He ambled over to me, his broad chest tugging his tank top in all sorts of interesting directions. “Maybe you’re just fooling yourself.” He sat down, his hips against mine, one hand pushing me back onto the couch.

“About what?”

“About this.” He bent down and kissed me. His lips were soft and he nuzzled at my mouth for long seconds, teasing me. The heat of his torso made me realize how chilly the room was; that my nipples were hard and my cock was harder. He palmed down my belly and gave me a tweak. “Nice.”

My hands were shaking, my fingers fumbling a little against his chest. Breaking the taboo of touching another man scared the hell out of me -- but not enough to overcome the flood of heat in my groin or the drumming of my heart. He watched me as I explored him, my fingers under the stretchy cotton of his tank top, thumbing his nipples and smoothing my palms over his chest. So smooth, his soft skin over hard muscle. The only bones I could feel were his clavicles; every rib was solidly clad in muscle, his pectorals ripped, arms thick.

I elbowed up and kissed him, then pulled back. “Conrad, what is this? I don’t know what to make of you. Or you and Donalita.”

“Donalita’s just somebody to dance with. Are you flexible?”

“I am now.” I kissed him again, getting some tongue this time.

He pulled away and stood. My gaze went to his pants, hoping to see him hard. He was, and he eased one hand over his erection, his mouth open as he watched my face. “You like what you see?”

“Yeah.” I could barely get the syllable past my throat.

“You ready to do this for real?”

“Yeah.” Lust had reduced me to panting monosyllables; there wasn’t much blood in my brain, it was all pooled in my cock.

“Come over to my place tonight for dinner.”

“Tonight? Why not now?”

“Tonight. In a real bed, doing real fucking.” He squatted down in front of me, his face serious. “You’re not gonna bail on me are you, straight boy?” Conrad put one palm against my face and held it tight.

Bail, jail, the words made me shiver. But his touch made me shake. “I’ll be there.”

“Seven-ish. Bring your favorite wine.”

“How about dessert?”

He was at the door, one hand on the handle, and he turned back with a smile. “You’re the dessert.”