Outside the Lines

by Anna Zabo

  I showed him some of the less complicated model kits and he chose an old-fashioned street rod to build. I also suggested one of our magnification stands, helped him carry everything up front, then turned him over to Dexy for checkout. “If you need any help at all, stop back in.”

  The excitement I saw in his weathered features was like a jolt of joy-laden caffeine. This was the best part of my job—helping someone discover—or rediscover—a hobby they could love.

  I wandered back to Ian, and my heart slid into my throat. We’d been about to kiss, in the middle of my shop, during business hours. Oh, I wanted that, but it wasn’t the wisest of plans. A glance at my watch told me we still had two hours before the shop closed.

  Ian had a contrite expression. When he spoke, his voice was so soft, it might have been a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I . . . got ahead of myself.”

  “So did I.” The altar sat on the table—along with a bunch of other pieces I needed to repaint. “I guess getting interrupted like that is a good reminder that we’re working.”

  He wore nervousness like a second skin. “All work and no play?”

  “I didn’t say that,” I murmured. “Need to wait to play, that’s all.”

  His smile returned, the glorious thing that it was, on those lips I so wanted to taste.

  I glanced at my watch again. Playtime would come soon enough.

  When it got close to eight o’clock, Simon set down the torch stanchion he’d been touching up. “I should go help Dexy close the shop.”

  “Or,” said Lydia, as she rounded some shelves and paused to straighten the boxes on them, “you can keep working and let me do it?”

  He sat back down and picked up another stanchion. “Who am I to argue with that logic?” There was sheer joy in his voice.

  I realized that Simon’s good mood was because he got to keep spending time with me, and Lydia had facilitated that. This whole open-marriage shtick was going to take some getting used to. I’d never dated guys in happily committed relationships before. There would be no sneaking around. No lies. No finding out the guy was on the down-low when the wife showed up screaming. We weren’t cheating, at least not in Simon and Lydia’s book.

  I believed them, but it was hard to wrap my head around, despite Simon’s need being almost a physical presence between us, like the mythical psychic link the show went on about sometimes.

  This wasn’t magic, but it was real and tangible and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on Simon.

  We kept painting until Lydia came back around. “We’re all ready to lock up. You guys going to stay later?”

  Simon gave me a sly look that Lydia couldn’t have missed. “A little longer.”

  Her chuckle was low and she kissed Simon. Not a lingering taste, but not a peck either. “I’ll see you later.”

  Something passed between them—a flicker of understanding that touched both their eyes and smiles—then Lydia pecked me on the cheek. “Have a good night, Ian.” Her grin said everything—whatever happened between me and Simon was okay.

  “You too.” I breathed the words out.

  After she left us, the lights near the front of the store were turned off and Dexy yelled “Bye, guys!” We yelled goodbye back, then there was a rattle of a lock. Then silence, but for the gentle hum of the HVAC system and the pounding of my heart.

  Alone.

  “Um . . .” Simon focused on the torch he’d been painting. “How much did you want to get done today?”

  Good question. While I wanted to abandon my work and go to town on Simon, I needed to get the set repaired by Wednesday. We’d accomplished quite a bit, but more would be better. “We should finish all the items that need to be sculpted tonight, or the clay won’t set in time to paint.”

  Simon sank onto his chair. “So, we’re still working before playing?”

  Goddamn did I want to play. I set aside my paintbrush and slid up close to Simon. “Don’t drop that,” I whispered, right before I tipped his head back and kissed him. His whole body trembled, and he opened his lips to my probing tongue.

  He didn’t drop the torch, but made these delicious helpless moans that I drank down when I took his mouth and lips. The pulse in his neck beat wildly against my fingertips. Kissing him had been worth the wait. He surrendered to me, but also tangled his mouth and tongue with mine. Simon was pliant, needy, and sexy.

  I broke the kiss, and Simon stared up at me, his throat moving under my fingers. “I thought we were working?” Rough words, full of desperation. I bet if I slid my hand down to his lap, I’d find him hard and ready.

