by Cara McKenna
“Oh God, no. A gay guy, hired to, like, rub a bunch of young straight guys’ pulled groin muscles…?”
Stephen blinked, seeming to be struggling to find an issue with such a scenario.
Adam laughed. “No thank you. That’s an invitation to get sued for harassment by parents or students the second I mention my orientation. Not a cause I’m brave enough to champion. Plus younger guys don’t do much for me.”
“Whose pulled groins do you rub, then?”
“Very few people’s. I work for a medical center, doing a lot of rehabilitation. Car accidents, mostly, and some post-surgery rehab.”
“That’s terribly noble.”
Adam shrugged the compliment away. “It’s just a job. When I was nine my mom was in a horrible wreck and lost her right arm. I thought the guy who worked with her after she got out of traction was the greatest thing ever. Now that I do that stuff myself, I know it’s nothing heroic. It’s just a hard, rewarding job that needs doing.”
“You’re rather fascinating,” Stephen said, giving Adam a squinty, calculating look that made his skin turn feverish.
“Let’s not go crazy.”
“So what’s your ex like?” Stephen asked. “In say, four words.”
“You going to answer this question, too?”
“Sure.”
“Fine. David in four words. Um, stylish. Rational, intelligent. Uh, predictable?”
“Heh, fair enough. And Ethan…”
Ethan.
“Let’s go with handsome, funny, clever… Spineless.”
Adam nodded.
Stephen sighed. “Sorry if I’m coming off as bitter.”
“You broke up with him more recently than I’ve showered—don’t worry about it. That’s beyond fresh.”
“Yeah, okay. I just hate being a whingey little bitch about it.”
“You’re not. You’re just being a human about it. If you were still moping six months from now, sure, that’d be annoying. But seven hours? That’s less than one shift in the Singlesville misery plant. Don’t fret it.”
Stephen laughed. “‘Don’t fret it.’ You’re so adorably American.”
“Going to focus on the part where you called me adorable, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“Now me,” Adam said, pouring himself a sip of scotch. “I’m pushing it, still moping three weeks on from a relationship that barely spanned two seasons.”
“You don’t come off that way, trust me.”
“Well. Good.”
“You plan to stay single for the foreseeable future?”
Adam stared at his drink, thinking about it. “I’m not sure. In some ways, I liked myself more when I was with someone steady. I was less self-obsessed, less worried what people thought of me. But I’m not doing that again, settling for steadiness over real chemistry. And I’m discouraged, so no rush. I’m ready to meet people and date again, but I’m not looking for anything serious. If I find something serious by accident, I won’t run screaming from it, but I won’t be disappointed if Christmas arrives and I don’t have a date for every party, you know?”
Stephen nodded.
“How about you? Bet you’re not eager for anything serious anytime soon.”
“It’s not the seriousness that’s put me off. It was the hiding. I wouldn’t run screaming, either, if I met the right guy tomorrow. Though he might, if I keep acting like such a moody arse.”
“Cut yourself some slack. Seven hours,” Adam reminded him.
“I know. I just hate people who’re like this, the way I feel now. And I hate that I let him turn me into this.”
“You’ll get over it. New apartment, change of scenery, and you’ll look back in a month or two and wonder why the fuck you were ever with him.”
“That supposed to make me feel better?” Stephen asked, holding Adam’s stare a couple seconds before cracking a grin. “Enough moaning. You feel like messing around?”
The question flipped a switch in Adam’s body. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
Chapter Four
Stephen picked up his glass and followed Adam back to the living room. He glanced around again as Adam switched on a lamp and flipped off the overhead lights. Nice space. Clean but not fussy, stylish but not as though he’d ripped a spread out of an interior design magazine. Then Stephen sat on the horrible couch and winced.
“Bloody hell. A man could chip his tailbone on this thing and sue you.”
“That’s my evil plan,” Adam said, taking a seat himself. “Half my clients are being rehabbed for spinal injuries resulting from visits to this very room.” He smiled, damn handsome. Blue eyes, bright even in the mood lighting. Perfect teeth, not-quite-cleft chin, dimples even, and that accent. Pearl snaps running up his collared shirt, ones Stephen longed to pop open, one by one. As if he’d been plucked from a casting session seeking the textbook American. Only with a little edge, a sliver of something wicked that made him more sexy than cute. Stephen set his glass on the coffee table.
