Micah had the presence of mind to think the man tasted good – like coffee and mint – before he suddenly found himself being hauled into Damon’s lap. Fingers dug into his hipbones as the man held him by the waist, practically grinding him against his crotch. Micah’s breath hitched when he felt the evidence of Damon’s arousal – huge and hard in his sweatpants – pressed against his own pajama-covered cock.

Damon took advantage of Micah’s distraction by dragging his mouth down his chin and along his jawbone, kissing and nipping and leaving a trail of love bites Micah doubted he’d be able to hide in the morning. Damon sucked on the ticklish spot right beneath his ear and Micah whined.

He felt needy and out of control, and why the hell did they still have their clothes on?

Micah tore away from Damon – not all the way off his lap, the ironclad grip Damon had on his hips made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere unless the other man allowed it – just far enough so he could haphazardly pull his shirt off over his head. Then he turned his attention to Damon’s shirt, tugging at the hem. “Off,” He demanded sharply.

Damon leered. “You’re a bossy, little thing when you’re wound up, aren’t you?”

Micah glared, tugging again at Damon’s shirt. “You’ll have to excuse me when I’ve been fantasizing about getting my hands on your cock for fucking weeks-”

Micah hadn’t even finished his sentence before Damon suddenly had him by the chin, his grip firm as he tugged Micah’s face forward. His breath against his ear sent a shiver down Micah’s spine. “You’re not going to be able to speak with that filthy mouth of yours by the time I’m through with you.”

Micah wrenched his face out of Damon’s grip. “Is that a promise?” he asked cheekily.

“It’s a warning.”

Micah barely withheld an unmanly squeak when Damon suddenly stood, hooking his hands under Micah’s thighs to make sure he wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t help but be impressed with the ease at which Damon carried him – a full-grown man – across the room, before tossing Micah onto the bed.

Sure, being manhandled so effortlessly was a little emasculating, but also a lot hot.

Micah didn’t have time to ponder about what may be a newly discovered kink, however, because seconds later, Damon was pulling his shirt up over his head. And then tugging his pants down his legs, kicking them into a discarded pile on the floor.

He wasn’t wearing underwear.

Micah had spent an embarrassing – frankly unhealthy – amount of time fantasizing about Damon’s cock. What it might look like, how it might feel – against his hand, in his mouth, in his ass, he wasn’t picky.

Reality didn’t disappoint.