I wished I could help him, but I had no idea how.
When we pulled into Derek’s driveway, I said goodnight to Ellen and thanked her again.
“Thank you,” she said. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Sure.” I’d have to figure out how to take public transportation, so Derek and Ellen didn’t have to drive me everywhere. Maybe I could do that tomorrow. “See you then.”
I let myself into the house with the key Derek had given me this afternoon. All the lights were off downstairs, and the house was silent. After locking the front door behind me, I went upstairs, stepping softly to avoid making noise. Derek probably had to get up early for work, and it was nearly midnight. His bedroom door was closed.
What had he done tonight? Had he eaten dinner alone? Watched television? Worked? I thought about what Ellen had said, that maybe he was lonely, and wondered if it was true. Could someone as handsome and kind and sexy as Derek really be lonely? It didn’t seem possible.
After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth and got in bed, but I couldn’t sleep. My brain was buzzing with everything I’d learned. I reached for the lamp and turned it on, then picked up my notebook and pen, scribbling for ten minutes about what Ellen had told me and how I felt about it. Mostly what I felt was sorry and helpless. Derek was doing so much for me, and my staying here at his house could not be easy for him. Not only was I a constant reminder of something he wanted to forget, but if he wanted me half as badly as I wanted him, it was torture knowing we were only separated by one hallway and two closed doors.
When I was done, I put the notebook and pen back in the drawer and turned off the lamp.
Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door.
Nineteen
DEREK
Madness. It was madness inside me.
The way I wanted him. The way I needed him. The way I’d lain awake for hours thinking of him and promising myself I’d stay away.
It was madness that had me clutching at the sheets, as if they’d anchor me to the bed. It was madness that had me growing hard as I listened to him take a shower. It was madness that had me getting out of bed, opening my bedroom door, moving through the darkness like a ghost. It was madness telling me to knock, to seek out the truth, to know for sure.
What else could it be? When I’d left Gage’s earlier, I’d been resolute—nothing good could come of being with Maxim again. Nothing.
And yet here I was at his bedroom door, my heart pounding, my adrenaline rushing, my cock aching with need.
He opened it.
Rushing forward, I grabbed his head and brought my face close to his. “I can’t forget it,” I growled. “And I don’t fucking want to.”
Then I savagely claimed his mouth with mine, plunging my tongue between his full, firm lips, desperate to get inside him any way I could. He kissed me back just as hard, his hands stealing to my waist, sliding around to my lower back. It drove me crazy to think of his hands on my skin—strong, solid, masculine hands that would grab and pull and punish.
“Goddamn you,” I whispered, walking him deeper into the room. “Goddamn you for doing this to me.” Grabbing one of his hands, I put it over my cock, painfully hard and thick inside my pants. “Goddamn you for making me want more.”
“Let me give it to you.” He tried to reach inside my pants, but I pushed his hand away.
“No. Not this time.” There were things I wanted, and if I let Maxim get his hands and mouth on me, this would be over before it began. I wanted him to feel exposed this time. “I want to see you naked.”
He shoved down the boxer briefs he wore and stepped out of them. Immediately I put my hand on his cock, groaning at the hot, heavy length of it. He got even harder as I stroked him, and feeling him swell and surge inside my fist had blood pounding through me. He moved closer to me, his mouth traveling down my neck, his tongue warm and wet on my throat. I gripped him tighter, pulled at him faster. When he moaned, I felt the sound move through my body, and all of me vibrated with wanting him, as if my veins were live wires.
“What else?” He slipped his fingertips inside the waist of my pants. “What else do you want?”
“I want to touch you. Everywhere.” I let my hands roam over hard muscle and hot skin, barely suppressing the animal urge inside me to throw him on the bed and satisfy this fucking insatiable hunger gnawing at my insides. I dragged my lips and teeth and tongue over him, kissing his collarbone, biting his shoulder, licking his neck. I couldn’t get enough of the way he smelled—no flowery perfumes, no fruity lotions, nothing false or fake or feminine. Just the clean, masculine scent of soap and skin.
