by Lynda Aicher
He shuddered and flicked the heat up higher, trying to chase away the chill that settled within him. Threesomes paid more. His cut would be nice, and he tried to remember it was all a means to the end. Yet each job was becoming almost impossible to get through.
Rock had broken him.
The actor in him was stumbling. Every time he stepped into a role for a client, it became harder to keep the mind-set. Now he could only find distance if he took that stupid blue pill. The intensity of the medically enhanced erections gave him that separation feeling he could no longer get without them. It was a physical reaction based on external stimuli, not a mental one.
But it fucked him over when he got bastards like tonight, who thought it was fun to deny him his own release. They’d brought him right to the edge, got themselves off, then kicked him out, laughing. Pricks.
They were the worst type of clients. The ones who treated him lower than dirt, even though they were the ones paying to fuck him. He gave nothing to those assholes. They only took. Get out, whore. Their parting words had reinforced what he’d already known.
They had zero respect for him.
And why should they? He’d been paid to let them use him. How could anyone respect him for that?
How could Rock?
Damn. Damn. Damn. He wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t go there.
“Fuck!” The curse rang in his ears, his shout filling the car before it was lost to the beat of the wipers and the drum of the rain. Pity parties, no matter how private, never helped. Never.
His head was so messed up. It’d been easier when he’d had one purpose, one goal. He’d known his place, did his job and cycled through life content, if not happy. Then Rock had to come along and break him. Shred apart his stability and show him how empty he’d been. Bastard.
He ran his fingers through his hair and resisted rubbing his palm over his aching dick. It would only make it worse. A shower, a quick hand job or two and blessed sleep—that was all he wanted.
The relief sagged through him when he finally turned into his condo complex. The weight seemed to press on his shoulders and drain the last of the energy that’d gotten him home. He drove through the complex on autopilot, making turns and slowing for speed bumps out of habit.
The sight of his building was a blessed relief. Safety. He’d made it home physically unharmed. That was always a victory of sorts.
The rain slashed across the halos of pale yellow glow from the light posts lining the drive. Their illumination was muted but clear enough to show the big black truck parked in the visitor spot next to his condo.
He jerked his foot off the gas pedal, hands clenching the steering wheel in an effort to deny what he saw. Rock’s truck.
What the fuck is he doing here? He didn’t want to see him. Not now. God, please, not now.
He wasn’t prepared. He’d never wanted Rock to see him like this. Not with the stink of other men clinging to him. Not when he was at his weakest.
His car eased past Rock’s truck, but he refused to look at it. Rock fucking wasn’t supposed to be there. The more the thought repeated in his mind, the easier it was to let his anger build. It covered the open wound within him and let him find that shell of distance he’d expertly wielded with clients—and everyone else—for years.
This was his life. This was who he was. If he couldn’t own that, then he really was nothing. And he refused to be that.
The rain poured down outside his garage, obscuring the distance that spanned to Rock’s truck, but he was in there. Carter didn’t doubt that. He stared through the darkness, numb before he turned away and entered his condo, shutting the garage door as he did.
Maybe Rock would go. There was the faint chance he’d get the hint and leave him alone like Carter wanted. Needed.
He set his phone on the kitchen counter, popped another mint and headed toward his bedroom. The knock rang clear and loud through the room before his foot hit the first stair. He closed his eyes, the sound seeming to push him from behind. He clutched the handrail and prayed Rock would go away.
The insistent rap of a second round of knocking eliminated that possibility.
Damn it. Fucking…
Really? This was what Rock wanted? To see him used and soiled? For what purpose?
Carter spun around, his stride determined. His spine became a steel rod down his back, matching the iciness that hardened over his brittle core. All emotion drained out of him, his face becoming a neutral mask as he flicked the locks open.
He swung the door open to see exactly what he expected. Rock stood there in the darkness illuminated only by the faint light that came down the hallway from the kitchen. The rain had left its wet remains on his jacket, jeans and the short stubble of his hair. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his expression blank, like the first time they met.
Carter gave him a long scan down and up then looked straight into those pale-blue eyes. “What do you want?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The knot in Rock’s stomach tightened another degree. Carter’s icy reception said everything.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“Why?” Carter’s face was masked in shadows, his body blocking the entry and most of the light that managed to stretch down the hall. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the porch light. Like the closed garage door, it was another indication that he didn’t want Rock there.
It didn’t matter. He wasn’t leaving. “I was worried.”
“I’m fine.” The flatness of the response said otherwise.
Rock pushed on Carter’s chest to get him to back up, but the man didn’t budge. He stepped up, undeterred by the blatant dismissals. “I don’t believe you.”
Carter glared down at him. A snarl curled over his lips before he flung the door wide and strode down the hall without a word.
There was no sense of victory as Rock closed the door behind him. The only light in the house came from the kitchen that Carter had disappeared into. He took a slow breath and paused to remove his wet boots and coat. It was a courtesy hounded in by his mother that he used to collect himself. Anger wouldn’t help, nor would any amount of defensiveness.
