Nick feels out of his league -- he's young, he's white, he's gay, and he's desperately looking for a chance to spend some time alone with De'Andre. As much as he hates to admit it, that man is fine.
When Tyrone finally introduces them, De'Andre seems just as interested.
JMS Books |
I bullied my way back into the apartment, the main room, the hall, and almost got as far as the foyer when the bathroom door opened to block my path. Through the thick haze inside I saw my roommate sitting on the closed toilet seat. I ducked under the arm of whoever was exiting the bathroom and followed the stench of pot inside. "Tyrone."
De'Andre's deep voice answered. "There's our token white boy," he said, and I spun around to find him stretched out along the edge of the bathtub, leaning back against the wall with his long legs crossed as he toked on one of my buds. Raising the joint, he told me, "This chronic is phat. Where'd you get it?"
Now that I had found him, I didn't want to admit I'd been looking in the first place. Shoving my fists into my pockets, I shrugged and muttered, "I got my sources." I glared at my reflection in the mirror and wished Tyrone would go away.
With a laugh, De'Andre grabbed the back pocket of my jeans and pulled me to him. I felt like a fish, caught on a rod and reeled in. Before I could think to fight him, I plopped down into his lap. A slight groan escaped his lips when I sat on the hardness that bulged at his crotch, then his arms were around my waist, holding me in place. Each move I made earned another little moan. I fought against the urge to put my hands down on his jeans to reposition myself and cop a feel. Through the thick denim his dick swelled against my ass, hard from the drugs or the party or me, I wasn't sure which.
Remembering Tyrone, I tried to stand but De'Andre held me tight. "Lemme go," I muttered, but I didn't mean it and he didn't comply. My roommate snorted laughter and foamy beer bubbled out of his flat nose. I kicked at him across the bathroom but my sneaker missed his leg by a few scant inches. "Shut the fuck up, Tyrone. Where's the rest of my pot?"
Tyrone rolled his eyes and pointed at the smoke hovering above us before dissolving into giggles. "Up in smoke, my man. Up in smoke."
I kicked him again, this time leaning forward to connect with his shin. "Hey!" he shouted, slapping my foot away. A wounded look crept into his eyes. "Fuckwad. Who invited you to this party anyway?"
"I live here," I reminded him as De'Andre pulled me back. "How much --"
De'Andre's hand clamped over my mouth, his other arm coming up behind me to hug me against him. "Don't be haten, boys. Tyrone, get lost."
My roommate stopped in mid-giggle. "Wha?" he asked, frowning at us. "Man, that blunt's not done yet."
Keeping one hand over my mouth, De'Andre reached around me with the other and plucked the joint from his mouth, then chucked it in the sink. Tyrone scrambled to retrieve it before it went out. "Take it and go," De'Andre said. His hand smelled of pot and a deeper, darker scent, a musk all his own. When I licked out to taste him, the tip of my tongue tingled and he snapped at Tyrone, "Get the fuck outta here already, will you? I got business to attend to with Nicky."
"Nick," I corrected, my voice lost in the folds of his hand. Tyrone glared at me as he left, slamming the door shut behind him. For a long moment, De'Andre didn't move, didn't let me go. Finally I raised my hands to his and tried to pry his fingers away. He let me get beneath the first two fingers, then brusquely turned my face to his and pulled me down for a rough, hot kiss.