by Roni Loren
Hunter wasn’t sure whose hands reached out first. But before the next breath, their mouths came together and all semblance of decorum or decency burned up in the bright, fiery need of having spent so many years apart. Fingers grappled for clothes, hair, whatever they could manage, and the two of them kissed like ravenous teenagers—desperate, sloppy, greedy, bodies shamelessly rubbing against each other. Hunter’s elbow clipped a hotel lamp as they grabbed at each other, and it tipped over onto the carpeted floor with a loud thunk. Light splintered around them on the walls. Neither of them broke away from kissing.
Hunter gripped Devon’s hair and stroked his tongue deeper in Dev’s mouth. He couldn’t get close enough. He wanted every part of him, and Devon seemed to be of the same mind as he pressed Hunter against the back of the couch, mashing their bodies together. Everything went hot and needy inside Hunter.
He’d managed two years of celibacy without much struggle, but now he wasn’t sure he could handle two minutes of it. His cock went hard and obvious against Devon’s thigh, and he rocked against him, not caring if Dev felt exactly how bad he wanted him.
Devon groaned and pulled away from the kiss, panting. “We should probably slow down. Catch up. Take our time.”
“Probably.”
“Want to?”
“Nope,” Hunter said, letting his hand slip between them and finding Devon as turned on as he was. He gave him a stroke through his slacks, relishing the feel of his heat against his palm. “You?”
“Hell no, especially not when you’re doing that. Fuck.”
Hunter smiled. “I’ve gotta warn you. I still don’t know what I’m doing.”
Devon laughed, playful desire in his eyes as he hooked a finger in the belt loop of Hunter’s jeans. “Saved yourself for me, big man?”
“Maybe I did.”
“Good.” Devon unhooked the button of Hunter’s jeans. “But don’t worry, we don’t have to go that far tonight if—”
Hunter silenced the next words with another kiss, letting him know exactly what he thought of that plan. When he broke away from the kiss, he looked down at him. “No. We’ve waited long enough. I’m all yours—however you want me.”
Dev’s gaze held his, and in that one look, Hunter saw what he’d been seeing in his own reflection for years. He hadn’t been the only one suffering, hadn’t been the only one with a broken heart. Dev grabbed Hunter’s arm and led him into the bedroom.
Somehow they both sensed that words were no longer needed. They did manage to slow down some once they got into the bedroom, undressing each other with reverent, searching hands, kissing along the paths of exposed skin as they went. And Devon discreetly pulled supplies from his wallet before kicking his pants out of the way. But he tossed the packets on the side table like they’d get to those later, like there was no rush. But there was still a frantic current to everything for both of them, this pounding need to strip down all the barriers, erase all those years of separation, be with each other like they should have from the start. Unlike last time, Hunter had no qualms about what tonight could mean or how it would go—only anticipation. In his world of everything feeling wrong, he’d finally found his way back to what felt right.
Devon guided Hunter to the bed between kisses, and Hunter could feel the power shift between them. Devon was taking the reins, showing him the way without making him feel like some awkward virgin. He put his hands on Hunter’s shoulders and eased him onto his back before climbing onto the bed with him. Skin pressed against skin, hot desire wrapping around them and pumping through Hunter’s blood, as their mouths joined again. God, Hunter had kissed his fair share of people but never had he wanted to get lost in it like this, like kissing wasn’t a prelude but a main fucking event.
After a few more minutes, Devon eased back and braced himself on one arm above Hunter to grab supplies. Hunter found himself admiring the view. Dev had filled out in the last few years, cut muscles replacing the slighter build he’d had in college, but the most noticeable change was the utter confidence. Dev had an air about him now that made Hunter’s heart beat faster. In his daily life, Hunter knew he walked around like the alpha dog athlete. He was used to people letting him lead and have the control, but right now he had no issues turning himself over to this man.
Devon smiled down at him, tender heat there. “Still want this, big man?”
“I might fucking die if we stop right now.”
Devon laughed. “Thank God.”
