The Veranda (Lavender Shores Book 3)

by Rosalind Abel

  “You don’t want to make me feel crazy.”

  He shook his head. “No, that’s not it at all.” He sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know how you would feel any other way. And I think….” He licked his lips. “I think at the risk of not playing your therapist, all I can say is that it makes sense to me. I think your feelings right now are normal. And while I understand them, I wish you’d had a different childhood. I wish you’d been told you were always good enough. And that whether this is a bridge we ever cross or not, I’m glad the man you are is the man I get to be with. The man I get to love.” It was clear he wanted to say more, but after a few extended moments of silence he gave a partial smile and shrugged.

  How, after all this time in Lavender Shores, after so many years being around gay men, around men I respected and admired, could I still believe that letting Donovan inside of me somehow ripped away my masculinity, made me something other than a man?

  Once again, I focused on Donovan’s hand that still rested on my thigh. I ran my hand over his, allowing my fingers to trace his, then slipped underneath and curled our fingers together.

  My hand matched his. My own just as strong, fingers just as long and wide, calluses acquired in a different way but still there.

  Our nearly identical hands were clasped in my lap, resting so close to my cock. And though no longer erect, it lay there, long, thick.

  My thoughts began to jump around to what made a man a man. It was more than hands, more than penises, more than sex. More than upbringing, so much more than my practiced cadence and timbre of voice, of my ingrained stride as I walked. I was male whether I was married to Erica Epstein or I allowed Donovan Carlisle into my body.

  Donovan’s thumb rubbed over the back of my hand, wading through the silence with me.

  So patient. So strong and gentle. So Donovan.

  I looked up to his face once more, capturing his gaze and forcing myself to hold on.

  This was Donovan. The man, the person I’d wanted for years. The person I’d loved for so very long but never thought I would have. Truth be told, never thought I would deserve.

  I could see the worry in his eyes, and his care and love.

  I was done having my life dictated to me. By a father I rarely spoke to, by a God I no longer believed in, or by my own fucked-up brain. I was done being afraid.

  “I want you. In every way.” Okay, maybe not done being afraid. I was fucking terrified. But I was done letting fear keep me from what I desired. “I want to have you. I want you in me.”

  “Spencer, we really don’t have to—”

  “I know that. I want to.” A little bit of the excitement came back, then even more of the desire. As my decision solidified, my cock began to harden, evidence of what I needed. “I want you inside me, Donovan. I want you to make love to me, fuck me, whatever the hell we want to call it. But I want to be with you like that.”

  Knowing him, I figured Donovan was trying to suppress the desire I saw cutting through his gaze. I was glad he couldn’t; it helped. It made me even more certain.

  “I want to do this with you tonight, right now. I need you to help me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Hell yeah.” I broke our hands’ embrace and reached for his thickening cock and began to stroke. Getting closer, I kissed him. I allowed it to be sweet for a heartbeat, then gave in to the heat, the desire. I let the fear and the lust and the love roll over me, allowed them to tumble until they became one thing, and I gave it all to Donovan. I knew he could handle it.

  He was rock-hard in my hand as his tongue darted into my mouth. He kissed me a little bit longer as he stroked my dick, his other hand traveling over my back and then rising over my shoulder to rest on my chest. He broke the kiss and gave a little push. “Lie back on the bed.”

  I repositioned, scooting up farther on the mattress and lay down. My skin already tingled in anticipation. Precome ran down my shaft, and my heart tripped and stuttered. The fear, lust, and love all danced. Donovan’s body slid over me, his lips traveling from mine to my jaw, to my neck, to my chest. Fear rose, spinning from my heart to my head, then back again.

  Donovan’s tongue lapped over my chest hair and circled my nipple, flicking, teeth joining in lightly. Then sucking, more flicking. I might’ve gasped, groaned, maybe I was silent. I couldn’t tell. The fear continued to spin, but love joined in, waltzing over my body as Donovan traveled from my chest, his lips kissing my skin over my abs, his tongue darting out once more around my navel, and then traveling down, down, down.

