“Sorry,” I say. “Didn’t mean to hit on a sore subject.”
He looks at me, but not really at me. Through me. Like he’s still thinking about this friend.
“Not your fault,” he says finally. “He was a Georgia native. We didn’t get along very well when we first met. He was like you—a stubborn shit who got into trouble with his mouth. Didn’t like to take orders. He had a beautiful body because every time he talked back to the sergeant, he would have to do push-ups. He’d tell everyone that boot camp was the best thing that ever happened to his six-pack.” He chuckles. “One night, maybe a week after we’d been put in the same squad, we were all drinking, and he turned to me and said, ‘I don’t like the way you look at me.’ He seemed really serious about it, too. He must’ve caught me looking at him in the showers, which I would do sometimes because he was hot as hell. Never had any intention of doing anything with him. He just…was gorgeous, so it was something that would catch my eye occasionally. I figured he was going to be an ass after that, but the next day, he wrapped his arm around me and started chatting me up about this other guy he didn’t like in our squad. We were inseparable after that.
“He was a good guy. He got into the Reserves because, like me, he didn’t have a lot of options outside of it. He grew up in a small town in a big family…a single mother who had a hard time keeping up with them all. She passed away when he was in high school. She didn’t have much of anything to leave to the kids, so he had to make it on his own. He figured it was either the army with the possibility of getting a real education or winding up a mechanic in a shop. He studied engineering. When he got back, he wound up being a mechanic for a while anyway.”
“What happened to him?” I ask.
“The PTSD got to be too much for him, and he just…”
He stops short, telling me everything I need to know. I can tell by the way he keeps moving his lips that he wants to go on, but I don’t think he can right now.
“Sorry,” he says. “Wasn’t planning on talking about these kinds of things tonight.”
“What were you planning, then?” I ask, raising my eyebrows suggestively, hoping to distract him from the pain the memory of his friend obviously stirred.
Reese forces a smile. I rise from the stool and head around the bar, eyeing him with a look that surely makes my intent clear. He appears to slip out of whatever trance he was in as I approach him.
I kiss him. Hard. I want to yank him from the darkness before it grabs him and leaves him shaking like I’ve seen it do before.
He sets his hand on my face, and my cheek pricks with excitement as I enjoy our kiss, tasting the vodka and Sprite on his tongue.
He turns and guides me, pushing me back against the bar, pressing tight against me. Even padded by our clothes, his muscles feel so good against me. I like the sensation. I like that he’s such a fucking tower of a man. I want to be crushed beneath his weight as I’m filled with him.
“You’re a damn good kisser,” he says as he pulls away and gazes at me.
I’m enchanted by those blue eyes. They’re right on me. Not somewhere else. It feels so good. Good enough to concern me. It reminds me that the moment things don’t work out between us, I’ll have to hop on a flight to Chicago and say goodbye to this city…and to him.
“You’re a damn good top,” I tell him. “I’ve never let anyone dominate me like that. Take complete control, do whatever he wanted.”
“You usually top?”
I nod, and he smiles.
“Mmm…” He kisses me briefly. “No wonder you’re so tight. I wondered if you were going to be able to take it that first time.”
“Oh, that little thing?” I tease as I glance down at his crotch.
He beams, apparently amused because I’m sure plenty of his previous tricks have let him know just how big he is.
He cups his hands around my ass cheeks. “Well, I sure as fuck can take it now,” I tell him.
“Why don’t you show me?”
He leads me to the bedroom, and we do what we do best. Hot as ever. His hands grope my body as his cock fills me. He makes me scream out again and again. I don’t hold back at all tonight. Sweat drips from our bodies onto the bed as his muscles glisten under the overhead light. I get a good view of every part of his room as we change positions, each time with him hitting my prostate in a more satisfying way than the last. And soon, we’re lying spread out across the bed, gazing at one another.
