Bad Boyfriend by K. A. Mitchell Page A

pump of blood. Sore but good. He moved Eli’s hand back to the counter edge, pinned the one on the other side and, ignoring a little morning stiffness, dropped to his knees.
    Eli’s gasp made him look up. “Umm. The eggs.”
    Quinn rolled the tip of Eli’s cock over his lips, skin pulsing and twitching as he kissed his way down to the base and then leaned back.
    “A guy could get a complex. Is there some reason you don’t want me to suck you?”
    Eli shook his head, eyes wide.
    “Okay then.” Quinn buried his face between the lean hips, sliding his hands around Eli’s ass.
    Another, sharper gasp, and Eli bucked forward as Quinn’s fingers gripped. He knew what Eli wanted. Christ, what they both wanted.
    “Keep those hands on the counter.”
    Eli’s breath stuttered out, and he didn’t offer any other resistance as Quinn learned the taste and smell of Eli’s skin, the way his cock fit in Quinn’s mouth, a nice downward angle to push it toward his throat.
    Quinn’s mouth and hands and ears drank in Eli’s reactions, his expressive body so much easier to read than the constant shift of emotions in his face. He did like it rough, moaned and fed Quinn some precome for a light scrape of teeth as Quinn laid his finger over the line of bruises under the firm swell of Eli’s ass. He loved a hard fast suck and pressure on the head more than a deep bob, shuddered for a tug and lift on his balls.
    “Wait. Quinn. Condom.”
    Quinn pulled off for a second. Fucking was one thing, but this was his risk to take, and he wanted the raw taste of him. “Shh. It’s okay.”
    Fingers diving back to run down the crease of Eli’s ass, Quinn showed off what Eli’s body had taught until tension vibrated in the thighs under Quinn’s forearms, a warning throb in the vein under his tongue.
    “Shit, I’m—”
    Even if Eli’s warning had been quicker, Quinn wasn’t going anywhere. He drank in the spurts from Eli’s cock, softening the pressure as the spasms ended, swallowed and licked him clean.
    After climbing to his feet, he put his hands over Eli’s where they gripped the edge of old Formica. “Everything about you is sweet, boy.”
    Before Quinn could kiss him, Eli wrenched a hand free and put it on Quinn’s mouth.
    “I know from experience that’s not quite true, but thanks.” Eli slid the hand down Quinn’s jaw, his neck, his chest. As Eli’s fingers worked the top button of the fly on Quinn’s jeans, Eli rubbed his face on Quinn’s chest.
    His cock had recovered from last night now, but Quinn stepped back. “I need some breakfast if I’m going to keep up with you.”
     
    As Quinn shaved, a dressed Eli came into his shower-steamed bathroom holding the suit Quinn had just gotten back from the cleaners.
    “Is this what you’re wearing?”
    It was a respectable dark gray, and he’d worn it to job interviews—including the one for his job now. “What’s wrong with it?”
    “Nothing. If it’s a funeral.”
    Quinn studied Eli in his club clothes. There wasn’t a whole lot of damage the guy could do with only Quinn’s closet to work from, and showing off was kind of the point. “I’m guessing you have a different suggestion?”
    Eli grinned and disappeared. When Quinn came back into the bedroom, Eli was all the way inside the closet.
    “Your shoes are black, right?” Without waiting for an answer, Eli flung out a pair of black slacks. “Oh my God.” Eli tossed a shiny red gift box into Quinn’s chest. “Who was that from and how do I get on her gift list?”
    Quinn caught the sweater as it fell out of the box. Black with a dark purple and gray argyle pattern. His yearly sweater from Claire, though he suspected Alyssa might have guided her selection that time.
    “It’s cashmere,” Eli pronounced as if announcing it was made of solid gold.
    “Yes.”
    “Put that on. And…” He went back into the closet.
    Quinn’s lips quirked since the whole point of this was his own re-coming out. To cover