Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

or to Lights Out, he grinned drunkenly and slurred something about dancing. It was the first time in El’s life that dancing sounded like the best idea ever.
    El went to the other end of the patio, called Rosa, and begged and pleaded with her to take MoJo until the morning. After a quick stop by her house, where he admitted that yes, he was on a date, El escorted Paul past the line to the front door of the bar. Ignoring Denver’s pointed look, he tightened his grip on Paul’s hand and led him to the dance floor.
    Intellectually and probably morally, El knew he should switch Paul to water, but it hadn’t escaped his notice that the more alcohol he let Paul take in, the more Paul leaned on him and the heavier Paul’s hands rested on El’s hips while they danced. Plus, Drunk Paul laughed. A lot. Beautifully.
    “This is so much fun,” Paul said for the tenth time as they sank against the bar near the stairs leading to Jase’s office. “I haven’t been dancing in . . .” He looked confused for a moment, then laughed. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever danced like this.”
    “That’s because you haven’t had the right partner.” El made the comment lighthearted, but his solar plexus felt like it was trying to explode. Insanity burst through that dam anyway, making him add, “Of course, you haven’t really been dancing at Lights Out until you’ve made out on the dance floor.”
    Though El was ready for Paul to shut down at that, or make a disgusted face, or miss his point entirely as usual, Paul’s response was an almost feral grin. “You’ve kissed me before. As a joke, I know. But you kissed me.”
    It hadn’t been a joke. “Oh?”
Paul’s grin widened and he put his hand on El’s thigh, sending the blood from El’s head straight to his cock. “Did you know you weren’t the first guy who kissed me?”
Suddenly El didn’t have knees. “Oh?”
“The neighbor boy. In high school.” Paul’s hand massaged El’s thigh. “Dean. We kissed and rubbed against each other until we came in our underwear.”
“Jesus.” El started to shake. A little more of this talk and young Paul and Dean wouldn’t be the only ones who’d creamed their pants.
Paul’s hand stilled as he tilted his head to the side and sobered. “El, are you gay?”
El would have laughed if he’d had enough air left in his lungs to do it. “Yeah.”
Paul bit his lip, looking guilty. El wanted to pull that lip out and bite it himself. While jacking Paul’s cock. “So would you mind?”
Mind jacking his cock? Biting his lip? Hell no. “Huh?”
Paul’s blush about did El in. “Kissing me. On the dance floor.”
El was so far down the rabbit hole, the world was upsidedown. He never wanted it to go right-side-up again. “Sure.”
Pulse pounding in time to the music, El led Paul back out to the dance floor, his cocky smile the only marker of nerves as he pulled Paul in tight against his body. El wanted to put his hand down the back of Paul’s jeans, but he settled for taking firm hold of his ass and pulling him up against his own erection.
Oh, God, Paul was hard. So hard El could feel his cock thick and heavy as it pressed against his own through their clothes.
Swallowing the glib excuse he’d prepared, the pathetic out so he could pretend he didn’t want to do this, El admitted, at least to himself, that kissing Paul in this moment meant everything in the world to him. He was hard. Paul was hard. They both wanted it.
So El kissed him.
Really kissed him, stealing deep inside with his tongue, every nerve ending in his body going wild as he took his first slick, rum-and-Coke taste of Paul. When Paul went slack, El dove in again, deeper this time, mating with Paul’s tongue like his life depended on it. Drawing back, he nipped hard enough on Paul’s bottom lip to make him squeak, then went in for a third time.
They kissed on the dance floor, and everything was right. El kept his hands on Paul’s ass and kissed him until they both lost their knees. El’s hands slid up underneath Paul’s T-shirt, stuttering against his sweaty skin until he started kneading at the slight muscles of Paul’s back. Eventually, one palm did make it under Paul’s waistband, seeking the soft, sweet flesh of his now-quivering backside, while the fingers of El’s other hand found their way, still under Paul’s shirt, to a nipple. All the while, he kissed Paul without stopping, sucked on his lips, his tongue, traced the outline of his