  As his kisses and licks played over my erection, I heard a click and felt the bed shift slightly. Then I realized what he was doing. Lube. He was getting lube. Fear took the lead once more, but I let it be, allowing it to intensify the moment. The mattress shifted back, and Donovan’s mouth closed over my cock as he used one hand to lightly guide my legs open. Slickness was pressed to my entrance. Little flicks, a bite of terror, teasing circular motion awaking every nerve, every sensitive virgin territory.

  Fear and love twirled in a crescendo, and then he pushed inside, and lust took over.

  I cried out, I wasn’t sure whether in pain or pleasure. I started to pull back, but he withdrew.

  No, I didn’t want this to stop. “Please, Donovan, please,” was all I could manage.

  Still gently working my cock with his mouth, he pushed into me again, a little farther this time. I still wasn’t sure whether it hurt or felt good, but the sensation burned through me, my entire existence pinpointed to where he breached me.

  Donovan slipped his shoulder under my thigh, pushing my leg up, his mouth still milking my erection as he wedged another fingertip in, then held still.

  After a few heartbeats, I was ready. “More. More.”

  He slid the two fingers all the way in, slowly, agonizingly slow. When I thought he couldn’t go any deeper, he pushed farther and pressed against a part of my body that caused me to suck in air, my eyes to slam shut while my vision went white, and my hips to arch of their own accord.

  Still around my cock, I felt him chuckle, and I nearly came.

  I knew what that was. I’d stroked Donovan’s prostate several times. I’d even touched my own in exploration before, but it had been nothing like this. Absolutely nothing like this. I reached down and gripped the back of Donovan’s head, holding him still. “Stop. Please stop. I don’t want to come.”

  Donovan held still for a second, then lifted from my dick, keeping his fingers inside me. I dropped my hand away from the back of his head, letting it fall to the mattress, too much effort to touch him. “Look at me, Spencer.”

  Opening my eyes was a challenge; my body was completely focused around Donovan’s fingers. I looked at him. He smiled for a brief second, that encouraging, patient smile, and then it shifted. “Put your other leg over my shoulder.”

  I followed that direction as well.

  Then his smile was all lust and maybe a little bit of pride. Looking at him, I once again remembered that it was a man doing this to me. That a man was getting me ready for his cock. And though some of those whispers were still there, they were quieted by the pure desire that coursed through me. “Keep looking at me.” Donovan pushed in another finger, his smile widening as I gasped. I started to scoot away but he pushed in farther, shoving his shoulders against both of my legs, opening me up to him, lessening the intensity of the burn. Then he flicked that exquisite spot one more time and I nearly came without him touching my dick. “That’s it, Spencer, that’s it.” He pulled his fingers out, leaving me empty. Tender, already sore, and horribly empty.

  “No, I want you inside me.”

  He chuckled. “Good. That’s the plan.” He rose to his knees, reached over to snag a condom and began to open it. “Get up for me, Spencer. This will be easier for you if you ride me. And I want to watch you while you do.”

  My body obeyed him without me fully thinking about any of it. Whatever he said, I would do. As I knelt, Donovan lay down where I’d been, and
unrolled the condom over his cock. Had he always been so big? So thick?

  He pumped more lube over his erection and smeared it around. Making a show of touching himself as he smiled up at me. “Straddle me, Spencer. Sit on my cock.”

  This was it. Maybe fear was there, I’m not sure. Desire was the only thing I was certain of. I straddled him.

  “Reach behind and guide my dick to your hole.”

  Though it felt a little awkward, I did as he directed, and again, as my fingers encircled him, I wondered again if he’d gotten thicker in the last few moments. I lined him up, feeling him press against my entrance. Sucking in a trembling breath I sank down, a little too fast, and the head of his cock pushed into me. With a gasp, I sat back up. “Fuck!”

  Donovan chuckled again.

  I glanced down at him. “You’re probably proud of yourself right now, aren’t you?”

