Bad Boyfriend

by K.A. Mitchell

  Eli slung his arms around Quinn’s neck. The spot where the tie had rubbed Eli’s wrists tingled as he touched Quinn’s skin. “Convince me. Show me how you’ll put out.”

  Quinn did.

  He put Eli on his side and went into him from behind, short strokes that rubbed in the best possible way. Explosions of hot pleasure inside and the thick shaft delivering all the friction he could take.

  It tore away Eli’s breath, but he managed to gasp, “Harder. More.”

  Quinn’s hips kept up that stutter while his hands roved over Eli’s body, lips and tongue and teeth on his neck. Eli squirmed when Quinn’s hand evaded the thrust of Eli’s dick toward it. Instead, fingers rolled over and tugged on his balls, nails scraped the inside of his thighs, and then God, the pressure on the skin between. Pressure to make everything draw up tight and sweet as heat gathered in the tip of Eli’s cock and spilled a tingle of warmth over the head.

  “Wanna come.” But when Eli reached for his dick, Quinn slapped his hand away.

  “And I want you to wait.” Quinn went back to rubbing under Eli’s balls, but then shifted to a grip pulling Eli’s ass open wider, a hard deep thrust forcing release closer even while Quinn kept him from getting there.

  “Please.”

  Quinn had to know what that extra stretch was doing to him, the aching pleasure of it. Fuck yeah, he knew, because he sent a flicking finger hard against the tight skin between balls and ass, a spike of pain so sweet Eli jumped and reached back to find anything to hold onto, any way to coax Quinn into letting him go.

  “Gonna be better if you wait.”

  It was so damned good right now, perfect even, and then Quinn eased off and went back to nailing Eli’s gland with a rolling thrust of his hips, a build-build-build of pressure and nowhere for it to go.

  When Eli reached for his cock again, Quinn captured his hands more securely than the tie. Soft humid kisses on his neck, under his ear, and Eli was frantic. Too full, too much. He slammed his hips back against Quinn, forcing the friction faster, sharper. Quinn kept Eli’s hands trapped in one of his and slid the free hand around Eli’s thigh to pin him close, slow them down to nothing but that aching, perfect thrust.

  Every game Eli had played, tied spread-eagle, a hand or paddle bruising his ass, a flogger stinging into his crack, nothing had ever forced surrender on him like this deep, gentle fuck from Quinn. Eli had thought he liked to give up control, take a break for awhile and let a man push sensation onto his body. This was different.

  Terrifying.

  Because this was what it was like to really lose control. To let Quinn inside, to let him make Eli feel so much more than the amazing sensations of bodies together.

  And inside that surrender was safety. Quinn around him, voice in his ear whispering, “I’ve got you. Let me make you feel good, honey.”

  Eli stopped trying to pull their hands down to his dick and wiped the sweat off his face on his shoulder. Quinn didn’t let him go though, but used the hand on Eli’s thigh to guide them. Deep thrusts that made Eli’s belly loose, quick jerks against his gland that made his belly tighten as he tried to hold on to the dizzying pleasure.

  His body was under Quinn’s control but his mind spit out one last try. “Please let me come.” The release was there, full and hot, flooding his balls, his ass. Still nowhere to go.

  Quinn’s only answer was a soft kiss under his ear that became a sharp, shivering bite.

  Eli gave in.

  Let Quinn move his body, move through him and in him, like water rushing, wearing down every barrier, washing it all away. Eli couldn’t tell where one wave ended and another one started as heat rolled up his cock, but when Quinn finally wrapped a hand around Eli’s shaft, hard desperate friction, those little waves of pleasure turned into a waterfall, throwing him over and slamming him under.

  Somehow his hands got free, and he clutched on to any part of Quinn his searching fingers could find. Hair, skin, muscle, bone. Because the come bursting out of his balls was going to wash him away if he didn’t hang on. Quinn was right there with him, whispering hoarse yeah, fuck yeah, honey’s in Eli’s ear.

  Eli’s heart kept on pounding. Eli had had sex before. Lots of sex. Kinky sex. That hadn’t just been sex. If he were in someone else’s bed, he’d sneak off to try to figure out if that made him happy or scared to death. But that escape wasn’t possible.

