I bit my tongue instead of making the obvious sex joke I so desperately wanted to make. He’d just woken up. I could be patient. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
I turned the music down a bit when I heard more cereal sprinkling into a bowl. Dove came and sat down crossed-legged on the other end of the couch. His hair was tied up in a messy knot and he wore a well-worn graphic tee and boxer briefs. I giggled to myself then took another bite of my cereal.
“What do you find so amusing this morning?”
“I’m rubbing off on you,” I simply replied.
“If that’s a sex joke, I swear to God—”
“No, perv. Get your head out of the gutter.” Dove huffed, but I cut him off before he had a chance to speak. “I was referring to your choice in attire this morning. Rather, your lack thereof.”
Dove glanced down to his bare legs then looked away from me, almost cartoonishly. Adorable. “I need to do laundry.”
“You don’t have to explain. I’m not judging. Besides, it’s more comfy this way. However, if you’re working today you might want to wear something with a bit more coverage.” He tilted his head in question, and I motioned to my neck where he had a red mark on his. “You’ve got a little something on your neck.”
“No.” One of his hands went to his neck and felt around. “No, no, no. You cannot mark me!”
I bit my top lip and cringed. “I guess this is a great time to discuss boundaries, then?”
“I have to get ready for work soon.” He cut his eyes at me and growled under his breath. So feisty. “We can talk about it as soon as I get back.”
“Ah, I might be out. I’m going to go visit my grams today.”
“Wait, you were serious before when you said you had to go see your granny?”
“Hey, Daisy Buchanan is a delightful woman to spend time with. She practically—”
He held up a hand, silencing me. “I’m sorry, what? Daisy Buchanan? As in The Great Gatsby?”
I nodded. “The one and only. I suppose I shouldn’t tell you that my father’s name is Thomas…”
“Oh, Jaysus.”
“Thomas is also my middle name,” I added with a smirk.
“Why am I surprised? Nothin’ about ya is right.”
“Aww, cute, you’re getting all extra-Irish on me.”
“Whatever.” He brought his bowl up to his lips and drank down the milk remaining in the bowl before he shot to his feet and glared at me. “You’re my flatmate, so I’ll see you again eventually.”
He stormed off, dropping his bowl in the sink on his way back to his room. He slammed the door extra loud, which only made me like him more. Ah, so adorably feisty, that one.
“What did you do?” Grams asked me with narrowed eyes.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She picked up one of the dominoes on the table and biffed it at my face. “Don’t get coy with me, boy. You’ve had a mischievous grin on your face since you walked through the door.”
I shrugged and glanced around the room, taking in the mementos from her life, as well as various photos of Miho and me. She’d moved into this retirement facility a couple of years ago when my grandpa died. Mom and Dad had wanted her to move in with them, but Grams insisted on this home in particular. Here, she had her own apartment, access to a gym with a variety of activities, and a network of neighbors and friends. Not to mention, several sweet ladies baked me cookies to take home every time I visited—perks of being “a darling and handsome grandson.”
Grams raised another domino and I flinched, putting my hands up in front of me. “Okay! I concede. I did a thing.”
“Do I have to pry it out of you?” she asked with one corner of her mouth upturned.
“Dubhlainn and I had sex last night.” I paused for her reaction, and I was not disappointed when her eyes went wide and she smiled. “And yes, it was amazing.”
“Well done, boy. What does this mean for you now?”
“Hopefully it means I’m in for a lot more of it. He’s beautiful and lives with me—that is way too convenient to pass up.”
“That’s not what I meant, dear.” She cocked an eyebrow and leveled me with her intense brown eyes. She was a petite woman and always prided herself on looking presentable, and today was no exception. Dressed in a fitted floral dress and white cardigan, nothing was out of place. Her blonde hair had turned mostly gray, but those eyes were still fierce.
“I guess I’m bisexual?” It was more of a question than a statement.
“Try not to sound so confident,” she deadpanned.