Devon slipped a hand between them and wrapped his hand around Hunter’s cock, slick lubricant gliding along the heated flesh. Hunter groaned into the touch. “You’re good at that.”
“I know.” Devon stroked him with a firm hand, making Hunter’s toes want to curl, and then leaned down to touch his forehead to Hunter’s. “I told you back then I’d make this good for you.”
Hunter gripped Dev’s bicep, warning him to ease up. “Yeah, but if you keep doing it that good, I’m going to go off before we get there. Two years celibate, man.”
Devon grinned and dipped his hand lower, dragging the lubricant with him. The look in his eye said he knew that he had Hunter at his mercy. Hell, if the guy asked him to bark like a dog, he might do it right now. Anything to keep his body feeling just like this.
“You’re going to want to use your hand on yourself when I try this,” Devon said, grit in his voice—proof that he was hovering at his edge of patience, too. “It’ll make it easier. And tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
“I’m a big boy. I think I’ll be all right,” Hunter said, his voice strained.
“You are. But so am I.” Devon smirked.
“Smartass.”
Devon released him and sat back to roll on the condom. Hunter wrapped his fingers around his own cock while he watched Devon squeeze more lubricant onto his hand. Pulsing need pounded through Hunter as Devon slowly slicked himself up—this strange empty feeling piercing through him, this ache to have Dev inside him. He’d never done this and probably should be scared, but he knew Dev wouldn’t hurt him. Beyond the fact that Dev would stop if he said so, Hunter had bought a secret stash of toys sometime last year and had become a lot more familiar with what his body could accommodate. It was like his subconscious had known to prepare for this moment even when he hadn’t been able to admit the desires out loud.
Devon got in position, pushing Hunter’s knees up, and then peered down at him. The heartbreaking smile that curled his lips made Hunter go still. “What?”
Dev shook his head. “I think I’m still waiting to wake up. This isn’t really happening. You’re not really here with me like this.”
Warmth filled Hunter’s chest, seeping into all the cold, dark corners that had been there so long. He reached up and cupped the back of Devon’s neck to bring him down closer. “It’s real. I’m here. And I don’t want to be anywhere else. Never have.”
There was nothing left to be said after that. They kissed long and deep as Devon’s hands worked, helping Hunter relax, getting him ready, making him feel amazing.
And when Devon finally entered him, their bodies joined and their hearts beating together, Hunter knew he’d finally landed where he was supposed to be. He could see his current life fading like a picture left in the sun, parts of it disappearing, pieces becoming memories, the pure white color of a fresh start bleeding over the paper.
Sometimes you took what life gave you. And sometimes you started over by giving life the finger, grabbing what you wanted by the shirt, and making it your own.
Hunter wouldn’t let go again.
He’d found his home.
He was free.
Dear Reader,
Thanks for reading Yours All Along! I hope you enjoyed Devon and Hunter’s story. If you did, please consider leaving a review online and telling your friends. Word of mouth is a book’s best friend, and I’d be forever grateful.
Now for a quick background of how this story came to be. I actually wrote this as a prequel after I wrote my nex
t book, Call On Me. Devon and Hunter were only supposed to be side characters in that book, but I kept wondering about this big brother who’d dropped everything to help his sister out. So that’s when Yours All Along came to be. It began as a short story about Hunter and Devon in college and when they meet again, circa 2007. But the words kept coming! Sometimes characters just demand to be written, and that was definitely the case here. But it all started with Call On Me.
So are you ready to know what happens to Devon’s little sister when she’s all grown up? Pike the sexy drummer happens, that’s what. Keep reading for a preview of Oakley’s story, Call On Me, out next month!
And if you’d like to keep up with my latest releases, news, and contests, please stop by my website or sign up for my newsletter at roniloren.com. As always, thank you for reading my books and being awesome.
Happy reading!
Roni
Chapter 1
“Are you touching yourself?” The voice in Oakley’s ear sounded labored and overeager—like a Saint Bernard attempting phone sex. He was probably drooling, too. Lovely.