They each turned a bit and Stephen laid an arm along the back of the couch, against Adam’s shoulders. Adam seemed to like him taking the lead, so Stephen leaned in, putting a hand to the man’s neck. They kissed slowly, and he felt Adam’s pulse against his palm, thump, thump, thump.
He’d been too rough before—too soon, anyhow. Too angry, and they’d spoken too much now for Adam to remain a two-dimensional object, a convenient, new body to get lost in. He wasn’t a friend yet, but something between hook-up and mate, maybe a blind date Stephen hadn’t known he was going on. One thing was for fucking sure though—the man could kiss. The man could get kissed as well, and heaven knew what else he might be eager to be on the receiving end of.
Stephen’s curiosity forced his mouth from Adam’s to ask, “What are you into?”
His gaze lingered on Stephen’s lips. “I’m easy. You?”
Stephen leaned in to kiss Adam’s neck. “Top, usually,” he muttered, taking in the taste of his skin, how different he smelled, how exciting.
“Lucky me.”
Stephen backed off to look him in the eye. “Oh yeah?”
He nodded. “I’ll go both ways, but I’d rather get topped. Hands down.”
“Lucky me. Not that we’re going to have sex tonight, of course.”
“Of course not.”
He brought his mouth back to Adam’s throat, fantasizing.
He’d been drunk for ages on the dynamic he’d had with Ethan, its wrongness, that power imbalance from one experienced, secure partner, one fledgling closet case. But that thrill had gone stale months earlier, and the thought of messing around with a guy who knew what he wanted and who he was had Stephen hotter than he’d felt in forever. A guy with needs and appetites and hopefully the balls to insist they get satisfied.
He pulled back and found Adam smirking, an evil little smile that had Stephen’s brain filling with far better ideas about what to do with that mouth. Those things could wait a while longer, though. For now, he took them back to the kissing, keeping the possibilities brewing in his mind… Adam on his knees, opening Stephen’s pants. Fondling him through his shorts, getting him hard, taking him out. His mouth would feel different than Ethan’s. How, Stephen didn’t know. Shameless, he hoped. Eager. He’d fantasize that they were being watched, on display for anyone to see. He’d never detected an exhibitionist kink in himself before, but goddamn, two-plus years of secrecy had one forming.
When his hand slid down Adam’s chest to his belly, Stephen barely realized it. He could feel the man’s breaths rising and falling beneath thin cotton and firm muscle. He wondered how Adam would look naked. On his back, thighs spread. Ethan had rarely let Stephen fuck him that way, face-to-face, and never sober. He missed a man’s eyes on him, missed reveling in sex, the dark, shallow excitement of taboo long ago paled. He missed sucking cock, missed having demands made of him, being treated as something more human than a caricature of coercion.
His hands roam
ed Adam’s arms, chest, abs, and after a minute of the too-familiar sensation of being solely in charge, Stephen felt something wondrous—more of that curious touch, the one so potent he’d stomped on the brakes earlier.
Adam stroked Stephen’s side and stomach, ran his fingertips along the waist of his jeans. The eagerness was hot as sin. Stephen was a top at his core, but he’d gotten far too used to being the sole initiator with Ethan. He was a top, not a fucking Dom. He wanted to be in charge, but not the only one allowed to express his desires. Adam’s touch was insistent, telling Stephen he wanted more, but wouldn’t take anything until he was told. An order masquerading as a plea. Gorgeous.
Stephen smiled, reveling in the sharp, hot energy coursing through his veins. His cock was heavy and warm, half-hard and beginning to protest its angle. More needed to happen, and “more” demanded choreography, a space befitting two large men, not this rock-slab Stonehenge of a couch.
“You wanna go to your bed?” he asked Adam.
