A Second Harvest (Men of Lancaster County Book 1)

by Eli Easton

  If this was wrong, David would go to hell gladly because nothing ever fed his soul like this. He almost sobbed at the thought of how long he’d denied himself this pleasure.

  Christie pulled back, breaking the kiss and staring at him, breathing hard. “Right. I thought that might be pretty damn tempting. I…. We should take this slowly. I think?” He sounded doubtful.

  “Yes,” David agreed. He didn’t want to take things slowly. He wanted all of Christie now. But another few breaths brought a clearer head and waves of nervousness and even a little guilt. Christie was right. He didn’t want to blunder into this and regret it in the morning—or have Christie regret it. He still had to come to terms with acting on his desires in the flesh with the idea that he wouldn’t be taking advantage of Christie—or vice versa. David reluctantly let go, his arms falling to his sides.

  Christie gave a rueful smile. “Text me when you want to do dinner again. Okay?”

  “I could pick up food tomorrow. Italian?” David offered. He didn’t want Christie to feel like he had to cook all the time, but he didn’t want to skip seeing him either.

  Christie thought about it, then nodded. “That sounds good.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good night.” With a wistful look, Christie opened the door, and David walked through it.

  As he walked down the dark lane back to his house through the crusty remains of the last snowfall, David wanted to shout for joy. He wanted to store this moment, and this feeling, in a bottle like a magic tonic. He wanted to spin like a child and praise a god who probably wasn’t all that thrilled with the development.

  This. Somehow this incredible thing had come into his life when he’d given up hoping for anything exciting to ever happen again. And he couldn’t find it in himself to be even the least bit sorry.

  Chapter 13

  Christie floated through the dishes and through shoving the foam core panels back into the garage. Dismantling the sand box, he decided, could wait until morning. It was far too practical a task, and he didn’t want to kill his buzz.

  David is gay. Closeted, yes, but still gay.

  And we kissed. He was passionate and trembling. Oh good God.

  Crazy ideas flew through Christie’s mind. Fantasies about a kitchen that was theirs, cuddling on the couch, and trips together to far-off places. Fantasies that involved words like “marriage” and “forever.” It was crazy. Before David came over, Christie was determined to end it. Now, dear God above, he was utterly, devastatingly smitten.

  He adored David’s solid, masculine presence, how real he was, how competent at working with his hands, how mature and grounded and dependable. He loved the gentleness and seriousness inside that all-he-man frame. Now that the door had been opened to having David romantically, to belonging to him and having David be his, it was like life shoved Christie right off the edge of the pool into the deep end. Hard. He wanted it all. The entire white fucking picket fence.

  Shit, it was terrifying.

  He poured himself a glass of red wine and decided to take a bath. He needed some assisted daydream time. He added some muscle-soothing bath salts, ran the water hot, and climbed in. His aunt’s tub was the kind with a shower overhead and sliding plastic doors in lieu of a shower curtain. He shut the doors so the steam would build up and sank against the back until his chin was just above the water and his long legs were bent, his knees rising like the peaks on the Polynesian beach panels he made.

  Maybe you’d like to take a walk after dinner? Climb some hills? He thought absurdly. He could picture David’s large, rough hands on his knees, sliding downward….

  No. Jerking off in the tub was all well and good, but it wouldn’t solve anything. He needed to think.

  Christie knew they could have ended up in bed tonight if he’d encouraged it. But he knew instinctively it would be a mistake. Not a huge mistake, probably, but a mistake nonetheless. When David came to his bed, Christie wanted him to do so soberly, having had plenty of time to think about what he was doing, to choose it without the temptation of a hard dick pressing against him addling his brain. Because ultimately it was David’s life that was going to have to shatter and be rebuilt for this. If he chose Christie, it would have consequences. He had to make that decision for himself.

  Christie snorted at his thoughts. When did he get so responsible? But it wasn’t just about David, not really. It was self-preservation. If David came to him of his own free will, having fully considered the fallout, then he’d be strong enough to stay. Christie wouldn’t end up being shoved away later in a fit of fear and denial. Or at least he could hope not.

  Did Christie honestly want this? He did. God, he did. It wouldn’t be easy. This wasn’t like meeting some nice guy in the city, someone unencumbered and openly gay. But then Christie would never have met someone like David in the city.

  Had David ever been with a man? Christie was pretty sure he hadn’t. In fact, he’d married young, so he’d probably only ever had sex with his wife. It was hard to even imagine being gay and confined to a life like that. God, the things Christie wanted to show him! The things he wanted to make David feel. He shuddered in the warm water.

  But even if David wanted him, wanted a relationship, there were so many barriers in the way. Joe, for one. Christie couldn’t begin to imagine being a stepdad to Joe Fisher. God help him. He might as well just stick his head in an oven right now. And Amy. How would she take the news her dad was gay and dating the cute young neighbor? Probably not well. Then there was the area they lived in. David couldn’t just up and leave his farm. How would people take it if Christie moved in with David, if they were a couple? And did Christie seriously want to stay in Lancaster County? A temporary respite from the city was one thing, but permanently?