“Well, I’m clearly not straight. I’ve got irrefutable evidence in support of that now. Bryan is probably right in saying that it’s pretty unlikely to just be gay for one person, so I’m probably some degree of bisexual.” I counted on my fingers for show and huffed. “Maybe ten percent. Ish.”
“Are you happy with this new development?”
I thought back to last night. Being with Dove had felt right and not once did I want to stop. When I recalled how I wanted to have my way with him in the kitchen this morning, I couldn’t stop the full-on smile that overtook my face.
“There it is,” she said. “That smile says it all.” Grams reached across the table and squeezed my hand before gently slapping my cheek. “Now, hurry up and make your play—it’s still your turn.”
“Yes, Grams.” I glanced down at my tiles and bit back an evil grin. “You’re going down.”
“I’ve been playing this game longer than you’ve been alive. Quit stalling.”
I pushed thoughts of Dove and my ambiguous sexuality aside and focused on the game. She wouldn’t go easy on me, and I had every intention of winning.
Eight
Dubhlainn
“Sis, what the hell happened to you, and where can I get some?”
I glanced down at my body and noted the fading bruises on my legs and hips. I’d noticed the mark on my neck hadn’t fully faded before I got in the shower that morning. Standing in front of Taylor in nothing but my kex, I must have looked quite a mess. It’d been a week since Mac took me for a ride, and I hadn’t quite wrapped my head around the fact that it’d happened. The ache in my arse the next morning and the marks that lingered were proof of what transpired, but he hadn’t tried to do it again, nor had we talked about it. I was just as much to blame for that, though.
“Earth to Dubhlainn.” Taylor stood in front of me and snapped his fingers inches from my face. “Wake up, hun.”
“Sorry. I spaced out.”
“No shit,” he teased. Taylor wrapped his arms around my neck and cocked his head to the side as a devious smile spread across his face. “So, you gonna tell me who rocked your world? Or do I have to start guessing?”
“It was Mac.”
A quiet gasp rushed out of him before what I could only call a squeal. “When?!”
“Last Friday, after the show.”
“You bitch.” He followed up the accusation with a hard pinch to my cheek that made me cry out. “It’s been a full week. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s the good tea you need to give me while it’s still hot.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. It’s been… weird with him this past week.”
“What do you mean? Was the sex bad?” Taylor tugged my arm and led me over to the couch in his studio apartment. It was littered in our clothes as we prepared for tonight’s show.
“Not even close. Mac was deadly. He gave me everything I asked for without hesitation.”
“Then why has it been weird?”
I huffed, long and slow. “We haven’t talked about what happened… and it hasn’t happened again. I keep waiting for him to, I don’t know, jump me or something. He was so tactile back when he was trying to sway me, and so intense during. He’s barely touched me at all this week, and it’s weird. He isn’t acting awkward around me or freaking out—he’s not doing anything different, and that’s what I find strang
e.”
Taylor hummed while he considered my words. “What about you? Have you tried to start anything?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been going along with the status quo too.”
“Well, maybe that’s why he hasn’t tried anything. Y’all need to sit down and have a chat or get sweaty. My vote is on the latter, but you do you, hun.”
“You’re right. I know you are.”
“Mm-hmm. Now tell me everything. Spare no detail about Blond Ambition.”
Over the next couple of hours I fulfilled Taylor’s wishes while we chose our outfits and practiced our routine for the show. We were doing a duet tonight of Eve and Gwen Stefani’s “Let Me Blow Ya Mind,” and we wanted to stun. The moves were a lot sexier and coordinated than I was used to, but Taylor was exceptionally patient. He was a great teacher as well as a skilled dancer—especially in four-inch heels.
Mac had texted me earlier asking about my show tonight. I relayed the details to him, though I hadn’t fully expected him to show up. As I peered into the main area of the bar from backstage, my breath caught in my throat when I spotted Mac at the bar. He looked exactly as he had the last time I saw him there: effortlessly sexy and good enough to take a bite out of. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a gulp of his drink—another fruity concoction—making me long for another taste of him.
