other man took in the colours of the room, deep greens and ripe burgundy, before settling on the king size bed covered in a multitude of pillows. The little smile that quirked up the corner of Rory’s lips had Chance’s heart beating a little faster than it should have been.
“Like your pillows, huh?” Rory faced Chance, and stole his breath with his beauty. Pale blond curls clung to his forehead and temples, held against sweat-dampened skin. Large, heavy-lidded blue-black eyes framed with thick lashes watched as Chance visually scraped over Rory’s features, caressing the straight narrow nose, following it to the dip above a full, RORY’S LAST CHANCE
Bailey Bradford
42
wide mouth set above a firm and stubborn chin. Chance could not find a single flaw in the man’s appearance, and the resounding jolt of insecurity he felt rush through him pissed him off.
He had nothing to be insecure about. While there was no way he could match Rory’s beauty or youth, he could damn sure match him, if not teach him a thing or two, about fucking.
“Take your clothes off.” Chance reached for his own shirt, watching as Rory followed suit. Then he remembered the younger man had his nipples pierced, and suddenly Chance was impatient and getting naked became a lot more important than things like finesse or proving any point.
He jerked his shirt off half-buttoned and reached for his belt, unbuckling it only before working on his pants. Boots, damn, he’d forgotten about his boots. Chance felt his cheeks flare hot but let it go when he realised Rory was in the same predicament.
They both sat on the bed to pull off their boots and the rest of their clothes, Chance struggling not to stare at the silver hoops on Rory’s chest. It was an equally difficult battle not to lean back and look at the tattoo he’d only got a hint of weeks ago. Kicking off the last of his clothes, Chance cursed loudly, startling Rory.
“What? What’s wrong?” Rory had that wary look in his eyes again, the one that made Chance want to kick his own ass.
“Stand up and turn around, Rory. Please. I just want to see…” Rory’s dark eyes suddenly gleamed. He stood and stepped close enough that Chance felt the heat rolling off his body, could smell the scent of the white drops beading the spongy head of his cock.
Chance started to reach for that luscious cock only to have Rory spin around and give him his back.
Or, more precisely, his ass. Chance let his hand continue on its path and filled it with taut, sleek cheek. Firm and perfectly rounded, Rory’s ass had Chance forgetting why he’d even asked the man to turn around. He kneaded the pale skin in his palm, then slid his hand over to the crease, letting his fingers brush over Rory’s tight opening.
Rory shivered and twisted his torso to watch Chance, the movement causing a ripple in the tattoo on his back. Chance shot Rory a grin, meeting his questioning gaze.
“Sorry. Wanted to see your tattoo but I got distracted.” Chance kept his hand on the firm flesh as he looked at Rory’s tattoo. Rory faced away, keeping his body straight for the RORY’S LAST CHANCE
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inspection.
“It’s beautiful,” Chance murmured, bringing his other hand up to trace the shapes of a horse and rider, who looked to be in the midst of dismounting to attend to a calf. The tattoo took up the majority of Rory’s back, and was intricately detailed from the colours of grass to those of the sun and sky. It looked like a painting, a piece of art rather than a tattoo, and Chance wondered what it would feel like to walk around wearing such a thing of beauty.
He’d never really been into tattoos before—or, rather, it hadn’t mattered to him one way or another. But, like just about everything else, Rory was quickly making him rethink his ambivalence on the whole subject.
“Jesus, Rory, I’ve never seen anything like it, or like you—” The words slipped out before he could catch them.
“Like your pillows, huh?” Rory faced Chance, and stole his breath with his beauty. Pale blond curls clung to his forehead and temples, held against sweat-dampened skin. Large, heavy-lidded blue-black eyes framed with thick lashes watched as Chance visually scraped over Rory’s features, caressing the straight narrow nose, following it to the dip above a full, RORY’S LAST CHANCE
Bailey Bradford
42
wide mouth set above a firm and stubborn chin. Chance could not find a single flaw in the man’s appearance, and the resounding jolt of insecurity he felt rush through him pissed him off.
He had nothing to be insecure about. While there was no way he could match Rory’s beauty or youth, he could damn sure match him, if not teach him a thing or two, about fucking.
“Take your clothes off.” Chance reached for his own shirt, watching as Rory followed suit. Then he remembered the younger man had his nipples pierced, and suddenly Chance was impatient and getting naked became a lot more important than things like finesse or proving any point.
He jerked his shirt off half-buttoned and reached for his belt, unbuckling it only before working on his pants. Boots, damn, he’d forgotten about his boots. Chance felt his cheeks flare hot but let it go when he realised Rory was in the same predicament.
They both sat on the bed to pull off their boots and the rest of their clothes, Chance struggling not to stare at the silver hoops on Rory’s chest. It was an equally difficult battle not to lean back and look at the tattoo he’d only got a hint of weeks ago. Kicking off the last of his clothes, Chance cursed loudly, startling Rory.
“What? What’s wrong?” Rory had that wary look in his eyes again, the one that made Chance want to kick his own ass.
“Stand up and turn around, Rory. Please. I just want to see…” Rory’s dark eyes suddenly gleamed. He stood and stepped close enough that Chance felt the heat rolling off his body, could smell the scent of the white drops beading the spongy head of his cock.
Chance started to reach for that luscious cock only to have Rory spin around and give him his back.
Or, more precisely, his ass. Chance let his hand continue on its path and filled it with taut, sleek cheek. Firm and perfectly rounded, Rory’s ass had Chance forgetting why he’d even asked the man to turn around. He kneaded the pale skin in his palm, then slid his hand over to the crease, letting his fingers brush over Rory’s tight opening.
Rory shivered and twisted his torso to watch Chance, the movement causing a ripple in the tattoo on his back. Chance shot Rory a grin, meeting his questioning gaze.
“Sorry. Wanted to see your tattoo but I got distracted.” Chance kept his hand on the firm flesh as he looked at Rory’s tattoo. Rory faced away, keeping his body straight for the RORY’S LAST CHANCE
Bailey Bradford
43
inspection.
“It’s beautiful,” Chance murmured, bringing his other hand up to trace the shapes of a horse and rider, who looked to be in the midst of dismounting to attend to a calf. The tattoo took up the majority of Rory’s back, and was intricately detailed from the colours of grass to those of the sun and sky. It looked like a painting, a piece of art rather than a tattoo, and Chance wondered what it would feel like to walk around wearing such a thing of beauty.
He’d never really been into tattoos before—or, rather, it hadn’t mattered to him one way or another. But, like just about everything else, Rory was quickly making him rethink his ambivalence on the whole subject.
“Jesus, Rory, I’ve never seen anything like it, or like you—” The words slipped out before he could catch them.
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