  That line of thought should put him off—a million miles off, in fact. But all Christie had to do was picture David’s face, close his eyes, and remember how easily they talked over meals, how he kissed Christie at the kitchen table, all grief and longing, how he was so ready, passionate at the doorway, and the list of why-nots melted away like the salt crystals in his bathwater.

  Things would take the shape they were going to take. There was no point anticipating exactly what the trouble would be, though undoubtedly there’d be some. The real question was this: was Christie prepared to fight for David?

  Yeah. Fuck yeah, he was. David deserved happy, and Christie deserved David. And a big “fuck you” to anyone who thought otherwise.

  * * *

  David lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. Christie had kissed him. I like you, David. A lot.

  He had a hard time believing it, but apparently it was true. He supposed it should have been obvious. Like Joe said, why else would Christie spend so much time with him?

  For the same reason I want to spend all my time with him. There’s something between us, something that defies all logic but is strong nonetheless.

  It suddenly occurred to him he hadn’t said anything back after Christie’s confession. He barely said good night. Good Lord. It was so long since he dated or courted anyone, since he had to think about these things. Feeling like an idiot, he went downstairs to fetch his phone and brought it back up to the bedroom. He sat up aga­inst his headboard in the dark and sent a text.

  I like you too.

  He sent it. Then he added A lot and sent that too.

  Christie’s reply chimed in the dark. He sent a smiley and the line I know this is new for you. Don’t worry, we can take it as slow as you want.

  David huffed. He was a grown man. He was married for twenty years and fathered two children. He didn’t need to be coddled. Yet he remembered the wave of nerves and guilt he felt when Christie kissed him. There been heat, certainly. Fantastic heat. But there was that other too, toward the end. He wondered if Christie sensed it. Was that why he pulled away?

  David considered it. Christie said David could talk to him. How strange to be able to talk about this with someone. Fi
nally he typed, It is new. I’ve only ever had photographs. Of men.

  The phone was silent for a long while, so long David started to second-guess himself. He shouldn’t have admitted that. It sounded so lame. And the implication was he’d touched himself to those photos. Oh Lord. Did Christie think he was pathetic?

  Just as he started to panic, his phone chimed. The text message came up. Photos like this? There was a picture attached. Heart in his throat, David hit it with his thumb to bring it up.

  A soft noise escaped his lips. Dear Lord in heaven.

  The photo was of Christie, or at least the part of him from his waist to his upper thighs. It looked like he was lying on his bed. He wore soft pajama bottoms in plain blue, and he was erect. The material of his pj’s did little to disguise the shape of his hard member. Christie had his palm on his hip as if to frame the photo’s central feature. But no framing was necessary to draw David’s eye. He stared and stared. Christie’s cock under the thin material looked long and heavy. The head tapered a little, was smaller than his width at his biggest point, as if made to insert.

  Oh my God.

  He couldn’t believe Christie sent that. Had he thought Christie was brave? The man was fearless.

  The photo sent a primal physical reaction coursing through David. It chased away any thoughts of guilt or sin and left only want and an aching arousal. David closed his eyes and breathed. When he could finally type again, he sent: You have no idea what you do to me.

  Show me, Christie replied.

  David’s face burned with embarrassment. He didn’t dare take a photo like that. Did he? But Christie went first. In a way it was easier like this, with Christie in another place. David didn’t feel as self-conscious as he would have in person.

  He thought about trying to take a photo like Christie’s, showing his erection under pj’s. But David’s bottoms were thicker and plaid. It would be hard to make anything out except a tent. He stripped them off and tried a few options, hardly able to believe he was doing this. He chose one in which his palm was mostly over his erection but the shaft peeked out along the side. He took the photo close up, which looked a little obscene, but he sent it anyway, his mouth dry.

  Christie’s reply came a moment later. God,I am so hard right now. This is what I want to do to you.

  David held his breath and tapped the photo. It was a picture of Christie’s mouth and throat. He had his head tilted back, light blond hair caressing his neck, and he had two long fingers inserted between his lips. His lips were pursed and his cheeks hollowed. He was sucking his fingers.

  David groaned and spread his legs. He’d never had… that, not really. He tried to guide Susan’s head down a few times when they were newly married. But she didn’t like it, and he couldn’t remember what it felt like for the few seconds she tried to please him. He’d looked at the pictures of that act so many times in his secret stash, trying to imagine the sensation.

  Christie wants to do that. To me.

  He was rigid and throbbing at the idea, at the image of Christie’s mouth and throat. He had to give himself a few strokes. Every inch of his body felt sensitive, crying out for touch, for Christie. Every cell craved him. It would be easy to orgasm just looking at those two photographs. But he made himself slow down, massage himself lightly with two fingers and type a reply.

  Never thought I could feel like this. You’re so beautiful. Show me more.

  Christie’s reply was quick. OK. Show me more too.

  There was a pause while Christie, David hoped, took photos. David was so lost in a haze of lust he didn’t think about reciprocating until his phone dinged again, and he realized he should have been taking a picture of his own.

  But when he opened what Christie had sent, the thought flew from his head.