  “We are.” I kissed him again, with more force this time. He still didn’t drop the piece he’d been painting. I worked my palm over his chest and then between his thighs, and yup. I’d been right about that. He spread his knees and rocked his dick against my palm, and I wanted him there and then, maybe bent over the table, or maybe with my cock down his throat.

  I fucking loved how much he needed me. The kiss left him panting and I stroked him, enjoying the way his eyes glazed over. “How long have you wanted me?”

  He gave me a chuckle that was half a moan. “Since I saw you that first day.”

  So, the same as me. “The sooner we finish, the sooner you can find out what else I can do to make you moan.” I traced his length with my fingers.

  “Incentive?”

  “A promise.” I relented on teasing him—we did need to finish. I had to get this set ready for shooting on Wednesday . . . but I also wanted to discover how loud I could make Simon yell before the night was through.

  Simon gulped a breath and slowly examined the torch he’d been painting. “I like your promises.”

  So did I.

  It took maybe another hour for us to finish fixing the parts and I had to resist touching, teasing, and kissing Simon.

  Despite my previous distractions, Simon managed to finish the torch stanchion and repair a few other pieces as well. As it had been for the past two days, his work was excellent and his hands remained steady, though his neck was red and his glances smoldering. What fantasies were rolling through his mind?

  I knew the ones going through mine, and as we cleaned up the area, I wondered how many of them he’d let me create. At last, we headed to the back of the store and Simon shut off the rest of the lights in the shop. When he turned toward me—and the door to the alley—I cupped a hand around his neck and pulled his lips to mine. Again, he opened to me, but now that his hands were free, those roamed down my back and he kneaded my ass while grinding against me.

  I wanted that mouth elsewhere on my body. Between bites on his lips, I whispered, “I hope you like sucking cock.”

  He made the same little throaty noise as before. “I love it.”

  Grazing my teeth along his throat got me a deeper gasp. “Prove it.” I needed him on his knees for me, his eyes looking up into mine, and those exquisite hands on my thighs.

  “Not in the store,” he murmured.

  “That a rule?”

  He opened space between us, though our hips stayed pressed together. “Yeah, actually.” But his smile was warm. “Work is here. Play is”—he gestured toward the door—“for out there.”

  Out there was an alley with dumpsters and dimly lit pavement. Given that it was the main drag of town, it wasn’t too seedy. I turned over Lydia’s don’t break him comment and a plan formed in my head. “Ever sucked a guy off in an alley?”

  Simon’s breath caught. “Not that one.”

  That wasn’t at all a no to my question and I couldn’t help my grin. “You should probably set the alarm.”

  “Mmm.” He nuzzled my neck, his stubble scraping across my skin before he nipped me and sent my pulse sky-high. “Probably.” He pulled away and did exactly that.

  Half a minute later, we were outside and Simon was locking the back door. A moment after that, I had him up against it and moaning into my mouth. His keys clattered to the ground and his hands tangled into my hair. I rocked my dick into h
is thigh.

  Did taking Simon apart count as breaking? I wanted him begging and screaming, dirty and willing to do anything I asked.

  I wasn’t sure which one of us swung the other around, but a second later my back hit the steel door. I pressed my thumb against Simon’s throat and broke our kiss to catch my breath. Over his shoulder, wherever light hit the pavement, it shone from the earlier rain; bright dots of light in the inky night. “Get on your knees.”

  He met my gaze, and fucking kept it as he dropped down before me. “It’s gonna have to be fast.”

  His hair was soft and long enough to grip tightly between my fingers. “Why’s that?”

  “’Cause Officer Phil Merrick always patrols the alley around ten.” Nimble fingers had my fly open and Simon nuzzled my dick through the cotton of my briefs.

  Fuck. That hot mouth. Those sinful lips. I needed inside both. I had no idea what time it was, but I bet Simon did. “I’m sure you can manage.”

  His dark chuckle sent heat into my skull. “Just you wait.”

