Thankfully Krista appeared right then, dragging a suitcase and beaming at her dad. Meghan was bringing up the rear, carrying her own overloaded bag and already talking about the weekend. Logan ushered them out of the apartment as quickly as was decent. When Linda reminded him to have the girls back on time on Sunday, it was all he could do not to enthusiastically retort, “Don’t worry!”
On the short drive to his apartment, Logan let the happy chatter of the girls flow over him while he contemplated his plans for Sunday afternoon. A brushfire of shame burned through him as he considered the reason he had no intention of getting his daughters back home late. What would they think? What would his daughters, or his wife—or anyone—say if they knew? Knew that Logan was counting the hours until he could be with a man? Logan understood precisely what they’d think and was well acquainted with the words they’d fling at him. He’d heard it all often enough from his father and brother.
Well, they don’t know, Logan argued back to his scolding conscience. No one does—or has to. He didn’t care that meeting Nick wouldn’t solve any of his problems, might even make some worse. For the first time in a long while, Logan Crane had done exactly what he’d wanted to do. For the first time ever, he’d tasted pure freedom and unfettered joy—and no power on earth was going to stop him from going back for more.
Chapter 11:
Things We Give
Secrets are things we give to others to keep for us.
—Elbert Hubbard
THOUGH LOGAN was watching his elder daughter, his body was attuned to the ticking of the clock behind him. He’d hoped to feed the girls their lunch quickly, since it was already after twelve, but Krista was taking longer to make a sandwich than Logan did to shop for the fixings. “Somethin’ wrong, Krista?”
“Is this all you’ve got?” She waved her hand dismissively at the paper-wrapped packages of cold cuts.
“Bologna and chip-chopped ham, yeah. What’s the problem?”
Krista’s mouth twitched before replying, “They’re both so fattening, Dad. You know I only eat turkey breast.”
As a matter of fact, Logan didn’t know that but figured it best not to admit it. Was this something recent? He could have sworn she used to love chip-chopped ham….
In the meantime, Meghan munched potato chips and toyed with her meal. Pulling a slice of bologna out from between the pieces of bread, she surveyed it, saying, “Maybe we should’ve gone out for lunch.”
Logan shook his head at both girls, sighing, “We went out for lunch and dinner yesterday.” He plunked his own sandwich on a paper plate and parked himself at the small table across from Meghan. “I gotta get you girls home in less ’an a hour, and you ain’t even packed up yet. If you don’t want a sandwich, Krista, there’s canned soup in the cupboard.”
“Soup?” Krista exclaimed, her tone more appropriate to a suggestion of fresh blood than Campbell’s tomato soup. “It’s too hot for that.”
To Logan’s thinking, both girls had seemed frequently peevish and whiny over the weekend, so he had trouble dredging up much sympathy for Krista’s dilemma. “Then if you don’t wanna go hungry, I guess you’ll have to settle for ham or bologna.”
With nothing more than an exaggerated sigh and a roll of her eyes, Krista complied with her dad’s directive, though she only deigned to fix a half-sandwich.
Twenty minutes later, on the drive to the Palisade Manor apartment, Meghan’s cat was on her mind—as it had been for much of the visit. “Boots is sure gonna be happy to see me. Poor little guy, I hope he wasn’t too lonely.” She turned to her dad, speculating, “Maybe we can bring him with us next time. Whaddya think?”
His eyes still on the road, Logan countered, “My landlady doesn’t allow pets, honey. I’m sure your cat was just fine with your mom.”
“Nuh-uh! He sleeps with me, Dad, and Mom doesn’t let him up in her bed.”
Logan was tempted to ask Meghan if her damn cat was more important than spending time with her dad, but he refrained from posing the question since, in the first place, he wasn’t sure he’d win that contest, and in the second place, his mind was mostly fixed on his upcoming rendezvous with Nick.
Actually his mind had been on Nick for most of the morning, but now his body was getting into the act. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his pulse sped up whenever he thought of how soon he’d be seeing the man in the flesh. Literally.