He never checked out during our fuck. He was ever-present. With me. Totally wrapped up in the experience. I like knowing that our fucking can do that for him. At least, for a moment, help him escape from the demons that haunt him.
I sigh a long, drawn-out sigh. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about this,” I say. “I don’t usually do regular things like—”
“What?”
“Oh, shit.” I’m embarrassed. I shouldn’t have fucking said anything. He probably just wants to hit it and quit it. “Sorry. I was just thinking...I mean, it was hot for me. I didn’t mean to assume that you’d want to keep this going.”
“I’m having a very good time, too.”
“So you’d want to like…keep this up?” I feel dumb saying it, but I’d be lying if I tried to act like this wasn’t the hottest sex I’ve ever had, and I’m just not ready to quit it yet. “You know what, never mind. I want to die right now.”
Reese leans toward me and wraps his arm around me. “Jay, I can’t get my mind wrapped around you. For a guy who confronted me outside a bathroom for sex and who’ll start a fight about anything, you sure seem like you’re getting awfully flustered right now.”
“I don’t ever do this,” I confess.
“What?”
“Hook up with the same guy. Like more than once or twice.”
Reese’s expression shifts to surprise. “Seriously? Like ever? Obviously you’ve had regular hookups in the past.”
“Not outside of boyfriends, and that’s been a real long fucking time for me. This is very new. But I want to keep fucking…if that’s what you want.”
“That’s definitely what I want.” He kisses me. He’s the one trying to calm me down now.
He runs his hand across my face, his fingers sliding through the sweat that still covers my flesh. When he pulls away, his breath slams against my skin as he rubs his nose against mine.
I need to be careful about what’s happening here. The ease he makes me feel. The heat between us. All this is dangerous. All this is the kind of stuff that leads to me getting hurt. Has in the past, at least. I’ve been good about guarding my heart. Keeping myself from getting wounded. But Reese is already sliding past my usual barriers.
Nice as he seems, I know how guys are. They always seem nice in the beginning. Always seem like the last thing in the world they would do is hurt you, but in the end, that seems to be all they ever do.
“This is going to get a little tricky,” Reese says.
I knew it. Not even a moment after he said he was fine with hooking up with me, he’s found an issue with us messing around.
“We won’t be able to fuck around at the office like we did today. I mean, maybe occasionally, but we’re gonna have to be more careful.”
“I have plenty of condoms,” I say it playfully, but it’s not really a joke.
“That’s not what I mean,” he says, his brows lifting in amusement. “I just think it’d be a good idea for us to keep this as quiet as possible.”
“Did you think I was going to tell someone? Who are all these friends you think I have?”
He laughs. “Whatever. You know what I’m saying.”
“I’m fine with keeping it however quiet we need to. I didn’t come out here to start a riot in the office.”
“Well, you sure as fuck found a way,” he says, planting another kiss.
My dick shifts. His hand slides up my leg and he gropes my shaft. God, he makes me so fucking hot.
“Looks like it’s time to go again,” he says be
fore kissing me again.
I’m all his tonight. Ready for him to take me in whatever way he sees fit. I just want to be fucked again and again until I can’t think straight. Until I forget all about the past.
And I hope he’s eager to fuck me until he loses all concept of all the horrible things that have happened to him.
14
Reese
Jay stands behind the glass screen that divides the shower from the rest of the bathroom. He faces the wall. It’s an unspoken agreement we’ve made for when I’m entering. We never had to discuss it. He just knows I don’t want him to see me come in, and he doesn’t watch as I hop into the bathroom on one foot, across the rubber mat that covers the tile floor. There’s a mat in the shower as well to keep me from slipping. For many years, I sat in a chair to wash off, like my prosthetist suggested, but this is how I prefer to live because I can have a shower that resembles the sort I used to have with my fully-functional leg.
I open the door to the shower and hop in, gripping onto the metal rail I installed along the wall. This is one of the many showers Jay and I have shared in the past two weeks—ever since we made this a regular deal.
