Truth & Tenderness

by Tere Michaels

  Maybe he would come this way, just to take the edge off, but any hopes of completion went out the window when Jim backed off and started kissing down Griffin’s body. Griffin pulled his glasses off, pushed them to safety under the recliner, then held on for dear life.

  Jim reached his cock and bit the insides of Griffin’s thighs until Griffin kicked—because no, no teasing, he hated it unless it was the kind where he loved it and Jim held him down by the hips. But then Jim decided it was enough—time to lick his cock in long, slow strokes, moaning as he tasted Griffin with absolute abandon. He moved his fingers under Griffin’s knees and calves, spreading him out to trail kisses lower and never in one place long enough.

  Griffin tried to breathe.

  “Fuck, I missed you so much, I miss you all the time,” Jim whispered, pulling back from each bite and kiss to blow on the sting. Then he moved again, before Griffin could respond, to take him deep inside his mouth.

  Griffin couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop pushing up into Jim’s mouth, couldn’t stop the relentless need pulsing in his body. It was almost enough—so close—but Jim pulled away again, sitting straight up to leave Griffin panting and moaning on the floor.

  “What…,” Griffin panted, but Jim was moving—he grabbed the condoms off the table, threw one at Griffin, then went back for the lube.

  Shaking, Griffin tore open the package. Everything was blurry, but he could hear the sounds coming from Jim, and he knew what they meant.

  Intimately.

  “Ugh, no, let me help,” Griffin whined, sliding the condom on—finally, God—and sitting up as he grabbed frantically for Jim.

  “I got it,” Jim said, laughing a little, but Griffin didn’t stop being handsy as hell.

  “I love it, I love your body, God.” Griffin knew he was talking nonsense, knew there wasn’t much sexy about a guy with a condom on his dick in the middle of the living room, but he just didn’t want to stop touching Jim at this moment. Or any moment, ever.

  “I got it,” Jim said again, pushing him down on his back, then climbing over him.

  Griffin moaned when he realized what Jim was doing. “Oh God, is it Christmas?”

  “That’s so….” Jim’s breath caught, and Griffin bit his lip in hopes the pain would stop him moving—or coming—as Jim shifted Griffin into position. With one hand, he held Griffin down, pushing against his chest. With the other, he guided Griffin inside, slowly, with heavy breaths.

  Eyes fluttering closed, Griffin ground his teeth through the familiar and exquisite pleasure of sliding into Jim.

  Griffin grabbed Jim’s hips, pressing his fingers into his skin. He braced his feet against the hardwood floor, gritting his teeth as Jim slid the last few inches and came to a rest seated in Griffin’s lap.

  There was a pause, Jim shifting and breathing until he was comfortable, Griffin rigid and sighing underneath him, forcing his eyes open so he could look up at Jim.

  “Fuck, I love you so much,” Jim murmured, so perfect in the firelight that Griffin felt a little dizzy. He knew what was coming next, knew the way Jim’s body moved up and then back down with slow intent.

  SOMEWHERE IN the moment, a tiny brush of guilt reared its ugly head. Jim clenched, squeezed on Griffin’s dick as he held it deep inside, then raised his hips—locked down on the pressure he knew he would feel—and began a punishing pace of riding up, pushing down, choking on the pleasure/pain of the intense burn. He closed his eyes because looking down at Griffin would be his undoing.

  Faster and harder, sweat rolling from his skin, Jim slid his grip to rest against Griffin’s neck, cupping it in his hands as he moved his lower body in a frantic rhythm. “Come on,” he panted. “Come on.”

  “Jim, slow down,” Griffin choked out, but Jim didn’t even break the wild need to finish—for Griffin to finish, for Jim to feel grounded in his lover’s arms.

  There was no finesse to his movements, just an animalistic sense of urgent need, a violent push toward completion.

  THE VISELIKE clasp of Jim’s body on his dick, the pressure, the longing he’d felt for so long—Griffin couldn’t hold back much longer. He grabbed Jim’s wrists, holding on for dear life, sweat dripping off their bodies as Griffin slid against the rug.