  He had my cock out, and warm breath caressed me right before his lips slid over the head. I bit my lip and pressed back against the door to keep from moaning too loudly. If this area was patrolled . . . well. No need to call attention to ourselves, even if I was standing against End o’ Earth’s delivery door, in full view with Simon Derry sucking the tip of my cock. We weren’t in the dark. Anyone walking by could see.

  For all Simon’s talk, he took his damn sweet time blowing me. He started by sucking and licking the length of my shaft and fondling my balls. But the heat of his mouth and the flick of his tongue kept me breathless despite his languid exploration.

  I stroked his hair. “What would your wife think if she saw us?” Part of me still couldn’t believe we were doing this.

  Another laugh. “She’d pull up a chair.”

  That— Oh hell. I bit my lip and swallowed a groan. Voyeurism wasn’t my thing, but that thought zipped from my brain straight to my balls anyway.

  We were so going to get caught if we kept this up.

  I gripped Simon’s hair tight, and at long last, he took my shaft into his sweet hot mouth. His moan vibrated against my length. “Yeah.” I tugged his head toward me. “Take my dick, Si. All of it.”

  Damned if he didn’t do exactly what I’d asked. I’d had plenty of blowjobs before and from guys who could deep-throat, but none of them had ever done me like Simon Derry. Maybe it was the alley or his tight throat, or the way he inhaled me, but pure bliss rolled up my spine when he took my cock to the root.

  Then he did it again. And again. And again—until my vision hazed and my balls were about ready to explode. His tongue was magic and he sucked me as if he wanted every piece of my dick—yeah. Simon wasn’t a straight guy at all.

  The light on the tarmac glittered and my sight blurred. This was fucking amazing. Better than porn, far better than my last quick hookup in the back of the prop shop. To top it off, I might get to take Simon home. Maybe fuck him until he screamed.

  I whimpered into the night and tried to keep my mouth closed. I wanted to yell and curse and tell Simon he was one hell of a cockslut, but—alley. And perhaps a patrolling cop. I swallowed the words.

  I was so damn close and that was unfair because I wanted so much more of the man kneeling before me. His eyes were closed, his mouth stretched wide, and he was fucking beautiful. A filthy angel on his knees, doing everything he could to suck the jizz out of me.

  I didn’t know how I heard the footsteps over the pounding of my heart or Simon’s deep grunts, but I did. When I cranked my head to the left, over the dumpster that hopefully blocked Simon from view, I made out a figure striding down the pavement, a flashlight drawing curves on the ground. My pulse shot through the roof. “Si,” I hissed. His eyes flicked open and, I swear to God, the look he gave me was pure lust and a little bit evil.

  Bastard knew exactly what he was doing, I was certain. That was all it took. I locked my fingers into his hair, fucked his throat deep, and emptied my nuts into him. I tried to keep quiet—the cop was closer now—but I must have gasped or grunted or something—because the light flashed up into my eyes.

  “Hey!” A cop voice—deep, gravelly, and intimidating.

  Simon yanked my shirt down over my unzipped jeans, then wiped semen off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Help me find my keys.” He was grinning like he’d won the jackpot. The bulge he sported in his jeans told me everything. Someone liked getting caught. Or maybe being watched.

  I knelt down out of the flashlight glare and zipped myself up and struggled to catch my breath. “Think you dropped them over there.” My voice sounded louder than normal, and way more broken than it should have.

  Shit.

  “Hey!” The cop yelled this time, and the light shone on both of us.

  “It’s okay, Phil. I dropped my keys.” Simon lifted the bundle, and shook them in the beam of the flashlight. They jangled and clanked and glittered with water from a puddle.

  I wondered if Phil noticed the ridge of Simon’s dick, so prominent in his jeans, especially with the way he knelt. Or that Simon’s lips were plump and bruised and glistened like the wet pavement, or that his jeans were far too damp to have been kneeling for only an instant.

  “Simon Derry.” The cop sounded exasperated. “I’ve told you not to slink around your own shop. Give me a heart attack.”

  Simon stood and rattled his keys again. The flashlight swung to me. I rose slowly on shaky legs, holding up my hand to shield against the light. I didn’t like cops much—mostly because they always pegged me for a gay guy and gave me that frown—like the queer would get on them if I got too close. I knew they weren’t all like that, but still. Trust wasn’t exactly there.

