Page 59 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says.

“This shower has the world’s worst parts. Hold on,” I say as I spin around and head to the kitchen and grab the tools. I’m back in seconds flat holding the wrench.

Jude leans against the sink. His feet crossed at the ankles, and his hands pressed together in prayer. “I was such a good boy this year, and Santa is giving me a Christmas present early.”

I laugh as I fix the tap.

Jude stares shamelessly at me, stroking his cock as I work the wrench.

“Yes, TJ, I have such a handyman fetish,” he says.

“You really fucking do.” And I love that I’m the lucky beneficiary.

Once I set down the wrench, Jude proves it, pouncing on me, tugging at my jeans.

Soon, we’re both down to nothing, and when he sets his eyes on my naked body for the first time, I feel like a king. He doesn’t seem to know where to look, except everywhere. His hungry eyes eat up my chest and stomach, and my dick, standing at attention for him.

“You,” he says, all low and husky. “You are just... all my fantasies.”

That’s what tonight is. A fantasy. Nothing more.

I don’t want to ponder too much on tomorrow—think about where this is going. If I do, the gears in my head will get stuck on the only answer—we’re going nowhere.

Currently, though, we’re on a path to the bedroom, and I want to savor every second of the trip.

Starting now.

I pull him into the shower. As the bathroom heats up and steam wafts around us, we make out like crazy.

Tongues, teeth, bodies. My hand wraps around his cock, and he grabs mine, and we both groan in tandem.

He slides a hand up and down my length like he’s weighing my cock. Then he dips his face against my neck, presses a hot kiss to my skin. “I have to tell you a secret,” he rasps out.

Hot and bothered?

More like molten and aching everywhere.

“Tell me,” I demand.

He kisses my chin. My jaw. Then he draws a deep breath, inhaling me. “Your aftershave... I sniffed it the other day.”

“On me?” I ask, shuddering as my hand coasts along his hard length. He does the same to me, and with his other hand, cups my balls.

Ah, fuck, that’s good.

Letting go, I grab his hips and hold on for dear life as he toys with my dick and my mind.

He presses a slow, hot kiss to my lips, then whispers against them, “I steal hits of you whenever I can if I walk past you. If I get close enough.”

I don’t even know how to process this dirty confession. It’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me. It’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said in the history of sex.

“You want to know what else I do, TJ?” His voice is pure arousal.

“Yes.” It comes out like a plea. Itisa plea.

“Sometimes, I come in here when I’m alone in the flat. I open the bottle. Inhale the scent, close my eyes,” he says, stroking me slow and sensual to the rhythm of his words.

This is unreal.