Excerpt of Melting Point by Kate Meader

Under Gage’s healing hands, years of pain and loneliness sloughed away with the soapy
water down the drain. For these few stolen moments, Brady would luxuriate in the sensual
comfort of another man’s touch. Not just any man. This perfect man.

But he needed more. He didn’t have the words to describe what, exactly, and maybe they
weren’t necessary because he had the word. The only word that mattered.

“Gage.”

Craving an anchor, a closer connection, he reached behind for Gage’s hip and encountered
. . . fabric. He was still wearing his boxer briefs.

“Wh—why aren’t you naked?”

Gage’s growl reverberated against his ear. “This sliver of wet cotton is the only thing
stopping me from drilling that gorgeous ass of yours, Brady.”

Oh, God. On a chest-filling groan, Brady stepped back, seeking Gage’s cock. Found it.
Said hello, there with a humping grind into all that rock-hard, cotton-covered
magnificence.

“F**k,” Gage gasped, pausing his hand on Brady’s chest midscrub.

Both of them stilled as the sensual landscape was rearranged. Brady held his breath. Had
he gone too far? Expected too much? Was Gage really here to get Brady clean?

All questions were answered when their bodies restarted as one in a slow, erotic grind.
Brady’s ass cuddled against Gage’s hard-on felt so good, the barrier of the wet cotton a
delicious friction as Gage’s cock stroked between Brady’s ass cheeks. The steamy cocoon
added to that spaced-out feeling that they were lost in a carnal world made for two.

“First time I saw you was from the back,” Gage husked out. “First thing I saw was this
neck tattoo.” The slightest brush of Gage’s lips across the smoke curl tattooed at the
base of his skull made Brady shiver, even in the misty heat.

“I wanted to kiss it, map it with my tongue, know all its secrets.” He pressed his mouth
to Brady’s neck more insistently, as if he could draw some deeper knowledge with that
simple touch. There was something almost pure about it, an innocent contrast to the
dirty friction below their waists.

“Tell me about it.”

“What?”

“This tat. Why smoke?” Grasping Brady’s hips, he halted the motion of Brady’s ass
rubbing against all that amazing hardness. Brady tried to move, to get back to grinding
on Gage, but the bastard held him firm. The change-up was sheer torture. Was he
seriously demanding a conversation in payment for every second of pleasure?

“Tell me,” Gage ground out when Brady still hadn’t given up the goods. He sounded like
he was in pain. Brady took some small comfort that he wasn’t alone.

“It’s—it’s more common for people to get fire tattoos. Symbols of passion,
transformation, change. But I wanted smoke because it’s what remains. After the fire,
after everything is destroyed, you’re left with smoke and ash. You’ve gotta make
somethin’ out of it.”

“And have you? Made something out if it?” Gage dug his fingers into Brady’s hip, almost
imploring.

“I’m tryin’. It’s slow goin’, one step forward, two steps back, but I’m tryin’.” Even if
it took being high on pain meds to get him into that headspace.

“Trying’s good. Trying’s sexy,” Gage murmured against Brady’s ear. “Now try telling me
what you need.”