Sweet Bitter Honey

by Liz Crowe

  Ryan sat on his left, Audrey on his right. His fork rattled when he put it on his plate. The distinct sensation of a hand on his left thigh made him jump, but he bit back the urge to pull away. “Relax,” Ryan said, low and easy. Brutus shifted under the table, but Cole moved his foot, indicating the dog should back off.

  Cole’s cock resumed its painful exploration along the back of his zipper. He tried to sip water. He took another bite of food then gave up and put his hands on the table. He missed Dan, missed his life and everything he used to be. Cole Traynor had been strong, sure, loud, boisterous and in-charge ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time. But right now, he felt like a horny little kid—a blind, useless, handicapped horny little kid.

  His ears started to buzz with the onset of serious fury. Ryan pressed down on his leg ever so slightly. The buzzing receded. Cole turned his face to the left. The dog leaped up and shoved his body between the two men again, his low rumble sending an ominous and unmistakable message.

  “Shit,” Ryan said, taking his hand off Cole’s leg. Cole tried not to beg him to put it back. The calm he’d felt for a split second at the other man’s touch had been odd, but it was also something he wanted.

  Cole pushed the dog under the table with a curse and a warning, but the moment was broken. Audrey cleared her throat. Cole picked up his water glass and the conversation that he no longer heard or contributed to resumed.

  At some point, the table was cleared. Everyone except Cole had another glass of wine, and he sensed a distinct shift in the atmosphere. His headache was back in its full glory. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He heard traffic, kids playing, early onset crickets, the earth rolling on its axis—every goddamned sound in the entire universe pressed onto his eardrums. Which was nothing compared to the scent, that screamed ‘Ryan’ which had settled into his psyche, nice and cozy and annoying. The malty warmth, with slightly astringent tang that made Cole want to lean over and run his tongue down the man’s neck. He clenched his fists on his knees.

  “Okay, we’re gonna be late, babe. Let’s hit it.” Quinn’s voice broke through the cacophony of noises boring a hole in Cole’s brain. His neck tensed and his shoulders crept up around his ears.

  Audrey knelt down beside him and took his hand. “We’re going to a movie. You okay here with Ryan?” she whispered. He nodded, but he was very much not sure that he would be. The dog whimpered.

  “Later, brother,” Quinn called out. “Talk soon, Cole. Good luck next week with the new job.”

  Ryan walked into the house with the couple, leaving Cole alone with his swirling thoughts and pounding skull. Brutus repositioned himself to Cole’s left between him and the chair Ryan had just vacated. He put his huge head on Cole’s hand. “Dude,” Cole said softly. “I think I just figured out why you’re upset. And let me tell you now, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m a little…agitated, but it’s normal.” He rubbed the dog’s ears then leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him, relieving the pressure building once more under his zipper.

  He heard Ryan rummaging around in the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge. Cole took a long, deep breath and made a decision. He smiled when Ryan pressed the water bottle to his shoulder but set it on the table that he knew was to his front right. His mind was roiling, but he kept a lid on his urge to suck in a breath when he sensed Ryan pulling a chair up on his other side, avoiding the guard dog. “I don’t think he likes me,” Ryan declared.

  Cole put a hand on Ryan’s leg. He heard the other man’s breath hitch and would have sworn on a stack of procedure manuals he heard his heartbeat increase. Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t hear a heartbeat. He smiled and leaned back, leaving his fingers trailing along the denim covering Ryan’s thigh. “Oh, he’s fine, but I think I figured out how in tune to me he actually is.”

  “Oh?” Ryan touched his fingers, brushed the back of Cole’s hand once, then again, making him shiver.

  “I think he senses how horny I am. Since he has no frame of reference for it, it’s making him nervous, protective.”

  “Wow.” Ryan leaned over and Cole could feel the other man’s lips near his throat. “Impressive,” he said, putting his hand over Cole’s erection.

  “Yeah,” Cole croaked out. “So, I’m typically not…”

  “Shh.” Ryan’s hand left his cock, made its way up his torso and wound around the back of his neck. “You are pretty amazing.”

