““Make me hope,” Casey begged. “I can wait—I’m not sixteen anymore—but make me hope.” Joe closed his eyes, feeling totally vulnerable, but there had never, ever been a time when he could refuse to make Casey happy. He didn’t kiss by halves. He seized Casey’s small face in his big hands and shoved his fingers through that straight sandy-blond hair, and liked the texture so much he did it again. Casey’s narrow, streetwise eyes grew wide and shiny and his flat mouth puffed up because his teeth worried it in anticipation. Then Joe framed his face, holding him just so, tilted his head, and lowered his mouth with force and decision. Casey groaned and opened his mouth at the first touch of lips, and Joe took command. He liked kissing that was hard, with lots of tongue, and he started by tasting the inside of Casey’s mouth and forcing his tongue to engage. Casey got the hang of it in a moment and brought his own hand up to the nape of Joe’s neck, digging his fingers into Joe’s neat braid and hanging on for dear life. Ahhh… kissing Casey this way was glorious. He kissed back hard, rapacious, demanding more and more and harder.””
