by Mary Calmes
“Fuck me,” he whispered as his eyes drifted closed.
I squinted down at him.
After a second, he opened his eyes and looked up at me. “Julian?”
“Baby, what gives you the idea that any part of us being in bed is ever gonna be just about me?”
He was stunned; it was all over his face. “But that amazing, spine-tingling, ohmygod-I’ve-never-had-a-better blowjob was all about me.”
I snorted out a laugh. “I enjoyed the hell outta that, watching you burn up, watching your eyes roll back in your head, listening to the sounds you make when you’re about to blow your load. Uh, yeah, I got off on that big-time.”
“But—”
I crawled off the bed fast, and before he could protest, I yanked off my wingtips and socks, my jeans and briefs, until I was naked before him. His eyes locked on my shaft.
“Jesus, Julian, you’re huge.”
But there was no worry in his voice as there had been with others, only awe and genuine appreciation.
“Could you… can I suck that, please?”
“Nope,” I told him, climbing back on the bed, grabbing the lube and coating my hands. The second I wrapped my fingers around his semi-erect cock, he hissed in his breath.
“What are you doing?”
“Feel good, baby?”
“Jules….” His moan sounded strangled, and he slowly started to lower his legs.
I stopped him. “No, hold them there. I can’t reach you otherwise.”
“Reach what?” But he understood the second I slipped a finger inside him. “Julian!”
I slid my finger out, then in, swirling around the entrance before sliding in deep, passing the inner ring of muscle, but not far enough to hit his prostate, interested in getting him ready for me, stretching him, loosening him.
“Jules… please….”
When I added a second slick finger, he yelled my name, his voice hoarse and raspy. The stroking of his shaft, from base to tip, was driving him crazy. Combined with the fingers, three now, plunging in and out, he was trembling with his need for me.
“Julian,” he panted. “I get it. You’re a goddamn saint. You’re not selfish in any way. You want me hot and throbbing and begging, so I’m begging, please… if you don’t fuck me, really… I’m gonna die.” I withdrew the fingers from his ass to a hiss of sucked-in breath but continued stroking the rock-hard shaft. “Jules,” he whimpered.
Leaning back, I lubed my cock until it gleamed in the faint light and then pressed myself gently to his entrance. “You tell me if—”
But I didn’t have time to finish before he surged up to meet me, impaling himself, his body opening up and taking me in, swallowing the length of me. The unbelievable heat, his muscles clenching around me, holding me, how tight he was… I was certain my heart stopped.
“Move,” he begged me, “please, move.”
I slid slightly out and then rammed back into him, hard and deep, sheathing myself to the hilt. “You’re so hot inside, Ry. You feel so good.”
He cried out, his hands digging into the bed, the sheet bunching as he clawed at it, and his legs wrapped around my hips as I thrust into him.
Normally I went slowly. I checked. I was gentle. I was “that guy.” But with Ryan—and it made no sense—it was like I wanted to claim him, mark him, and make sure that he would never want or need anyone else. The way he rose to meet me as I pounded down into him, the two of us pressed together so that there was no ending and no beginning, was a revelation.
“Julian.” His voice was a throaty rasp. “Please… don’t stop.”
I was sheathed in his hot, wet channel, held impossibly tight and buried to the balls in his ass. Stopping was not even possible. I plunged in and out of him, stroking deep, the writhing and the fingers digging into my skin letting me know, without words, that I had found the perfect spot, the perfect angle, to bring him bliss.
When his orgasm finally roared through him, triggering mine, my name became a prayer as he coated my abdomen. Semen caught between us as I fell on top of him, pinning him under me to the bed as I came deep inside his body.
I tried to roll off, but he held me tight, his face buried in my throat as he trembled.
“Ry?”
“I don’t want to let you go.” He shuddered hard.
I wrapped my arms around him and rolled over so that he was draped over me, the cum and sweat sticking us together. “Then don’t,” I said with a deep chuckle. “Keep me.”
He lifted his face from the hollow of my throat and looked down at me. “You can’t… I… just don’t say things like that if you don’t mean it.”
“I always mean what I say,” I said honestly, reaching up to touch his face, frame it with my hands, and move the mane of hair back so I could see the shining eyes. “Now go and get me some water.”
He gave me an impish grin as he lifted off my spent cock before rolling off the bed. I had a moment of perfect peace, lying still in his bed, staring at the ceiling. My epiphany came at that moment. I wanted to be the only man sleeping with Ryan Dean for the rest of his life.
“What are you thinking?”
I had not realized he was back, standing beside the bed, a glass of water in each hand. He had obviously guzzled some down before returning, as there were drops sliding down his chest.
“That I need my damn water,” I teased, holding out my hand for the glass.
He didn’t move. I just looked my fill of him.
“What you said before, did you mean it?”
“What’s that?”
“That if I want, I can keep you?”
My heart was suddenly in my throat. “Yessir.”
“Okay, then,” he said, leaning toward me. “Now you get water.”
