...Garth prepared to shake hands in a formal, business-like manner and escort Peter out. He knew his office staff had left for the day so it was up to him. Somehow that didn’t happen. They walked together through the doorway from Garth’s office to the reception area. Garth collected his suit coat off the back of his office door before he passed through it. Slinging it over his shoulder, he glanced at Peter, who shook his head, a wry twist of a smile on his mobile lips.

“You’re too damn pretty now, buddy. I liked you better in T-shirts and cheap, no-brand jeans. But then that guy couldn’t do for me what you’re able to do, could he?”

Garth shrugged, disturbed by something in Peter’s gaze, by the words which were spoken in an almost wistful tone. “The old saw about the clothes make the man, I guess. Clients like you, who are among the ranks of celebrities, expect a lawyer to look a certain way, especially a successful one. I have to maintain an image, just like you do.”

Peter had the grace to lower his gaze and grin, more that a little abashed. “Point taken.”

They proceeded toward the closed outer door, Garth in the lead. Suddenly Garth was stopped in his tracks as Peter gasped his shoulders from behind in a talon-like grip and halted him.

“No. I’m not walking out that door and letting you push me out of your life again. You’re about to put on your distant “I’m your lawyer and I have to keep objective” manner and very politely set me aside. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never forgotten the night at the lake. Yeah, it was another lifetime for both of us, but I still never forgot.”

“Me neither,” Garth mumbled. His mind raced, telling him all the things he should do and more that he should not do, but he stood immobile, as if rooted to the spot.

The first yank dislodged Garth’s tie, a tug hard enough to snap his neck. The next sent buttons flying off his silky broadcloth shirt. They scattered to the carpet without a sound and vanished into the pile. The third took his shirt off, almost ripping the fabric away from his body. The white shirt fluttered to the floor, just a piece of unwanted distraction.

Garth dropped his suit coat beside the shirt as Peter’s hands raced over his upper torso. The calluses on Peter’s guitar player’s fingertips abraded Garth’s skin. Each touch felt like a match had been struck at the spot. Sparkles of heat and energy, rife with sexual excitement, danced over Garth’s body. He went rock-hard in seconds.

No longer content to be the passive recipient of Peter’s attention, Garth reached back to seek some contact himself. He found Peter’s ass and dug his fingers into one muscled buttock, feeling the heat and power through Peter’s jeans. As Peter pressed close behind him, he could feel Peter’s cock, stiff as his own, nudging against his butt, although separated by layers of fabric. Excitement too volatile to contain flared through him. Yes, oh, yes. This is Peter and he’s here. We’re finally together.

Still holding one another, they stumbled a few steps until Garth was stopped by Melanie’s desk. They released each other long enough to fumble with belt buckles and zippers, desperate to get their pants out of the way.

For a moment, choking panic stopped Garth dead still. He remembered how big Peter’s cock was. Since that long-ago night, he had known others from small to large, but none that quite matched his memory of Peter’s. Lube. We need some kind of lube!

As he bent forward across the cleared surface of the desk, a tube of hand cream caught his eye. It certainly wasn’t meant for the purpose, but it would do a lot better than nothing. He made a grab for it and held it back to Peter. “Here, I don’t self-lubricate like the ladies. We’re gonna have to use something.”

Peter laughed. “Oh, man, you’re too funny. Okay, I wouldn’t want to ream you a new one, not really. I hope it doesn’t smell too flowery, though.”