Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(22)

Frank whirled around, eyes wide and heart pounding, and damn if he wasn’t looking right into Stefan’s mask. “What the f*ck are you doing?”

Stefan shrugged with one shoulder, and even the visor couldn’t hide the way his eyes narrowed in that unmistakable way that accompanied a smirk. “Made another bet with Mike and Geoff.”

Frank glared at him. “Stefan, you know we—”

“You’re a ref, and the field boss said I could capture a ref.” Stefan straightened, beckoning with a gloved hand. “Let’s go.”

In spite of his sudden urge to grab a stick and beat some sense into the arrogant little punk, an entirely different response brought him to his feet. Especially since crouching had suddenly become very uncomfortable.

“Stefan, I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Frank gulped. Stefan gestured sharply towards the field’s boundary, and Frank didn’t know what else to do but follow him. They crossed the yellow tape line.

Stefan faced him again. “I’m assuming, since you’re cooperating with the terms of your capture, that you’re willing?”

Oh dear sweet mother of God, “willing” doesn’t begin to describe it.

“I am.” Frank set his marker on the ground by his feet. “The question is, are you?”

“Take off your mask.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Frank glanced at the boundary line. Most of the game was at the south end of the field right now, from the sound of it, so they were well away from any potential stray paintballs. Or grenades, for that matter. He took off his mask and dropped it beside his feet.

Stefan laid his weapon on the ground. As he stood, he removed his own mask. Fuck, he was always hot like this, sweaty and dishevelled and flushed like he’d just f*cked the hell out of someone. Maybe he had. All Frank knew was the man personified pure, unbridled lust.

Stefan’s mask landed on the ground beside them, and he stepped towards Frank. Paintball combat continued in the distance, but here, the woods were silent except for the crunch of vegetation beneath Stefan’s boot. He reached for Frank’s jacket.

“To answer your question—” He tightened his grip and drew Frank to him. “—yes, I am absolutely willing.”

And Stefan kissed him.

You’re mad. You’re completely galloping mad.

Frank didn’t manage to jerk back, hell, didn’t want to, his brain gibbering like a freaked-out ape. He has no f*cking idea what he’s getting himself into, and he hasn’t taken off the mask with the others. He hasn’t kissed the others.

Stefan tasted of mint and something spikier, like adrenaline or aggression, and Frank couldn’t help it; he grabbed Stefan’s jacket and opened up to the kiss, thrilled to his f*cking toenails at the touch, the kiss, the strength and the surprise.

Dead.

No, not at all, actually.

Hell, he could maybe blow Stefan. He wanted to. Let the kid use him, subdue him, take his pleasure, and he’d get his own, too. Good deal. Best bloody offer he’d had for a long time, not counting his friends.

Stefan pulled back a little, eyes glazed. He licked his lips, but didn’t relax the grip on Frank’s jacket.

“I’ll . . .” Frank cleared his throat. God, he was turned on like mad from only one kiss, but he had to keep a clear head and keep control of this. Because otherwise something might happen that shouldn’t. Because it would be his responsibility. “I’ll blow you. Like . . . Chris did.”

Stefan shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll be like him at all.”

Frank chuckled. “Okay.”

Stefan glanced behind himself, then turned Frank and pushed him up against a tree. He pulled open Frank’s jacket, and then attacked his throat with teeth and lips. It made Frank shudder. He’d f*cking loved biting, until he’d freaked out over blood, even though he’d never bitten anybody to the blood. Bruises, yes, but . . . oh shit. Stefan was digging his teeth into the muscle between neck and shoulder and Frank’s knees almost buckled. His fingers worked frantically to open Stefan’s jacket, then finished opening his own, and tore at the T-shirt Stefan wore underneath, baring abs and even a bit of chest. Stefan’s dog tags jangled, and Frank ran his hands over his pecs, found his nipples, and pinched them.

Stefan hissed and bit harder, then whispered near Frank’s ear. “Prisoner’s getting brave. Next time I’ll tie you down.”

Yes please.

Bloody hell.

Frank felt Stefan’s hands on his trousers and ground against the touch, Stefan keeping him pinned in place with his hip and leg. Had he ever wanted anything so much in his life as this frantic quest for skin contact?

When Stefan freed his cock, he was completely hard, and Stefan’s rough touch didn’t change that at all. This was meant to show him who was boss, but all it did was make him more frantic to feel more, touch and taste more, see more.

He managed to get Stefan’s trousers open and pulled his briefs down, and then they ground together, sensitive skin against hot skin, clothes in disarray, a messy pushing and grinding and kissing and biting up against a tree. Frank pushed back, ground his cock against Stefan’s hard, panting body, and pulled him into another kiss, tongues wrestling for control too, sliding alongside each other, and Stefan pushed and bucked, using his whole strength as if Frank could even think of getting away.