Dream_A Skins Novel

by Garrett Leigh

  He necked his beer and reached for Angelo’s hand just as Rhys came up to them, his grin a mile wide. “Evening, gents.”

  Angelo pulled his hand away milliseconds before Dylan managed to grasp it and stepped back to make room for Rhys. “All right, mate?”

  His tone was flat, his face devoid of the smirk he’d greeted Rhys with the last time they’d met, but Rhys didn’t seem to notice. He barely glanced at Angelo, and his friendly gaze zeroed in on Dylan.

  “I was hoping I’d run into you again.”

  “Oh yeah?” Dylan regretted downing his beer and settled for picking at the label. “Why’s that?”

  Rhys shrugged. “Why do you think? I haven’t been fucked that good in years.”

  Angelo snorted and turned away, signalling to the barman for another drink. Dylan glared at his back. How could someone so beautiful be so damn maddening?

  Rhys cleared his throat. “So, are you two up for some company tonight?”

  Dylan shot Rhys a surprised glance. Despite the three-way fuck that had gone down the last time they’d met, when he looked at Rhys, all he could see was the concern in his face when he’d caught up with Dylan at the taxi rank. “It’s none of my business, mate, but your boyfriend doesn’t look well. You might want to head back and give him a hand.”

  Dylan had dashed back to the club too fast to correct Rhys’s assumption.

  “I’m going to take that as a no then,” Rhys said when Dylan failed to respond, and Angelo seemed intent on ignoring the both of them. “Have a good night, guys.”

  He was gone before Dylan found his tongue, disappearing into the shadows of the club to find someone else to play with and leaving Dylan to contemplate Angelo’s back. He moved closer to the bar and nudged him in the ribs. “That was rude.”

  Angelo flicked him a dry stare. “What was?”

  “You didn’t have to blank him.”

  “Who?”

  “Rhys. The bloke who sucked your cock last week.” Dylan reached around Angelo and helped himself to one of the beers Angelo had bought. “He’s also the reason that I came back to the club to find you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes. “Jesus. When did you flip your twat mode on?”

  Angelo’s gaze darkened, but the twitch of his lips gave him away, and he let loose a rueful grin. “Sorry. I guess I’m used to playing the solitary Dom when I come here. I don’t do small talk.”

  “Just fuck and run, eh?”

  “Don’t knock it.”

  “I’m not. But you didn’t have to ghost Rhys. He seems like a nice bloke.”

  “You want to fuck him again?”

  “I⁠—⁠”

  Angelo cut Dylan off with a kiss that was nothing like the sweet-lipped make-out sessions they’d shared in the real world. Crazy-hot, biting, and demanding, it wiped Dylan’s mind clean of any coherent thought, turning his legs to jelly before Angelo broke away with a sinful smirk. “Because you can if you want . . . but I’d kind of counted on not sharing you tonight.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Angelo pulled Dylan close and wrapped his arms around his waist. His graceful body moved in time with the moody dubstep beats that had ramped up while they’d been at the bar. “I felt like shit that this was the only way I could take you out, but now that we’re here, I can’t help picturing all the ways I can make you come.”

  Dylan shivered and leaned against Angelo, their lean ripples and curves moulding together like they were always meant to. Angelo was sex on legs at the best of times, but as he led Dylan in a slow dance that entwined their bodies until there wasn’t a scrap of air between them, Dylan was dizzy with want. His legs buckled, but Angelo kept him from dropping to his knees.

  “Not here. Let’s go to the chambers.”

  Another shudder passed through Dylan. The chambers were where the BDSM happened. Much of it was too heavy for Dylan’s taste, but he trusted Angelo and followed him across the club like a moth chasing a flame.

  They ditched their clothes in a locker and then made their way to the chambers. The darkened dungeon-style rooms were busy, the air thick with ecstatic cries and the slap of leather on flesh. Dylan’s pulse quickened, and he dug his nails into Angelo’s palms.

  Perhaps sensing his nerves, Angelo pulled Dylan in front of him and pointed to a vacant play bench. “Just you, me, and a rope. Whaddya say?”

  Dylan stumbled slightly and licked his lips. His gaze fell on a length of silk that was draped over the black bench. “Can we use that?”

