The Veranda (Lavender Shores Book 3)

by Rosalind Abel

  It seemed that Spencer was done being subdued. I wasn’t sure if that meant he was getting stronger or I was getting weaker. I truly had come over to Donovan’s to talk. I had no doubt that if we kept dancing around what was happening between us, things were going to explode. And probably not in an enjoyable way. But as I sat there on that swing, the evening sounds of summer coming to life, all I could picture was Donovan in the shower. He was right there, on the other side of the wall, just a few feet away. The thought of it made me rock-hard and uncomfortable in my seated position. And that subdued man, that subdued Spencer, finally said fuck it! I was only along for the ride, my heart beating in terror and thrill.

  I stepped into Donovan’s house, shut the door behind me, and heard the sound of the shower. As I padded toward his bathroom, I removed my clothes, letting them fall as I walked. He hadn’t locked the bathroom door, hadn’t even shut it all the way. When I pulled open the shower curtain, the expression of shock and fear in his eyes made me think I’d made a horrible mistake. At least, I thought it was fear. Whatever it was altered quickly. The way he looked at my body let me know I hadn’t made a mistake.

  “I couldn’t wait on the porch any longer.” Like this had anything to do with the porch. I couldn’t wait for him any longer. Not after a decade of waiting. The blowjob at the masquerade, the kiss in the parking lot, they had done nothing to satiate the desire that had built up inside me from the first moment I’d seen him. The desire I’d fought so hard to kill, and at times had thought I’d succeeded.

  The sight of him told me what a fool I had been to ever believe that. I thought that I had seen him naked at the party. I’d given him a blowjob, for crying out loud. But it wasn’t the same. Not with his costume, not in a stranger’s house, not with the other guy watching. That had been lust, for sure, but more adrenaline and fear than anything else. It was nothing like how I’d pictured him, in those moments that I’d allowed myself to picture Donovan Carlisle. But this? This was….

  Donovan stood before me, finally, the hot water from the shower bouncing off him onto me. It ran down his tan skin. Every inch of him firm and hard. I’d seen him shirtless countless times over the years, but that was different than this. The hours he spent running, rowing, rock climbing, and swimming, left him lean and muscled. Like a machine. Different than my own bulky gym body. His was tough, a touch scruffy, ruggedly masculine.

  We stared, each inspecting the other. As I watched, his dick twitched and began to harden.

  I almost asked if I could join him, but that new Spencer, or maybe the original Spencer, didn’t allow it. I stepped in and pulled the shower curtain closed behind me.

  “Spence—”

  I heard hesitation in Donovan’s tone, the warning. I cut it off, kissing him as I had the day before. But this time, instead of holding him behind his neck, I reached down and began to stroke his cock. It hardened the rest of the way instantly, angling up in that slight curve I’d thought nearly ceaselessly about since the masquerade. As I stroked, I dipped my tongue into the kiss, teasing over his skin and the roof of his mouth. Donovan groaned and his body trembled. And he confirmed what I knew, that despite his hesitation, he wanted this.

  I deepened my kiss and tightened my grip around his dick as I ran my hand over his abs and up through his chest hair and flicked his nipple. He let out a cry, which signaled he was close. I released his cock, I was not okay with ending so quickly.

  I slipped my hand behind the small of his back and pulled him to me, pressing our erections together. This time it was me who cried out, groaning into his mouth. How could something simply feel so good? It wasn’t even that much, not really—we were merely smashed together. After all these years, though, it was Donovan next to me, and the sensation of his naked, wet body against mine surpassed every fantasy I’d had.

  Then he touched me.