  “Please,” he panted, imploring with his pleas and scrabbling hands. “Please, please—love you.”

  “Show me,” Jim answered, pressing his forehead to Griffin’s, breathing hard into his mouth. “Come inside me.”

  All Griffin could do in response was open his mouth in a silent cry, arching his body against Jim’s. The orgasm racked his body for long shuddering moments before he collapsed against the rug.

  His eyes closed as Jim kept moving, kissing Griffin’s face with frantic damp movements of his lips. “Love you,” he kept saying, rocking over Griffin, trying to find his own completion.

  Griffin reached between them, closing his hand over Jim’s cock, the way eased by sweat and Griffin’s fervent need to tip Jim over the edge.

  Jim lasted a few more seconds, but Griffin knew how to pull an orgasm from this man—knew how to twist and tug and bite his shoulder, how to rock up his hips and read that perfect moment when Jim lost it.

  Wildly, roughly, completely.

  They lay there, wet and shaking on the rug, like they had run a marathon.

  And won.

  “Hell of a homecoming,” Jim whispered into Griffin’s ear. He’d tried to move, but Griffin held him in place despite the fact that he was heavy and lax and probably hurting.

  No. Griffin wouldn’t let him go.

  “I missed you.”

  “It was two days.”

  Griffin nudged him and shifted until they were looking each other in the eye. “It’s been longer than that.”

  Jim swallowed. “Yeah.”

  EVENTUALLY THEY showered—together. They dressed in clean pajamas, threw everything discarded on the floor downstairs down the laundry chute, and ate a romantic meal for two by candlelight in the dining room.

  He pushed their chairs closer together and they held hands because Griffin refused to let Jim get farther than a foot away and Jim couldn’t deny him.

  “I, uh, got a new project,” Griffin said eventually.

  Jim girded himself for the news—the schedule in Los Angeles, the continuation of a schedule that made them both unhappy. “Oh. Okay. Where are you filming?” he asked, neutral.

  “It’s a play. We’re going to do it here in New York.”

  Looking up, Jim met Griffin’s pleased expression with one of his own. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, it’s something Shane wrote a few years ago that they never produced. Bennett said I could pick anything, and that was the one I liked the most.” Griffin’s excitement began to pick up. He squeezed Jim’s hand and gestured with the other. “These two friends pretend to be dating so their possessive exes will leave them alone. It’s sort of a comedy of manners but with a bit of melancholy underneath, because of course one of the men has always had a thing for his friend. Eventually the man goes back to his ex, and the other one decides they can’t be friends anymore. Shane is going to do some rewrites and….” Griffin’s voice peaked into shy delight. “I’m going to produce it.”

  Jim pushed his chair back just in time for Griffin to slide into his arms. “Baby, that’s great. Congratulations.” And it was great. Because Griffin would be on the East Coast with Jim—the small voice reminding him about Tracey and Tripp and the whole fucking mess be damned—and they would get married.

  It would be fine.

  “It’s a little scary, but I mean, I can have a home base, you know? I’ll work in the city when we start staging, but the rest of the time I’ll be home. Mostly.” Griffin scooted even closer so he could put his arms around Jim’s shoulders, his face morphing from happy to nervous in rapid succession. “That’s okay, right? That I’m here all the time?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that? Our first date was a week long—I’m completely used to
you being underfoot.”

  “Jackass.”

  IN BED a few hours later, Griffin lay in Jim’s arms, the little spoon to Jim’s big one. It was dark and quiet, and Griffin had run out of time. He wouldn’t be a chicken. He would just say—

  “Do you want kids?”

  Jim’s voice rang out so suddenly that Griffin almost rolled off the bed in shock. He caught his breath, then attempted to roll over, but Jim kept him pinned, his back to Jim’s chest. “What?”

  “The way you are with Sadie—I’m not blind. I know you want to have kids.”

  Griffin began to shake because… oh God. He needed to ask his question, but right now it was buried under an avalanche of other things, other elephants sitting quiet watch in the room. “I….” Griffin gulped in air, courage. “I do. I mean, I love Sadie. I love our godchildren, but sometimes I think—I think I’d like them to be mine.”

