It's Not Shakespeare Read Online Free PDF

stoplight, and Rafael’s black-eyed gaze was slow, suggestive, and cocky as hell. “The hell I am, Jimmy-Jack,” he said with a leer. “One night with me, you’ll be five years younger, guarandamnedteed!”
    James let out a chuff of air. “Five years younger, I’d still be five years too old for you,” he said gently, blushing, and Rafael rolled his eyes.
    “Bullshit! I’m damned near thirty, old man—that age bullshit don’t fly with me! You want to turn me down, you gotta come up with something better than that!”
    James concentrated on the road. “I, uhm, didn’t know you were offering.”
    “You say that word a lot, you know?”
    “Which word?”
    “Uhm.”
    Oh God. “Not usually,” James mumbled. “You’ve got to understand, I, uhm, don’t have a real social group out here. And you’re, uhm….” Well shit. Let’s just be real. “You’re sort of a frickin’ god, Rafael, okay? You make me nervous as all hell, and you’re really too young for me, and I’m not going to be articulate, okay? You can tell Sophie thanks but no thanks. Next time, make sure she gets someone who doesn’t creak when he walks.”
    There was a silence, and James stopped at the next light and looked to his right. Rafael was looking at him with that slow smile taking over his face.
    It made James’s stomach cold and his chest and face hot and his balls do a little dance somewhere between the two extremes.
    “I’d like to hear you creak, old man,” he said softly. “I’d really like to hear you moan.”
    James whimpered and would have banged his forehead against the steering wheel, but the light turned green.
    “You’re just evil. Evil sex on legs. I should pull over and let you out at the nearest strip mall or I’ll be spoiled for all other underwear models forever.”
    Rafael’s chuckle made his balls stop dancing. There was no room to dance when his cock took up the entire dance floor in his pants. “You got a long line of underwear models in your bed, Jimmy-Jack, or are you sayin’ I’ll ruin your stroke mags for life?”
    James scowled. “Do I look like I’ve got a long line of underwear models in my bed? I’ve got a long line of underwear models on my computer. They love me. They’re always hard, always there, and they don’t take off and leave me for married sugar daddies who finally leapt out of the closet and left their wives. I don’t need real, but I do need faithful. I’m okay, really. I’m fine.”
    “Oh, daddy, you may be fine, but you’re miles away from okay.”
    James made a face. “And please don’t call me ‘daddy’.”
    “I could call you ‘ papi ’ — how’s that?”
    “It means ‘daddy’ in Spanish, doesn’t it.” He didn’t even have to ask the question. He knew from the way Rafael chuckled that it was just one more way to yank his chain.
    “Of course it does. You’re too easy.”
    James exited off the freeway and scowled at the mass of cars in front of the auto mall. “I thought the point of all this was that I refuse to be easy. Even if you’re…”—his mouth went dry—“you’re beautiful.”
    “You hear that, Marlowe?” Rafael asked the dog. “He thinks I’m pretty. I think maybe Sophie picked better than I thought.”
    James gave a frustrated groan as he turned the Volvo into the dog park by main strength. The power steering sucked rocks, but he considered it an extra workout for his day.
    “Good sound, pretty white man,” Rafael said, his voice throaty and seductive again. “Now make it when I got you naked, and it’ll be perfect.”
    James parked the car and rested his head against his steering wheel, knowing he was sweating underneath his summer-weight jacket, and that his hair was nearly sopped through.
    “Rafael?” he asked, his voice muffled by his arms.
    “Yeah, papi?”
    “You know you’re beautiful, right?”
    “I’m pretty. It’s not a free pass to people’s beds, you know.”
    “Yeah, but… it’s been a while for me.