  “No, not really. Just blind. Without a real job. Living in my sister’s house.”

  “But you look damn good doing all of that, trust me.”

  “You make a point of seducing blind guys you just met?”

  “I didn’t just meet you. I remember you a few months…before.”

  Cole shivered again. This whole thing was somehow right and wrong at the same time. He needed a physical connection, bad, but was unsure if it should be with Ryan Shannon. This, of course, coming from his now humming and pain-free brain while his body screeched at him to grab the guy and kiss him.

  Cole sighed when Ryan’s fingertips touched his newly grown hair. He hadn’t had it this long in over ten years. He’d forgotten what color it was. He sighed and raised his face to the cooling night breeze when Ryan’s lips found his jaw and made their slow way down his neck, then up. “You are…very attractive.” Ryan’s words curled in and around Cole’s amped-up libido.

  He gasped when Ryan slid his zipper down. “Fair warning. I won’t last long. It’s been a while.” His head had cleared, his neck no longer hurt and he felt the familiar, pleasant rush of lust wash through him. “I do need this. But that’s all, though, you know? I’m in no position to start a relationship or anything.” He gulped as his throat closed up and his eyes watered. “We clear on that?”

  “It’s clear. I don’t need anything more from you. At least not yet, but I think we could both use a nice, hard fuck,” Ryan whispered against his neck. “I need you to relax first.”

  Cole groaned and leaned back, giving into the amazing sensation of Ryan’s hand then his lips and tongue on his flesh, letting the man’s earlier firm words and no-nonsense commands soothe him. He reached out and threaded his fingers in Ryan’s hair. His first thought—that he wished he could watch—was drowned out by the exquisite sensations of Ryan kissing his neck. It was even, somehow, better, this dark place where all he knew was this man caressing his battered and neglected body.

  When Ryan’s lips met his, Cole smelled the desire between them like a living, breathing thing. Cole gripped the chair arms when the man forced his tongue between Cole’s lips, swept into his mouth. He tasted so good, sounded so sweet and sexy—those low noises he made in his throat were maddening and amazing. Ryan pulled him to his feet.

  The two men stood, arms entangled, teeth clicking together with urgency when they stumbled inside. “I don’t need your mercy fuck,” Cole gasped, angry now, on top of the raging lust that was taking over his brain.

  “This is no mercy fuck, I assure you. But it will be a good one, if you would just relax and let it happen.” Ryan’s low, rumbling voice filled Cole’s ears, making him sigh with pleasure. “I’m a top. That work for you?” Ryan grunted when Cole yanked his shirt up and off, popped his jeans button and unzipped him, releasing a long, rock-hard cock to Cole’s eager hand.

  “I can’t imagine anything better.” And there were no truer words at that moment than the ones he’d said—he wanted Ryan Shannon inside him. Everything about the man compelled Cole to open up, to give, let him take what he wanted.

  “I don’t have any protection.” Ryan hesitated. Cole smiled and the dog bumped up against his leg.

  “Check Audrey’s room, left side top drawer. She and your brother have been staying here a lot lately, and they forget I can still hear.” Ryan drew a finger down Cole’s face, cupped his chin and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before walking away in search of a condom. Cole sat, his hand on his own cock, wondering how in the hell he’d gone from friendly dinner w
ith this man to wanting to fuck so bad he could taste the need on the tip of his tongue. The dog whined. Cole grabbed him and gave him a quick ear rub. “Go lie down. I’m fine.”

  Brutus shoved his nose under Cole’s hand once then sighed and padded away. Ryan was in front of him, pulling him up and tugging off his dark glasses. Cole grabbed the man’s hands, unwilling for him to see the undoubtedly horrible mess of his ruined eyes.

  Ryan sighed into his neck. “Cole, I’m not going to have sex with you if you’re wearing these damn things.”

  Cole’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t do it. This was…wrong. But Ryan kept whispering to him and finally the glasses dropped to the floor. Cole wrapped his arms around Ryan’s neck, kissed him and pressed his needy sex against the other man’s, loving the roll and press of warm, hard flesh against his own. Music hit his ear, coming from the next-door neighbor, no doubt. Cole let Ryan run his lips and hands all over him. The sensation was exquisite, painful, fantastic and horrible all at once.

