by Cooper Davis
Leah had totally thawed out too, and while I expected it after last night, it still blew my mind when she pulled me into her arms for a quick embrace. And I mean a real embrace, not something stiff and forced.
But it was the way she held on to Max that practically brought tears to my eyes—for a moment, I honestly didn’t think she’d ever let him go. Meanwhile, John pumped my hand warmly, congratulating me again on our upcoming wedding, telling me he looked forward to attending.
All of this, incidentally, under the chilly scrutiny of his father-in-law—it’s those balls of steel in action yet again. No wonder John’s my new best friend. After all, I have great taste in guys, don’t you know?
But Phillip was another matter altogether, and I guess he’s simply our last holdout. He shook Max’s hand, formal and cool in his demeanor, and it makes me wonder if he’s always been that reserved with his son. He barely shook my hand at all, but at least it’s not just me. I glance sideways at Max, wondering if he’s okay, if he noticed the major brush-off I received.
But from the sweet look on his face, I know he’s happy, and that’s all I care about for now.
We’re both totally beat as we drop our suitcases inside the apartment door. Max walks to the kitchen table, thumbing through the mail Louisa brought in for us earlier today, and I head straight for the shower.
The warm water pelts me, soaking my hair, and I come alive again. Just in time to hear a rustling sound beyond the shower curtain. I squint, wiping soapy water from my eyes, when suddenly cool air hits my body as Maxwell steps inside. He must have stripped out of his clothes in the space of a heartbeat, because he’s gorgeous and naked and right in the shower with me.
“God, I missed this,” I murmur, slipping my wet arms around his waist and drawing him flush against my hips.
He lifts his hands and brushes at my wet hair, stroking it away from my eyes. The warm water rolls down his cheeks, his back, and he’s like some shimmering sculpture. He’s perfect and lovely, as I run my palms over his hips, his abdomen, staring at him in deep appreciation. And who wouldn’t, because the man’s just gorgeous.
Truth is, he never looks quite so beautiful as when I glimpse him like this, glistening and hard.
My whole body has tightened because of his proximity, I realize as I reach for the soap. In one quick motion, I’m behind him, sliding the bar over his chest. God, it’s so smooth, not a hair on it; just the way I like it best. I work the soap over his nipples, then lovingly over the cordons of muscle on his abdomen, his thighs.
He arches backward into my arms at the slick sensation, gasping in pleasure as he reaches one hand over his shoulder to caress my cheek. His fingertips stroke my scratchy face, and I meet his lips with my own for a searing kiss; a slow, burning brand of a kiss, the kind that only deep lovers share. And we’re nothing if not deep lovers now.
“Missed feeling you like this.” I breathe again, and he nods as slowly I work that lather between his legs, stroking his erection with my fingertips. He actually shivers when my hand touches him there, his whole frame giving a little shudder within my arms.
I drop the soap and take him within my hand, slippery and wonderful as I caress the length of him.
“Oh, God,” he manages, stiffening hard within my arms. I brace my forearm across his chest, pinning him against me, but he reaches out to steady himself against the shower wall. His hands splay against the tiles, and I follow him, covering his body with my own.
My mouth trails over his shoulders, down his strong arms, and all the while my hips are moving gently against his, my fingers exploring the silky warmth between his thighs.
For a long moment, he leans his forehead against the wet tiles as we rock together, and I can’t stop. God help me, but I can’t. I know we can’t do what I want, not here, but I keep pretending that we can—and with the way he’s moving against me, I know he is too.
“Hunter,” he moans tightly, as I cover his hands with my own. “Please.”
“Please what?” I murmur in his ear, nipping at it with my teeth. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you,” he cries out as he manages to turn within my arms. His back is pressed flush against the tiles, and he stares up at me, panting and wide-eyed. He drapes his arms around my neck, pulling me down toward him.
My growl is my answer, little more than an urgent rumble as I take his mouth wildly with my own.