When they pulled up in front of the apartment building, Logan considered just dropping the girls off at the door, since his chance of making it to the motel in Pittsburgh by two p.m. was growing slimmer; moreover, he had no desire for another encounter with Linda. It was a short struggle with his conscience. No way was he going to let his little girls drag their suitcases up the stairs unassisted.
The reward for his sacrifice was a stilted exchange with Linda and a five-minute introduction to Boots that included Meghan talking for the cat in a high-pitched, singsong voice and insisting “Dad” give his kitten son a peck on the head.
After a hurried conference about next week’s visitation, Logan made good his escape. He clattered down the staircase, musing that he had a much more satisfactory kissing partner in the offing. He squealed into the parking lot of the Motel Six on two wheels at five minutes after two, half-relieved, half-concerned that there was no sign of Nick’s black Jeep. He shed his disappointment with the thought that Nick was often a little late and there was no real need for worry. Nick wasn’t the kind of guy to stand somebody up.
Besides, the delay afforded Logan a chance to pay for the room this time—he didn’t want Nick paying every time they got together. Back when Logan was meeting up with Linda, he’d always paid for the motel, and he didn’t need Nick treating him like some goddamn girl. As he sat in the truck waiting, jiggling the room key and thinking over that last encounter while stewing about the upcoming one, Logan started to get annoyed that Nick hadn’t given him the chance to split the cost of the room the previous Sunday. Maybe he’s already treatin’ me like a fuckin’ woman… and he don’t even know yet that I… that maybe I…. Logan felt all the spit dry up in his mouth, and he swallowed several times before he could moisten his tongue enough to breath easily.
The previous night, Logan had lain awake long after he’d heard the girls drift off to sleep on his sofa bed. The cause for his insomnia wasn’t the hard floorboards underneath him but rather his restless mind. He couldn’t help wondering what they were going to do this time. Would it be like last time? Or would they do more? If so, how was it that two men decided which way it would go? Did Nick have any idea what Logan wanted? And the biggest question of all: did Logan even want Nick to know?
Now, so close to time zero, those same questions pressed on Logan more insistently. Staring at the floorboard, trying to get his wayward nerves and frenzied emotions under control, Logan was startled by a rap on the passenger window. All of his anxiety, all of his worry and frustrations, were blown away when he caught sight of a smiling Nick Zales.
Logan felt himself smiling back—an instantaneous, involuntary reaction; a smile that required more than just his lips and teeth. It called his heart and mind up for duty, too. Before he could shut it down, an acknowledgment flitted through his mind: heretofore, that particular smile had been reserved for his daughters alone.
NICK’S EFFORT to get to the hospital as soon as visiting hours allowed so he could spend a few hours with his mom before racing to the motel was well rewarded when he saw Logan’s slow-burning smile spark into full flame.
Neither man was smiling when they slipped unobtrusively into the room—number six, this time—a minute later. Nick was surprised by how much anxiety was mixed with his arousal; his tension wasn’t alleviated by noting that Logan looked distinctly pale. Shit, what the hell is wrong with us?
When he saw Logan turn to the nightstand and drop his watch onto it, Nick decided to simply follow his instincts. For seven long days, he’d been aching to touch this man, so he quickly advanced on Logan and
slipped his arms around that slim, masculine waist. With his head on Logan’s shoulder, Nick whispered, “I missed you.”
Logan’s gruff reply, “It’s only been a week,” was belied by the way he sagged back against Nick and pulled Nick’s arms tighter to his body.
Nick lifted his lips from the path they were making across Logan’s neck long enough to murmur, “Sure seemed longer.”
While his tongue laved a madly pulsing artery, Nick heard Logan gasp, “Yeah, you’re right.”
Since his mouth was still lingering over the taste of salty skin, Nick made no answer. His hands were busy unbuttoning Logan’s shirt. Logan groaned as he turned and thrust his tongue into Nick’s mouth. The kiss became complicated by their effort to continue disrobing without breaking contact.
Nick’s fevered mind finally admitted the futility of that endeavor, and he pushed back slightly so he could pull Logan’s jeans down. His eyes were immediately drawn to the bulge in the faded boxers. Nick cupped his hand around Logan’s swelling cock, enjoying the heat and hardness and the way it jumped at his touch. His trance was broken when Logan grabbed his hands and pulled them up to facilitate the removal of Nick’s T-shirt as he rumbled, “You’re wearin’ too much.”