  A different darkness descended, more intense than the one he’d lived with for over a year. It was accompanied by panic, something akin to a fight-or-flight reaction which kicked in when Ryan dropped to his knees and deep throated his dick. Ignoring it in favour of the extreme pleasure the man’s mouth was providing, Cole gripped Ryan’s hair, thrust his hips and fucked the man’s mouth until he couldn’t wait another second. “Now, Ryan. I need you…now.”

  Ryan rose, his bare skin skimming Cole’s on the way up. He kissed him then turned him so Cole could grab the back of the couch. He arched his back, letting go when Ryan kept whispering to him. His entire body seemed to flex, to convulse and spasm so hard he yelled out, not even realizing what he said while he came so hard he almost fell over from Ryan pounding into him.

  “Yes,” Ryan hissed. “That’s it.” He sighed and collapsed over Cole’s back, holding him close, sweat slicking their torsos.

  He shivered, put his hand against his bare eyes, and the familiar panic returned, settling deep in his gut. Ryan handed him his glasses without a word. Cole shook all over, trying to put them back on. He heard all the noises again, after the blessed relief of silence for the last few minutes. Ryan took his hand, led him around to the front of the couch where he dropped down, collapsing like a marionette without strings. Ryan sat next to him, took him in his arms, kissed his forehead, cheeks, lips. Cole’s teeth chattered. He tried to resist.

  “Relax,” Ryan said into his hair. And Cole did, falling into a near immediate sleep while Ryan held him close.

  Chapter Six

  Lynette

  Lynette hated hanging around the university placement office so much. It made her feel like such a colossal loser. Of course, most things did these days. Here she was, shiny, sought-after MBA with honors in hand for the last six months and she still worked at a day care and ran the gantlet of avoiding creditor calls every day. Hell, one of them was practically her best buddy. They all were sympathetic to her plight, even encouraging, but they had to get paid.

  She studied the virtual jobs bulletin board again, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and willing someone to hire her. After an hour of collecting yet more leads and jotting down endless lists of new LinkedIn contacts, she leaned back, pressing fingers to her forehead. Her stomach rumbled and her eyelid twitched while she checked her phone. Ever hopeful for that one elusive call that might be generated from one of the hundreds of resumes she’d sent, and nearly as many interviews she’d endured.

  A blank phone screen met her gaze, mocking her eager anticipation.

  She was standing to put away her notebook and get the hell out and on her way to the day care center when the secretary waved at her. Frowning, Lynette walked to the woman’s desk. She had the phone to her ear and was having a conversation while motioning at Lynette to sit, stay. Her phone bleeped with a text from her mother, reminding her to bring home organic milk and not the stuff full of antibiotics. She typed a quick response before looking up to see the secretary with her finger on the phone’s mute button.

  “It’s perfect,” she whispered, leaning in. “Let me hand this to you now, before I have to post it.”

  Lynette shrugged. She’d been interviewed for more perfect jobs than she cared to remember. The whole thing had lost its luster. It had become a long, daily trudge of disappointment, peppered with anger and frustration now that she’d agreed to let her mother live with her. “Why? What’s so great about this one?” she asked, reaching over to take the receiver.

  “It’s local and so cool, the Ypsi Brewing Company, you know, over in the empty Ford plant?’

  “I don’t know anything about beer.”

  The woman waggled the phone at her. “Just take it. Trust me.”

  “Hello?” Lynette flopped back in the chair, unwilling to even try to sound like she cared anymore.

  A deep, masculine voice filled her ear, curled around in her brain and nestled in her psyche. “Hello, this is Ryan Shannon. I’m the head brewer and part owner of the YBC, over here in the old Ford plant.”

  She stayed silent, not because she wanted to but because every ounce of spit she possessed had dried up at the sound of Ryan’s voice. She stood and turned away so the secretary couldn’t see her looking like an idiot. After about ten minutes of his talking, her listening and trying to form coherent sentences, she handed the receiver back to the pleased-looking woman.