Our kiss is fevered, our tongues warring and twining together, and I’m not sure how, but suddenly we’re slipping to the floor of the shower. We’re nothing but a tangle of desire and heat, and thank God it’s a garden tub. We collapse together, the water beating against our bodies as the kiss keeps growing deeper. He’s easing me onto my back, although there’s nothing graceful about this. It’s all about our hunger and our burning need to reconnect.
He’s got me beneath him, all wet and slippery, his cock pushing hard between my legs, as I clasp him from behind, urging our bodies together.
My shin bumps hard against the water faucet, but hell if I care, as our hips begin bucking together.
“Oh, baby, sweet baby,” I moan, raking my hands through his mess of wet hair. He kisses my chest, dipping his head low as he draws one of my nipples into his mouth. I arch and hiss at the sensation, as I work my fingers between his thighs from behind.
He makes a harsh little sound at the intimate contact, his head lifting straight up. “What’s wrong?” I ask, stroking his back as he rises upward.
“This.” He looks at me with a hooded, sensual gaze. “I can’t take it anymore. I want to make love.”
“We already are.” I brush a kiss against his jaw. I don’t want to move, no way in hell, not with him on top of me like this.
“No, I mean really.” Those feline eyes growing wide and urgent. “Right now.”
I swallow hard, as he lifts off of me, and then the shower water hits me hard in the face because he’s not there to block it anymore. He’s already moved out of the tub and into our bedroom, and I wonder how fast I can possibly follow.
He’s already sprawled on his back, waiting for me, and there’s something in his demeanor that catches me off guard, something forceful that I’m not quite expecting.
It doesn’t take long for me to figure out why he seems so assertive, once he draws me down onto that bed with him. He’s totally ready to take me, slippery and slick as we roll within one another’s arms. The thought of it makes me half-wild, and I moan right in his ear as we tumble together.
Then, in one graceful motion, he pins me on my back, and my heart begins hammering like crazy because I know for sure what he wants. I see it dancing in his golden gaze.
I blink, as he spreads his palm on my upper thigh, urging my legs wide open to him.
Maxwell’s only made love to me once, ever. And it sure as hell wasn’t while staring straight into my eyes. No way. As much as I wanted him then, I just wasn’t ready for that, and I’m not sure I’m ready now.
Don’t get me wrong, I trust him with my life, but this much intimacy just scares the shit out of me.
“Max, I, I don’t know…about this,” I stammer as he pushes between my legs, kissing me full on the mouth.
“About what?” he murmurs, coaxing my thighs open even wider.
“This, uh, having you on top,” I explain breathlessly, shoving my palms against his chest in an effort to slow him down. “This.”
He leans up, stroking my wet hair away from my eyes. “I’ve made love to you before,” he says quietly. He’s so loving and gentle, but I can’t stop shaking, not even as he rubs my chest in an effort to soothe me.
“Not like this,” I cry, squirming beneath his weight, but he won’t budge. Never mind that I make love to him practically every damned day.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say that, but instead ignores my desperate pleas and pulls my legs right around h
is hips. I grow still, kind of staring up helplessly into his eyes.
“You’ll love it,” he reassures me, kissing my forehead. “Okay?” He doesn’t move or push, because he’s waiting. Even though he knows what he wants, he’s not going to force things, either.
After a moment, I close my eyes, nodding as I wrap my arms around his strong shoulders.
“I won’t hurt you, I promise.” The words are like velvet, whispered right in my ear.
“You wouldn’t,” I say, my voice suddenly thick, as I cling to him. “I’m just, just…”
“Scared,” he finishes for me. “But it’s me, Hunter. You’re safe in my arms.”
And you know, he’s right. What am I so damned worried about? I feel him slowly push inside of me, hard and insistent.