  A heated sound rumbled through Angelo’s chest. “Fuck yeah.”

  Dylan snagged the silk and then straddled the bench. The heady rush of anticipation left him giddy, and he raised his arms, submitting himself to Angelo and letting his mind fall into that magical place where his thoughts were blocked by pure sensation.

  Angelo tied the silk around Dylan’s wrists like a fucking fisherman. In his delirium, Dylan imagined him on a boat, his beautiful face lashed by wind and rain, dressed in whatever fishermen wore. He laughed⁠—a choked-out sound that betrayed his hyped-up state of arousal, and Angelo’s answering frown was laced with humour too.

  “Something funny, Dylan?”

  Dylan shook his head as the silk bit into his flesh. “No . . . Angel.”

  Angelo’s expression darkened. “Don’t call me that. I’ve told you it’s not me.”

  It must have been at some point in Angelo’s life, but naked and bound and at his mercy, Dylan let it go. After all, they’d already both conceded that they came to the table with more than one skin.

  He let Angelo flip him over and hitch his tied wrists to the convenient hook at the end of the bench, and braced himself for the breach of Angelo’s fat cock⁠—“Fuck!”

  The gentle lapping at his hole caught him off guard. His entire body jerked, and the force of it nearly sent him toppling over the side of the bench. Angelo’s iron grip steadied him, but the tongue probing Dylan’s hole didn’t falter. Angelo teased him with tickling licks and driving thrusts until Dylan was sure that he’d come from that alone.

  He gave himself up to a violent shudder and groaned, his voice cracking into a plaintive cry. Somewhere nearby, he heard a chuckle⁠—Rhys, perhaps⁠—but he didn’t care how desperate he appeared to anyone watching because he was desperate. Their relationship outside of the club was complex and undefined, but this? Yeah. This was goddamn primal, and Dylan had never doubted the fiery burn that kept him awake most nights.

  Angelo pulled back and bit the fleshiest part of Dylan’s inner thigh. The sharp pain stopped Dylan’s fast-approaching orgasm in its tracks but did nothing to calm the storm in his veins. Angelo yanked Dylan’s hips higher and dragged his fingernails down Dylan’s spine. “What do you want, Dylan? Want me to eat you out or fuck you into oblivion?”

  Anything. Everything. “Fuck me,” Dylan gritted out. “Please.”

  Angelo groaned. “God, I love it when you beg. Makes me lose my head.”

  “Please.”

  Angelo’s hands left Dylan, and Dylan mourned the loss of his electric touch, but the void didn’t last long. Cool lube trickled over Dylan’s hole, and a condom wrapper fluttered to the floor. The blunt intrusion of Angelo’s cock finally came, and despite every nerve demanding it, the stinging stretch knocked Dylan off balance again.

  “Easy.” Angelo’s voice was soft and devoid of the authority that chased away Dylan’s senses. “I’ve got you.”

  Dylan gasped, his lungs burning, and more shudders racked him. Angelo started to pull out, and Dylan fumbled desperately for any part of him to cling on to. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

  But Angelo withdrew, and the knot securing Dylan’s wrists fell away. Dylan resigned himself to face-planting the bench, but as his body collapsed, Angelo caught him and somehow cradled him in his lap.

  “Easy,” Angelo said again.

  And again, and again, until Dylan’s breath was no longer sn
ared in his throat. He sagged against Angelo and stared up at him through blurry eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  Dylan didn’t have an answer. He shook his head, and Angelo caught his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

  “I’m never going to force you, Dylan. You’re safe with me. You know that.”

  Of course Dylan did, and he had no explanation for the bizarre panic that was still having a party in his gut. He took a shaky breath and closed his fingers around Angelo’s wrist. “I know I’m safe.”

  “Then what is it?” Angelo hunched his shoulders, shielding Dylan from anyone who may have been watching the clusterfuck their playtime had turned into. “Was it the ties? I figured you were okay with shit like that.”

  “I am,” Dylan said. “It wasn’t the fucking . . . I don’t know what it was. It’s never happened before.”

  Angelo stared hard at Dylan, like his gaze could pierce Dylan’s soul and decipher the truth. “You don’t seem the panicking type.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Do you wanna get out of here?”