  Donovan ran his hands up my back, and I sucked in a breath, breaking the kiss. I’d been touched before, but not like this. I didn’t know what the difference was, but I had never been touched like this. Something about it shoved this newly revealed aspect of my personality to the side, and I realized what we were doing. I suppose it should’ve been obvious—it was obvious, of course—but this was Donovan. I was in Donovan’s shower. We were naked. We were kissing, and his hands were on me. He was touching me. After all these years, Donovan was finally touching me. I didn’t seem able to wrap my senses around this new reality, no matter how many times I repeated it. I took a step back, not wanting to lose the touch but somehow needing to see him. Needing to confirm that I wasn’t losing my mind, that it wasn’t another one of the men that I’d pretended was him over the past few months. It was Donovan. And he was more beautiful than I’d dreamed.

  With the distance I put between us, Donovan’s hands left my back and roamed over my chest and stomach, exploring my muscles, squeezing, and setting me aflame.

  “You’re so fucking hot, Spencer.”

  Had being touched ever felt like this? Had I ever even been touched before?

  Between my panting and the water running over my face into my mouth, I thought I was going to hyperventilate. But that was nothing compared to when his fingers closed over my erection. I cried out again and I swear I almost came. Just from that simple touch, from that contact. He started to stroke, but I gripped his wrist and held it still. “Please don’t. I’m too close. I don’t want this to be over. Not yet.”

  His brown gaze flashed to mine in solemn wonder. At least I think that’s what it was. He didn’t let go of my dick, but he held still. His other hand came up and cupped my cheek, his fingers curling behind my neck, and he kissed me. And this was nothing like the beach or the few seconds before in the shower.

  I’d never had that sort of kiss from a man. The past few months had seen several different experiences with men, kissing included, but nothing like this. Nothing.

  Donovan’s lips were soft against mine, gentle. His fingers trembled behind my ear. He let out a shaky breath, the warmth barely felt against the water falling over us. His thumb stroked, and he deepened the kiss. No, I had never kissed another man like this. But I’d fantasized about it. There were many moments over the years that I’d pictured Donovan naked. Imagined what it would be like to touch his skin, to hold his erection, to bring our bodies together and lose control, each one of those fantasies I cut off quickly. The ones I’d cut off the quickest were the ones like this. The ones that confirmed I felt so much more for my brother-in-law than simple lust.

  Finally, Donovan pulled away, breaking the kiss and meeting my gaze once more. I saw it there as well. This thing building between us for the past decade, this thing that I pretended was all one-sided, this thing I’d sworn I was strong enough to ignore—it was so much bigger than lust. I lied to myself about that too, and I knew it. The thing I couldn’t deceive myself on, not even in that moment, was that look and that kiss meant this wasn’t going to be the last time.

  Donovan let out a breath, looked down and stroked my erection. His gaze flashed to mine once more, and the lust was back. Fire burned through everything else. And then he was on his knees, and my cock was in his mouth.

  I gave in. That new Spencer, that old Spencer, whoever it was, fused with the man I was and the man I pretended to be. And I gave in. Donovan’s delicious mouth was around my cock, and I gave in. I dug both hands through his hair and held his head as I began to pump. He let out some sort of sound, something between a groan and a growl, and whatever it was let me know just how much he wanted what I was doing. Despite wanting it to last for hours, I increased my speed. His hands slid up the back of my thighs and dug into either side of my ass, pulling me deeper into his mouth, forcing me down his throat. I had to let go of his head with my right hand and steady myself on the shower wall to keep from falling. But I never broke rhythm, thrusting deeper and deeper into his mouth. Donovan choked here and there but never released his grip on my ass, constantly forcing me to keep up my rhythm.

  One
of Donovan’s hands left my asscheek, and I glanced down. He was stroking his long dick as he sucked me off, as I fucked his mouth. It was the hottest, sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

  “Fuck yes, Donovan, come while I’m inside you.”

  He groaned again and increased his speed.

  I’d had enough blowjobs at this point to know I was supposed to warn him before I came. But I didn’t want to. I wanted him to have me inside of him. From the way he devoured me, I had no doubt he wanted that as well. Between the heat of his mouth and his throat around my dick, his muscled body jerking with the effort, and the sight of him taking care of his straining erection, I lost it. I let loose a guttural yell and came. The orgasm rocketing through me and exploding with burst after burst after burst. Donovan choked but continued to hold my ass in place, taking all of me. Then he let out a cry, vibrating around my cock, and he sprayed his load over my feet and the bottom of the shower. After a couple more jerks on his dick, he leaned back, pulling free from my cock, swallowing, and then gasping for air.

