Lovely Wicked

by Kari Gregg

  Sam's eyes shone dully. "There's a lot of poison in the world, Mitch." Mitch leaned over to kiss Sam's sad lips. Because he was right. Mitch'd been raised in a vat of the worst poison the world could offer, but venom wasn't limited to Gary's trailer. Hate was everywhere. But it only made love, wherever he found it, that much more precious. He stroked Sam's cheek. "Let's go to bed."

  * * * * *

  Mitch blew out hard pants, straightened his clenched fingers, and smoothed them through Sam's honey-blond hair as the younger man licked him clean. Mitch hadn't made a move on him last night, not sexually. He'd held him, spooned with Sam just like they'd slept all weekend. The only difference was Liv hadn't been sandwiched between them so when Mitch's cock stiffened, it'd poked at Sammy's butt cheek rather than hers.

  But he hadn't done anything with it.

  Sammy needed time to think, to consider. To choose.

  He'd chosen to swallow Mitch's cock in one gluttonous gulp after breakfast, when Mitch had gathered his lunch cooler and thermos to leave for work.

  "You're getting good at this," Mitch said, still scrambling to stuff his brains back into his skull.

  Sam gave Mitch's softening cock a final, mind-shattering suck, then grinned up at him. Mitch loved Liv. He did. But Sam was so sexy, kneeling in front of him, his lips stretched and swollen from sliding up and down his dick. "If you want me to, I can call off work," Mitch offered.

  Sam laughed, gave his balls a last squeeze, then pushed to his feet. "You're not getting your hands on my ass that easily."

  Mitch tucked his dick back into his jeans. "To help pack your crap. Move you in." He cocked an eyebrow at him. "You still need a place to stay, right? You're not going back to your apartment?"

  Sam grimaced. "Not to live."

  Mitch cradled Sam's jaw in his hand. "You're welcome here. As long as you need." He pulled Sam close, slanted his mouth over Sam's. Mitch's pulse hummed when Sam's tongue eagerly tangled with his. When Mitch pulled away, he rested his forehead to Sam's to stare into the blue eye his prick roommates hadn't blackened. "I like waking up with you."

  "You like your cock sucked," Sam said with a smile.

  "You like sucking me," Mitch said and pressed a satisfied kiss to Sam's smiling lips. Sam closed his eyes, gave his mouth to him. Sam was getting really good at kissing him, too. "You can have me, whenever you want. If you stay." Sam's lashes shuttered his eyes. "Is fucking my ass that important to you, Mitch?"

  "Yeah."

  Oh hell yeah.

  Sam chuckled. "All right. I'll stay." When he opened his eyes, they sparkled. "But just until I find another place to live. And only if you let me rent a storage locker for all the shit you've stuffed in your apartment. You live in a sty." Mitch considered the man's terms in less than a nanosecond. "Done." He stepped back, checked his watch. "I've got an important job this morning, but if I shuffle my contracts, I can make it back in two hour—"

  "Go." Sam handed the cooler and thermos to Mitch, then shoved him toward the door. "I can handle it."

  Mitch resisted his push. "Your roommates gave you that shiner."

  "They got the worse end of the deal. Trust me, they'll think twice before taking a swing at me. Besides, I'm taking a personal day to move everything over while they're at work. I'll be fine." Sam yanked open the front door, pushed Mitch to it. "Go."

  "The extra key's in the drawer below the coffee—"

  Sam slammed the door in his face.

  Mitch went to work.

  * * * * *

  Three of his laborers called in sick, the concrete inspector arrived four hours late, and the part he'd ordered for a client's Jacuzzi had been delivered—mysteriously—to Minneapolis. So Mitch's temper snapped and snarled at his heels when he pulled his truck into the apartment complex and didn't improve when he saw one of Sam's prick roommates hauling garbage to the dumpster.

  He slammed the truck into park, locked it, and marched to the jerk who'd hit Sam. Mitch's hands fisted at his sides, then his fingers splayed wide in shock when he noted the butterfly bandage over the bridge of the guy's nose and the pair of blue bruises under the asshole's eyes. Whatever they'd done to Sam, he'd broken this one's nose. Split his lip, too. When he spotted Mitch stalking him, the little prick's body jerked to attention. The ass wipe actually flinched.

  All right.

  Bruised ribs then.