He untied the drawstring of my pants, and they pooled at my feet. His mouth sought mine as his hands slid down over my ass. As his tongue stroked between my lips, he squeezed my flesh and pulled me against him, trapping our erections between us. My breath caught, a growl rumbling deep in my chest as he rocked his hips, rubbing his bare cock against mine. I slid my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair. The friction between us had my thigh muscles clenching, a firestorm building deep in the center of my body.
My God, was this really happening? I had to see it. Breaking the kiss, I looked down at the juncture where our bodies touched. It fascinated me—two male torsos, tight and firm and lined with muscle and veins; two thick, hard cocks standing at attention, darker than the skin on our abdomens—and I reached between us. A strangled sound escaped Maxim as I wrapped us both in one fist and moved my hand up and down, exactly like I’d jerk myself off, but a thousand times hotter because it was both of us. Our breathing was ragged and rough, and his fingers were digging into my sides. I imagined him leaving bruises, and it thrilled me. Yes. Leave your mark.
It only took a moment before I felt us grow slick beneath my fingers, and I found myself close to orgasm. Maxim was close too—I could hear it in his throat and see it in his muscles and feel it in the hot, swollen cock inside my hand. It got to me, that I could bring him to this panting, heated, untamed place, that it was my body, my grasp, my movement driving him to it. I loved watching him—so different than watching a woman, and yet familiar too. His body was like mine, and I saw all my pleasure reflected in it, as if he were a mirror.
I loved the hitch of his chest, the wideness of his shoulders tapering to the tautness of his waist, the angle of his back as he leaned slightly away and pushed his hips forward. I loved the rippling muscles on his stomach, the faint trail of hair beneath his belly button, the silver sheen to his skin in the dark. And I loved the agony on his face, the open mouth, the half-shut eyes, the struggle in his expression. Was he fighting it?
The thought pleased me, that there was torture inside him, that he was suffering for me somehow, and that I could relieve it.
“I want you to come,” I rasped through clenched teeth. “I want to watch you. I want to feel it in my hand. I want you dripping down my stomach.”
He spoke unintelligible words of anguish, maybe not even in English, his head turning to the side, as if he were still intent on lasting longer. His profile was so beautiful it made me angry.
“Now,” I demanded, stroking harder and faster, feeling my legs go weak as climax threatened. Fuck—I didn’t want to lose control before he did, but everything I did to him, I did to myself too. “Goddamn you, don’t deny me. Now. Now!”
He did what I asked, clutching me hard and rolling his hips as he came in silky, hot spurts, moaning something that was probably there, you fucking asshole in Russian. The thought of it—that I was dominating my own wayward desire by dominating its object—was arousing enough, but the sight of it—another man’s cum—hitting my stomach and chest, gliding over my fist, getting all over my cock, pushed me over the edge. Everything tightened and twisted and tensed before suddenly releasing in a roaring rush of bliss as I exploded all over both of us.
Madness. That’s what it was.
And I could no longer contain it.
Twenty
MAXIM
We stood there, breathing hard and dripping with each other, his hand still wrapped around us both. I blinked a few times, not entirely sure he wasn’t a ghost. Or maybe a dream.
But he stayed where he was, his hips solid and firm and real beneath my hands, his breath warm on my face. I didn’t want to move or speak for fear I’d break the spell. Was that the rapid fire of his heart I was hearing? Or was it mine?
“Uh. Sorry.” Careful not to get anything on the carpet, he let go of us both.
“Don’t apologize.” Disappointed, I took my hands off him, even though what I wanted to do was pull him closer. “That felt great.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled, his eyes closing briefly. “Give me a minute.”