Pull yer head outta yer arse, I told myself. Taylor was right in that I was just as responsible for the state of our relationship—for lack of a more apt word. Mac and I needed to talk. Perhaps it would be easier to broach the topic tonight after we’d both had a few scoops. But look what happened last time you got drunk with him. I wrinkled my nose at the thought, then left to go find Taylor.
“You good, sis?” he asked me with a wink.
I looked over at him, taking in his short, pink wig, red, plunging-V top, leather jacket, and white pants with black and red letters. He even had the fingerless gloves and fake paw print tattoos on his smooth, contoured chest. He looked stunning, and oh-so 2001. I was right there with him dressed in a yellow-and-blue-striped bikini top, red bomber jacket, and black pants. The ensemble was topped off with my blonde wig, black visor, and a gaudy, gold necklace that read “QUEEN.” And I felt like one.
I nodded at Taylor then held up my fist, which he bumped with his own. When we walked out onstage and got into position, I spared Mac a quick glance, which he returned with a wink. The music started, and we put our well-rehearsed moves into practice. I felt Mac’s heavy gaze on me the entire time, even when I had my back to him. I wanted to turn and seek him out, but I pushed the urge down and focused on not tripping over my or Taylor’s feet. That would be just what I fuckin’ needed.
We finished the routine without the whole thing going arseways at my hands, much to my relief. We went around schmoozing and collecting tips after, and I deliberately skipped over Mac. Taylor, however, did not. He leaned in close and whispered something in Mac’s ear before he pulled a folded paper bill from in between Mac’s middle and index fingers and walked toward me. Whatever he’d said left Mac wide-eyed and grinning.
“What was that about?” I asked him.
“I was just letting ya mans know he needs to use his pretty mouth for more than making you scream.”
My jaw went slack and I blanched. “You’re joking.”
“Hunny, do I look like I’m playin’ games right now? Y’all needed a push—consider this a shove,” he replied with an eyebrow cocked.
“Puns are not appreciated right now,” I mumbled.
He bumped his shoulder into mine and snorted a laugh. “Come, come. Let’s get changed so you can talk to him.”
I’d apologized to Mac when I met him at the bar. He was thoroughly tickled by Taylor’s straightforward approach, though he agreed that Taylor was right. We went back to our flat to have some privacy with our long-overdue chat. I was a grimy, glittery mess, and opted to shower before we spoke. Mac was in the kitchen wiping down the counters when I finished. I took a seat at the island across from him.
“Do you want anything to drink?”
“Three fingers of Jameson would be brilliant.”
“Wow, okay. I meant, like, water or juice, but we can have at the hard stuff.” He brought out two mugs and the bottle.
“Tea mugs?”
“Mm-hmm.” He held them both up on one hooked finger. “Handles make them easier to hold. And these are bigger than the fancy glasses.” He poured God knows how much into each mug then passed me one. “Cheers.”
“Sláinte.” We clinked mugs then I brought mine to my lips and swallowed down a liberal mouthful of whiskey. I shook my head and puffed my cheeks, releasing a deep breath.
“Where would you like to begin?” he asked without a hint of unease in his smooth, deep voice.
“Do you regret fucking me?”
“What?” He looked sincerely surprised by my question—a good sign. “Of course not. Do you regret it?”
I shook my head. “No. Why have you been acting strange?”
Mac’s brows furrowed, and he cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. “I haven’t. Everything has been pretty normal.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. It’s too normal. You’re not freaking out at all, and you haven’t…” I stopped myself before I could finish that pathetic, needy sentence.
“I haven’t what?” He set his mug down with enough care for it to barely make a sound on the counter. He casually leaned toward me, gripping the edge of the counter and putting his sexy forearms on display. “I haven’t tried to fuck you again? Is that it?”
I felt my face heat. I turned away from Mac before draining the contents in my mug.