  Christie had removed his pj bottoms and was completely bare. The photo was taken from between his spread and raised knees. He was still lying on his back, and the image showed the curve of his buttocks, a tight, hairless sac, and the fat root of his erection. The angle was exactly what David would see if he were lying between Christie’s thighs.

  He groaned. A delicious, shuddering throb started in his cock and ran through him from head to toe. Christie shaved down there. David had never seen that done, but he loved it. He loved the idea of how smooth Christie would feel, to his fingers, to his mouth, could imagine the clean smell of him. And if he spread Christie’s thighs a little more with his hands, tilted him up a bit, the secret part of him would be revealed, a forbidden entrance. It was forbidden, but not by Christie because Christie was brave. Christie would open himself up, give himself entirely, dare anything.

  David squeezed his cock with his fist, trying to hold back the tide, but it was no use. The squeeze felt too good, the image before him stuck too deeply into his most sexual urges. He couldn’t help squeezing again, rhythmically, two, three times, four, and then he was coming. He tried to keep his eyes open as it washed over him, intense yet with a tinge of hollowness, like listening to a recording of a loved one instead of being with them. He wanted, oh, he wanted.

  He waited out the frantic beating of his heart. When he looked down his cock was just starting to soften and pearly drops painted his stomach. Christie. He wanted to give Christie something to edge him over too. Without letting himself reconsider, he took a photo of his stomach with its satiated cock and evidence of bliss. He sent it.

  He got up and went to the bathroom to clean himself off. When he returned there was a new photo waiting. It showed Christie’s fist, tight around the head of his cock with white ejaculate all over his thumb and wrist. David made a sympathetic noise in his throat and his spent member gave a weak little pulse.

  Christie had managed to hide most of his cock in the photo, though, and when David thumbed back through the previous pictures, he couldn’t fully see it either. Christie was teasing him. He was holding back something that David would only get to see in person.

  He smiled and typed in a single word. Soon.

  Chapter 14

  Christie waited for four days. He could hardly believe his own fortitude. He’d always been a “dessert first” kind of guy. But… he kept his hands to himself and waited.

  The day after their Polynesian meal—and subsequent phone sex—Christie thought maybe he should give David some space and not join him for dinner that night. Possibly he was being a coward. He worried David might be experiencing some guilt, and Christie didn’t think he could handle seeing that.

  It had been good, though. God! Christie had never had phone sex before, but knowing it was David on the other end of the texts and photos—David, the handsome, shy man he’d been secretly lusting after for months—made it one of the most erotic experiences of Christie’s life.

  He could feel David’s need behind every word, was turned on by the way David fully committed to it, took photos of himself in a show of trust and desire, the way Christie’s photos sent him over the edge so quickly…. Christie woke that night dreaming about it, and he looked at the photos and came again, and again that next morning too.

  But however much he enjoyed it, he was still a little worried David might suffer a guilt backlash. He texted David at noon.

  Do you need some time to yourself tonight? I can cook tomorrow.

  But David’s reply was quick and to the point.

  No. Would like to see you. I’ll get the food.

  Right, then. Tonight it was.

  Christie managed to get in a decent day’s work. The diary clients loved his campaign, and he was now at the stage of adding in new features they’d requested to their website design. His boss also asked him to review the work of a younger designer and offer suggestions. When dark fell—it came early this time of year—he put on his snow boots and walked over to David’s.

  The wind was frigid in the lane between the two properties with no corn to block the way and a bed of icy stuff on the ground. It reminded Christie that December was only a day away. He wondered if David would like to hel
p him decorate Aunt Ruth’s little house. It would be the first time Christie had a home of his own at Christmastime.

  But that reminded him that Amy and Joe would probably be back again for Christmas. He was so not ready mentally to go there. He arrived at the farm with cold hands, what he guessed was a red nose, and a case of the nerves.

  “It feels like it could snow,” he said as David let him into the warm house.

  “It could, if we had any moisture in the air, but there’s not even a chance of it ’til next week.”

  “You’re like my own private weatherman,” Christie teased, forcing good humor.

  David gave him a sheepish look. “I get the farmer’s forecast on my phone.”

  “Ah. A secret kept from us city types. I get it.”

  David laughed a genuine laugh, and then it felt easy between them. Christie’s worry David would be weird appeared to be ill-founded. He was perhaps a little more awkward than usual, but not in a bad way. He already had the table set, so they unpacked the take-out bag and loaded up plates without any fanfare. They talked about the things they usually talked about at first—Christie’s work, the farm. They didn’t talk about being gay or about what they’d done the night before.

  David made no move to touch Christie throughout the meal, but there was something new about him all the same. There was a softer look in his eyes, and he let his gaze linger. It wasn’t lustful, but it was appreciative. Openly so. He gazed at Christie’s neck with a small smile for at least a full minute, as though he were watching a particularly nice sunset.

  Only now did Christie realize how much David stopped himself from looking before, the way his eyes would only touch on Christie briefly. It was heady having David look at him like that, like he was desirable, beautiful. It was such an extremely fond look. It felt… it felt like a date, even with take-out Italian and not a single candle on the table.

  They cleaned up the plates together at the sink, David washing and Christie drying. When they were done, David hesitated over the empty sink, swallowed nervously.