Maybe I’m just scared of him seeing me, really seeing into me. Hell, I don’t know, but I keep my eyes shut tight, as suddenly I’m just full with him. It does hurt some, but I don’t say that, instead I kind of groan at how deep I’m taking him. I clasp his hips, trying to stop him a moment, but he keeps working his way into me, and that only makes me howl with unbelievable pleasure.
“Baby!” I cry out. God, there’s just so much of him. So damned much, like last time, only…different.
“Look at me,” he urges. All I can think is that nothing should feel so freaking amazing as having him inside me.
I suck in frantic gulps of air, anything to still my body’s insane reaction to what he’s doing to me. My eyes are still closed, and I feel him cup my cheek within his palm. “Hunter,” he murmurs, and I get that he’s not going to move until I can look right at him.
Slowly, my eyes flutter open and I find myself gazing up into the loveliest eyes I’ve ever known; my lover’s eyes.
We’re perfectly silent, perfectly still, just breathing one another in, and I swear it’s almost like our souls kind of touch.
That one moment tells me all I’ll ever need to know about myself; there’s nowhere to hide when you’re completely bare to the one you love.
And the thing of it is, I don’t want to hide anymore. Not from him, not ever again.
Max has collapsed on top of me, his face nuzzled sweetly over my heart. Damn, when we’re like this, just sweaty and satisfied, curled up in one another’s arms, I wonder if anyone in the world knows how good I’ve got it. I never felt this way with any woman, not once in all my life.
That he can sleep atop me so innocently, after nearly ravaging me in an explosion of need, well it speaks volumes about the depth of what we are to one another.
Hell, I know our relationship is complex, and I won’t even begin to analyze it. We’re lovers, best friends…brothers, even. So what? It works and that’s all that matters to me, as I take in the delicious scent of him.
It might be weird that I consider him family these days. But then again, isn’t that what marriage is all about? Two become one, a mystery that transcends physical dimensions.
The thing is, apart from Aunt Edna, I haven’t really known what it is to have family since I was five. Not until now, with him.
That thought causes me to press my eyes shut and remember my father, a simple man with a simple factory job. And as tempting as it is, I refuse to wonder what he’d have thought of all this, me turning out gay.
One thing I’ve always known was that my daddy loved me, and I have to believe that he’d have been able to deal with Max. I mean, isn’t that what love really is after all, acceptance?
I’m thinking about family and how I’d even define it, especially after our visit to Maxwell’s hometown, and that’s when it hits me, causing an answer of adrenaline right through my whole body.
I still haven’t told Aunt Edna about Max, not one damned thing.
Holy shit, talk about a revelation. And lucky me, it’s all mine to give her.
Chapter Eight
It pisses the hell out of Maxwell, but I kind of drag my feet on sharing our big news with Aunt Edna. Not like she’ll have a problem with it, and I try explaining that to him, but every time I do, he just gets all hurt with me.
Not until Louisa and Veronica begin planning an engagement party for us do I finally gather my nerve. I mean, Edna has to get an invitation, and I really do want her to meet Max long before the wedding.
So late October, a couple of weeks before the party, I come home from work, open a beer and dial the phone. I make sure Maxwell’s working late, because I just can’t handle that conversation with him sitting right beside me. Maybe that’s a double standard after everything we tackled back in his hometown, but it’s all I can do to make the call in the first place.
The phone seems to ring forever as I chug half the beer without blinking. I’m about to hang up when I hear Edna’s warm, musical voice on the other end of the line. For a moment, I nearly lose my nerve, but then she says, “Hunter?” Shit, she’s obviously discovered caller ID.
“Hey, Ed,” I say, coughing into my hand. I can do this, I coach myself. I can definitely do this.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Her voice is as reassuring as ever. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Sorry it’s been a while.” I’m already feeling a little guilty right off the bat.
“You’ve been busy, I know that.” She’s gracious, and it’s funny, but I kind of relax as we shoot the breeze a little. Right up until I remember that I need to tell her what’s going down in the spring.