  He just grinned. Which was all the answer I needed. “Breathe, go down slowly.”

  I waited for the burning to subside, and then lined him up again. I took a few long, slow breaths, and then lowered myself, more slowly this time. His head entered me again, and I gasped, but held still.

  “Breathe, Spencer, breathe.”

  I breathed.

  I began to relax around him. The burn morphing to something akin to pleasure. And then I sank lower.

  Centimeter by centimeter he entered me. Stretching me farther with each heartbeat. The sensation was strange, yet wonderful. Painful, yet waking up my body.

  I sank a little farther.

  “Fuck!” Donovan arched up, pushing in a bit more, and ushering in a dash of pain. “Sorry, Spencer. Sorry.” He stroked my stomach in way of apology, soothing. “You just feel so good, so tight, so hot.”

  “It’s okay.” I forced myself not to move, getting used to him once more. Focusing on the feel of him inside of me while his hands explored my body. “I think I love it.”

  “Good. But I’ll try not to do that again.”

  I closed my eyes and grabbed my cock, stroking as I sank onto him. Lower and lower as he gasped.

  “Fuck, yes, that’s it, Spencer. Take me, take all of me.”

  I did, I sank the rest of the way onto him, his thickness stretching me open as the curve of his cock stroked against my prostate. My vision went white once more. “Fuck, Donovan! I’m not going to last! I’m not going to last!”

  “I’m not either, just ride me.” One hand rose to flick my nipple and the other one pulled lightly at my balls.

  I rode, giving in to the carnal pleasure, the overload of sensation. It took a force of will to rise off him and then plunge back down. I yelled, pain and pleasure mixing. But with each thrust downward, the pleasure increased. I stroked my cock in time with my rhythm on his dick.

  Then I came, releasing my load all over Donovan. He cried out beneath me, as I clenched around his dick, his erection feeling larger and larger with every tremor of my release. I forced myself down one final time. And then shot off him with a scream. I crashed beside him, pain coursing through me with trembling and exhausted pleasure.

  I felt him shift beside me but couldn’t bring myself to move. His hand traveled over my skin, his voice gentle beside my ear. “My God, Spencer, that was amazing. Watching you, feeling you around me. You are the most fucking gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Once again, pleasure traveled through me at his words. And guilt. Though, not the guilt I expected. I looked at him, embarrassed. “I’m sorry I didn’t last longer. How can I get you off?”

  He laughed again and smiled at me. “We’ll work on lasting longer when I’m inside you. Tonight, neither of us had a chance.”

  It took me a second to figure out the meaning of his words, and then I looked down.

  Donovan encircled his dick and pulled the condom off. “There was no way I was going to last watching you above me, the way your muscles moved, the way your ass milked me.”

  He’d come, inside of me. God, that was hotter than I even thought it could be. “So, it was okay?”

  “Uhm, yeah, okay doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He turned away for a second, doing something with the condom, and then he was back, sliding an arm around my neck and pulling me to him. “Thank you for that. Thank you for trusting me, for giving that part of yourself to me.”

  I hesitated, waiting for guilt to arrive. The true guilt over what we’d just done. I could feel it, hovering around the edges of my brain, or maybe my soul, but it was nothing more than that, just a hint, a shadow. I relaxed, letting my memory replay the scene already. My body humming and tender, and satiated.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I am.” I nodded for second, then opened my eyes and looked at him. “I want to do that again.”

  He looked shocked. “Already?”

  “No. I don’t think I can handle that this soon. But I definitely want to do that again.” Talk about an understatement.

  Donovan smiled and sighed in what sounded like relief. “You know, I bet we can arrange that.”

  I settled onto him, resting my head on his chest and shoulder as he tightened his embrace. I nearly said I loved him, almost started to talk about my family, about all the wasted years. But I pushed it aside. None of it mattered. Only this moment, and all the moments to come.

  We both sighed happily at the same time and then laughed. That was all that really needed to be said.