Seconds later, both were naked, and their bodies collided with a force that knocked the breath from Nick’s lungs, nearly knocked the sense from him, too. The thrill from a full-contact kiss was just as strong as before—far better than the memory he’d played over and over to get him through the week. Blazing lust shot through him, leaving him dizzy with the need to push Logan down on the bed, climb on him, and rut like a wild ram.
Fortunately, the presence of mind it took to consider the logistics of his impulse put Nick’s brain back in the driver’s seat long enough to kill that plan entirely. Instead, he took a deep breath and stepped back. Logan gulped air like a drowning man and shot him a quizzical look.
Nick grabbed his discarded shorts and retrieved a small box of condoms and some lube from the pockets. When he noticed Logan watching, Nick smiled and winked at him. His attempt at reassurance seemed unsuccessful. He tossed the stuff on the bedside table and flicked the bedspread down, but Logan was frozen in place, eyes wide. Nick slid onto the bed and patted the space next to him, saying, “Come on, let’s get comfortable.”
Logan did stretch out next to him but looked anything but comfortable. After giving him a second, it became clear Logan wasn’t going to break his silence, so Nick said, “I thought we should talk ’bout what… what you’d like… to do.” Logan’s body stiffened beside him, and his dick was now at half-mast. Nick pulled him closer, running a lazy hand across the still-heated chest. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “We ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t want. I just need to know… you know, what it is you do want.”
Logan’s brow crinkled as though in puzzlement or deep concentration; he reached out to brush his fingers through Nick hair, gaze fixed on the motion. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, finally dropping his eyes to Nick’s face to ask, “What do you like to do?”
“Everything,” Nick laughed. When that answer didn’t relax Logan, Nick clarified, “I like what we did last week. I love blow jobs—giving and getting—and I like to fuck, like that a whole lot, and also gettin’ fucked. Any of that sound appealing?”
Rather than helping, Nick’s list seemed to have put Logan further on edge; he was staring at the sheets, and Nick was concerned that Logan’s jaw might crack from the strain of his tightly clenched teeth. He reached over and caressed Logan’s chin, pulling it up slightly so Nick could see into those liquid blue eyes. The desperate yearning he found there just about broke his heart. “What’s wrong?”
A shuddering sigh broke through Logan’s defenses, and he whispered, “So… you’ve let guys do that, huh? To you.”
“What?” Nick queried, though he was beginning to see a streak of daylight in the dark mystery that was Logan Crane. “Fuck me? Sure,” he shrugged. “I like it, so why not?”
Logan bit his lip until it looked close to bleeding before answering with a frown, “You know what they say….” He nodded glumly at Nick before continuing. “About takin’ it up the ass.”
With a toss of his head, Nick retorted, “Sure, I know what they say about takin’ it up the ass; they use it like some terrible insult. Just like ‘cocksucker’. Well, I do take it up the ass, and I am a cocksucker, Logan, and I like it that way. And I ain’t gonna let some empty-headed bigots ruin it for me.” Nick leaned in and gave Logan a quick kiss before running his tongue across his stubbled jaw. Defiant amusement punctuated his whispered assertion. “I never knew a guy who threw that word around who for sure didn’t want his own dick sucked. Maybe that’s their problem.”
Nick got to his knees and straddled Logan, licking and suck-kissing his way down his sweat-covered neck onto the lightly furred chest. Directing a saucy smile up over the hills of muscled flesh, Nick teased, “See if you find anything insulting about this.” By the time he’d worked his way down to the groin, it was clear that Logan’s cock had no issue with Nick’s intent.
When he finally took Logan into his mouth, Nick nearly swooned with relief. It felt like he’d been dying to do this for ages. Starting his assault, greedily sucking and slurping, Nick considered the difficulties involved in giving a guy a blow job for the first time—no knowing for sure what he liked, how much pressure, how much attention to the balls, a little teeth action okay or unwelcome…. So why did Nick feel absolutely confident, feel like he knew exactly what Logan wanted? And why, based on the reaction, was he right?