“Sure.” He stood and took Stephen’s hand, leading him. It wasn’t a sweet gesture, more an impatient one, and it got Stephen nearly as hot as the kissing had. Shit, he really hadn’t meant to do this tonight. But it wasn’t petty, he reminded himself. This wasn’t vengeful, merely precipitous.
Adam switched on his lights and eased the dimmer down, revealing a queen-sized bed and more tasteful décor, no stacks of wacky fetish mags or pump-top industrial jugs of lube on the bedside table. Stephen sighed loudly.
“You sound relieved,” Adam teased, watching Stephen as he looked around the room. “Afraid I was going to have some crazy dildo collection or something?”
“Just so nice to be around a normal gay guy for a change. Not closeted, not over the top.”
Adam smiled. “I’m just a guy who likes guys.”
“Amen to that.” Amen to simplicity.
Adam sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks, then lay down. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Bought my mattress from a completely different company than my couch.”
Stephen tugged off his own socks. “You mind if I turn the lights up, just a little?”
“Be my guest.”
He went to the door and nudged the dimmer. “Okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
As he crossed the room, Stephen felt nervous for the first time in ages. There was nothing at stake for him with the handsome, funny man waiting on the bed. They might pass each other in the drugstore someday, see each other at the same bar again, but probably nothing more.
He lay down next to Adam and kissed him, the contact slow and easy.
This was a casual hook-up, but it didn’t feel the way Stephen remembered. Then again, he’d never messed around with a guy to help himself get over someone. It was always an itch being scratched, a need being met, a curiosity satisfied. Yet he’d told Adam too much about himself to go into this mechanically. It’d be too mushy to say he cared about the guy, beyond what all of this was. But he cared about getting him off, being a good memory and not a regret. Those concerns had never muddied his one-night stands before.
They’d both been on their sides, but Stephen pushed at Adam’s chest until he turned onto his back. Stephen slid a forearm beneath his shoulders and stroked his side with the other hand, kissed him deeper. Adam ran his hand lightly over Stephen’s head, seeming preoccupied by his hair, barely longer than the stubble on his face. Felt good, being above him, if only a little. He slung his thigh over Adam’s, pressing his erection to the man’s hip. His stroking hand roamed lower, and he felt Adam’s fingers clutch his shirt collar.
Fuck, he could kiss this man for hours. It was like a dance, with a leader and a follower, but still equitable, balanced. Adam kept pace, let Stephen dominate, but teased him with sweeps of his tongue now and again, his hunger so much hotter than his receptivity.
Stephen felt a tug at his side, Adam’s request that he take his shirt off. Stephen broke their bodies apart to comply, feeling Adam’s hands on his bare skin before he’d even tossed the garment to the floor.
“You too,” Stephen said. Adam unsnapped the fasteners on his Western shirt then peeled away the undershirt beneath it. Nice. Very nice.
He touched the soft, pale hair on Adam’s chest, stroked his hard belly and watched his muscles tense. He memorized the sight, eager for new experiences to overwrite the most recent ones. Then Adam’s hand moved to Stephen’s belt, and all thoughts vaporized. Adam toyed with the buckle, a request or suggestion.
“Go ahead.”
Stephen groaned at the sensations—his buckle releasing, Adam’s fingers glancing his erection as he opened the button of his jeans, drew down the zipper. Adam eased Stephen’s pants down an inch, just enough to give his cock space. It needed it. One real stroke and he’d be as hard as he got. He imagined bold hands freeing him, fondling him, imagined rubbing his bare cock against Adam’s as their mouths reconnected. No—no kissing. After so long with a near-silent lover, Stephen wanted this man’s mouth free, wanted to hear every groan and curse and plea it issued.
He returned the taunt, loosening the military-style clasp of Adam’s canvas belt, opening his fly. He spread the fabric, liking the bulge that greeted him, clad in striped, snug cotton briefs. He edged closer, wrapping his arm around Adam’s side and sliding his knees between Adam’s thighs. The button of Adam’s jeans teased Stephen’s erection, and he pressed their cocks together amid the jumble of belts and denim. A couple thrusts of his hips, a couple strokes of their clothed cocks, and he was rock-hard.
