Free Slow Burn (MM) by Sam B. Morgan

moments he laughed or smiled, or instead of being sexy as hell, he elevated their chitchat into some profound insight and knocked Zack on his ass—it was all attractive. Even moody and disgruntled, the man was still hot.
    Normally Zack would be thinking, He’s gorgeous, sure, but straight . He would admire Brody and move on. But he didn’t imagine what had happened the other day. The attraction wasn’t completely one-sided. But Brody was either in denial or in the closet— way in—and Zack swore he’d never go there again. Everything in his logical side glowered at him, incredulous, yelling, You, sir, are an idiot!
    But Brody made him want to go for it anyway. Leap in, both feet, in over his head. He might drown, but he’d think about it later. Incredulous logical guy was going to have a field day when this all ended with him drowning in his own stupidity.
    Brody jogged back down, handing Zack a bright blue bottle before he sat down a few steps up. Dusting the sand off his hands before taking a long swallow from his drink, Zack decided it was time to carefully study the ingredients on the side of the bottle.
    “So did I successfully distract you from the push-ups from hell?” Brody asked.
    Zack looked up and laughed. Brody would never back out from training. Zack would bet his boat that after this drink he’d be bitching about getting his heart rate back up, but Zack played along. “I can let you off with a warning this time. Buuuut, we’ll just double up next time.”
    Brody’s mouth tugged up, just a little, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He took another swallow; this time his hand came to rest on his bad knee, thumb rubbing at the scar. Zack zeroed in on the movement, noticed the twitch of his foot.
    “You all right?”
    Brody nodded and took his hand away.
    Zack wasn’t convinced. “Sure you are.” He took the couple of steps up to stand in front of Brody, hands going to his knee, supporting it as he stretched it out, bending the joint. Feeling the movement, the slide. He watched Brody’s face to see if there was any expression of pain.
    Brody stared back at him, hands pegged to his sides but his gaze firmly holding Zack’s. There was absolutely no pain there. A shitload of other stuff but no pain. Intense and scrutinizing, it made Zack very aware that he stood between Brody’s spread legs, hands on the warm, sandy skin of his knee and thigh. Hadn’t they just been here?
    That same heat and heaviness filled the air faster than smoke. It slowed everything down, sensitizing his fingertips to the fine hair covering firm muscles, the tensing of Brody’s body, the smallest of contractions in his thigh. Zack set his leg down slowly, but left his hand just above the knee, his heart racing, thundering like he’d just sprinted the full length of Folly Beach. He was about to leap. It was insane, but he kept moving closer to the edge because there was no way he couldn’t.
    Brody didn’t move. He sat there oozing power and destructive sex appeal like some statue of Ares come to life. Zack was having about a million internal explosions, and Brody’s face was set like stone. Except for the desire so very apparent in his eyes. A need was there. No man looked at another man like that without it. Whether Brody realized it or not, it was burning from the inside, the stormy-gray gaze saying more than if Brody got up and yelled, I want you! And I’m going to take you right here on this beach!
    Zack would let him too. He wanted Brody, and at the moment, he didn’t care about logic or fallout or anything besides answering that look. Zack leaned forward and pressed his lips against Brody’s.
    They were firm and salty and sweet from the Gatorade. Brody didn’t budge. He didn’t move away or flinch, so Zack slid his lips over Brody’s again, relishing the feel, the taste, the brush of Brody’s stubble. He was about to pull away when he felt Brody’s lips part. Pliant, softness giving way, allowing it to