He’s the only guy I’ve ever showered with since I’ve had my prosthesis. I’ve gotten used to taking it off around him, and I’m not as shy about my residual limb, which cuts off mid-shin. Not fucking thrilled about him seeing it, but he never makes me feel like he’s judging me because of it. Just the occasional uneasy glances, but he doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask questions—something I’m appreciative of.
He turns to me, smiling as he continues massaging some shampoo into his hair. “I think I got some in my eye,” he says, squinting.
I chuckle. I doubt he really did, but he’ll make a joke whenever I have an awkward moment like this. I think he just wants to take my attention off my issues.
“You’re so full of shit,” I say as I approach him. I study his face up close and he sneak-attacks me with a kiss. He grips onto the back of my head and pulls me closer to him so that my head’s under the running water. I’m lost in the sensations he awakens within me, as I always am. Enjoying his touch like when we were both screaming out in ecstasy just a few minutes ago.
He pulls away and opens his eyes wide. “Okay, so maybe I didn’t have anything in my eye after all,” he says, his lips curling into a wicked smirk. I chuckle.
Never would’ve suspected a guy wound up as tight as Jay would be so playful, but the more we’re around each other, the more he acts like a kid. Silly. Teasing. Carefree. And it helps me take some things a little less seriously.
We mess around a little in the shower before we finish up. He leaves first, and I wait until he’s out to hop into my hands-free crutch. It’s like a mini crutch that I can strap my residual limb into so that I can get around a bit to put on my prosthesis. It’s a pain in the ass to get it on, but I prefer to wear it when he’s here—usually won’t take it off until right before we go to sleep. I’m thankful that he gives me the privacy I need when I’m getting in and out of it. That he doesn’t act like it’s some great inconvenience.
Once I get my prosthesis on, I slide into a pair of boxers and head into the kitchen, where he stands in front of the pantry, a box of Pop Tarts in his hand. I approach and wrap my arms around him as he removes a chocolate tart from the foil wrapper. He takes a bite.
“Stop it,” Jay says, his mouth full of his midnight snack.
“Stop what?” I ask as I kiss along his neck. He chuckles as he tilts his head, inviting me to keep tasting the treat that is his body. A drop of water slides from his hairline, down his neck. He smells of my coconut body wash.
With just a towel around his waist, his body is mine to enjoy as I grope and fondle his muscles—this gym-induced physique that I’m so fucking appreciative of. I want Jay to know I’m grateful for every bit of effort he puts into developing these muscles. But his sexual charisma extends far beyond his body. He’s the kind of guy who could be twenty pounds overweight, and I’d still want to drive my hard cock into him.
He backs his ass up against my pelvis, keeping his shoulder blades pressed against my chest. I love when he surrenders his body to me like this.
He takes another bite of his Pop Tart, and I smile into his neck. “Jay, you must’ve really worked up an appetite.” He spins around so I can feel the hard-on beneath the towel against my boxers, my naked torso rubbing against his.
He swallows his snack and sets the remainder of it on the counter beside him. I notice a few crumbs slip out of the wrapper. “Oh, shit,” he says, apparently sensing that my OCD impulses have kicked in. “Fuck. Sorry.” He breaks away and picks up the Pop Tart. He grabs a dish rag and wipes the mess into the sink.
I fold my arms together and watch as he freaks out even more than I would have about the mess. He folds the top of the tart wrapper and places it back in the box in the pantry before turning back to me. “There we go. All better.”
I chuckle. “You are too fucking adorable.”
“I’m not going to be the messy lay you end up complaining to everyone about,” he says.
“Oh, you already are the messy lay. It’s just usually messy because you’re covered in your own come.”
“I notice you never mind that mess.” He winks as he approaches me and moves in for another kiss.
“Mmm,” I say, “chocolate. Delicious.”
His grin makes me hard again.
So fucking hard.
He reaches down and grabs my girth, stroking up and down like he wants to get me worked up again.