  Dylan absorbed the sensation of Angelo’s arms caged around him, of his fingers stroking his face, and shook his head. “I want you. Please?”

  For a long moment, he feared Angelo would refuse him, but then the worry clouding Angelo’s eyes faded, and he smiled. He released Dylan and moved like a stretching cat, lying back on the bench, his sheathed cock still rock hard as he folded his hands behind his head. “If you want me, Dylan. Take me.”

  Well, okay then. Weird panic bullshit be fucking damned, Dylan was getting on that dick. And as he pushed Angelo’s chest and straddled his waist, the accompanying rush of power cleared his foggy brain. He still had no idea where he and Angelo were headed with this madness, but for now, he had the reins.

  He eased himself down on Angelo’s cock, bracing himself on the bench frame, intending to take it slow, to string the ride out until neither of them could take it anymore, but his body had other ideas. Adrenaline took over as he ground down on Angelo, lapping up Angelo’s grunts and groans. He clenched around Angelo’s dick and rode him hard, his sweat dripping onto Angelo’s chest, the ache in his thighs building with every rush of pleasure.

  Angelo arched his back and brought his hands to Dylan’s hips, deepening the angle. His moans grew louder and higher in pitch, and for the first time ever, Dylan had the upper hand.

  He gripped Angelo’s throat, squeezing, gentle at first, but then rougher as Angelo’s dick pulsed inside him. “You like that? You gonna come with my hand on your throat and your dick buried in my arse?”

  Angelo’s eyes rolled back, and Dylan’s brief control slipped. He slammed down on Angelo one more time, then came with a ragged cry, splattering Angelo’s ripped abdomen. “Fuck!”

  “Oh God.” Angelo threw his head back, pressing his perfect neck into Dylan’s hand, and his release seemed to come in waves as Dylan squeezed his throat.

  It felt like they were both coming forever, but eventually, Dylan collapsed on Angelo’s chest, smearing himself with come and sweat before he remembered that it was Angelo who’d had his air supply cut off.

  “Fuck.” He sat up sharply. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  Still panting, Angelo shook his head and touched the reddening marks around his neck. “Nah, I like that shit when I’m with someone I trust.”

  “You trust me?”

  Angelo met Dylan’s gaze with a ferocious stare that seemed out of context with the mellow post-coital vibe descending on them. “Of course I do. You know who I am. Can’t think of anyone else who ever has.”

  Dylan opened his mouth, but any answer he may have given was cut off by Angelo’s hand covering his lips.

  Angelo shook his head. “Don’t. Just give me tonight. Please?”

  As if Dylan could refuse Angelo anything when he looked at him the way he was now. In the blue lights of the club, Angelo’s eyes seemed almost black, and Dylan fell head first into their vortex. The night was closing in on them. All they had⁠—all they needed⁠—was each other, right?

  * * *

  It took Dylan approximately six seconds to persuade Angelo to get a cab home with him, but it felt like the longest six seconds of his life. And then the taxi ride passed in a blur of heated stares and aborted sentences. Dylan’s blood sizzled from their club encounter, but even that wasn’t enough to give him the balls to ask for another round.

  Lucky for him, Angelo was way ahead of the game. He held Dylan back with one arm and paid the driver with the other and then yanked him out of the car. Cool air hit Dylan’s heated skin, and a residual shiver rattled through him. A heartbeat behind, Angelo wound his arms around Dylan’s waist and buried his face in Dylan’s neck.

  Dylan leaned into him and waited for the shift in their dynamic⁠—for the inferno to fade and them to slip seamlessly back to the slow burn of friendship. Remembering what had happened the last time they’d left the club together, Dylan nuzzled Angelo’s cheek. “All right?”

  In answer, Angelo swept him off his feet and spun him around, and Dylan would never stop being in awe of his strength. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

  Dylan rolled his eyes. “I told you⁠—I’m fine. I didn’t have dinner before I came out. Maybe that fucked me up.”

  Angelo didn’t look convinced, but Dylan wasn’t in the mood to persuade him. That would mean talking about whatever had upset his equilibrium in the club, and Dylan had a buzz that he intended to carry them all the way to bed. “Are you going to kip at mine?”