  Quinn made a snorting gasp and collapsed against his back. Eli had never been more appreciative of whatever chemical it was in a guy’s brain that made him want to flop over and sleep after coming. Right now, the beauty of a Y chromosome saved him from having to look at Quinn, or talk to Quinn. And, as Eli’s eyelids got too heavy to lift, those chemicals kept him from lying here having to think about what had just happened.

  Quinn had never been on a date in his life. In the Navy, trying to date would have been asking to get tossed out. He’d fucked guys, but that was as far as it went. Then he’d been with Peter. After that, he’d done a repeat, fucking, not dating.

  It didn’t have to be complicated. He’d pick Eli up, they’d go do something, talk and see if they liked each other out of bed—and out of range of the family—and hopefully make plans for date number two.

  The hopefully part was what kept Quinn squeezing the steering wheel as he obediently waited outside Eli’s apartment. There had to be another date. Because Quinn couldn’t picture going back to his life before Eli had exploded into it. Couldn’t go back to everything so peaceful and flat and boring. So this would work. Quinn would make it work.

  Even now he’d listened to Eli’s insistence that Quinn not come up to the apartment, though he’d been hungry to see him for the first time in over a week.

  Eli slammed the door as he came out, then tugged down his black leather motorcycle jacket. A bright flash of magenta showed underneath and his usual tight black jeans finished off the outfit. Quinn found himself smiling as Eli threw himself into the car in some kind of snit.

  “What made me think it would be easier to have girls for roommates?”

  “Are they still pissed about last week?” When Quinn had called to set up a time and day, Eli had complained about sitting through a house meeting where they discussed an appropriate noise level for overnight guests and that some warning about finding a man in the bathroom at four in the morning would be appreciated. Like knocking wouldn’t have been better. Like they didn’t already live with a man. It’s like they don’t think I have a dick, Eli had complained.

  “Not they,” Eli countered. “She. Sam was probably listening and jacking off, or jilling off, or whatever it is girls do. But Dana goes along with whatever Marcy says.”

  No time like now to start a conversation. “So you don’t bring guys home very often?”

  “Try never. There’s barely enough space in that room for me.”

  “I thought we fit.”

  “Because you had your dick up my ass.”

  The flood of memories had an instant effect on the fit of Quinn’s jeans. Eli’s dark hair against his skin, the way his eyes looked black and deep, the smell of his body, the sounds in his throat and the feel of him around Quinn’s body. Suddenly, taking Eli back to Quinn’s house in Mount Washington seemed like a better plan. “That was my favorite part of it.”

  “So we can skip the rented shoes and Verna and go right to fucking?”

  If Quinn played this right, there’d be lots and lots of fucking. He was old enough to wait. “And disappoint her? Date first, dick in ass later.”

  “Killjoy.”

  Despite the out-of-place Southwestern-style roofing and stucco on Sunset Lanes in Towson, the place was bright and clean and had decent Tex-Mex food—decent enough that people sometimes went there to eat even if they weren’t bowling. Best of all, a gay bowling league met tonight, so Eli might not be able to get in as many complaints about closeted suburbia.

  “Damn,” Eli said as Quinn parked in the strip mall. “I should have brought my laundry.” He n
odded at the laundromat next door.

  “Now who’s going for unsexy?” Quinn grabbed his bowling bag from behind the seat.

  “Laundry can be very sexy. The vibrating machines, cotton hot and fresh from the dryer, all that time to kill. Seriously?” Eli looked at his bag. “You have your own ball?”

  “And shoes. How unsexy did I just get?”

  “I may have to reset my plans for later. I don’t know if I can do that with a man who has his own bowling ball. Is it pink at least?”

  “Gray.”

  Eli shook his head, a mournful expression tugging his lips down at the corners. Quinn had been looking forward to seeing Eli again, but somehow had forgotten the effect Eli had on the rest of the world. Once inside, Eli slung his jacket over his shoulder, revealing a vintage-looking bowling shirt in eye-watering magenta complete with black piping and his name stitched over the left breast pocket. He wiggled his ass over to get shoes while Quinn paid for a lane. By the time Eli was bending over to lace up his rented shoes, all the guys in the league two lanes over were staring their way.

