by Brandon Witt
“Fuuuuuck,” I wheezed, patting his face, his hair nonsensically. I was lucky my knees hadn’t buckled.
He came to his feet and opened the shower door. He rubbed his feet on the rug quickly, exiting the shower like it was now a burning inferno. He looked back at me expectantly.
I returned his look hesitantly. Coming in a guy’s mouth was a big deal, especially without asking, and I was pretty sure it had been his first time giving head. I winced. Boy, when you told me you were bi, you’d better have meant it. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re just… really fucking incredible at that. Took me by surprise—”
“Where?” he gritted out.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Where what?”
“Condoms. You have them in here, yeah?”
I grinned, relieved. “Nah. I normally don’t get lucky in the shower. Or at all, really.”
He groaned and was streaking through the apartment in no time. When he came back, he had two packets in his hand and was ripping another with his teeth.
My eyes widened. “That’s… optimistic.”
He grinned. “We’ll leave a few in here.”
My heart stuttered a bit. That certainly implied more encounters, more time with him… more everything.
Turns out we didn’t leave any. Not one. He’d done me in the hot, steamy water, hands secure around my bottom as I braced myself on the slippery tile wall. Then the lukewarm. Then the ice cold. My water bill was going to be sky-high, but I didn’t give a shit. Every time we were so… fucking… close, he slowed down, long and slow strokes that drove me insane. I’d been right; he fucked like a machine. I could hear the slow-motion suction as he left my ass completely and the slow rasp of skin on skin as he entered me again. I threatened. I swore. I threatened to swear.
“Please,” I managed. “Please.”
But then he was back, his fat cock tunneling its way into my ass like a screw head on a drill. I felt light-headed and dizzy.
“If I pass out, you’re going to have a hell of a time carrying me to bed.”
“Shut up, Mac, and enjoy,” he whispered, nipping the soft skin around my nipple before sucking it into his mouth.
I felt the tremors start way down deep in my thighs before I came hard, yelling my fool head off as ropes of cum shot out of my cock, coating the flexing muscles of his stomach as he groaned and plunged deep one more time. I felt him swell and the gush of his seed into the forgiving latex, my quivering, still clenching inner walls grasping at nirvana.
He lowered me slowly, and I was glad when my knees decided to work and I stood. Wobbly. Wrecked.
“That’s one hell of a good morning,” I sighed, resting my head on the wall. I peered at him through partially cracked lids. “You do realize that you still have shampoo in your hair.”
His eyes sparkled. “Something came up.”
I swatted him. “Let me wash it out for you.”
He turned his back to me, and for a moment I was breathless from the sight of his broad, muscled back, all golden skin tapering down to his waist and a high, sculpted butt. I wondered again where such a desk jockey got so many long, lean muscles.
“Kickboxing,” he answered out of the blue, and I realized I’d spoken aloud.
“I didn’t know you kickboxed.”
“You would if you did more than use me for sex.” He grinned, and I swatted him again.
And then pressed my face against his back, my arms sliding around his waist. Oh, it was bad to be this far gone with someone who was barely in. We didn’t say a word, and we didn’t move.
“Lean down a little,” I instructed quietly. He had me by an inch or two. Or three. Okay, like four, really. He bent down a bit, and I began washing the shampoo out of his hair, focusing on the simple task like it was nuclear science.
I wanted to ask if he was going to break my heart. But I couldn’t speak words so patently obvious. So I cleared my throat and skated to neutral territory.
“You never took me to that movie.”
He huffed a laugh. “You didn’t let me.”
“Don’t cheap out on me, J.”
“Didn’t I pay for dinner?”
“If you want to call that tiny meal dinner, that’s between you and your conscience. Close your eyes,” I said, using the sprayer to wash the last of the shampoo from his hair. “You should stay here next weekend. We can grab that movie and come back here. Then grab some other stuff.”
“I’d have to bring a few things,” he said, swiping wet hair out of his eyes, which I promptly sprayed back over his face.