“Yeah, that’s what this is about,” he drawled. “Dubhlainn, I left you alone because I wasn’t sure you wanted me to touch you again. We had what I thought was a mind-blowing time, then you said you wanted to talk, which is fine. But you never talked to me. I figured you had a reason for putting it off, so I gave you space and respected what I thought was your decision.”
Shite. This is my fault. “What about the rest of it? You’re telling me you’re just fine with what we did? With what that means for you?”
He shrugged. “I’m more than okay with the implications. I’m not torn up over not being able to call myself straight anymore. I already told you that I wasn’t confused about what I wanted from you. That hasn’t changed at all. In fact, I want you more now that I’ve had a taste. The only thing keeping me at bay is what you want. So, tell me: what is it you want, Dove?”
I chewed my bottom lip and regarded Mac carefully. How had I—we—let such an egregious miscommunication happen? “I’m so fuckin’ dense,” I muttered. “You are too. I was a dumbarse for putting off talking to you. When I saw how unaffected you seemed, I lost my nerve. I assumed you were pretending it never happened. And you”—I cut my eyes at him—“could have voiced your thoughts. We’re both to blame for this awkward chinwag.”
“I’m sorry, a what?”
“A chat, you arse.”
“Ah.” He bowed his head, though I saw the beginning of a smirk before he did. “Just to be clear, I’m going to ask you again: what do you want? If you tell me to fuck off, I will. But”—his voice dropped, sending a chill up my spine—“if you tell me you want this as much as I do, I can’t be held responsible for what I do to you.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, I’d like to. Just say the word.”
My cock stirred and started to stiffen. Fuck, fuck, fuck! “I…”
Mac moved around the counter, never taking his eyes off mine. He stood before me and lifted my chin up with his index finger. “I’ll make this easy on you: yes or no?”
I nodded immediately.
“Nah. Say it,” he pressed.
My lips parted and trembled. My entire body thrummed with the need to be touched—to be fucked. “Yes.”
His hands were on me, drawing me against him, as soon as the word left my mouth. He kissed me with
more pent-up need than a week had any right producing, and I returned his intensity. I slipped my fingers into his hair, and he did the same, tugging my head back. His tongue traced the pulse in my neck before he gently bit down on my collarbone. I sucked in a shaky breath and closed my eyes, letting the feel of Mac against me be my focus. He was hard in his shorts, his cock rubbing against my stomach.
He took a step forward and backed me against the edge of the counter, pushing aside the stool I’d just been sitting on. Strong hands grasped my ass and lifted me onto the counter. Mac forced my legs further apart with his larger frame, though I welcomed his heat. His lips crashed into mine in a bruising kiss, followed by his tongue tracing my bottom lip. I opened up to him and savored his taste while his sexy scruff tickled my jaw.
His kisses moved down to my jaw and neck, where he nipped my sensitive skin. “Arms up,” he rasped against my neck. I lifted my arms and allowed him to pull my T-shirt off. His hands were back on me, though they moved slowly. He traced my collarbone with his fingertips, then trailed feather-light caresses down the middle of my chest. I fought to remain still while Mac’s fingers threatened to unravel me.
I opened my eyes and focused on his face. His jaw was clenched tight, accentuating his sharp jawline, and drawing attention to his kiss-swollen lips. His eyes followed the path his fingers traced along my chest. He appeared to be deep in concentration before his eyes suddenly met mine. Why is he loo—
A sharp intake of breath canceled all of my thoughts as Mac brushed his thumb over my left nipple. He did it again, though he had a smile on his face this time. His other hand rubbed along my stomach and hip, squeezing every so often. Mac’s thumb circled the sensitive nub, then he pinched it, drawing a throaty moan out of me.
“Fuck yes,” he hissed. He leaned in and flicked his hot tongue over my nipple a couple of times before alternating to slower, softer passes. I braced one hand behind me on the counter, and fisted the hair at the back of his head with the other. My cock ached and twitched every time Mac bit my nipple. When he moved over to the other one, my hips started moving in small circles. I was desperate for any friction on my cock, even if it only came from my pajama pants.
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