Crossing Borders by Z. A. Maxfield Read Free Book Online

over the other nipple.
     
    “Oh, hey.” Michael cupped the back of his head. “You…hey.”
     
    “Yeah, oh, this is good,” he said against Michael's chest, his brain melting from the sensual stimulation. He tried to sink into Michael then, his face rubbing the tan flesh, his hands tracing the muscles. “I wish I could tell you how this makes me feel.”
     
    “Yeah.”
     
    Tristan moved like a blind man reaching out, wanting everything. He was trying to crawl inside Michael and feel him from the outside at the same time. Tristan's hands shook as they explored.
     
    “It's been a while for me,” Michael murmured.
     
    “What can I…what should I do?” Tristan was at a loss.
     
    “Oh.” Michael cupped Tristan's face in a tender gesture. “I'm trying to think if I was ever that young.”
     
    “Hey.” Tristan pulled back, stung. He might not know how to ask for what he wanted, but he for damn sure knew what he wanted. He caught Michael around the neck and pulled him in for a full-body embrace and a searing kiss that he was sure left little doubt that, though he might be young, he was not to be dismissed casually.
     
    Michael took Tristan's shoulders in his hands and forced him back.
     
    “What?” asked Tristan, bewildered. “No good?”
     
    “Are you kidding?” said Michael. “I feel like a junior high school kid; I'm about to come in my pants.”
     
    Tristan's face burned. “I…well, me too.” He laid his hands on Michael's chest, sliding them up to his shoulders, reaching out to bring Michael back. Tristan pulled Michael hard against the whole length of his body again and surged against him. “Do you have a load of laundry you need to do? Because I'm like, so close if I touch my fly button I'll go off.”
     
    “Sparky,” Michael panted, his hips snapping against Tristan's in a powerful thrust as he forced the younger man against the counter, lining up their cocks through the fabric of their pants, using the zipper to scratch him a little. “The things you say sometimes make me think…”
     
    Tristan came so fast his hips jerked, and he shook and slammed against Michael, who held him close and followed him over the edge. Their mouths joined then, in passionate combat, their lips fused and their tongues searching until their hearts slowed down a little. Michael gently lifted Tristan up onto the counter and held him.
     
    Tristan wrapped his arms and legs around Michael and put his head down, his teeth grazing the space where Michael's neck met his strong shoulder. “So good,” said Tristan with a sigh, clinging to him like a monkey “I want more… I want everything.”
     
    For an answer, Michael just rubbed his face in Tristan's hair. “Chased you lots, Sparky,” he murmured into the stuff, marking the skin of Tristan's neck.
     
    “Caught me,” repeated Tristan, moaning softly at the burn and sting of the blood Michael was bringing to the surface of his delicate skin.
     
    “Would you like to take a bath?” Michael asked. “I have a big tub.”
     
    “Are you planning to take it with me?” Tristan jumped down from the counter. He started across the kitchen to the hall door and turned to find Michael staring at him with hot eyes. “What?”
     
    “You are so beautiful, Sparky,” Michael said, pushing away from the counter to follow him.
     
    Tristan dipped his head so his long hair would hide his face. “You make me feel beautiful.” He allowed Michael to pass him and watched the way his body moved as he led him to the only bathroom in the small house, situated between the two bedrooms.
     
    Michael's footfalls were silent, catlike on the hardwood floors compared to Tristan's, and Tristan had an idea that he did everything in that same measured, deliberate, and conscious way. He wondered if Michael brought dates home often, and if he did, were they more like him? Were they older, more sedate, more grounded and less likely to do something as stupid as humping him like a