“Hold still. Yeah, you should pick up a few things. We’re close in size, but, Stretch, I don’t feel like seeing high waters on you all weekend.”
“Close in size my ass. You don’t have nearly as much bulk.”
I swatted his muscled behind. “It’s not polite to say so.”
His hands slid to my ass and squeezed. “Trust me. I like everything on you just the way it is.”
I tried not to get giddy, but it was hard. A lot of guys like a bubble butt, I scolded myself. You didn’t just land the cover on People’s Most Beautiful issue.
“All done, princess,” I said, sticking the sprayer back in the holder.
He scowled at my nickname and ran questing hands through the freshly washed strands. “You got it all?”
I put on my best Vidal Sassoon voice. “If yoo don’ look good, vee don’ look good.”
He snickered and kissed the end of my nose. “You’re so fucking cute.”
We stared at each other for a moment, one timeless moment that said more than we could have managed on our own.
Dark, waterlogged lashes swept down to hide something in those eyes, big-sky-country blue, and I tilted up his chin. “What?” I asked softly.
He shook his head, dislodging my hand, and kissed my palm. He leaned past me and shut off the ice-cold spray. “I need to get to work.”
Which was basically code for “I need to be somewhere you’re not.”
It was the most substantial thing he would say from the time he pulled on his clothes, gathered his belongings, declined my hesitant offer of coffee, and kissed me hard on the lips. Oh, that and “I’ll see you.”
I do see you. I see everything about you. I lay down on the bed and threw a hand over my eyes. “I guess our weekend’s off,” I sighed.
The apartment seemed too quiet after his departure. I had another moment’s regret that we never made it to my bed—at least I could have rolled around in the sheets and smelled him… you know, to complete the essence of weirdo. I sighed.
He was weirded out by our chemistry, drawn to our spontaneous combustion. I scowled. Yeah, well. So was I.
Chapter 18
I LOWERED the camera from my eye slowly—I wanted to see this with my own eyes. The car that pulled up in Rachel’s driveway was not the one I was expecting. The realtor she was fooling around with had a blue midsized sedan. No, I knew exactly whose car was pulling smoothly into the drive. He got out and made his way up to the front door. Rang the bell. Disappeared inside. Never glanced back.
My teeth started to ache, and I made a herculean effort to loosen my jaw and relax. Breathe. He had to know I might be here—he’d hired me to spy on her. He had to know that I would see him with her after he hadn’t bothered to call me.
I tossed my camera on the dash, resisting the urge to bash it into a million pieces. I would need that camera later, and it had been expensive. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel a bit. Pulled out a yogurt from my minicooler even though I wasn’t particularly hungry.
I expected this, didn’t I? Isn’t this what I always harped on to anyone who would listen? Everyone leaves. My eyes felt strangely dry. I don’t know when I’d begun to hope for something different, but I knew why. Jordan was… special. He was different. I guess it was just hard to believe that someone who had felt the passion, the spark, the rightness of the way we fit together would make such a stupid decision to leave it all. Didn’t
he know how rare that was?
My mouth quirked. Obviously not. Tuesday made three weeks since we’d spoken to or seen one another. Three weeks since he’d kissed me, three weeks since we’d hugged or touched. Three weeks since we’d fucked. Three long weeks to wonder if I’d had enough Jordan to last me a lifetime. I had pole vaulted over sad and gone straight to annoyed. I mean, if he was going to blow me off, the least he could do was use me for endless sex beforehand.
I actually wasn’t sure what to do. My options ran the gamut from nothing at all to rending my clothing and yelling “whyyyyy” to the heavens. I could try to run into him somewhere. Be casual and flirty and show him that he wasn’t the only one who could play it cool. I could think Jordan thoughts telepathically and hope they got through. Or I could be an adult and call, of course. But let’s not get ridiculous.
Besides, he’d already made himself perfectly clear. Going on an intimate date with his girlfriend while he knew I’d be watching? Put a stamp on my ass and mark me “return to sender.”