  He wasn't moving gingerly enough for any to be broken, but this guy was in considerably worse shape than Sam had been in last night.

  Mitch readjusted his perceptions.

  Sammy could take care of himself.

  That didn't mean Mitch didn't protect what was his, though. "You lay a finger on Sam again and I'll bury you."

  "Stay away from me," Sam's roommate said, raising a restraining hand. "I'll press charges. I mean it."

  "Mitch!"

  Sam stood in the open doorway, freshly showered, and God have mercy, wearing Mitch's favorite basketball sweatshirt.

  He went instantly hard.

  God, Mitch's dick was an easy slut.

  The rest of him?

  Not so much.

  He turned his head to glare malevolent intent at the prick roommate. "I can make you disappear," he said. "They'll never find your body. Remember that." Satisfied when the other guy paled, Mitch walked to his apartment. Sam closed the door.

  "I wish you hadn't done that," Sam said behind him. "He'll file a restraining order against you, too."

  Mitch froze, three steps into his apartment. Dropped his empty thermos and cooler from suddenly numb fingers. Surprise trapped his next breath in his lungs. The boxes were gone.

  No more garbage bags stuffed with his linens. No more packing cartons filled with extra tools, Fiestaware from his first marriage that neither of his subsequent wives had wanted, or his collection of DVDs. Astonishment wiped every circuit in his brain clean, as he stared at the coffee table he hadn't laid eyes on for half a year. He could sit at his dining room table again.

  He blew out the breath he'd been holding.

  "You said I could clean the place up." Sam lifted Mitch's hand and dropped a key into his palm. "Your storage unit."

  Mitch examined the blue plastic keychain: Safe-T Storage, with an address a few blocks away. A large number 27 was stenciled on the other side.

  "I didn't know when you'd be home so I thawed steaks for dinner. They're cheap cuts of meat, but I salvaged them with bottled marinade. I'll set them under the broiler—I don't know how you like your steaks. Medium? Rare? Well done?" Mitch snagged his abandoned cooler from the carpet and followed Sam into the kitchen, studied the anxious glitter in his eyes. Mitch smothered a bark of laughter at the tension vibrating in the younger man's body. He shifted to deposit his lunchbox and thermos on his amazingly clean counter, then he leaned forward. He crowded Sam until the younger man's spine pressed into the stove.

  He lowered his head.

  As soon as Mitch's mouth settled over his, Sam's tongue shot out, full of nervous energy and as frenetic as Sam was. When Mitch slid his hand around Sam's neck, Sam's pulse throbbed like a war drum against his fingers.

  With a day left to his own devices, Sammy must've come to the realization that he had a boyfriend. Not just a boyfriend. Sammy had moved in. He was living with a gay lover.

  For the very first time.

  Mitch had meant to ease him into the world of gay sex. Even living with him, sleeping in his bed, Mitch would've taken his time with Sam, but thanks to the fight with his roommates, Sam hadn't dipped his toe into the pool.

  He'd dove in, headfirst.

  Sammy, sweet Christ, was courting him.

  Mitch pushed his hips and his very hard cock into Sam's pelvis and when he lifted his head, Mitch nudged his jaw aside so he could lick and suck at the skin of his neck. Wry amusement—and arousal—streaked through him when he found Sammy's skin as smooth as a baby's butt.

  Sam had shaved for him.

  Inside his jeans, Mitch's dick thickened.

>   So much for slow.

  He opened his mouth over Sam's neck, used his teeth on him.

  Sam shivered. "Dinner—"

  "Can wait," Mitch said, lowering his free hand to tug the hem of his favorite sweatshirt up Sam's chest. "This can't."

  Jesus, he'd never get over it.

  Of all things for Sam to steal out of his drawers, he'd snagged Mitch's basketball sweatshirt, the one Liv had worn for him after their first night together. The parallels turned him on, wound him up tighter. Liv, giving her body to him for Mitch's personal play land. Sam, cleaning his house, cooking his dinner, kissing him so sweetly. And the both of them wearing his shirt, as good as branding themselves as his. Mitch had to have him.

  He shoved the fabric aside, skated his fingers over Sam's chest. The boy was toned, but not built, not muscled like Mitch was. Or half as hairy. He paused to flick Sam's nipple, enjoying his gasp and quick shudder. Sam's fingers threaded through Mitch's hair, dislodging a white cloud of drywall dust.