“Well, I’ve got some news,” I say, trying to sound hyper-casual even though my heart nearly beats its way out of my chest.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, uh, well,” I kind of stall around a bit. “Well, I met someone. Someone amazing.”
Her voice actually pitches upward with breathless excitement, as she says. “Really? Tell me!”
“Um, yeah, well I think we’re getting married. I think. In the spring.”
“Married?” she squeals, just like I imagined she would. “Hunter, you don’t mean it? That’s wonderful news!”
“Yeah, yeah it is,” I mumble. “Isn’t it?” Hell, my question is a lot more uncertain than it should be, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
There’s a quiet pause on her end, and then she says. “Of course it’s wonderful, if you love her.” Her. Her. Shit, her.
“I do.”
“Well, then tell me all about her, how you met. Everything!” The excitement on her end is undeniable.
“I’ve known…uh, her, for a while.”
“Is it that Veronica DeLuca?”
“No, no, not her. Listen, it’s gonna take a little bit of explaining, actually.”
“Hunter, what aren’t you telling me?” she asks, suddenly as pointed as a laser beam. “There’s something you’re hiding, and I want to know what it is.” Mothers. Their x-ray vision is downright spooky sometimes.
I sigh heavily, taking another long swig of beer, anything to fortify me for this conversation. “I fell in love. That’s all. No secret about it, that’s why I’m calling you now.”
“But who, Hunter?”
I hesitate, closing my eyes for a moment. Just then, the beer kind of hits my system, and I feel a little fuzzy as I say, “Max Daniels. That’s his name.”
And she says nothing. Absolutely nothing for what feels like a whole damn minute, and I think I’m going to jump right out of my skin at that silence. Until she coughs softly, and asks, “Max Daniels? You’ve known him for a while, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, like four years.”
“So then you didn’t just meet him.” Her voice is gentle, calm. Hell, I feel calmed just by how she’s talking to me about it. “You’ve been good friends for a long time.”
“Best friends, yeah.”
“It’s much better not to rush things,” she reflects, invoking all the wisdom of her sixty years. “To really get to know one another first, before
starting something.”
“Probably so, yeah,” I admit, thinking of the long dance of infatuation that Maxwell and I engaged in for all those years.
“Especially if it’s a different kind of relationship, don’t you think? Because then the love has to be even stronger.”
I just mumble something unintelligible in agreement, because I feel like I’m seeing myself from the end of a long tunnel, almost like the moment’s an out of body encounter.
“And he makes you happy?”
Tears sting my eyes, because this is classic Aunt Edna. She breezes right past the shocked accusations, the thundering question of why. Instead, she goes right for the hard truth, whether or not Max will treat me right.
“Oh, yeah,” I agree on a sigh. “I’m…really happy, Edna. Like I never thought I’d be.”
“Good. Then I’m happy, too.”
And I begin the whole, strange story of how I fell in love with another man.
My man, the one I plan to spend the rest of my life with.
The afternoon of our engagement party, things are hectic down at the studio. There’s some situation with a Jackie Chan movie I’m working on, something related to the stunt people and a wall that has to give way pretty easily when Jackie kicks it.
So I’m rushing around, trying to coordinate things, but finally I have to give up on meeting Edna at the airport. Max is the perfect fiancé, willing to reschedule his entire workday just to go pick her up for me.
But my heart aches when I’m talking to him from one of the sound stages, actually trying to balance the cell phone against my shoulder while working a Skil saw, and he says, “I’m still hoping my folks might show up tonight.” He added them to our guest list in a burst of optimism, despite my gentle suggestion that he leave them off.
“Maxwell, I wouldn’t plan on that.” I turn off the saw, squatting there amidst shavings and noise all around. Juan Valdez, at least that’s what I jokingly call him, grabs the saw from my hand, and I try to hear what Max says over the din.
“They might come. There’s still a chance.”
