RefugeLUCAS“No.”Nico blinked. “No, what?”“Whatever you’re thinking.”“I wasn’t thinking about anything.”“That,” I said, “is a fucking lie.”Nine years of knowing this man, his thoughts revolved around two things. Cash and Dicks. Yes, plural. Dicks. Dicks from all races.No shades to any race.His smile widened. Those blue eyes—doe-soft, stupidly pretty—caught the light the way they always did. That was the first thing that had gotten me, years ago. Those eyes. I’d been nineteen and all I wanted to do was shove my dick down his throat and watch those eyes tear up.I was not nineteen anymore.I was also, apparently, not immune, because my dick is bricking up in my pants. It just clocked in my head that I haven't gotten laid in a while. That should be the vivid reason for my annoyance. I rubbed my temple, feeling my traitorous dick throb in my pants. The music from the club floor pulsed faintly through the floorboards—low and rhythmic, like a second heartbeat beneath our feet.
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