  As he knelt in front of me, the water pressure battering my back, his eyes met mine once more and he smiled in satisfaction. He started to stand but slipped.

  “Here.” I reached out, offering my hand.

  He took it and stood, looking nervous.

  I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea what to do. Part of me wanted to do it all again. Hell, that was a lie, every part of me wanted to do it again. But it was clear that Donovan was already experiencing regret… something. Maybe I should’ve been feeling the same way, but I wasn’t. I was with Donovan, after all this time. In a way I’d only dreamed about. And I hated the look on his face. So I leaned in, copied what he’d done with his hand on my cheek and kissed him, doing my best to pour every emotion I couldn’t say, shouldn’t say, but matching the way he’d kissed me. So he would know he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t making anything up.

  After a few seconds, I broke the kiss. Donovan smiled, a gentle nervous smile.

  His lips moved silently before he finally spoke. “I’m not really sure what to say.”

  “No, me either.”

  He laughed nervously and shrugged. “Well, I guess we should at least get out of the shower.” He reached behind me and turned off the water, then pulled open the shower curtain. He grabbed a towel hanging from the hook and wrapped it around his waist. “Hold on, let me get you a clean one.” He was back in a matter of seconds and handed me a folded towel.

  I stepped out of the shower and began to dry off. That simple movement, that step from shower to the rest of the house felt like I’d entered a new world. Or reentered the old world. Tension built as we dried off. Our gazes collided every so often but darted away quickly, both nervous, but every once in a while I saw a flash of heat as well. As Donovan got dressed, I retraced my path, pulling on all my clothes in reverse order so I was fully dressed by the time I reached the front door. I stood there, not sure what to do.

  Donovan entered the room and walked toward me, but paused a few feet away. He smiled at me again, that kind Donovan smile that I was familiar with, the one he gave people to try to put them at ease. “You said you came by here to talk. Should we talk?”

  I couldn’t hold back my laugh. I’d come to put things to rest, to make certain things were okay between Donovan and me. “You know, the things I planned on saying don’t quite seem appropriate right now. I’m not really sure what to say, or where we go from here.”

  One of his eyebrows cocked. “Where we go from here?”

  Was that hope in his voice? I thought so. Probably shouldn’t talk about that in this moment either. Not so soon after… whatever that had been. “Maybe not the best idea right now.”

  The flash of disappointment confirmed the hope from before. But it was gone in a heartbeat. “Spencer, I’m so sorry if I…. I wasn’t trying to….”

  Holy fuck, I hated seeing him nervous. Hated the guilt I heard. It hurt. I hadn’t expected that. I felt responsible for putting it there. I’d been the one to approach him at the masquerade. The one to kiss him at the beach. The one to walk into the shower. He’d wanted it all, I was very clear on every bit of that at this point. But I’d been the one to act, the one to disrupt the flow of things. But I couldn’t bring myself to wish it back. Maybe that made me selfish, but I wouldn’t spare Donovan’s feelings if it meant I couldn’t have had him like I did. If I still didn’t hope there was a chance to have him like that again.

  I wanted to step into him, wrap him in my arms, kiss him, assure him there was nothing to feel bad about, even though we both knew there was. I wanted to make him feel safe, cared about, desired… loved. And I wanted him to make me feel the same. I did none of that. But I did smile, tried to match his. “You have nothing to be sorry about. We didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do. Trust me.”

  And there was a flash of heat again, but he smothered it quickly.

  “Let’s try talking again another time, okay?”

  Donovan was a lot slower smothering the reaction to that. Slow enough that I knew he hoped all of that would happen again just as much as I did.

