Leonel’s trust so he wouldn’t be second-guessing him. But that was Raymond’s problem, and this -- the cocky little stud staring up into my eyes like he was daring me to fuck him…

This was my problem.

I licked my lips, and Leonel unconsciously -- or maybe consciously -- mirrored me.

“You’re not made to follow orders.”

He didn’t crack a smile and agree or even roll his eyes sassily like I expected. Instead, his gaze flickered back and forth between my eyes for a few seconds, like there was something on his mind.

He didn’t say it, whatever it was. He just swallowed his response, then shook his head slightly. “Suppose not.”

That was interesting.

Fuck, why was this guy so much more interesting than any other model who’d walked into the agency since Alex?

The name popped into my head before I could help it, but I shoved it aside. Leonel was much more interesting, and he was right here, giving me the “fuck me” eyes while he raised his hands to his shirt to unbutton it.

“I like that you’re not cowed by anyone.”

“Cowed?” That, at last, drew a slight smile from him. Then it was gone, replaced by those sultry, thick lips parting a little.

“Pushed around, I was gonna say, but Clive was pushing you around.”

“I don’t mind a hot guy pushing me around,” Leonel told me, his voice distinctly softer and more meaningful. He was speaking slowly, making damn sure I knew what he meant. “But he’s not my type.”

“What is?” I challenged, keeping my own voice soft.

Leonel’s shirt was unbuttoned all the way now and he pushed it off his arms. Through the thin white t-shirt underneath, the black ink of tattoos wound its way up his chest toward his shoulder. My eyes were on his face, though.

“I think you have an idea.” He rose to his feet.

It was impossible to say which of us made the first move. It was simultaneous, as if the thin-stretched barrier between us had finally reached its breaking point and snapped. Recoil or not, we were flying toward each other, hands seeking chests and waists to haul each other close.

And then we kissed, teeth clicking with the ferocious desperation of our first hot, hard kiss. Our mouths met, tongues licking into each other’s mouths.

Leonel’s hands were already scrabbling at my shirt to get a couple of buttons undone, pulling the shirt tails out of my jeans.

I shuddered as those slender, skilled fingers slipped under my shirt and ran up along my stomach and up my chest. I let myself indulge in a few moments of bliss before I sucked on his lower lip to take over again.

His groan was soft but distinctly audible, splitting the silence between us. His hands went still, pressed hard against my body still under my clothes.

I answered with a quiet growl of need, shoving my thigh between his until our bodies rode together and ground, denim-wrapped bulge against bulge.

That was one problem I could fix. I pulled open the buttons on his jeans and fly one at a time, popping them open with an extra grind of my hips between each.

“Mmm.” The needy noise was indescribably hot. He was practically begging me to fuck him, his hands slipping around under my shirt to clutch at my back. He dug his nails into soft skin.

I yanked at his waistband, peeling the jeans away from his stomach and down his thighs, and then that fucking hot bulge was poking at the smooth grey trunks designed to minimize leg lines.

But I had something else important calling me: my own cock. I was tight in my pants, my dick throbbing with the desperate desire to be inside this cocky, hot, fiery young thing until he moaned and begged at the top of his lungs for more.

And we still had at least twenty-five minutes.

That didn’t make me slow the frantic pace one bit. From the moment we’d shaken hands, I’d felt the burning desire between us, barely stifled in the presence of the office at large.

Here, screwing around in a back room with nobody’s eyes on us? We could fuck like animals, and I fully intended to.

I pushed my hand back through Leonel’s spiky hair, combing it back and pulling his head back to expose his throat. Then, like a viper, I struck.

I pressed my lips against the soft flesh of his neck, then down his throat until I reached the hard lump of his Adam’s apple. The light stubble under his chin burned my lips, and I relished the sting.

Leonel’s body was soft against me, his cock rock-hard as I yanked down my jeans and underwear all at once. I gripped my shaft in one firm hand to rub against his bulge, teasing him.

“Oh, Jesus,” he hissed under his breath, fumbling to pull his own underwear down.

I stepped forward, crushing our bodies together and pushing in quick, hard thrusts so our hard cocks slid against one another’s.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Leonel panted, his voice breaking and throat vibrating with his whimpers. He was crushing me against him with surprising strength for his size as the sensitive, firm flesh of our cocks lined up just right.

Then, the words I was dying to hear:

“Fuck me.”