“Yes, you make me so hot . . .”—she quickly checked the sticky note she’d put on the kitchen island—“Stefan.”
Stefan. Literature professor. Single. Six foot five.
That’s the info he’d given her. Which probably meant: Steve, unemployed, married, and five-six on a good day.
He groaned. “You’re so sexy.”
Sexy? Two points off for lack of originality, Mr. Lit Prof. Though, even the suave guys tended to forget their vocabulary when they got to this point in the conversation. Oakley covered the mouthpiece on her headset and turned off the timer on the oven. If nothing else, she was impressed the guy had lasted through the full baking time.
“Thanks, sugar,” she said, letting her tone drop into a lower register.
“God, your voice is so fucking hot.”
That she heard a lot. A record company exec had once deemed her voice “smoky, X-rated perfection” when he’d heard her demo. At the time, she hadn’t considered how inappropriate it had been for a grown man to tell a fifteen-year-old kid that. But her raspy voice had gotten her the gig then, and it’d gotten her this one now. Though, admittedly, the bar wasn’t set quite as high for this current one.
“I’m gonna give it to you so hard, Sasha,” Stefan ground out. “I can feel your hot mouth closing around me.”
Oakley donned oven mitts and leaned down to pull out the tray of brownies. The smell of chocolate and the heat of the oven hit her with full force. She inhaled deeply. “Mmm, that’s so good. I could just lick up every last bit.”
“Yeah,” he panted, the sound of his slick, pumping fist obscenely clear through the receiver. “That’s right. Show me how much you want it.”
There you go, Steve, you go on and get your money’s worth. Oakley set the tray of brownies on a trivet and tugged off the mitts. Her stomach rumbled. She’d stayed up late enough that her body was looking for dinner number two. But these weren’t for her.
She glanced toward the darkened hallway and the stairs beyond. Well, maybe one little corner piece wouldn’t be missed. She cut a small square and dipped her fingers in to grab it. But as she lifted the brownie, her knuckles grazed the searing hot pan.
“Ah, shit!” she hissed, jerking her hand back.
“Oh, yeah, let me hear it,” Stefan said on a moan. “Come with me, baby.”
Oakley shook out her hand, sucking air through her teeth, and tried to keep the pain out of her voice. Her phone companion thought she was mid-orgasm. She threw in an oh, oh, oh and ran to the sink to plunge her fist into the dishwater she’d drawn to soak the mixing bowl.
Stefan made choked sounds as he reached his own release. In another world, maybe it could’ve been an erotic moment. She’d talked a guy into an orgasm. He was calling her name. But the name was fake and so was the talk. And though she held nothing against the guys who called—after all, they helped her pay the bills—her libido had long ago crawled into a dark corner to die a quick, peaceful death. Even if she imagined the guy on the other end of the line looked like Johnny Depp or Justin Timberlake or something, she couldn’t drum up one ounce of interest.
Stefan panted heavy, wet breaths right against her ear, resuming his resemblance to a Saint Bernard. Maybe she should offer him a “good boy” or a Milk-Bone.
“That was amazing,” she said, using her husky, after-sex voice as she soaked her hand in the water. “Thank you, Stefan.”
Panting. Panting. That was the only response.
Then a tight, high sound—whistling.
No. Wheezing.
Uh-oh. “Stefan? Are you okay?”
Those squeaking breaths continued for a few seconds then: “Yes . . . I’m . . . fine.”
He didn’t sound fine. “Stefan, if you’re having an asthma attack or chest pains or something, you need to call for help.”
“Can’t . . .” He gave a ragged cough. “My wife . . . can’t know . . . I’m down here this late. She’ll know I’m up . . .”
He coughed again.
Jesus Christ. Oakley shook the water off her hand. “What’s she going to think when she finds you dead in the basement? Hang up the phone and dial 911.”
“I—”
“Stu?” a sharp voice said in the background. “What are you doing down here? Stu?”
“Oh, shit,” Stefan/Stu said between wheezes.