The carpet silenced his steps as he made his way to the kitchen. Carter leaned on the counter, his head tipped back as he sucked down a long drink of beer. The blue button-up shirt was untucked, the hem wrinkled where it hung over his black slacks. It could’ve been an attempt to get comfortable, but his sleeves were still firmly buttoned around his wrists and there was only one button undone at his collar.
“What happened?” Rock wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he burned with the need to help. His man was hurting. He was overcome with the urge to pull him into his arms and hold him. He took a step forward to do just that, but Carter’s sharp glare brought him to a halt. “What?”
“Just go, okay?” Carter closed his eyes as he inhaled. “You don’t want to be here.”
“You’re wrong. I do.”
His eyes snapped open, the glacial hardness within them cold enough to freeze. “Then respect the fact that I don’t want you here.”
The barb hurt, but Rock let it slide off him. If anything, it made him more determined to stay. “Why?”
Carter slammed his bottle down and shoved away from the counter. “Why? Really? Because I need to take care of this.” He whipped up the tails of his shirt, his erection clearly outlined against the clean lines of his slacks. “It hurts like a fucking bitch.”
His eyes blazed with a hatred and defiance that would’ve had a weaker man running. But Rock wasn’t weak or running. He still had no idea what had happened at Carter’s appointment, yet he’d come here to help and this he could do.
He closed in on Carter, holding his gaze with a hard one of his own. He didn’t look away from the icy blue eyes that dared him to breach the cold as he undid Carter’s belt buckle. His movements were crisp and efficient where he should be lingering. He let his fingers brush over the smooth expanse of skin over Carter’s
waist. He leaned in, the musky sent of sex catching in his nose. Wincing, he pushed the flash of revulsion aside and kept going.
Carter whipped his head back and away, his nostrils flaring with the hiss of his deep inhale. “Don’t.” The rasp in his voice held the pain he refused to talk about. “God. Just go.”
Even the clear note of desperation didn’t push Rock to the door. “I’m not leaving.” He slid the belt from the pant loops and tossed it blindly behind him. The clatter of the buckle and leather against the hardwood kitchen floor sounded cold and impartial.
“You should,” Carter rasped. His hands fisted at his sides as Rock popped the button then eased the zipper down.
“I’m not.”
Carter’s skin was fiery hot when Rock slid his hand beneath Carter’s briefs to fist his raging, hard cock. A tortured moan rang through the air at the same time that Carter’s hips bucked forward, forcing himself through the clench of Rock’s fist.
“Damn,” Rock mumbled under his breath. He eased his hand up and down, the action made easier by the slick wetness that covered the head.
Carter sucked in another breath, the air rushing between his teeth to cut a high sound through the room. The tendons on Carter’s neck were stretched tight, his face scrunched into a grimace that was far from pleasure.
“What happened to you?”
He sunk to his knees, shoving Carter’s pants and briefs out of the way. His erection jutted out between the tails of his shirt. The head was a deep, angry red, glistening in the harsh light. The shaft was only a shade lighter. The vein on the underside was more prominent than usual.
“Don’t.” Carter shoved him away, stumbling back as he tripped over his pants. He caught himself on the counter, his back to Rock. “You don’t want your mouth on that.”
Rock sat back on heels, lost. “Then what can I do?”
Carter kicked off his pants in frustrated jerks, fisted himself and glared over his shoulder. “Since you won’t give me your ass, you might as well get the fuck out.” He threw down the dare on a snarl laced with contempt that was certainly meant to scare Rock away.
It wouldn’t work.
Rock stood. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Carter had one hand braced on the counter. The other stroked his dick behind the cover of his turned back, but he wasn’t exactly trying to hide what he was doing. His pace increased, his breaths quickening. Each intake was shallow as he huffed in the air.
The sight would’ve been beyond erotic under different circumstance. But this wasn’t about sex or them. It was cold and distant. Still, Rock’s dick was half-interested. The visual Carter cut was gorgeous in a strong, angry way.
A low grunt was the precursor to an orgasm that snapped Carter’s shoulders back. His knees bent, neck stretching as moaning exhales ripped through the room at close intervals. Come shot across the counter and down the front of the cupboard, the volume and force somewhat stunning.
Yeah, that did it. Rock was fully hard now. His adjusted himself in his jeans but otherwise held still.
Carter sagged against the counter, his back heaving in the aftermath. After a minute he moved to the sink, quickly washing his hands. “You still here?” he asked, as he was drying off, back still to Rock.
“You feel better?”
Carter’s cutting laugh was edged with glass. He whipped the towel onto the counter and spun around. “Does this look like I’m better?” His dick pointed out from his groin, as hard and dark as it’d been before. His orgasm had done nothing to ease his state.
“What’d you take?” There was no way that was naturally obtained and sustained. He knew his lover and that was not normal.
Carter undid his shirt, each button popping open in quick succession before he released the ones at his wrists. “Does it matter?” He whipped the shirt off and tossed it on the pile of clothing in the corner. He didn’t look at Rock as he grabbed a towel, wiped it over his stomach then moved to clean up the mess he’d made on the counter.
Not really. Rock had no medical knowledge on what to do anyway. If he had a computer, he could dig up answers fast, but now he only had his instincts to guide him.