  “Who’s this?” There was suspicion in Officer Merrick’s voice. Bingo. He didn’t like me either.

  “This is Ian. I’m helping him with a project.” I had no idea how Simon sounded so normal after swallowing me to the pubes repeatedly, but he did. He also had this incredible grin, like this was a picnic, and not the aftermath of a blowjob in an alley. “Doing a little work after hours.”

  A grunt from the cop. “Your wife know?”

  Oh fuck. My cheeks went hot. I hoped that didn’t show in the cop’s flashlight, because I never could keep up the innocent act.

  “Of course!” Now Simon sounded offended. “Who do you think locked us in?”

  The light swung between us and then down to the ground. The cop sighed. “This place is way more trouble than Red Hot Bluewater.” With that, he stomped away.

  I exhaled, and Simon chuckled. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Didn’t have to tell me twice. “Jesus, that was . . . something.” My voice shook. “Fucking hell.” Maybe Officer Merrick was an okay guy, but I was happy to see the back of him.

  We walked around to Main to where I’d parked. I unlocked the Mini, then paused. “So, you wanna come over?”

  Guess I spoke gruffly or sounded angry or upset, because he tilted his head, and for the first time since I’d met him, worry marred his features. His keys rattled. “If you don’t want me to, I can . . .” He looked away, his voice dropping off. “I thought you’d like that, but . . .” A glance, and there was anguish there. He backed away from the car. “I’ll get my bike.”

  Oh God. He thought I was rejecting him. “Si!” Maybe I said it too sharply because he jumped a little and his eyes went wide. If there hadn’t been a car between us, I’d have taken his hand. “I want to spend the night with you.” Peel those clothes off him and take him as high as he’d brought me. Maybe higher. I wanted to bury myself in him. Feel him squirm under me. A litany of steamy fantasies we couldn’t possibly accomplish in one night ran through my head.

  “Oh.” Sheepish and slightly mortified was cute on Simon. “Um. So, I should get in the car?”

  “Yes, Simon. You should absolutely get in the car.” I was getting hard again. Maybe voyeurism got Simon off. Taking
charge? That was my kink. And Simon had the expression of a man who needed someone to tell him what to do right now. “Get in and buckle up. I’m taking you for a ride.”

  Simon did as told, belt and everything. In the dome light of the Mini, he appeared distinctly relieved. With the doors shut, no one could overhear us. “That was some goddamned magic you did back there. I hope you like being fucked, because I intend to return the favor . . . in spades.”

  “Yeah, I, whatever you want to do,” he said.

  Music to my ears. “As long as I don’t break you.”

  “I’m very, very hard to break.” That sly smile had returned.

  When the dome light faded, I pressed the ignition button and slipped the car into reverse. “We’ll see about that.” I liked a challenge, after all.

  We were heading out of town, vaguely toward where Wolf’s Landing filmed. I tasted Ian with every swallow. Yeah, the blowjob in the alley had been risky, but damn, I’d wanted him. Wanted him to want me. After two days of sexual frustration, I needed him to use me for whatever he desired.

  I still couldn’t read Ian, though. Sometimes he seemed hot for me—then he didn’t at all. The salt in my mouth and ache in my throat told me he had enjoyed the blowjob. But the budding relationship? Who knew.

  Then again, I was in his car, winding through the woods outside of Bluewater Bay.

  He hadn’t spoken since town, since those words that had sent shivers through me. I remembered what Lydia had said at lunch.

  I craved Ian breaking me. It had been so long since I’d been on my knees for a guy. Longer since I’d bottomed. Most men I did manage a hookup with figured I was a top.

  I wasn’t. Not with men. But people looked at me and Lydia and made assumptions that I was straight and dominant. That I went home and fucked my wife every night. It was tiring having two lives—the one people painted onto me and the one I actually lived.

  I wanted Ian to shatter the crappy picture everyone else had of me and remind me who I really was.