André

by Jayce Ellis

  Marcus

  I’d debated calling Harold and giving him some bullshit excuse why I couldn’t make it to his anniversary party, but it was a really dumb idea to alienate mentors just because you were in your feelings.

  And I was in mine. I could admit it. I was busy licking my bruised heart rather than manning up and accepting that not everything worked out the way you wanted. I hadn’t done long relationships, but I’d been in enough of them to know that.

  Still, it didn’t make knowing I’d see André any easier. I didn’t have the energy for Jake’s puppy-dog faces, the self-flagellation he insisted on now that he realized his “live your joy” philosophy wasn’t unconditional, so I’d booked myself into a hotel when I arrived. And after a short, restless nap, a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to get some work done, and a few bites of food, I went on and got dressed, then headed out.

  Harold’s anniversary party was being held in a ballroom, nearly the same as André’s father’s birthday. Memories flashed of us walking in together, me sliding him his roll of antacids and him looking at me like I’d hung the moon or something. Him being as equally protective of me as I’d been of him, slipping in whenever someone tried to make a snarky remark. I’d known I’d fallen for him that morning, and the months since then had proved he cared about me in a very real way.

  Jake’s words filtered back as I walked down the hall. The situation with my parents had been so fucked, André trying to maintain his composure while I lost every ounce of mine. Hell, I’d left him there with them. I had no clue what happened after I bounced, and had rejected their repeated calls. I should’ve had a real conversation with André. Should’ve told him my fears, let him tell me his, found a path forward together, instead of taking his poor reaction to my poor announcement as the unvarnished truth and refusing to accept otherwise. I could hear my daddy’s voice now: You still got some growing up to do, son.

  I paused outside the entrance and took a deep breath before walking in. The strains of a string quartet hit me and...were they playing “Candy”? Yes, yes they were, and a laugh bubbled up out of me.

  “Can I assist you?”

  I looked down to find a woman at a table with name cards on it. “Yes, I’m sorry. Marcus Thompson.” I found my place card while she crossed my name off the list, then scanned the rest of the names.

  There he was. André Ellison. And he was at a different table than me.

  I picked up the card. “Is it possible to put us at the same table?” I asked, holding it for her.

  She gnawed her lower lip. “Um, I’m not really—”

  “Oh, you’ve got to,” a feminine voice called from behind me, and I smiled. God, I’d missed her.

  I turned and tilted my head. Brian was standing behind me, his arms around Fiona. And even though intellectually I knew they were together, seeing them still fritzed my brain for a second. “Hey, Brian, Fiona. I’m a little dumbfounded right now.”

  She winked and blew me a kiss. “So, you still planning on being a kept man, or you change your mind on that?”

  “What?” Brian’s head snapped between us, his brows furrowed.

  God, they were cute together. Wasn’t that a bitch? She winced and patted his arm. “Oops. I don’t usually share things André tells me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I broke in, “but I’m lost.”

  Fiona grinned. “You didn’t know Dre and I live in the same building? It’s hard to keep things from me. He called me after y’all split up.”

  Which made sense, I guess. It explained why their relationship always seemed more personal. Not just Black people looking out for each other personal, but deeply caring personal.

  I shook my head and looked at them. “I forgot you guys were dating. I think my brain bleached it.”

  “Whatever, man,” Brian said. “I need to get back to the fact that you really did end up banging your boss. Just like a movie.” Fiona cackled, and Brian looked at her like she was his whole world. Goddamnit.

  Jealousy surged through me watching them, because I wanted that too. I wanted that short little fucker who wore too-tight slacks and aviators, who worked his ass off so he could come home and let me be in control, to look at me just like that. I turned to the woman at the table, who watched us with open curiosity.

  “So here’s the thing,” I told her, pointing at André’s card still in my hand. “I am in love with this man. And we did that bullshit thing where we didn’t talk and let feelings get in the way, and I need him back.” I pointed to Brian and Fiona. “You see how he’s looking at her? That’s the way this man looks at me, and I feel ten feet tall. And I want to spend the rest of my life giving him reasons to look at me that way, so I need you to help me make that happen.”

  “I don’t think I can manage that height difference. These eight inches are more than enough,” a quiet voice said behind me.

  I closed my eyes at it, willing my heart to calm down before I turned around.

  André was stunning in his blue tux. Of course he owned a blue one; of course he did. And he was beautiful, standing there with a matching bow tie and watching me like he wasn’t sure I was real.

  “Baby, I—”

  He put a finger over my lips, then rubbed them with his thumb. “We need to talk. And Cameo there will bug me until I tell her everything later. But we don’t need an audience.”

  I had no clue what the hell Cameo meant, but I nodded and followed him out the room, grinning when I heard Brian speak to the lady at the table. “Definitely put them together.”

  “And make sure the DJ plays some more Cameo tonight,” Fiona added.

  André walked down another hall, then started yanking handles until a door opened. The room was empty, and we fumbled along the wall until he found the light switches. Chairs were stacked in the corner, and I unbuttoned my suit jacket to pull down two of them.

