Free Wesley by Bailey Bradford Page A

presence. It was like a shimmer down his spine, a sensual stroke that lit his sexual needs up as no one else ever had. Perhaps not surprisingly, considering his past. Armando couldn’t remember ever fucking someone simply because he’d wanted to.
    But it was more than just sex, because it wasn’t only that luscious body and dick Armando had thought about. There were Wes’ pretty eyes, which Armando now knew were green with gold flecks. He thought about the way Wes’ lips looked slightly parted, passion shortening his breaths. And Armando thought about the firm swells of Wes’ ass, the bulge of his cock even when it was softening, the taste of his cum on Armando’s tongue.
    What Armando realised with a shock that made him ache was that he wanted Wes and that wasn’t going away. He couldn’t ignore it no matter how much he tried. He didn’t w ant to ignore it. That was definitely a new feeling. Armando had had sex for money, for survival, and under other much worse circumstances. Along with that, he’d always bottomed, and how many times had he fantasised about fucking Wes in the last day? Too many to count.
    The idea of topping had once made him feel queasy, but now, taking in Wes’ sexy body and the lust for him the man exuded almost palpably, Armando wanted nothing more than to bend Wes over the nearest surface and fuck him senseless. As the blood rushed to his dick, the fog in Armando’s head dissipated. He decided to take that as a sign—but he wasn’t a fool, not anymore.
    Armando’s heart was fluttering like he’d taken one too many Es, but he kept his nervousness hidden as he stared at Wes. That Wes stood still, like a spotlighted deer, only gave Armando a sense of power. He knew it shouldn’t have, because Wes was a shifter, and they could be dangerous. Last night, Wes had submitted to him, though, and Armando wanted to trust the desire making his dick hard. Surely there had to be a way he could have Wes.
    Fear had kept Armando paralysed, sexually, for too long. His climax in the restroom yesterday had driven that home to him. Obviously, it didn’t matter if he tried to hide that part of himself under a bit of pudge and baggy clothes—his dick was still functioning after all, and so was his awakening libido.
    Which meant that, contrary to what Armando had thought and even wished, he was still a sexual being, still capable, and repressing that part of himself wasn’t possible. Not when Wes was anywhere in sight, at least.
    Armando walked backwards a few steps until he bumped into his car. He leaned against it and tucked a thumb in his front pocket as he cocked a hip. It might have been a couple of years since he’d tricked, but Armando still remembered the poses he’d used to hook his customers. He tugged up his hoodie enough to show off what he wanted Wes to look at.
    The casual position was every bit as posed as it looked, and, Armando was sure, it showed off the attributes he wanted highlighted exceptionally well. He framed his groin with his hands when he tucked his other thumb in his front pocket, and Armando saw the way Wes’ eyes went heavy-lidded as he glanced down at what Armando was displaying.
    As if in a trance, Wes began to move towards him, almost jerkily for a few steps, then more smoothly. It reinforced in Armando’s mind the urgency to remember that the man was a shifter, and he had a fear of those—usually. Living with a wolf pack of shifters had helped somewhat, and they were the ones he should have feared the most. Wes was a snow leopard shifter, a beautiful one in either form, and he was now moving forward every bit as sinuously as a cat stalking its prey.
    Prey was something Armando would never be again. After the way Wes had given himself over last night, Armando didn’t think he would be in any danger despite the residual fear he always seemed to carry.
    He lounged for another second or two then stood up, pulling his shoulders back and expanding his chest, giving himself