Love in Xxchange: Rory's Last Chance by Bailey Bradford (poetry books to read txt) 📗

like those boys decided to give up the chase,” that deep voice purred, all sex and fire and smug masculine strength. Chance watched the scowls flitter across the boys’ faces before they turned and walked off.

“Huh. Guess so.” Chance started to turn only to stop when the hold around his waist tightened. He didn’t know whether to be more turned on or irritated all to hell. When soft lips started nibbling along the side of his neck, finding their way to the sensitive patch of skin right behind his ear, Chance gave it all up and let out a low moan. God, when had anyone, including himself, taken the time for such a thing?

Better yet, why hadn’t he taken the time—remembered that sex was about more than who put whose cock where—the sharp nip of teeth tugging at his earlobe slapped all rational thought out of Chance’s head. Every muscle in his body tensed and vibrated with need.

Large hands began stroking his stomach, working their way down until fingers feathered RORY’S LAST CHANCE

Bailey Bradford

7

across the tip of his prick, dancing over the wet spot where pre cum had seeped through his jeans.

“Them boys not your thing, cowboy?”

Chance opened his mouth to answer only to snap it shut against a shout of pleasure building in his chest as the hand teasing his cock suddenly gripped hard, sending a bolt of pleasure-pain to his balls. A brush of fingertips across a nipple, then a firm twist and Chance knew he was dangerously close to losing his load as his back tried to bow. All he succeeded in doing was shoving his ass even harder up against the stranger’s steely cock—a move he swore left singe marks on his denim-clad cheeks. The heat coming off the other man was palpable and heady, stirring something inside Chance that was burning and needy, almost overpowering in its intensity.

“PYTs—pretty young things. Too pretty and way too young,” he finally managed to answer, though he couldn’t quite hide his disdain of those two attributes. “Either one alone is bad enough, but put the two things together…not what interests me.” It took Chance a minute or so to realise the hands that had been tormenting him in the best possible way had stilled and the big body behind him had filled with a different kind of tension. He tried to formulate a coherent thought, and once he did, it dawned on him that he must have offended the other man some way or another.

“Look, I didn’t mean any insult, if those boys are to your liking. They just aren’t to mine. I don’t like feeling like a cradle-robber.” Or a dirty almost-old man. Chance tried again unsuccessfully to face the stranger. Now he was getting irritated. He slid his hands, one up and one down, wrapping his fingers around thick wrists, prepared to pull the man’s hands from his body. A grunt at his ear told Chance the mystery man wasn’t happy about having his hands tugged away from their resting places.

“Don’t care for those boys myself. You, now—you’re to my liking.”

Well, that was too damn bad because Chance was past irritated now and quickly reaching a full-out mad. This time when he tried to turn, the hands holding him in place actually helped. He spun around with every intent of telling Mr Grabby Hands just what he thought of him. A blur of movement was all the warning he had before those soft suckling lips swooped in and stole the anger right out of Chance. His eyelids dropped shut and his mouth opened wider at the insistent demand of scorching tongue, lips and teeth. Hard hands grabbed his ass and jerked him in tight, grinding and pumping.

RORY’S LAST CHANCE

Bailey Bradford

8

“God, I want you.”

Chance could barely make out the words that were murmured against his lips, didn’t get time to respond before his lips were plundered again. He let go of himself, not caring if they were in a bar and on display anymore. All that mattered was meeting the other man’s nips and licks, the sucking and thrusting of tongues and the rubbing of two thick, hard cocks.

“Want you too,” he finally managed between panting breaths, and he meant it. No one had ever built up a fire in Chance like this man was doing, least no one he could think of right now. Not that he was in any shape to think. The stranger’s groan was long and loud, full of a frustration that Chance was feeling himself. Somehow he found himself pressed into a shadowed corner, mouth still under assault and battling back. He faintly registered the snap of his jeans and groaned into the stranger’s mouth. Could feel but not hear the rasping of his zipper, then long, callused fingers were stroking his dick, slow, hard tugs that were close to painful and better than any stroke Chance had used on himself.

The stranger’s lips left his, sliding down and latching onto the skin right below his ear, nipped and sucked hard as a thumb pressed into the slit of his dick. Chance’s knees tried to give and he grabbed on to the other man’s stacked biceps, registering his own large hands barely covered more than half the width of those bulging muscles. Jesus, the man was huge and it turned Chance on as much as the handjob he was getting.

“Ah, God! Fuck! So close.” Chance’s voice came out through gritted teeth, gruff and smoky and sounding utterly foreign to him. The hand jerking his cock tightened and tugged faster as the stranger’s other hand slipped down and forced its way between Chance’s thighs.

Rough fingers brushed over his perineum before applying slight pressure. Chance jerked so hard his back popped, the friction sizzling up and down his dick and the outside rubbing of his prostate robbing him of air, body clenching and tightening until Chance thought his balls were going to crawl up inside his body.

“Only close?” The stranger spoke against the sensitive