  Thank God.

  I turned the handle and pulled open the door. “I hope you get some sleep tonight, Donovan. I… ah….” Was I supposed to thank him? Say I had a good time? Tell him how I really felt about him, how I’d felt about him for years? Instead of any of that, I shrugged and let my words simply fall away.

  “I hope you do too, Spencer.” He let out a shaky breath. “Good night.”

  Seven

  Donovan

  Between the night of Spencer and Erica’s engagement party and the masquerade at Paulie’s house, there’d been one moment where I’d felt more from Spencer than just the camaraderie of a brother-in-law.

  Spencer had taken the day off work so Erica could take Emma to San Francisco as a birthday present; they’d had a spa day. Spencer stayed home with three-year-old Ethan.

  In the mid-afternoon, in between clients, I checked my cell. I had a message from Spencer. He was sobbing, nearly hysterical. I had to listen to it twice before I could even understand what he was saying. Ethan had started vomiting uncontrollably, and Spencer rushed him to the emergency room. I canceled my next clients and hurried to join him.

  Spencer saw me as soon as I entered the waiting room, and he practically flew at me. He crashed into me so hard I nearly fell. He started crying all over again. I’d never seen him like that. Spencer was always stoic, nervous quite a bit of the time, but always collected, always in control.

  Through his choked-out sobs, I got the gist. Ethan had been diagnosed with incarcerated hernia and was already in surgery.

  To my shame, as terrified as I was for my nephew, my body responded to Spencer crushed against me. The feel of his arms, the trembling of his chest against mine, the strength of his embrace. I twisted my hips so he couldn’t feel my reaction to him. I doubted anyone else in the waiting room would notice. Still, I felt on display. After a few moments, I broke our embrace, took his hand, and led him outside to a secluded breezeway between the main buildings.

  We sat on a bench, and Spencer never let go of my hand. It was a minute or more before I realized that our fingers were entwined. And God help me, I tried not to notice, tried not to let my heart soar at finally touching him, finally feeling his body against mine, finally knowing what it was like to have his hand in mine.

  Tried to keep my heart from swelling that I was the one he called. The only one he called. Not Erica or my father, or Erica’s mother. No one, just me. Of course he called Erica as well, and she was on her way from San Francisco with Emma, but for now, it was just him and me.

  Finally, he looked at me, his voice a little clearer, the sobs gone but tears still streaming. “They say this happens to little kids, something that wasn’t formed right, and it was just a matter of time. Apparently it’s an easy fix. But he’s in surgery. And things happen.” He sniffed. “I’m sorry, Donovan. You must think I’m losing my mind. He
was just vomiting so much, and hurting. It hit suddenly. It scared the shit outta me.”

  I squeezed his hand and then placed my other one on top of his, sandwiching it in an embrace. “I don’t think you’re losing your mind at all. Your little boy is in surgery. This is scary. This is a huge deal.” I realized how that sounded. “He’ll be okay. Like you said, this is pretty routine, and the doctors here are amazing. Ethan’s going to be fine, but that doesn’t mean it’s not terrifying.”

  He nodded and wiped his eyes with his free hand. “You’re right. It will be fine. He’s a tough little monster.” He paused, just breathing, seeming to calm somewhat. Then I realized he was staring at my hand, our hands. He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine. Startled, scared. But I was certain it was a new kind of fear. Fear that didn’t have anything to do with Ethan. He looked away again in less than a second probably. And then pulled his hand slowly from mine.

  We sat silently. Then I realized our legs were touching. I wasn’t sure if he noticed or not, but he didn’t move away. I tried to focus on what mattered, be a good uncle, be a good brother-in-law. “He really will be okay. I promise.” A stupid promise, like I could control anything.

  “You’re right. Of course you’re right. He will be.” Spencer nodded again, then stood. My leg felt cool from the absence of the pressure between us. “We should get back in there, in case the doctor comes out with an update or something. And… Erica and Emma should be back soon, I would think.”