  “Well?”

  “I, uh, have an interview, Monday. In a group first with other candidates, then one-on-one with the owners, the Shannon brothers.” She picked up her purse, still in a daze from the odd phone call.

  Men had zero effect on her. She had barely even looked at herself in the mirror since her life had fallen apart five years ago. Back then, she’d been the prototypical college co-ed, happy and carefree and focused on a future with her medical-school-bound boyfriend. In quick succession, in her sophomore year, her father died of a massive heart attack, leaving behind her mother, who had spent her life being taken care of, and barely enough money in the bank to pay for a funeral.

  Her mother had no answers for the ‘where is all Dad’s money?’ questions. The woman had never even written a check in her adult life, in a bizarre throwback of a relationship where Lynette’s father had done everything, up to and including nurturing a gambling habit that had left his wife and daughter high and dry after his death. After attending her father’s funeral, her boyfriend had pulled her aside, kissed her forehead and said he needed ‘space’ to ‘think about their relationship.’ These two things mysteriously involved the intimate assistance of her roommate, it seemed. Last Lynette heard, they were married. She’d not been on a date, kissed or even held hands with a member of the opposite sex since.

  Now, her mother sat on the couch with her cat, watched expensive cable television from the time she woke until she slept in Lynette’s small apartment in Depot Town. Lynette was incapable of making her leave. Where would she go? She didn’t drink or smoke or even really eat that much, but the inherent frailty that had been enabled by Lynette’s father and his over-the-top masculinity proved an impossible barrier to her having a real life.

  Lynette sat with her at times, taking in the various news shows and pseudo-news shows, doing her homework and waiting on her mother in an early care-taker role reversal. Other than her constant nagging about Lynette needing to ‘find a man’ and insisting on organic milk, she barely made a peep.

  On the way home, Lynette did her usual prayer to the gods of rust bucket cars and the women who drive them that hers would make it one more day. Realizing she’d forgotten the milk the moment she was unlocking the apartment door, she sighed and shoved it open, needing to process the recent turn of events. She had an interview for a job that would not force her to relocate and drag her emotionally invalid mother with her. And the man who would interview her possessed a voice that had her practically buzzing with something she refused to identify.

  She ground her teeth, made a
pologies to her mother about the lack of milk and jumped in the shower, hoping the proverbial cold water would calm her revved-up libido. Ignoring men in favor of slogging through school and getting top grades while working thirty hours a week had been easier than she’d expected. A few cute guys had tried to get friendly, especially in classes that required group work, but she’d kept it professional, cool to the point of frigid.

  She’d had to put one foot in front of the other, daily, for five years, until she had that paper in her hand. The paper that claimed her hire-able with a Master’s in Business Administration double focus in marketing and accounting, but that had become about as useful as the stacks of paper on her kitchen counter demanding money she didn’t have.

  This twanging, nervous jangling of her nerves, replaying Ryan Shannon’s voice over and over in her head while she let the thin trickle of water sluice down her face and body, was pissing her off to no end. The guy had a voice made for radio. He was probably some nerdy, bearded, fat guy—which was her mental image of a man who brewed beer for a living. She toweled herself dry, shivering in the super-cooled air. Her mother kept the airconditioning cranked nonstop, yet another drain on her slim budget, but she had no energy to fight it.

  She tugged on jeans and a sweatshirt and yanked her rowdy hair back in a ponytail. There were children to be minded and a small paycheck to be earned. Lynette surprised herself at how good she was at this job, how many kids clamored to be with her during the hours they spent away from their parents. She took a perfunctory look at herself in the mirror long enough to take in the slight lines she’d developed alongside her eyes and the worry creases in her forehead. Frowning, she touched them, remembering how many hours she’d once spent rubbing at her freckles, hoping to make them disappear and for her hair to turn normal, not the uncontrollable curly auburn riot that it was. Her flat blue-green eyes stared back at her and a shiver passed down her spine at the memory of the voice on the other end of the phone. ‘See you Monday, Lynette. I’m looking forward to it. You sound like a great fit.’