Their talk dissolves into more kisses, soft
hands thrusting beneath shirts, Ryan giggling when Dante brushes
his fingers across his n*****s. “Don’t,” he laughs, twisting away.
“I’m ticklish there.”
That turns him on. With a growl in
the back of his throat, Dante rolls onto Ryan, straddling his hips,
attacking him with earnest. Ryan laughs, tries to block his hands,
tries to pull away and can’t, Dante has him trapped. “Ticklish?”
Dante asks, digging into Ryan’s ribs. Beneath him, Ryan squirms as
he tries to keep Dante’s hands from slipping beneath his t-shirt,
his fingers pinching at his n*****s playfully. “You’re ticklish?
You sure?”
“Dante.” The name is giggled
breathlessly, and the body moving beneath his is doing terrible
things to him, making him hard for something he had