He pulled his sweatshirt over his head then his T-shirt, both dropping silently to the floor. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket and fished out the condom, tossing it on the counter. The snap popped on his jeans, and Carter whipped around, eyes wide. He appeared stunned as Rock lowered the zipper and shoved the rest of his clothing to the floor.
“What are you doing?”
Rock looked up, straightening. “Helping you.” It was so simple to him. They stared at each other for several long breaths before he turned around, braced his hands on the counter and spread his legs. It wasn’t how he’d imagined his first time bottoming, but maybe this would get through to his boyfriend.
When Carter didn’t react, Rock looked over his shoulder to find the man frozen in place, his face a stone cold mask. “Come on. Take it.”
Carter shook his head and backed up a step. “No.”
His stomach churning, Rock sucked on his fingers then reached back and prodded his entry. He pushed a finger in. The pressure was unexpected, but he didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t bad, just different. He slipped a second one in, forcing the stretch that burned.
“Stop it,” Carter growled.
Rock looked back to see Carter’s eyes glued on his ass. Yeah, you want this. The muscles loosened and Rock moved his fingers, plunging them in as far as he could reach. God, that was almost good.
Carter stormed out of the kitchen, the air breezing over Rock’s skin as he passed.
“Where are you going?”
A drawer banged in the living room and a second later Carter returned. He slammed the bottle of lube on the counter next to Rock, his intentions clear. He grabbed Rock’s wrist, pulling his fingers from his body. “Christ.” He snatched up the lube. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” The cold liquid hit Rock’s crack without warning and he flinched. “You have to push. Big bad Rock trying to help his pathetic boyfriend.”
“You’re not pathetic,” Rock growled.
“You want this?” Carter pushed a finger into Rock, quickly followed by a second. “Tell me to stop, Rock.” He sawed the digits in and out, his movements hard and jarring.
Rock folded his arms on the counter and rested his forehead on them as he spread his legs wider. “No.” His refusal was met with another hard plunge and, based on the added burn, the addition of another finger. He gritted his teeth, holding in the sounds that rose in his throat. There was no way he was backing off.
“Damn you.” The curse was low, the anger tangible. “Goddamn you.”
A sharp bolt of pure pleasure shot through Rock, sailing through his groin straight to his dick. Holy fuck, that was…Carter hit the gland again, and Rock cried out, his knees going weak. Of course he knew about that spot, but having it stroked was beyond incredible.
He ground his forehead into his arms and tried to control the urge to shove back into Carter. It didn’t work. The burn was long gone, replaced by pleasure building in giant leaps, filling his balls and dick until he pumped his hips, uncontrollably seeking more.
Carter removed his fingers and snatched the condom off the counter. Rock opened his eyes to see his dick jutting hard from his groin. He caught his breath but held his pose, unsure if his legs would hold him if he straightened up.
“You ready for this?”
The blunt end of Carter’s cock nudged at his hole as he spread Rock’s ass cheeks. The air cooled the lube for a second then Carter was pushing in, breaching the stretched muscles, forcing them wider.
The sensation was intense. The burn mixed with the filling pressure was both wrong and right. Rock tried to process what he was feeling, but it was no use. There was only the hard grip on his hips and the slow slide of Carter into him until they were groin to ass, Carter deep inside him.
“I’m going to fuck you now.�
� The low grit of Carter’s voice held no warmth.
Rock only nodded because words weren’t possible. Carter eased out, his descent coming easier the second time as Rock’s muscles relaxed. That…that was good. The pace increased, each drive hitting deep, shoving Rock forward until he was forced to brace his hands on the edge of the counter to keep from sliding across it.
Grunts came out with every thrust, both of them responding to the primal urge that drove the movement. This was far from tender. Too basic to be called intimate. This was fucking, pure and simple.
Carter leaned forward, his angle shifted to hit Rock in that sweet spot that had stars exploding behind his eyelids. “Come on, Rock.” He grabbed Rock’s dick, stroking it with a fury that matched the pump of his hips. “Come, you fucker.”
On basic principle, Rock wanted to resist. Yet it was impossible to deny what his body wanted. Carter clutched his free hand around Rock’s shoulder, using the leverage to nail him harder, each stoke hitting with purpose.
Rock’s resolve broke and he shoved back to meet each thrust, skin slapping skin, the sucking, slick sounds of sex filling the air around their blended grunts of pleasure. It was impossible to stop the flaming rush of his orgasm. He reared back, arching into the blast that flooded him with heat, clenching his muscles as he strained against the intensity.
“Fuck. Fuck.” Carter grabbed him around the chest and pulled him up, thrusting twice more before he ground into him. He jerked a few more times then went still.
Rock collapsed onto the counter, Carter following him down to sprawl across his back. Rock’s heart beat a rapid pace that didn’t seem to be slowing at all. What had just happened?
His legs were starting to shake when Carter pushed up and pulled out. The last flare of burn snapped at Rock with a bitter reminder of what was wrong. They didn’t fuck—until now.
The silence was broken by the slam of the trash lid and the rush of water into the sink. There were no words that would right what they’d just done. Rock silently cursed his foolishness. He’d been so fucking arrogant.