I drained the large bar glass, and he offered me the rest of his. When I was done, he took it from me before crawling back on the bed. He moved slowly, fluidly, moving until he was hovering over me, his eyes glinting in the light. I had the definite impression that I was food and realized that I would willingly be consumed by Ryan Dean.
I took a breath, infusing my voice with calm. “So you’re thinkin’ maybe you want me?”
“Want, need, having, keeping.” His expression changed suddenly, darkening, no more playing. “God, I hope I can. I hope I can keep you.”
“You can, you’ll see,” I told him. “Now ride me, I wanna fill you up again.”
The whimper of need from the back of his throat was very sexy. He rose above me fast, studying my face as he straddled my hips, his eyes narrowing in half as he lowered himself over my shaft inch by inch, so I could feel it all, until I was buried in him. He looked so beautiful above me, and he felt like heaven. Between the lube from earlier and my semen still coating him inside, I slid in easily.
“You feel so good,” I confessed, reaching for his cock, my hand stroking him lazily.
He shivered hard, rising and lowering. “So do you… Julian, I—so do you.”
Already we had found our rhythm. Just in a short time, I knew where to push, and he knew to move slowly and let everything build. My thrust upward, my fingers tightening on his hard, throbbing cock at the same time was too much for him and sensory overload for me. As I found my release, he followed me seconds later, my abdomen once more coated with him. When he demanded I never, ever leave him, I didn’t second-guess his words.
III
HIS HANDS were everywhere, and I smiled into the pillow. I shifted, and there was pressure exerted between my shoulder blades, gently stroking to keep me from getting up.
“Don’t move.”
“Yes, Ry,” I sighed, loving the whispering.
He cleared his throat. “How do you feel?”
“Pretty damn good.” I could not contain my grin. “How ’bout you?”
“I’m fine,” he said distractedly, “but could you—is it okay if I turn on the light?”
“Why?”
“Please.”
“If you must,” I te
ased him, closing my eyes, wondering vaguely why it was so important but not enough to really care.
I heard the click of the light, felt his hands run over my skin, pressing, touching, almost like he was checking me for injuries.
“What’re you doing?” I chuckled, rolling over onto my back, opening my eyes a crack, squinting up at him.
His eyes were huge as he stared down at me. “Julian, your skin is… your hair… you’re… can you look at me?”
“I am looking at you.”
“No, could you…?” He trailed off, his breath catching, shivering suddenly. “Julian, look at me. Open your eyes wide and look at me.”
I did as I was asked, breaking into a smile seconds later when he caught his breath. “I am so not this interesting, by the way.”
“Oh.” His eyes filled as he stared into mine.
Shit. “Honey, what’s wrong?” I reached for him, worried suddenly.
“Julian,” he barely got out, “you’re fine. You look the same.”
“Not glowing in postcoital euphoria, ya mean?”
“No, you just—” The way his voice hitched, how he had to bite down on his trembling lower lip, was almost funny. “You’re fine. You’re perfectly fine.”
He had not taken the bait of the sarcasm; instead, he was completely engrossed in my appearance. “What’s going on, Ry?”
His smile a moment later was breathtaking. “I wanted it to be you so… I hoped.” He swallowed hard.
I was confused, but the question died on my lips when he leaned over and snapped off the light, plunging the room back into darkness. His head pressed to my chest.
“What’re you do—”
“I’m listening to your heart.”
“Why?” I asked, inhaling the scent of his hair.
“Be still.”
He was acting weird, off-the-chart weird, but his warm skin felt so good next to mine that the reason for the contact hardly mattered. He had to touch me, had to, and the knowledge ran through me and warmed all the hard to reach places.
“I knew it. I should have just listened to… but I don’t trust myself anymore,” he said more to himself than to me.
“Knew what?”
He let out a deep breath, almost a sigh, slipping his leg over mine and pressing into my side. “Julian, I’m keeping you,” he said matter-of-factly.
I snorted out a laugh. “I thought you already were.”
“God,” he said, leaning into me, “you’re so amazing. Anybody else, I would be freaking them out.” He lifted up, moving over me so he could straddle my thighs and stare down at me in the semidarkness. “I knew it was you, Julian. I just knew it.”
The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated him above me. I saw the way he was looking at me, possessively, watching his own hands as they slid over my chest. I had never been this riveting to anyone before.
I wanted to pull him down, because I was getting excited. Just the way he was touching me, slowly, so intimately, like he owned me, was heating me up all over again.
“You’re mine, you know,” he growled. The daring in his tone, the way he had marked me with bites, it maybe should have scared me, but none of it did.
“Am I?”
“Oh, yes,” he assured me, pressing his ass against my cock, which was already straining for him.
“And does that go both ways?”
The startled expression, how big his pretty eyes got, it was adorable.
“Ry?”
“I just… I thought I would have to—”
“What?” I cut him off, shifting under him, leaning up to ease him close. “You thought you’d have to convince me?” I smiled as I rolled him over onto his back. “Why would you need to do that? You’re a gift, Dean, a fuckin’ gift.”
“Julian.” His voice hitched, and the moan that escaped when my stiff cock slid over his own velvety hardness was very sexy. “Just lemme hold you.”