  We sat, me straight up and André leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “How’ve you been?” he asked.

  I sucked in a breath. It was so easy to say fine, to play off like I hadn’t been miserable these last few weeks, but we—I—had to get past that. I wanted more from us.

  “Wretched,” I said instead. “I missed you so goddamn much and I hated how I acted more than I hated what you said.” Because there was no denying that the words hurt. Even in the heat of the moment, I was allowed to have that anger.

  He nodded. “I wish like hell I could go back in time and change that. Shit,” he said, laughing, “I wish I’d figured out what you really meant with that stay-at-home parent question. Fiona had to put two and two together for me.”

  I huffed. “Yeah, that wasn’t my best. I was intentionally obtuse, and that didn’t give you the chance to be honest.”

  André sat back. “Speaking of, you might want to talk to your parents about their situation. It’s a little more complicated than I think you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, they were there for a minute after you left. It was an enlightening conversation. I like your mom.”

  “Really? And Dad?”

  He grinned at me. “He worries about you. I get it. I understand his concerns. But he loves you and only wants the best. One day he’ll figure out that I do too.”

  My breath caught. Like in those romance novels that had no bearing on real life—except for when they did. “What’d you say?”

  André stood and crossed the grand total of one step to reach me. I looked up and spread my legs, and he stepped between them. “I love you. I want to make you happy. I’m sorry I was dismissive of something I know had to be hard for you to admit. I’m sorry—”

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and sighed into his chest. “I love you back.” Never thought I’d hear those words. Never thought I’d be desperate to say them in return. I craned up and he dipped his head to mine for a kiss. Sweet
, searching, tender kisses.

  Then he pulled away with a laugh. “Yeah, I think I like it better when you’re the one leaning down. This shit is hard on my back.”

  I stood and grabbed him and kissed him again, just the way he liked. “I could really bail on this whole thing right now,” I told him.

  “And have Harold and his wife yell at us? Not a chance. We’re doing this.”

  Yes the hell we were.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Marcus

  The party was excellent. The lovely lady at the front had managed to put us at a table together, along with Fiona and Brian. And now that things were in place, it made sense the surprise I’d seen on Brian and André’s faces when we’d done the presentations. I’d actually meant to ask about it, but then we got the gig and had drinks and had sex so, you know, priorities.

  Harold and his wife were lovely, we danced the literal whole evening, and now we were in a car on the way back to Crestline. André’s eyes were closed and his fingers were entwined with mine on my lap.

  “We’re here,” I said as the driver pulled to the curb, bringing our hands up for a kiss.

  He hummed and opened his eyes, then smiled at me, like it’d just now hit that I was there. And not going anywhere. We climbed out and I followed him in and, of course, there was Mr. Johnson at the concierge desk.

  “Mr. Ellison,” he said as we climbed the stairs.

  André beamed and walked over, and my stomach clenched. Because André was important to this man, and I wanted him to know I was on the up-and-up. I wanted him to like me. “Mr. Johnson,” André said, tugging me close, “I’d like you to meet Marcus Thompson.”

  I held my hand out. “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, sir.”

  He stood and took it in a rough shake. “The pleasure is truly all mine. I trust you’ve resolved the issues that kept you apart?”

  André chuckled and squeezed me tighter. “We have.”

  Mr. Johnson smiled and it was a good look on him. Then it fell away and he stared at me. “And you? How’re things with you and your parents?”

  Shit. I’d forgotten he was the one here when they’d shown up. Should’ve known he wouldn’t forget. I gulped. “We’re getting there. We’ll work things out.”

  His gaze didn’t drop, but mine sure as hell did. “You make sure you do, son.”

  He’d called me son. Which meant I’d be all right. I smiled at him. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  “Good. Now get my boy upstairs before he falls over.”

  I laughed and tugged André up. He was dead on his feet next to me. “Goodnight, sir.”

  “Night, son.”

  We got on the elevator and I hit the button for nine. André perked up immediately. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “The fuck? I thought you were wiped out.”

  He pointed down. “These shoes? Not made for standing or dancing. Also, we’d be down there for hours if I looked awake. It’s boring this time of night. Mr. Johnson will talk your ear off.”

  I laughed and wrapped my arms around him. The elevator stopped the floor before ours, and a couple walked on. The white guy—wearing what had to be red gloss, because no one actually had lips that color, right?—leaned on the Black one much the same as André leaned on me, and he nearly purred when the Black guy pressed a kiss to the top of his forehead. They were cute.

  The doors opened for us, and André and I walked off, nodding at the couple. Behind me, I heard “They’re totally going to fuck, aren’t they, Jer? That’s so hot” followed by a “Jesus, Collin, shush” before the door closed.

  “He’s right,” André said once we were in the apartment.

  “Huh? About what?”

  He turned to me and grinned. “We’re totally gonna fuck.”

  I took his hands in mine and walked him backward to his room. “Is that so? You want me face down, ass up for you?”

  André stopped, looking off to the side and gnawing his lower lip. I grasped his chin gently in my hands. “Is it time, Dre? You want me to have you?”