By the time Logan jackknifed off the bed and erupted into his mouth, Nick no longer cared. This wild trip was too good to miss; he was just going to hang on and enjoy the ride. He swallowed down the bitter, salty essence of the man beneath him, already hungry for more—not more seed, but more of Logan. More, especially, of this Logan grinning down at him, eyes glazed with sated lust. Nick pulled himself up to the head of the bed so he could kiss this apparently happy man, almost forgetting his own stiff, leaking cock until he felt it engulfed in a heated clasp and heard Logan growl, “Your turn.”
“Damn straight.”
Nick’s intention to crack wise about his own ironic answer was stopped cold by Logan’s husky murmur. “So, what do you want?”
Running his tongue around Logan’s ear and chewing on the lobe gave Nick a second to think. Deciding his request would probably do as much for Logan as himself, he finally whispered, “I’d like to be inside you, Logan. What do you think about that?”
Logan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, once, twice, before answering, “I think….” He flicked a heated glance at Nick from beneath his lashes. “I think we should do that.”
Trying to ignore his own impatient, rising need, Nick slowly readied Logan to be entered, all the while searching his eyes for reluctance or distress, finding nothing except determination that quickly yielded to pleasure and wonder. Before rolling on the condom, Nick said, “The first time it’s better, easier… from behind.” Breathing heavily and growing ever more erect, Logan wordlessly complied.
As quickly as he dared, Nick moved into position and slid home—a private phrase he’d always used to describe that mind-numbing sensation of being suddenly engulfed in heat and pressure. “Sliding home”—previously, he’d always associated the term with baseball, with a goal achieved, but for the first time ever, Nick joined his body with another man and felt that “home” was a place he’d found, one he’d been missing his entire life, one he’d been looking for, aching for, without ever acknowledging the quest.
Though he had intended to draw out this first bout of lovemaking as much as possible, once engaged, Nick’s body took over. He’d been craving this connection too long to go slow, to be gentle, to savor. As soon as he heard Logan’s hoarse shout and felt him flowing over his hand, Nick let loose, giving in to an orgasm that pulled him under a crashing wave of ecstasy. He collapsed onto Logan, pushing them fl
at onto the mattress, sweat welding their skin together.
When Nick regained his senses, he quickly took care of the condom and spooned around Logan’s heavy, warm, slack form. Taking a second to enjoy the tranquil pleasure of the moment, he ran a hand down Logan’s arm, asking, “How do you feel?”
A contented murmur of “Good,” came from Logan’s side of the bed.
Propping himself up on one elbow, Nick teased, “Just good?”
Logan rolled to face Nick, giving him a mock shove as he rejoined playfully, “Fishing for compliments, Zales? You know it was great… right?”
“Well, I know it was for me,” Nick shot back, grabbing Logan’s hand from his shoulder and holding on tight.
“Me, too,” Logan confirmed. “Can’t remember the last time….”
“Yeah?”
Logan shook his head, directing his attention to their clasped hands. After a few deep breaths, he continued, “I can’t remember ’cause… it was never like that before—not for me.”
Rather than admitting that on a certain level, he felt the same way, Nick asked, “Why? Why’d you wait so long? Just because of what happened to your friend?”
Pulling his hand free, Logan levered himself into a sitting position. “Just because? Jesus, Nick! Do you know what it was like? Seein’ that and knowin’ my own brother—”
“Your brother?” Nick sprang up to face Logan, exclaiming, “Your brother was the one who did that?”
“Yeah,” Logan admitted, running a hand across his forehead. “I knew it as soon as I seen Jerry on the floor.” He turned sorrow-filled eyes on Nick as he explained, “They was in the same grade, so Jim knew when Jerry had his short days and headed to the shop. ’Sides, Jim had a key to our dad’s garage, same as me.” Seeming lost in a far-off memory, Logan’s gaze drifted to the window as he snorted, “Knew right away it was Jim. Sure as hell it was him and that rotten friend of his, George Syches.”
Dreamspinner Press Year Four Greatest Hits Page 115