I stuck a spoon in the yogurt—blueberry—and swirled the fruit around. Robert was right—I was pathetic. I still wanted him, and not just on a physical level either. I wanted to see him. Talk to him. Smell his scent. Taste his skin. Learn more about him from his own mouth, not from behind the camera’s viewfinder. Hear his voice.
I sighed and tossed my empty yogurt container and plastic spoon into the depleted cooler. I didn’t remember eating it during my musings, but I guessed I had. There was no need for me to stay and rub my nose in it. She clearly wasn’t meeting with the realtor tonight. I glanced at the bedroom window again, trying to convince myself to leave. I didn’t care if that light came on. I didn’t care if they moved their date to the bedroom. Just leave, I coached myself. Now. Before you see something you can’t forget. Leave!
All the lights went off, and I groaned. Oh, I hadn’t thought about that. Yeah, that was worse. I started my car and gave my own face a slap. When I tell you to leave, you leave, my subconscious threatened me. Like in a horror movie.
My phone buzzed as I drove away, and I clicked the Bluetooth. “Yeah.”
“You got something?”
“Hello to you too, Drew.”
“Hello. You got something?”
Something that’s going to haunt my dreams tonight? Sure. “No. I’m wrapping it up for the night. I think I’ve seen all there is to see here.”
“You coming back to the office?”
“No, I’ll e-mail you my findings.”
I couldn’t quite tell Drew that Jordan had been at Rachel’s house. He knew me well, and despite my denials, he knew that Jordan and I had been seeing one another on more than a business level. I saw it in his face when we talked about the case. I heard it in his voice even when we were talking about something else. And I knew I would hear about it when he got my e-mail. For now, I really couldn’t take his smugness.
“I might stop by Asher’s,” I said absently. “See if we can see a movie or something.”
There was silence on his end. And then a sigh. “You’re doing it again.”
“Watching movies? I know, every time I say this is the last one, but they just keep coming out with sequels.”
“He’s not the right one. Just like Jordan. You’re just attracted to the unavailable. The unattainable.”
“That’s not true.” My protest was automatic.
I didn’t bother to tell him that I’d attained Jordan already. Three times. Because then I’d have to explain how he hadn’t called in as many weeks. Drew steamrolled on, oblivious to my inner argument with him. Just as well. In our inner argument, I had just called him something rather unforgiveable.
“Just look at Trevor,” he said.
“Oh, jeez.” I sighed heavily.
I patted my left pocket before remembering I’d left my smoky crutches at home. I didn’t know then that Jordan would be with Rachel tonight. Or that Drew was going to exercise his spooky timing again and harangue me about my love life.
“He was emotionally unavailable to you, and you knew that from the beginning. You pursue dead-end relationships like the proverbial rabbit after the carrot. Then when they fail, and they will fail, you can step back and say ‘Told you so. Love doesn’t exist.’”
“What a lovely portrait you’ve painted of me. I should hang it on the refrigerator.”
The red fluorescent sign of a Walgreens caught my eye, triggering an apparently deeply rooted, long-forgotten memory that I needed batteries. Triple A. I whipped in and parked as Drew scolded me some more. Clearly he was determined to have his say, whether I cared to hear it or not.
“Go ahead. Do your sarcasm thing. But you know I’m right. Look at Nick.”
“You can’t penalize me for Nick. That was a viable relationship. And not just in the good times either. I took care of him, Drew. I took him to rehab and helped him with his exercises. I cooked for him and did laundry and—”
“No one is saying you weren’t a great friend to him. But that’s all it was. Friendship. And maybe a little guilt mixed in.”
“He was driving, Drew. Not me,” I said sharply.
“And you never let him forget it either.”
I closed my eyes briefly, swallowing. It was a moment before I spoke again. “I knew it wasn’t rational to blame him. I’m not saying it wasn’t rough. You know I wasn’t happy about leaving my job. But I stayed. I was willing to work it out.”