  When he looked at me, I saw the truth in those eyes. We were back, together, and still had some shit to work out. But this, right here and now? What he wanted was clear.

  “I’m gonna take such good care of you,” I promised. Because I loved him, and he loved me too. And man, that shit was wild.

  He nodded and gave me that grin again. The one that guaranteed a lifetime of freak nasty in the bedroom. “I want everything you promised that first night.”

  Ask and you shall motherfucking receive. I was tired of talking, tired of all the words that never adequately expressed how I felt. I took off my suit jacket and tossed it over a chair, then sat at the edge of the bed and opened my arms. André was in them in a flash, circling my upper back and holding me to his chest. I could rest like that forever, but my dick ached at the thought of getting inside this man. So I pulled his shirt from the tux pants, then let my hands roam underneath and touch all that skin.

  André groaned and dropped his arms, working to get his buttons undone while I found his nipples and twisted with my fingers.

  “Fuck, Marcus,” he grunted, hastily pushing the fabric off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

  I leaned over and bit lightly on a nipple. “Marc. The hell with professionalism.”

  He laughed through his groan. “Okay, Marc.”

  I stopped and he looked down. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” he asked.

  I chuckled into his chest. “Marcus sounds good coming from you.” André pulled me to stand and I took his lips in a brief, hard kiss, then knelt and went to work on his pants, unfastening them and helping him step out of them. And went slack-jawed at the sight in front of me. André, naked except for the navy blue jock that matched his tux. Because my man would for sure be the one to match the jock to his outfit.

  “This,” I said, pulling on the strap and tugging him closer, “is a thing of goddamn beauty.” I mouthed his dick over the fabric while I massaged his ass cheeks.

  “Marcus, fuck. Wanted to be ready. In case I saw you. In case I got you back.”

  My heart melted, and my hand...my hand met something solid. Mother of God. I pulled back. “Baby, are you wearing a butt plug? Did you put that in just for me?”

  André thrust his hips forward. “Just for you.” I palmed it, intent on fucking him with it, but he stopped me. “Wait,” he said, then stepped back enough to fully get his tux pants off before rooting in the pocket for something and handing it to me. “Here.”

  My baby loved me. Came to the party wearing a jockstrap and a butt plug. And had just handed me the remote.

  I stood and repositioned us until he was flat on the mattress and I was next to the bed. I stripped out the rest of my clothes as fast as I could without ripping something, then crawled up beside him. “Now, where were we?”

  I kissed him, taking my time exploring his mouth thoroughly. He clutched at my shoulder and pulled me closer, alternating between taking and relinquishing control. I imagined there’d be a lot of that in the future, and I grinned against his lips.

  When the need to breathe became too much, I moved to his jaw. Down his neck. A hard suck on his Adam’s apple. His collarbone, down to one nipple. I flicked my tongue across it and he moaned. I bit down gently and he bucked. His body was a thing of beauty and it was finally all mine. I kept up the sucking motion while I fiddled with the remote in my hand and clicked the on button.

  André jolted, but I didn’t let up. His legs fell to the side and I sucked harder. I needed him desperate for me the way I’d been for him before I gave us what we both wanted.

  “Fuck, Marcus, god.” He dug his nails into my arms and pulled me to lie on top of him. “Feels so good.”

  I switched to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment, and when it looked li
ke he was getting used to the sensation, kicked the vibrator up a notch.

  “You like that, baby?” I asked him when I came up for air.

  His head was pressed into the pillow beneath him, his eyes clenched shut, his mouth slack, fisting the sheets while his thighs trembled. All spread and open and taking everything I gave him. I kissed the side of his mouth and waited until he opened his eyes and focused on me.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  André grinned, then I clicked up the vibrator again. His eyes rolled back and he closed them. I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. He looked so good like this. “You too. Need to feel it.”

  I hummed and shut the vibrator off. And was proud for not laughing when André whined. “You cannot know how hard it makes me that you had this in all night.”

  “Show me. I’m ready, Marcus. Show me.”

  And I was supposed to not come when he whispered things like that in my ear? Shiiiit. My dick was leaking like a faucet, and precome pooled on André’s navel where his dick had left the confines of his jock. It was time to make love to my man.

  André

  Marcus was torturing me. My legs barely worked, my ass vibrated long after he’d turned it off, and my nipples needed some attention. The loving, gentle licking kind, not the “biting them is a direct line to my dick and you learn something new every day” kind.

  I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me. “You sure you still want this? I’m down to get fucked, you know.”

  I did know, and I appreciated him taking the time to double-check. “I want this,” I assured him. “Now more than ever.”

  He smiled and it was a thing of fucking beauty, and I rolled my legs up. Marcus’s eyes drifted lower and he palmed the base of the plug, pulling it partway out. My grip tightened and I sucked in a long breath before releasing it slowly.

  “You okay?” Marcus’s voice was a husky whisper, his eyes focused intently on mine even while he dragged the plug along my prostate. My body throbbed, stripping my breath from me.