His ears rang as they emerged from the club, their arms snugly around the other’s waist. The bass still thrummed through his veins, pounding and erupting in vicarious thrills that had nothing to do with music and everything to do with encouraging visceral responses and primal urges. Spencer couldn’t even remember the name of the band. He just remembered the way each song had driven him closer to Mick until he was practically in the other man’s lap, squirming against his erection.
He preferred it there, anyway. He hadn’t wanted to leave. It took a husky whisper of, “I’ll make sure you’re good and distracted in the cab ride back to my place,” to coax Spencer into moving.
Mick didn’t let him go when they finally hailed a taxi, pulling him into the back seat with a sharp tug that left Spence
