...Ryan drank in the clean scent of Boon’s skin and the smoky smell of his clothes as he removed them with slow deliberation. With his lips against Boon’s, he said, “I wondered if you’d have other body art.” He stroked his hand over the green dragon on the silken groin. “This one’s in a most strategic spot.”

“Touching it’s doing strategic things to me.” His voice was hoarse with need.

“Is it?” Ryan looked into Boon’s eyes as he continued to stroke. He delighted in Boon’s restlessness, the restlessness he was creating with a single hand.

“You’d better stop. That feels too good.”

“Does it?” Ryan purred. His hand gravitated from body art to a dripping cock and intensified the stroking as he wrapped his fingers around it and rapidly moved up and down.

“Please stop. I can’t…”

“Can’t what, Boon? Can’t hold back?”

He captured Boon’s mouth when he knew he would climax, and muffled his cries. With his own dick wet and dripping, he unzipped his khakis and pushed Boon’s hand inside, sighing as he felt the strong fingers encircle him and milk. He moved in a dance with that hand, thrusting his pelvis against it.

“Harder, harder. I’m almost there,” he groaned, straining, his lips tight as he fought for that moment of glorious release.

“Look at me,” Boon demanded.

The sensations in Ryan’s body demanded all his attention, but he opened his eyes and looked into Boon’s. When the tension in his body threatened to explode, he saw knowing pleasure in Boon’s eyes, and then he was aware of nothing but the searing torrent of his own pleasure raging though him so intensely he cried out Boon’s name.

Maybe it was wrong to compare men, but sex with Mason had been perfunctory. It hadn’t been magical. It hadn’t been an act of seduction and love.