  Jamie came over and smacked Quinn’s shoulder before stepping around him to offer a hand to Eli.

  “I’m Jamie. So, are you what Quinn’s been doing with himself the past couple of weeks?”

  “He wishes.” Eli shot Quinn a narrow-eyed glance. “Don’t you go anywhere alone?”

  “I used to bowl in their league two years ago,” Quinn explained.

  “He gave it up when Thursday was the only night what’s-his-name was home.” Jamie tipped his beer to his lips.

  Before Quinn could unzip his bag, four other guys had joined them. Terry, who was in his late forties, was offering to show Eli how to keep score, despite the fact that the computerized lanes did it automatically. Quinn squeezed Terry’s shoulder as he bent over Eli.

  “I’m showing him how to enter the names,” Terry said with a wolf-like grin.

  “Thank you.” Eli gave Terry that sexy blink Quinn wanted to keep to himself.

  A spark of anger tightened Quinn’s fists. “Aren’t some of you in the middle of a game?”

  “Not me,” Terry said.

  “Can I get you a beer, Eli?” Jamie offered.

  “Ginger ale,” Eli said, eyes wide, the angelic look suggesting he wasn’t old enough for beer.

  “Enough, assholes.” Quinn hauled Terry up from the scorer’s chair he was sharing with Eli and shoved him in the direction of the other lanes. “Clear out.” Quinn turned to Eli. “What was that about?” he demanded.

  “They’re your friends.” Eli shot to his feet to face him. “I thought this was supposed to be a date. Which, despite my limited experience, doesn’t involve ten people.”

  “I knew they’d be here, but I thought…” Quinn was no longer certain why he’d thought being here with them was a good idea.

  Eli tipped his chin up, a smile starting to curve his lips. “Were you showing me off?”

  Quinn hadn’t really thought he’d need backup. Maybe he had been. Maybe he’d wanted to see what color Eli could add to another part of Quinn’s old life. “And if I was?”

  “Your chances of getting blown later just improved dramatically.” Eli tapped his arm and waved down the lane. “So give me some pointers.”

  Quinn wished he’d taken Eli fly-fishing somewhere in the middle of nowhere so when he stood behind him to guide his motions, it wouldn’t matter how hard it left him. After a few seconds of attempting to position him, he suggested Eli try to find his own style.

  He bowled a strike. And another one. And then picked up a spare.

  Quinn loved the look of delight on Eli’s face as the last pin wobbled over and Eli looked up at his score.

  “I’m winning.” Eli should always look like that, as if someone had just handed him a million-dollar check.

  He managed two pins in his next four tries. When Jamie showed up with a can of ginger ale, Eli waved him off. “I’m trying to figure this out.”

  “It’s my turn,” Quinn said.

  “But I need the practice. We won’t count this game.”

  Jamie stood next to him as Quinn watched Eli hook another ball into the gutter.

  “So what’s with this kid?”

  “He’s twenty-three.” Quinn anticipated by a few weeks.

  “I wasn’t going to arrest you, man, I’m only asking.”

  Eli’s next ball swerved from gutter to gutter like it was dragged by unseen magnets before hitting the pins almost sideways and leaving a five-ten split. Eli pumped a fist in triumph.

  “I want him,” Quinn said, simply. Because sometimes, it was as easy as that.

  “So does Terry. Hell, everyone here would probably fuck him. Billy’s drooling enough to change his shirt, and he’s a total bottom.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Jamie shook his head. “I don’t want to see you get fucked over again. Even if he wasn’t twenty-three, that kind of thing isn’t realistic. Ball your brains out but leave the whole mess of love and marriage to the hets.”

  Love. He hadn’t said anything about love. Hadn’t said anything about love to Peter, though Quinn had assumed that’s what it was. It hadn’t felt anything like this. Peter hadn’t always been easy, but things had been comfortable. Eli was about as comfortable as a rollercoaster with no brakes.

  Eli picked up the split and spun around. The elation on his face made Quinn want to kiss the fuck out of him. Lust, love. Quinn just wanted him.