  Sam sneezed.

  Mitch chuckled. "I'll shower after," he said, pulling his sweatshirt higher as he skimmed his mouth lower. Sam groaned when Mitch's lips teased his brown nipple. Dust or no dust, Sam's grip in Mitch's hair tightened when Mitch's tongue lapped at him. Mitch scraped his teeth over Sam's nipple and grinned when Sam's hips pushed forward.

  Mitch traced his tongue down Sam's stomach, stabbed it into the man's belly button.

  Sam yanked his hands from Mitch's hair and jerked at his zipper. Sam, not Mitch, dragged Sam's cock from his jeans.

  Mitch dropped to his knees.

  Opened his mouth.

  Sam fed his dick to him.

  Mitch opened wide, taking him deep into his throat.

  Fair was fair.

  And whether he'd fucked Sammy's throat over the weekend or not, Mitch wanted Sam's length drumming against his tonsils, spurting hot and thick into his belly. Mitch finished him quickly.

  Sam was too nervous and horny and excited to take much of Mitch's tongue, the suction of his lips. The younger man came on a husky groan, his stomach clenching as his hips jerked and pumped. Out of control, Sam's cock sprayed thick and hot on Mitch's tongue instead of his throat, but Mitch licked him and sucked on his wildly bucking dick to take more.

  When Sam's body uncoiled, spent and sated, Mitch rose from the floor. Licked salty semen from his lips. "I like my steaks rare." He brushed a kiss over Sam's panting mouth. His. Sam was his, as wholly and as completely as Livvy belonged to him. Wearing Mitch's clothes, sleeping in his bed, and his cum warming Mitch's stomach. Mitch gave Sam's dick one last stroke and Mitch's mouth curved as Sam moaned into it.

  "I'll be in the shower," he said. And left Sam to re-gather his senses.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mitch didn't see much point in getting dressed after the shower so he scrubbed himself dry with a towel, then walked naked to the kitchen. Sam had set the table in his absence, dressing it with the Fiestaware his first wife had abandoned with him. A trio of candles sputtered at the table's center.

  "Nice," Mitch said, "but you don't have to go to all this trouble for me." He winked at Sam. "Getting into my pants is a sure thing."

  "You aren't wearing pants." Sam raised an eyebrow at Mitch's nudity as he pulled a pair of steaks from the broiler. "And maybe I want to go to all the trouble." Mitch's heart thudded a triumphant beat.

  Yeah. Sam was courting him; and whether Sam realized it or not, Sam would seduce himself, as well. Mitch didn't have to lift a finger. Sam would take care of tempting and luring them both.

  "Sit down," Sam said from the kitchen. "It's almost ready." Mitch sat at one of the settings at the dining room table, the surface of his wooden chair cool and smooth on his bare ass. Mystified amusement made his mouth bow at the neatly folded linen napkins—where'd Sammy find them? Mitch couldn't remember owning any. Maybe cast offs from one of his wives?

  Mitch picked up a lot of crap that way.

  Sam slid a plate in front of him. Baked potato with butter drizzled over it, juicy steak that looked like it was still mooing, and a leafy green salad. Salad, for the love of God.

  Sam joined him at the table, settling his own plate next to Mitch's. "Don't glare at the salad, Mitch. Eat it. Fresh vegetables are good for you." He handed Mitch a frosty cold bottle of beer before taking his seat. "I would've thought a man your age would be more careful about his diet."

  Mitch swiveled his glare from the salad to Sam.

  A man his age?

  What the fuck was that crack supposed to mean?

  Mitch wasn't collecting social security, for Christ's sake.

  "I'm bigger than you are, Sammy. I'd take you in a fight." But Sam only chuckled. "Try your steak."

  Frowning, he sawed off a piece of the meat, impressed when his knife revealed the bright pink center. At the first bite, flavor exploded over his tongue, rich with subtle undertones of spice. The tender meat practically melted in his mouth. Mitch was a carnivore. He liked red meat and ate it often, but a steak like this had never come from his oven. He groaned in carnal pleasure.

  Sam smiled. "We need to talk about your butcher."

  Whatever.

  Mitch chewed. Swallowed. Sliced another bite off his steak. "Until you find your own place, you cook. I'll clean up after." Mitch stabbed the meat into his mouth. Seemed like a fair trade to him. "We'll split the rent and utilities." Sam picked at his salad and arched an eyebrow. "What? No ring?"