  “You want me to?”

  “Yes.”

  Angelo shot Dylan a sideways glance. “Okay, but we need food and showers before we get all dirty again.”

  Dylan’s heart skipped a beat. “You want to get dirty again?”

  “Uh-huh.” Angelo’s expression was comically serious. “If I’m going to spend the night, I want to do more than sleep this time.”

  Dylan wound his arms around Angelo’s neck as Angelo set him back on the ground, their lips still a hairbreadth away from the kiss he craved so badly. “You won’t get any arguments from me.”

  “Good.”

  The way Angelo’s voice wrapped around the single syllable had echoes of Angel, but Dylan pushed it away. It was Angelo who had lain back on that bench and given himself up to Dylan, and the slight snarl on his face now turned Dylan’s every thought to a liquefied mush. God, I want him. And the idea of Angelo fucking outside of the club⁠—in Dylan’s bed, on the couch . . . on the kitchen worktops⁠—was so beguiling that Dylan swayed on his feet.

  For the umpteenth time that night, Angelo steadied him. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get inside.”

  Dylan didn’t need telling twice. He grabbed Angelo’s hand and towed him to the front door. He fumbled with his key like he’d drunk ten pints, but eventually, he got it unlocked and led them to his flat.

  Inside, the pressing need for a shower outweighed his desire to tumble Angelo straight into bed. He pressed two bottles of beer into Angelo’s hands and pushed him towards the bedroom. “Five minutes.”

  “We need food,” Angelo said. “Or no fucking.”

  It was clear that he meant it, so Dylan jerked his head to the kitchen. “Raid the fridge then. Just make sure you’re naked when I get back.”

  He took the quickest shower known to man, but rinsing sweat and dried jizz took a few minutes. When he got out, the flat was quiet and still. He wrapped a towel around his waist and padded into the bedroom, nearly tripping over Angelo’s boots. On the bedside table was a plate of sandwiches that looked far more appetising than the contents of Dylan’s fridge deserved and a bottle of beer. Angelo had ditched his T-shirt and unbuttoned his jeans, the trail of dark fuzz on his belly disappearing invitingly beneath his underwear, and Dylan gazed at him, his cock springing to life again.

  God, he’s gorgeous. It was a crying shame that Angelo was already fast asleep.

  Chapter Ten

>   Angelo woke up in his underwear and covered by Dylan’s clean-scented duvet. The bed was so much more comfortable than the couch he slept on at home, that he allowed himself a moment to pretend he didn’t have to get up and go to work. Then he realised he was alone.

  He sat up and instantly regretted it as his head spun, letting him know that he was in for a day of dodgy balance. “Dylan?”

  Damn it, his voice was pretty fucked too. Luckily, it didn’t have to travel far. Dylan popped up at the edge of the bed, a pair of black-framed glasses perched adorably on his perfect nose. “Hey.”

  Angelo blinked. “Hey. What are you doing down there?”

  “Catching up on some emails.”

  “Seriously? What time is it?” Angelo swung his legs out of bed, praying that they’d hold him up on the first try. “I have to get to the deli.”

  “Easy,” Dylan said. “It’s only five thirty.”

  “Oh.” Angelo relaxed and set his feet gently on the hardwood floor. “What are you doing up then? You don’t have to work today⁠—⁠” Angelo broke off with a coughing fit.

  Dylan left his laptop on the rug and crawled onto the bed behind Angelo, pressing his warm chest to Angelo’s back until Angelo was done hacking. “I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Fat chance of that.” Angelo leaned back into Dylan’s embrace. “I don’t even remember taking my clothes off.”

  Dylan chuckled. “You started. I helped you out after you passed out on me.”

  Through the ever-present fog, Angelo tried to recall the latter part of the previous night, but all he remembered was wanting to punch Rhys in the face for no reason other than the fact that he had a body that worked. And Dylan having a mid-fuck panic attack in the BDSM chambers.

  Angelo turned in Dylan’s arms and regarded him. Despite the insanely hot play session that had followed, he couldn’t shake the sensation of Dylan shaking beneath him for all the wrong reasons, and the dark circles now beneath Dylan’s eyes didn’t help. “Are you okay?”