  “You deserve a good time, babe.” Jamie slapped him on the back. “But keep your upstairs head in the game.”

  Eli stopped for a drink of ginger ale and made a face, though whether the face was for the drink or Jamie, Quinn wasn’t sure. “What’s that about?”

  Quinn arched his brows. “He thinks you’re going to break my heart.”

  He expected Eli to laugh or find a way to twist it into something sexual.

  “Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Before Quinn had time to ask Eli what he meant, he’d turned to flash that perfect ass as he picked up his ball.

  “I can’t believe I’ve missed this sport. It’s all about fingering holes and caressing balls. So how about a bet?”

  Quinn was sure that with anything Eli proposed losing would be just as much fun as winning. “Stakes?”

  “If I win, you do what I want for the rest of the night.”

  “And if I win?”

  “What do you want?” Eli purred it at him.

  “You do what I want until oh six hundred. Six a.m.”

  “I got that, soldier boy.”

  Quinn couldn’t swat his ass here. He did it anyway. “Sailor.”

  Eli’s grin said he hadn’t forgotten.

  Quinn had never tried harder to lose a game in his life. It wasn’t easy. Eli would bowl a strike and then three straight gutter balls. Maybe they were both trying to lose.

  Eli managed two strikes and a spare in the last frames, then turned in triumph. “Okay. Feed me.”

  “They’ve got good tacos—”

  Eli made a face and then shook his head. “No Mexican. My favorite burger place is downtown.”

  They had driven past Loyola when Eli announced, “Ground beef and mushrooms.”

  Quinn shot him a confused look before fixing his eyes back onto the road.

  “Pizza toppings,” Eli said, as if that explained everything.

  It took a second before Quinn realized Eli was continuing the conversation from a week ago. “Not a deal breaker.”

  “What is?” Eli asked.

  At the moment Quinn couldn’t think of anything that would make him want Eli out of his life, but there was something he’d prefer not to have slap him in the face again. “Lying.”

  “Makes sense.”

  The streets narrowed, the increase of cars and pedestrians pulling more of Quinn’s attention to driving. When Eli didn’t offer anything else, Quinn asked, “What’s yours?
”

  “Got a pen? It’s a long list.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “That I’m picky?”

  “That you cut people out of your life easily.” Quinn looked over as they waited for a light, but Eli was staring out of the window. “If you had to pick one.”

  Eli looked back at him, held Quinn’s gaze. “Being ignored.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Quinn spotted a parking spot, though they were more than two blocks away from the address Eli had given him. “Do you mind walking?”

  “I’m used to it.”

  “Right.” Quinn could see why a car wouldn’t make a lot of sense in the heart of the city. “Do you have your license?”

  “No. But I can change a flat tire, jump a battery and change the oil.” Eli had no trouble keeping up with Quinn’s long strides either.

  “Remind me to call you next time my car makes a funny sound. Why’d you bother to learn that if you don’t drive?”

  “I took auto shop in high school. I hated the art teacher.”

  “Did he ignore you?”

  “She,” Eli corrected, “liked to humiliate people. I got in her face about it and got banned from art class.”

  “Did she humiliate you?”

  “I wouldn’t give her the chance. She picked on weaker kids. Teachers.” Eli rolled his eyes, but before Quinn could defend his profession, Eli added a wink. “So how do you make your students follow orders? Stand there all intimidating and flinty eyed?”

  “I’m not flinty eyed.”

  “Not all the time, but you do that narrow-eyed thing when you give me that look that says or else. Makes me want to drop to my knees and suck you off on the spot. Guess that wouldn’t work in school.”

  Quinn shuddered in revulsion. “I’m not sure I can eat now.”

  He changed his mind when the smells from the restaurant hit his nose. Perfect burgers on a grill—in the middle of October—fresh bread, salty grease from fries. After the platinum-blond host exchanged an overlong kiss with Eli, he showed them to a booth.

  “Come here often?” Quinn opened his menu. The hair on the nape of his neck prickled. Eli had taken the seat facing the door, leaving Quinn wishing he really had eyes in the back of his head.