  The silence rested over them then, Griffin’s heart beating so wildly he felt dizzy. Jim’s arms tight around him kept him grounded and held him prisoner at once.

  Griffin felt trapped in the moment, in the dark, so he took a breath, said a little prayer to his mother, and whispered, “Are you sure you want to get married?”

  He inhaled, lungs burning until Jim kissed the back of his neck tenderly. “So sure I want to marry you.”

  “Okay.” Griffin pinched himself, just to make sure this was real.

  “We should set a date.”

  “Jim, that’s not why I asked,” Griffin murmured.

  “I know.” Jim rubbed Griffin’s chest gently, rolling over until Griffin was almost on his stomach. Another moment that felt like before, when they were fucking, like Jim was protecting him. “I want to set a date because I love you. Because it wasn’t a big elaborate proposal—I just opened my mouth and boom, there it was. You make me want things I never imagined I could….”

  Griffin felt his throat closing up with emotion. Jim’s weight pushed him into the mattress, his soft words squeezing his heart.

  “I want to marry you and I want….” Jim breathed deeply, then blew out a stream of warm air against the back of Griffin’s neck. “I want to talk about the future. Who we see—sharing our home.”

  “Oh God.” Griffin laughed, searching for a joke before he burst into tears. “I’ve been so scared to talk to you about this. I know your aversion to dirt and drool.”

  Jim shrugged, big and warm around Griffin’s body. “Will I traumatize a kid if I’m wearing plastic gloves?”

  “All the time?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “I think Matt knows a shrink—we should talk to her first.”

  They joked back and forth for a while, voices growing softer. Griffin felt himself drifting off even as Jim kept talking about buying stock in a paper towel company and swapping out the rugs for hospital-grade linoleum until Griffin fell asleep, content and overjoyed.

  Chapter 7

  EVAN HADN’T bought a new suit in a few years and certainly not for a date. But right now he walked into Gotham Bar and Grill with Matt’s hand at his back, wearing a three-hundred-dollar suit and a shiny pair of wing tips.

  It was a little overwhelming.

  After three weeks of missing each other—and an inordinate amount of phone sex—Evan and Matt had made a very specific plan for the night. Danny and Elizabeth were with their aunt Elena for the weekend, leaving the two men with an empty house. Matt had put Jim in charge of the business phone as a repayment for that “Weekend of Humping” he had previously covered, and Evan had said a quiet prayer that the status quo would prevail in his precinct.

  They were alone and focusing on each other.

  At the moment, however, Evan paid attention to the classy, filled-to-capacity restaurant, and followed the hostess to their table. Buzzing with energy, Matt pulled out his chair and Evan sat with a tiny smile.

  Across from him dropped Matt, looking fit and tan as ever, in a swank black suit and dark blue shirt. The collar was open—and then an extra button that seemed to take the look from “attractive” to “distracting.” Evan did his traditional glance around their surroundings, but even that didn’t stop him from sliding his hand across the table.

  Matt’s eyes flashed with surprise, but the smile that crossed his lips as he took Evan’s hand in his was one of absolute delight.

  Distracting, times ten.

  “To what do I owe this honor?” Matt said softly, leaning forward as he stroked his thumb over Evan’s wrist.

  Evan shrugged. “I like that shirt,” he responded casually, delighting at the sparkle that flickered across Matt’s face.

  “How much?”

  Evan leaned forward, avoiding the candle and flowers between them, avoiding the tables on either side with their chatting diners. “I hope you don’t have any plans to get out of bed until Sunday,” he murmured.

  Matt licked his lips.

  Evan smirked.

  The waiter, who’d probably been standing there for a few minutes, cleared his throat.

  GOTHAM’S FOOD was amazing, which made letting go of each other’s hands all that much easier when presented with a rack of lamb to die for. Ankles locked under the table, Evan and Matt ate, split a bottle of wine, and shared smug smiles. It felt like a spell wove around them, locking out anything that might upset the moment.

  “I want to bottle whatever has gotten into you tonight,” Matt said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “And then I want to mass produce it.”