The dial tone buzzed in Oakley’s ear a second later.
She pulled off the wireless headset and sagged against the fridge, exhaling a long breath. Okay. It would be all right. Stu’s wife might kill him when she found him with the phone to his ear and his underwear around his ankles, but at least the guy wouldn’t die of a heart attack on Oakley’s watch.
She could handle a lot of stuff—callers threw all kinds of bizarre shit at her—but she couldn’t be responsible for helping kill one. It was bad enough that she’d just contributed to strife in another marriage.
Gold star for her.
It shouldn’t bother her. The guys who called were grown men making a conscious decision to seek out paid phone sex. She was simply the tool of choice. Another night, they may download porn and watch a dirty movie instead. If she’d learned anything during her year of doing this job, it was that it wasn’t personal. She had a job to do. The callers needed a faceless someone to fill in for their fantasy that night. The relationship was purely transactional. And hell, she’d been used for free by enough people in her past. Now she was at least paid for it and not getting emotionally annihilated in the process. But still, sometimes she felt like the drug dealer, giving addicts easy access to their vice.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to shrug off the stress of the call, and dug a tube of antibiotic ointment out of the junk drawer to slather on her burned knuckles. It was past two and she really needed to get to bed, but there was no way she’d be able to sleep after that burst of adrenaline from the call.
Plus, she’d never gotten her dessert. And right now, she could use a big honking piece of chocolate.
She went back to the brownies. They’d cooled enough by now, so she cut herself a bigger square that the original corner she’d planned and took a bite. She closed her eyes. Yeah, that’s the stuff.
After pouring a big glass of milk, she brought that and the rest of the brownie to the table. She glanced at the walkie-talkie she’d placed on the table, the soft white noise relaxing her, and leaned back in the chair to enjoy the solitude. She was used to pulling the night shift by now, but usually she fell into bed after the last call, grasping for any shreds of sleep she could get before the alarm went off to start her real job. But it was nice to sit for a moment and simply be.
She polished off the last bit of brownie and milk and brought her glass to the sink. The exhaustion was settling in full force now. She braced her hands on the edge of the counter and eyed the soaking dishes. Her mother had always had the rule to never go to bed with a dirty sink—a
s if a bright, gleaming, empty sink was some sign of how together the household was. Maybe it was.
Oakley turned away from the dishes. They’d have to wait until tomorrow. She didn’t have it in her.
She put foil over the rest of the brownies and grabbed the walkie-talkie and her headset. She should be able to get at least four hours of sleep. But right as she flipped off the light, the walkie-talkie beeped.
“Mom?”
Oakley halted, startled by the sudden break in the quiet. She pressed the button on the side of the device. “Yeah, baby?”
“What’s that smell?” Reagan asked, her voice groggy from sleep.
Oakley shook her head and smiled. She should’ve known the bionic nose would pick up that scent even in her sleep. “It’s just the brownies for your bake sale tomorrow.”
“It’s not my bake sale. It’s the school’s,” Reagan corrected.
“That’s what I meant.”
“But that’s not what you said.”
Oakley leaned against the wall in the hallway. This was an argument she’d never win. Reagan was into exactness. When Oakley told people Rae was eleven, Rae would jump in and specify how many months past eleven she was. “I’m sorry I said it wrong the first time. Now go back to sleep, sweetheart. I don’t want you to be tired in the morning.”
“Did you put nuts or caramel in them?”
“Of course not. I know you’re a brownie purist.”
“Okay. Good,” Reagan said, and Oakley could almost hear her daughter nodding. “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
Oakley pressed the walkie-talkie to her chest for a moment, warmth filling her. “Love you, too, Rae. Good night.”
Oakley headed to her bedroom, listening to the footfalls upstairs and the flush of the toilet as Reagan made a quick trip to the bathroom. She must’ve really had to go because Rae hated getting out of bed in the middle of the night. And she outright refused to come downstairs after dark—a phobia she’d developed years ago and hadn’t been able to shake yet.