“Oh my God, you’re good to go already?” Jay asks. “I have to say, you might need to give me one of these magic Cialis pills if this is what it does to you.”
As much as I’ve never cared to talk about needing help to get it up, the way Jay’s so impressed with my constant hard-on doesn’t just make me feel like any other man, but a fucking Superman.
“I’ve been with guys who can keep going,” he adds, “but this is just fucking ridiculous.”
I cup his ass cheeks. “Can I take that as an invitation to enjoy this ass again?”
He pulls away. “Shut up. You’ve already had it three times. We gotta at least finish this one episode.”
The other night, Jay stumbled upon this series on Netflix, Sultry Scandals. It’s a crime re-enactment show. All the stories they feature have a sexy twist to them. They’re typically centered around a bunch of people with too much money for their own good who start having exciting affairs with the maid, plumber, or pool boy. It all leads up to a murder, so we spend each episode trying to figure out who’s going to be offed by whom and why.
Fun as the show is, it wouldn’t be as much fun if I didn’t have Jay here to joke about it with. And most of the fun is in checking out the hot models they hire to re-enact the crimes—models whose bodies they scan up and down and all around while a boring-ass voiceover gives the show some excuse for existing.
Between the sex, our daily chats, and our TV time, I like having Jay around. He’s started spending the nights here. He brings his duffle bag with fresh clothes and a toothbrush so we can maximize the amount of playtime we get. We’ve only missed two nights together since last week, and both of those have been so that I could see my prosthetist and attend my group PTSD sessions. Most of my other appointments are during the day, though. I just take some time off for them.
I would rather skip my group sessions for more time with Jay, but I know better. I know how bad shit can get if I drop the ball, and it’s not worth it. If anything, that would put me at risk for not being able to enjoy the time I get to spend with him, especially now when I’m more fragile than usual. When I can feel the uneasiness lingering within me, ready to strike.
I’ve been trying to ignore it and pretend that losing myself in my greed for Jay’s body can protect me from the pain, but I know better. Still, our time together is so valuable to me. I haven’t been with anyone who knew about my issues in a long time. I don’t feel as
alone as I usually do. He dulls the pain that I’m so used to experiencing.
We return to the bedroom, kissing, our hands pressing against each other’s bodies as we grope and fondle one another.
He fights out of my grasp and grabs the remote from the nightstand. The remote was sitting on the comics section of the newspaper—something I’ve learned he likes to peruse before he goes to bed. It’s cute watching him chuckle while he’s reading them. He gets this whimsical expression on his face, and his eyes light up like they do when I’m hitting his prostate just right…when he’s getting so fucking close to blowing his wad.
“Come on,” Jay says. “We just have to find out who did it in this one episode and then we can get back to playtime.”
He wears this big-ass smile that is so distant from the scowl he always wore when he first started working at the factory. I like seeing him smile. Being the reason he’s smiling.
“Unlike you, some of us don’t have a quick refractory period,” he teases as he sits up and presses play. I wrap my arms around him and pull him back down onto the bed. “Fuck!” he calls out, reminding me of how many times he’s cursed when we’ve fucked. He turns to me, and we kiss.
I peel the covers back, exposing his dick, stroking it so that he gets hard again. “Looks like I’m not the only one with a quick refractory period.”
“You fucking jerk,” he says as he grabs the edge of the towel and slings it over his steadily increasing erection. “No, we have to find out who did it. Now be quiet.” He shifts his attention to the wall-mounted TV across from the bed. This’ll be our third attempt at finishing the episode.
I slide under the covers and lie back on my pillows before resting my hand on his head, still a little damp from the shower. He lies down beside me, placing his hand on my abs.
The voiceover continues as the camera pans across the body of a hottie redhead with massive pecs and a serious package that we can see in the jeans he wears.
I just want to say screw the show and get to fucking again. I’m not always this sex-crazed, but despite how much I’m trying to act like I’m just horny tonight, I know the real reason why.
Between These Sheets Page 8