  "I'm saving myself for Livvy."

  The younger man frowned. Ate his green, leafy vegetables. "Is she going to be okay with this? My moving in."

  Mitch chased the bite of steak with the Coors that Sam had already opened for him. "I think so."

  Sam stared at Mitch long minutes. "I thought you two were seriously involved." Mitch didn't know what magic Sam had performed on his steak, but he was in heaven. "We are."

  Sam's lips thinned. He put down his fork. "I should check into a hotel."

  "No." When Sam's gaze flashed to his, Mitch took a pull off his beer. "Liv might be a little shaky at first. She's always unsteady when I throw something new at her, but she adapts fast. We agreed to share you. That hasn't changed."

  "She didn't think you'd have me in your bed every night." Concern sparked Sam's blue eyes. "She might be jealous."

  "Good." Mitch liked that idea. "Maybe she'll feel possessive enough to move in with me, too." He liked that idea even better.

  "All three of us? Living together?" Sam's jaw dropped. Mitch ate his steak. "Why not?"

  Sam threw his head back and roared with laughter. "Because it's not normal, Mitch, that's why not."

  Mitch scowled at him. "Fuck normal. What did normal ever do for me?" Nothing.

  "We had a good time last weekend. If the three of us move in together, we can have that every night and if that doesn't make your dick hard, you're not the man I thought you were."

  Sam's laughter faded to low chuckles, but he picked up his fork. "All of us will never fit in this apartment. Moving your stuff into the storage unit cleared a lot of space, but three people sardined into this one-bedroom apartment won't work." Mitch's heart sank.

  Sam was right about that.

  But Mitch was a contractor, a builder. He worked long, brutal hours in warmer months, but in the winter, when the temperatures dropped to frigid and bitter cold, he occupied himself with side projects to give the bulk of the far scarcer work hours to his employees.

  "I flip houses," Mitch said and picked at his baked potato. Sometimes, the house could take a couple years to complete because once spring hit Mitch was back on the job full-time, where he belonged, but Andrea hadn't totally drained his bank accounts. Derelict houses that needed work and a lot of love sold cheap. Hell, he had a list of addresses on his laptop waiting for his attention.

  "I haven't picked my next project and once I do, making the house livable might take me a couple weeks. Even then, it'll be like camping for a while. But if I found a place with more
room, would you stay?" he asked. "With me and Liv."

  "She hasn't agreed to live with you yet." Sam snickered. "And I'm not so sure she'll forgive you for moving me in."

  "Let me worry about Liv." Mitch speared another bite of his steak. "Would you?" Sam polished off his salad and sliced a precise square from his steak. "Live with the two of you?" He shrugged. "I don't know. We only started sleeping together a couple days ago."

  Mitch waved his fork. "And yet, here you are."

  "Here I am." Sam smiled. "Don't rush this, Mitch. What sounds like a great idea tonight may not seem so wonderful next week. You like having me around now because you want me, but I think we both know you just want the sex. I'm a novelty to you. Once you've had me, I'll bore you. Or annoy you. Or vice versa."

  "I already annoy you and I'm never boring." Mitch shrugged. "And it's going to take me awhile to get tired of fucking you, Sammy." Mitch was sure of that. His cock stirred, stiffened. "Is that what you're afraid of? That I'll push you away as soon as I get what I want?"

  "No." But he dipped his head and focused on cutting his steak with far more intensity than the meat warranted. "Not entirely."

  Mitch set his fork by his plate, no longer interested in the dinner Sam had cooked for him. "Tell me what you're scared of then. Entirely." Sam wouldn't meet his eyes. "It'll hurt."

  Mitch's cock hardened to a steel rod under his dining room table. He'd been expecting this, Sammy's very natural fear of what Mitch wanted to do to him, but he hadn't anticipated his new lover confessing his reservations to him so quickly. It boded well. Very well. "It will hurt, at first."

  Mitch nodded when Sam's gaze, flickering with edgy uncertainty, focused on him. "I won't lie to you, Sam. You're a virgin. I'll make it as easy for you as I can, but it's like busting a woman's cherry. No matter what I do, it'll hurt." Sam dropped his own fork, nudged his plate away. "That doesn't sound pleasant."