With Ethan, the comfort of familiarity had soured to pure boredom in the end, made more rotten by the resentment. The newness of Adam and the uncertainty of their two bodies together was thrilling. Stephen didn’t know yet how to touch this man to make him crazy, but he needed to find out. Maybe he’d even get told. The idea left him panting.
He wedged an awkward hand between them, lining up their shafts, stealing a feel of Adam’s erection through his shorts. Adam moaned against his neck, the sound hotter to Stephen’s ears than the breath steaming his skin.
“Feels good,” Adam muttered.
“Yeah, it does.” Stephen wanted their underwear gone, pushed down or shed completely or vaporized so he could feel his hot bare skin against Adam’s, all that friction and the scent that accompanied it. But no need to rush. He slid his palm around to Adam’s lower back, pushing his jeans down and sliding his hand inside. He kneaded his firm muscle through the cotton, palmed his cheeks, drew his fingertips along the cleft.
Don’t get any ideas, his brain reminded him.
Fuck that. Nothing wrong with ideas. Nothing at all wrong with talking about said ideas.
“Thinking about all the stuff we aren’t going to do,” he whispered, lips just an inch from Adam’s ear.
“Like what?”
He let his fingers roam lower, rubbing between Adam’s cheeks, and was rewarded with a groan, a fluttering of the hand on his arm. “About fucking you.”
After a deep, noisy swallow, Adam muttered, “No harm in thinking about stuff.”
“My sentiments exactly. You do anal, right?”
Adam nodded and Stephen glimpsed pleasurable strain written all over his handsome face.
“You like it, or you just open to it?”
“No, I fucking love it.”
Stephen smiled, unseen. “Not that we would.”
“No, definitely not.”
“Just useful for theorizing.”
“Theories are good,” Adam concurred, sounding extremely distracted by Stephen’s caresses.
“On your back, on your knees?” he asked.
“Either,” Adam said. “Sometimes I like to be flat on my stomach, so I can’t touch myself.”
Stephen conjured the image, Adam’s thighs pinned between his own, ass ripe and tight, body at his mercy. Still, he craved more from this man than mere access. “Think I’d like to stroke you while we fucked.”
“I won’t stop you.” Adam caught himself
. “I wouldn’t stop you, I mean. Since we definitely aren’t fucking tonight.”
“Certainly not. But if we did, maybe I’d take you from behind, let your cock fuck my fist as you took me in your arse.”
Adam’s reply was breathy, spacey. “Yeah.”
“Then on your back, so you can watch me. And let me watch you, touching yourself.” Let him see everything that’d been relegated to the dark for so long. “Lemme watch you come,” he added, and brought his palm forward to stroke Adam’s abs, right where he fantasized such a release would erupt.
Jesus, he wanted to suck him. Too fast though. Stephen didn’t want the fun to end anytime soon. Rebounds were cheap but he’d make this one last, the rebound to end all others, completely tape over the old footage of Ethan playing on a loop in his head.
Slow down.
He moved his hand, cupping the back of Adam’s head and kissing him, slow and dirty as their hips shifted, cocks brushed. Felt like his first year of fooling around—terrifying, exhilarating teenage fumblings that had always left him with a mess in his shorts and guilt eating him alive once the pleasure had fled. But that had been more than twenty years ago. Now he had staying power and no fear, no shame. And the new man he was with was just the same, he hoped—filled to bursting with need and desire, no room left for regret.
Adam moved, pulling Stephen out of his thoughts and pausing the kissing. He felt him tugging at his pants, and Stephen did the job for him, kicking them down his legs and off, then moving to his knees to wrest Adam’s jeans away. He climbed on top of him, spreading Adam’s thighs wide, centering their cocks. He studied Adam’s body and ran admiring palms up and down the calves hugged to Stephen’s ribs.
Adam grabbed one of his biceps, a request. Stephen dropped to his hands and knees, letting Adam run his palms all over his back and arms and chest, the brazen contact setting him on fire, just as hot as their cocks pressed together.
“We really shouldn’t fuck,” Stephen said, the reminder as much for himself as for Adam.
“No, we shouldn’t. But we could. You know, technically.”