“Yeah, you felt guilty because you never loved him the way he loved you. But before that accident, you were on your way out. After you knew the extent of his injury, you weren’t going anywhere. You were going to be his rock and his friend… but you would never love him like he needed to be loved. So he left instead.”
“I was crushed when he left. He left. Not me.”
“You practically forced him out the door. He knew you weren’t all in from the beginning.”
“I was too!” I squawked, ignoring the fact that a grown adult (me) had just uttered “Was too!” in a nonplayground setting. “How much more in can you get? We met each other’s families—”
“You met his family. You never introduced him to your dad or Robert.”
“I….” I faltered.
Well, yes, that was true. But it didn’t seem like the right time. My dad was still coming to grips with me being gay. I mean, I’d spent thirty minutes alone debating on how to introduce him. “My boyfriend” seemed so high school. “My partner” felt somehow wrong and something I wasn’t quite ready for. And “my lovah”? Well… come on, you can’t say that to your father with a straight face. If I didn’t even know how to introduce him, I knew it was the wrong time. Seemed as good an excuse as any. And looking back upon it with fresh eyes, it had been just that. An excuse.
Try explaining that to Drew, who had clearly picked up speed. “You never even got rid of your apartment when you were ‘living’ together. A nice 1500-square-foot safety net.”
I sighed. “What do you want from me?”
“Stop putting yourself through this. Try going out with someone who is emotionally and physically available to you. Try for something real. What was that guy’s name at the pub? Darcy?”
“Big Red? No way!”
“And when you speak to him, don’t call him that either. It takes people a while to warm up to your… er, ways.”
I narrowed my eyes at the phone on the dash. Hopefully, he would begin the process of burning to a crisp. My humor was delightful.
Drew moved on, clearly uncharred by my glare. “He was interested. Available. Gay. Gainfully employed, handsome, funny….”
“Maybe you should date him,” I murmured.
“I heard that, bitch. Do yourself a favor, Mac. Take him out on this date instead.” I mulled this over in silence before he spoke again. “I called him, you know.”
“Who, Nick?” I sighed. “Why am I not surprised? He seems to be in contact with everyone I know lately.”
“No, doof. Jordan. I call
ed him and explained to him some of the finer points of dating a friend of mine.”
“Certainly explains the chilliness between you two.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t pleased. He seemed rather concerned about our relationship.”
“And you of course told him there’s nothing between us.” Silence. “Drew.”
He chuckled. “It’ll do the golden boy good to worry a little. Just… just be careful, okay?”
“I thought you wanted me to call Darcy.”
“I do, but since when have you ever done anything I’ve asked you to do?”
I cocked my head, considering. “True.”
“Besides, I have a feeling you’re not going to stop thinking about it until you’ve taken a ride to Jordan town.”
Already took the scenic route. I filled the silence with an offhand laugh. “You know me.”
Gasp. Silence. Then, “I do know you,” Drew said accusingly. “You ho.”
“Gotta go.”
“Mac! I knew—”
I clicked off my headset on something that sounded suspiciously like “slutty boy bitch,” but I couldn’t be sure.
I looked at the phone for a minute, wondering if Drew was right. Was I as disillusioned as all that? Seeking out relationships that were doomed from the start for the sheer sake of watching them fail? I bit my lip. Maybe I’d known that Trevor wasn’t the right person for me. He’d been a good friend, a best friend, and it was easy to segue into lovers. I couldn’t really say I’d ever loved him that way. And though I missed our friendship, the end of our relationship brought some sense of relief. Relief that it was over. Relief that I didn’t have to pretend to look for houses anymore for our “future.” Relief that I didn’t have to keep finding things wrong with the listings he sent to my e-mail. To be perfectly honest, I missed Nick in the same way. He had been a friend that I turned into a lover.
“Huh.” I frowned.
So apparently, I was determined to say no to love until sexual urges forced me to hit on and create faux relationships with my friends. Wow. That was kind of lazy. Not to mention destructive.