He scooped up his pants and left the room, and I quickly used the hallway bath. Back in the guest room, I switched on the bedside lamp and tugged on underwear and the athletic pants he’d loaned me. The whole time, all I could think was, What the hell? Why did he keep apologizing? Was he going to brush me off again?
“Hey.”
At the sound of his voice, I looked up. He stood in the doorway, jeans on, no shirt. In contrast to the way he’d stormed in before, all fire and muscle, now he looked almost afraid to enter.
“Hey.” I smiled at him. “You can come in.”
He walked into the room a few feet, stopping well short of where I stood. Fidgeted. Shoved his hands into his pockets. “Look, I know you don’t want another apology or excuse, but I feel like I at least owe you an explanation.”
“Okay.”
“You must think I’m such an asshole,” he went on, “barging in here like that, saying those things to you.”
“I don’t think you’re an asshole at all.”
“You must think something,” he went on, running a hand through his hair, messing it up. Frustration edged his tone. “You barely reacted at all today when we talked about what happened last night. It was driving me crazy.”
“How was I supposed to react?” I stared at him in disbelief. “You said it meant nothing. You said you were drunk. You said to forget it. That’s what I was trying to do.” I hesitated, debating how forthright I should be and deciding to go for it. Maybe he wanted to hear this. Maybe it would make a difference. “But it’s useless, Derek. I’ll never forget what happened between us—last night or tonight. And I don’t think you will either. But if you really didn’t like it and want to pretend like nothing happened—again—no problem.”
His stubborn jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. “I never said I didn’t like it.”
“So you did like it?”
He cocked a brow. “I think that was pretty obvious, don’t you?”
I had to smile.
“But Maxim, I didn’t want to like it. It only causes problems for me.” Sighing heavily, he leaned back against the dresser, his shoulders slumped. “I meant what I said this morning. I’ve never been with a guy before you. But I’ve…thought about it. I’ve wanted to know what it would be like.”
“And now that you know?”
“My head is even more fucked up. If I hadn’t come in here, the not-knowing would still be driving me insane. But now that I know, it’s almost worse.” He shook his head. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
If I’d thought it would help, I’d have gone to him. Touched him. Reassured him what we’d done was okay, that he was okay. But somehow I felt like it would be the wrong move. Instead, I chose my words carefully. “There is nothing wrong with you, Derek. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were curious, and so was I. Things happened. If you want to forget it, we can, but if you feel like you might want to see where this goes…I’d be up for that, too.”
“I don’t know what I want. I mean, I know what I want physically, at least with you, but it doesn’t gel at all with the vision I have for my life.”
“Which is what?”
“A wife and kids. I want a family.”
I nodded slowly. I wasn’t sure exactly where Derek and I could go from here, but I was sure it wouldn’t lead to a wife and kids. While I was trying to come up with something to say, he went on.
“I told you before, I was raised in a religious household. My parents…” He shook his head. “They would never understand. They would never be okay with this. I’ve never been okay with this.”
“How long have you struggled with it?”
“A long time. Maybe since I was twelve or thirteen. But I always understood it as something wrong with me. A defect or faulty wiring. Because I liked girls too.”
“Lots of people do.”
That actually caused him to crack a smile, but it disappeared fast. “Anyway, I’ve never done anything about those feelings except hate them and hide them. Pray for them to go away. But then…”
“But then?”
He looked at me with hungry eyes. “There’s just something about you.”
“I feel bad for liking that. Sort of.”
“No. Don’t feel bad.” His brow furrowed with anger. “I’m sorry. None of this is your fault, and I’m treating you as if it is.”
“You’re not,” I said, shaking my head. “Derek, you’ve been so good to me. You’ve treated me better than anyone ever has. I don’t know what I did to deserve your kindness and help, but I’m so thankful for it. I’ll never forget it.”
A tiny, sad smile appeared on his lips. “It makes me feel good to hear that.”
“It’s the truth. And I like making you feel good,” I added.