“I don’t think I can do that yet,” I said, bending to him, burying my tongue in his mouth, tasting him again. He stretched his arms wide, then let them fall down onto the bed. I smiled and sucked on his bottom lip. “You’re giving up?”
“For once, yeah, ’cause I finally can. Just do whatever the hell you want to me.”
I stared down into his beautiful eyes. I promised him I’d be gentle as I shifted on the bed, back to his nightstand, where he kept his condoms and lube.
“Are you worried?”
I smiled over my shoulder at him. “About what?”
“That you fucked me without a condom.”
“No, you told me you’re clean.”
“And you believe me.”
“Why would you lie to me?”
“I wouldn’t… ever. And I didn’t.” He took a quivering breath.
“I know.” I smiled back at him. “So no, I’m not worried. Are you worried about me?”
He closed his eyes, his grin wide. “No. You don’t sleep around, Julian.”
“How do you know?”
“I know,” he breathed out. “Come here.”
When I slid my slick fingers inside him, he moaned low, the sound torn from him, and wrapped his legs around my hips. I was gentle with him, opening him up, and then couldn’t stop and buried myself in him, hard and deep. He was so tight and so hot, and I felt him tremble under me. When I fisted his cock in my hand, he arched up off the bed.
“Julian,” he cried out, and he gasped when I drew myself out only to pound back down into him a moment later. “Oh, baby, please.”
So sexy, the deep smoky voice, his head thrown back, his back arched, completely consumed with what I was doing to him, his legs tightening to keep me close. I leaned forward to kiss him, and his hands went to my face, holding me there, swallowing my tongue.
HOURS WENT by the way they do when you’re not paying attention to anything but your lover in your arms. I rolled over, and he came with me, wrapped tight, tangled together. The bed was a sweaty, sticky disaster, only the fitted sheet still in place.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I asked him gently.
“No.” His voice was soft, his breath warm against my throat, his mouth on my skin.
“You like it rough.” I grinned, my eyes drifting closed.
“I like you.”
“Made for me,” I said, leaning my cheek against his forehead.
“What?” he asked sleepily, and I knew he was testing to see if I’d say it again. Not a game, just fishing. Making sure I was for real.
“You heard me,” I said, my voice husky, letting out a deep contented sigh. “We fit, and you know it. Like you were made for me.”
He kissed up my throat to my mouth. “Julian,” he whispered before his lips covered mine for a moment. “We are so much more than you could even know.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You have no idea,” he murmured as he shifted against me, over me. I put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down so I could kiss him again. “Let me explain it to you.”
Whatever he wanted.
IV
I WAS thinking about Cash on my way home because I wanted to tell him about Ryan. The stunning new development in my love life would not seem real until I bounced it off my best friend and heard what he served back. Sometime over the course of five years, Cash Vega had become the person whose opinion most mattered.
There had been no fanfare. At our regular Monday morning meeting, Miles Teruya, the managing director at Miller Freedman San Francisco, had announced that Vega would now be working with Nash, and Reynolds and Tyge would form the other new team. It had been fine with me as Eric Tyge and I had not hit it off, and looking at Cash Vega all day was going to be a treat for me. I would have been his partner any day of the week.
With his thick, jet-black hair and dark, chocolate-brown eyes, Carlos Vega, nicknamed Cash by his father, was the kind of guy who other guys just hated on sight. He had a profile that belonged on coins, with his aquiline nose, full lips, and
square-cut chin. His eyebrows were thick and looked like they’d been painted on, perfectly arched, quick to raise or furrow with his mood. The deep bronze tan stayed year-round, and when he wanted to show off, he could wear everything tight to flaunt his broad chest, flat stomach, and bulging biceps. He looked like some gorgeous Aztec god come to life. But what inspired the most jealousy from other men was not his beauty, but his voice and how he used it. He spoke English with the warmth of Spanish haunting it, and the tone was so smooth that sometimes people would keep him talking just because they enjoyed listening. Women—and men—could not be trusted to keep their hands to themselves when he was looking into their eyes and speaking at the same time.
That first day, Cash had come into the new office that we would be sharing and asked me what I was doing.
“I do this sometimes to get the blood rushing to my head,” I had explained from my position. “I think it helps with getting the creative juices flowing.”
“I see,” Cash said as he crouched down beside me. “You want me to stand on my head too?”
This was one of the many things I did that had driven Eric Tyge apeshit crazy.
“Only if you want to.”
“Okay,” he agreed, and I smiled wide. I got excited thinking that maybe my new partnership was going to work out. “But I don’t sing karaoke or do Outward Bound bullshit or do trust exercises. This is as much of this bonding crap as we’re gonna do.”
“I agree,” I assured him.
He did a headstand next to me, his wingtips on the wall beside mine.
“Right on.” I smiled at him, and he grinned back crazily. “What?”
“You said right on,” he clarified.
“Eric probably told you I wasn’t well.”
“He wished me good luck,” he said honestly. “He thinks you’re manic.”
“Huh.”
“How come no one likes you around here, Nash?”
“I dunno. I think they just don’t get me?”
A quiet grunt greeted my statement.
