Touching Evil by Rob Knight Page A

over his hips.
    "I do." Rough fingers rubbed over his hipbones, under them, forefingers pressing along the seam of his torso and thigh.
    His breath caught, eyes closing, heat rushing through him. "Please don't stop."
    "Not gonna. Though it'd be a shame to waste that hot water. Come on.
Get in." Muscling him like he weighed nothing, even though he was half
a head taller, Artie moved them to the tub, getting them all settled
inside, arms and legs tangled.
    Greg leaned back, stretching out against Artie with a soft sigh. "You good?"
    "I am so good you don't even know." He got a warm, damp chuckle. "Or maybe you do."
    That tickled him, got him to laughing, soft and deep. "There is very little that hot water and naked skin can't fix."
    "You got that right. You've got this spot, right here..." Oh. Oh,
God, when Artie touched the underside of his thigh like that, Greg saw
fireworks. His toes curled and he rippled, his gasp just echoing and
echoing.
    "And ... and you have one on your wrist. Here." Greg's fingertips found it, drew a slow lazy circle around it.
    Artie's cock jerked against Greg's back. "I do. Oh, damn, Greg. That's good."
    He nodded, drew that hand up to his mouth, lips and teeth working that little sweet spot. Yeah. Yeah, it was good.
    Grunting, moving hard enough to make the water slosh, Artie rubbed,
practically purring. That rough, half-broken voice just went right
through him, making him shiver. The shaking intensified when Artie used
his free hand to touch and stroke, reaching down to cup Greg's cock
again.
    Hard enough he ached, Greg just whimpered, hips rocking, floating in
the water and trying to push toward that hand. "I feel you. Lord. It's
... It's fine, Artie."
    "Uh-huh. Good. I ... smells good. Feels right." They rocked, Artie
pressing up against him, fingers closing around him nice and firm,
pulling.
    He nodded, stubble making a rough noise against Artie's inner arm.
Every place that flushed on that muscled arm he nuzzled and nipped,
leaving his mark. Groaning, panting, Artie just let him go, watching
him, kissing his shoulders. The fascination hadn't faded at all with a
little familiarity. In fact, Artie seemed even more intent on him.
    He licked the light band of skin Artie's grandpa-watch usually
covered, the curve of elbow that smelled warm and musky, the puckered
bit of skin from a fight back when Artie was a rookie and working the
streets.
    All the while Artie worked him, too, hand moving on him, from tip to
base and below to tease his balls, then back up. When Artie started
getting toothy he knew the impatience was building. The need. He
shifted his hips back, Artie's heavy cock sliding along his crease. He
smiled as Artie groaned, bucked a little. Oh, someone liked that.
    So he did it again.
    "God. Greg. That. Damn." Growly. That rough-as-gravel voice just scraped over his nerves.
    "Yeah." He was almost humming with it, lifting himself up a little
in the water and then easing himself back down, rubbing that sensitive
shaft the whole way.
    The hand around him tightened, using his cock as leverage to pull
him back even harder. They became a circle of pleasure, from Artie's
hand on him to his ass rubbing that thick prick. It was—oh, sweet
fuck. With the water splashing against him and his nipples hard and
that hand and Artie's need all mingled with his and ... "Artie. Artie,
I. You."
    "Got me, Greg. Any way you want me. Not gonna hurt you, though." No.
No, Artie wouldn't ever do that. He hated it when anyone did with a
passion that burned almost as bright as Artie's want.
    "No. No, you won't. I know. Please." Come to bed, Artie. Come to bed.
    "Yeah. Yeah, okay." Artie grunted, legs and arms and belly muscles
going tense as Artie heaved them up out of the tub, water just
streaming everywhere. God, that man had brute strength.
    Greg moaned, grabbing a towel as soon as Artie let his feet hit the
floor, getting the bare minimum of water off them before heading for
the bed.
    Following close on his