  It was nearly ten o’clock when we got out of the bed and decided to return to the porch again. Donovan was retrieving the tray of food from the refrigerator when the notion struck me. Whether it was a form of self-flagellation or confession I wasn’t sure. Maybe neither. Whatever it was, the impulse was so strong, I simply gave into it. I set down the champagne flutes on the counter. “I’m going to call my folks real quick.”

  Donovan flinched and gave me a strange look. “Your folks?”

  I nodded.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” I rushed ahead, suddenly realizing how that sounded. “And I’m okay. We’re okay. There’s no second thoughts or regrets in the slightest. I still can’t wait to do that again.”

  He seemed nervous but attempted a smile. “Okay, as long as you’re all right.”

  “I can tell you’re thinking this isn’t a good idea.”

  He hesitated again, but shook his head quickly. “I’m your boyfriend, not your therapist. If you feel like you want to call your parents, call your parents.” He motioned toward the front door. “I’ll be on the swing. Just know that if you take too long, I’m drinking all the champagne and eating all of the cheese.”

  I leaned across the counter and kissed him, and then put as much meaning into my gaze as I could. “I won’t take too long. And nothing that’s going to be said will change my mind about loving you.” Another kiss. “Unless you actually drink all the champagne. Then we’ll have to start off with couples counseling a little earlier than anticipated.”

  Thankfully he laughed and looked a little more relieved. “Good luck.”

  Probably the best thing he could’ve said. I was definitely going to need luck.

  I wandered back into the bedroom as Donovan stayed in the kitchen.

  Maybe I should wait, try to figure out my motivation for needing to call my parents at this very moment. But I wasn’t Donovan; I wasn’t a therapist. I didn’t need to know that I felt this desire because of what Donovan and I had just done. Nor did I need to overanalyze and figure out exactly why. I was just going to give in to the impulse.

  I retrieved my cell and hit the speed dial for my father. It rang four times before he answered.

  “Spencer. Everything okay?”

  Fair question. I was calling late in the evening, and we only spoke every few weeks. “Yes, sorry to scare you. Everything is fine. Emma and Ethan are okay.”

  “Good.” He sounded relieved.

  Suddenly I didn’t know what to say. Maybe I should’ve at least figured out what I wanted to tell him before I
dialed the stupid number.

  “Is there a reason you’re calling, Spencer?”

  My father, always straight to the point. I nearly asked him to put Mom on the phone, but really, this had more to do with him. And ultimately, Mom always went whichever direction my father told her to go. “Yeah, there is.” I remembered who I was speaking to. “Sorry, yes.” Dear God, I was almost a forty-year-old man and I still couldn’t take ownership of speaking to my father less formally than he desired. Ridiculous. No wonder I’d wanted to make this phone call.

  “Well, what is it?” He paused for a couple of heartbeats. “Are you and Erica finally getting back together?”

  Being a preacher and the father of a divorcee did not mix well. I knew he wanted Erica and me to have a good marriage, and for his grandchildren to have an undivided family, but I truly felt it had more to do with what our divorce said about him than it did about any of the rest of us. That thought helped spur me on as well. “No, we’re not. In fact”—here goes nothing—“I wanted to fill you in on something before you and Mom come out to visit next month.” Again, I lost my nerve. For fuck sake.

  “Yes?”

  I remembered Donovan’s comment to just breathe. I almost laughed and blushed at the memory. Good advice for more than one occasion, it seemed. I took a deep breath and began again. “I wanted to fill you in on… a change. You probably remember Donovan. You’ve met him a couple of times, Erica’s half-brother.” Oh my Lord, what was I doing? I really felt the need to bring up the family relation? Seriously?

  Too late now.

  I leaped. Getting it all out in one breath. “Donovan and I are together. Dating. Though that’s not really the right word. We’re together. The kids know, Erica knows. There’s no secrets. I just didn’t want to surprise you with it when you came out here.”

  There was no response. None.

  I waited. Reminding myself that my father always took his time before he spoke, reminding myself that this was rather huge news. Reminding myself that I’d called him out of the blue at ten o’clock in the evening.