His smile widened, but it was still mournful somehow. “Do you? I feel like shit even saying all this to you. I hope you don’t think I’m judging you. My problem is only with myself.”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I’ve never struggled with this like you are, probably because it was always very clear to me I wasn’t attracted to girls, but also because of where I grew up. Being openly gay in Russia is not accepted. Not like it is here.”
“I know. And I wish I was different. I wish I could be someone else, the kind of guy who doesn’t care what anyone thinks, because being with you feels so good. I just don’t know if I can. Something in me refuses to give.”
Seeing him so conflicted, wishing he could be someone else for me, was heartbreaking. “Derek, if you want me to leave, if that will make it easier for you, say the word, and I’m gone. I’ll have my savings tomorrow, and I can find a place to stay.”
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “Let me think about it.”
“Of course.” I thought he would say goodnight and leave then, but he kept standing there, leaning against the dresser.
“Maxim. Come here.”
Surprised, I stayed put. “What?”
He met my eyes and spoke more firmly. “Come here.”
I made my way toward him, but it wasn’t until I stood right in front of him that he reached for me. Wrapped his arms around my waist. Pulled me close and tipped his forehead onto my chest.
I put my arms around him. His body was warm, but chills swept over my back. Pure happiness flooded me, soaking me right down to the bone. I wanted to say things. Stay with me. Let me hold you all night. I’ll make you feel good. Maybe he wanted to say things too—don’t let me go, I want this with you, show me how.
But a moment later, he ended the embrace and left the room, neither of us saying anything except goodnight.
I got back in bed, but lay awake for what seemed like hours, my mind refusing to shut off. Was Derek still awake? What was he thinking? Would he ask me to go? I thought about everything he’d told me tonight and felt so good that he’d trusted me with his feelings. Even if it hadn’t been exactly what I wanted to hear, at least he’d given me honesty. He’d revealed something to me that he’d never spoken about to anyone. It made me feel like I had something of his, something more precious than clothing or shelter or even time. I had a piece of him no one else had. I had a truth about him no one else knew. I had one of his secrets.
/> I wanted them all.
For the first time, I wanted to know every dark corner of someone’s mind. I wanted to taste every hidden place on his body. I wanted to stay with him.
I wanted not just more, but all.
Frankly, it was a little terrifying.
Twenty-One
DEREK
I was shattered.
Last night had ruined me.
Turning my desk chair to face the window, I looked out at downtown L.A. skyscrapers packed with offices and apartments. Streets congested with traffic. Block after block of businesses, stores, restaurants. Sidewalks full of people. How was it possible, in a city of millions, to feel so achingly alone?
But I did. I had for so long. Having Maxim around for the weekend made me realize it. I’d forgotten how good it felt to have breakfast with someone. Run errands for someone. Kiss someone in the dark.
Having him there made my house less empty. It gave me purpose. It made me feel needed and useful and trusted. I couldn’t stop thinking about that—Maxim trusted me. Had I taken advantage of that last night? Had I used him in an attempt to answer some question about myself? And now that I had my answer—now that I knew—could I walk away from it? Walk away from the one person in the entire world with whom I’d been my deepest, darkest, truest self? The one person I’d entrusted with my secret?
I was scared that I couldn’t, and that fear gripped me as hard as the madness of wanting him. God, how I wanted him.
My stomach hollowed as I thought about last night. It had felt so good. So honest. So intense. I wanted nothing more than to do it again, and again, and again. To feel that closeness with him. To deepen it. Reveal more of myself and discover more of him. But at what price?
Was I really prepared to let go of my fantasy of the perfect life? A perfect family? Had I honestly done everything I could to make it happen? Was I ready to face the censure of my parents and colleagues and strangers and God and myself? Would that really make me happy? Then again, was I going to be happy married to someone I didn’t feel passionate about? Living a life that required me to hide part of who I really was? Forever stifling whatever it was that had made me feel so fucking alive last night? Maybe that would be my punishment. My cross to bear.
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