  “Stop sounding so surprised. I’m capable of—things.” Evan squinted at him over the table. Mr. Lightweight and three glasses of wine—the evening promised to get even more interesting.

  Matt snickered. “You called them things.”

  “That’s all they’re getting called in public.” Evan rubbed his ankle against Matt’s, and that simple act did marvelous things to everything below Matt’s belt.

  “Prude,” Matt teased, reaching across the table to take Evan’s hand in his again.

  “I’ll remember you called me that tonight.” When Evan ran his tongue over his lower lip, Matt nearly fell off his chair.

  “I’ve created a monster.”

  MATT TRIED his damnedest to get Evan into the men’s room with him, but even slightly tipsy, his boyfriend put the kibosh on that.

  “Public lewdness? Really?” Evan hissed as they walked out onto the sidewalk. “Absolutely not.”

  So Matt grabbed his ass while hailing a cab. It seemed a good compromise.

  Inside the cab, Evan dropped his head against the seat back and Matt had to surreptitiously adjust himself as they zoomed uptown to their next destination. No public lewdness, but how did Evan feel about a blow job in the back of his cab?

  “No,” Evan said, and for a second, Matt thought he had spoken out loud.

  “Did I say—”

  “I know you,” Evan laughed, rolling his head to one side and regarding Matt with fond irritation. “So no.”

  “No?” Matt pouted, then dropped his hand to Evan’s knee.

  “Matt.”

  “Mmmm” was his only response. He tested each inch on the inside of Evan’s thigh, hitching up bit by bit until the fabric bunched and pulled as Evan moved his hips against the creaky faux leather seats.

  “Matt.” Different tone this time, softer and pleading. Matt bit his lip as he laid his head on Evan’s shoulder, dancing his fingers up to Evan’s belt.

  “Gonna take you home and rip this gorgeous suit off your body,” Matt whispered, laying his palm flat against Evan’s stomach, feeling the trembling, marveling in the moment. “Gonna open you up with my mouth and fuck you all night.” It was a calculated risk—Evan might get mad at him crossing a line—but when he went limp instead of rigid, Matt purred.

  And then he bit his tongue to keep from moaning when Evan pushed Matt’s hand between his legs.

  EVAN STUMBLED out of the cab at Eighty-Fifth Street, right in front of the venue of the GOAL fundraiser. Tipsy and so turned on
, Evan straightened up, then turned to watch Matt join him on the sidewalk.

  After he adjusted himself, of course. The expression of irritated pain included flared nostrils and pursed lips.

  “Oh my God,” Evan said before hiccupping into laughter. No more wine. Ever.

  “You’re a cheap, easy date,” Matt huffed. He put an arm around Evan’s waist. “And I seriously fucking love that.”

  Evan pulled himself together, attempting to get his suit to fit, because right now it wasn’t. It was practically falling off—in his mind, at least—as Matt led him through the elaborate lobby and past the evening-shift security.

  “Hopefully they know it’s an LGBT event,” Matt said dryly, “so it’s not a surprise you look like a rent boy.”

  “I do not!”

  Inside the mirrored elevator, Evan got a good look at himself—flushed, rumpled, and still not quite “calm” in his pants. He fumbled with his tie and then his jacket, not noticing until too late that Matt was pressing up against his back.

  “Stop that.” Evan tried to be stern—tried hard.

  Hard.

  But Matt was gorgeous and he put his arms around Evan’s waist and God. That spot at the back of his neck that Matt kissed so gently.

  At some point Evan was going to sober up and be horrified by his unexpected behavior. Right now? It just felt good to sink back in Matt’s arms. All his nerve endings were sparking at the same time, keeping rhythm with his heartbeat.

  “This night was an excellent idea,” Evan murmured, watching the picture they made in the mirror.

  MATT THOUGHT about pushing his luck. The restaurant, the cab ride, this moment—it wasn’t Evan’s usual MO, and maybe Matt could convince him to find a closet, but no, that metaphor didn’t play right in Matt’s head.

  He pulled away and gently put Evan back together, their gazes never breaking in the mirror.

  By the time the elevator dinged open, Evan looked slightly less discombobulated and Matt felt like an actual grown-up.