Be Loved (At Last, The Beloved Series Book 3)

by Stella Starling

  Shane squinted, trying to picture it.

  Back when they’d been in high school, it had always been his worn-out, “lucky” Bruce Lee t-shirt and a pair of boxers. There was no way Brandon still had that old thing, though. He’d owned it approximately forever, but even when they’d been seventeen, it had already been frayed and almost too-tight.

  Even if Brandon had kept it, because God forbid he ever throw anything away, there was no way it would still fit him. Brandon had definitely filled out since they’d been seventeen.

  Did he still wear boxers, though? Had he switched to briefs? Boxer briefs? Commando?

  Shane jerked his hand out of his own boxers, realizing it had strayed along with his thoughts. He rolled over onto his stomach, pillowing his head in his arms, and sighed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this tired, but for some reason he was still too restless to sleep.

  Was Brandon going to go straight to sleep, or head back to the kitchen for some banana bread? He hadn’t actually said whether or not he still liked it, but he used to, back when they’d hung out more. Before Shane had finished up in the kitchen, he’d cut a few slices and left them on a plate with butter and a glass of milk.

  Too much?

  Was Brandon going to think he was trying too hard?

  And why did everything feel so awkward suddenly, when—before—he wouldn’t have thought twice about doing something considerate for his friend.

  He strained to hear any sound from the direction of Brandon’s bedroom. Nothing. Of course. Because, unlike Shane, Brandon had clearly done the normal thing and fallen asleep, not tossed and turned and obsessed endlessly about the fact that his best friend was just down the hall…

  Shane sighed, rolling over onto his back again and staring up at the ceiling. It was one of those ones with the weird texture to it, the kind that looked like a million little goosebumps. Why did people do that to their ceilings? Was it just decorative, or was there a purpose? Why not just leave it smooth?

  Smooth.

  And… great. Now he was back to thinking of Brandon naked again. Neither one of them had had chest hair back when they’d met, and when Shane had started to get some, Brandon had teased him about it mercilessly. Shane had waited for years to return the favor, but Brandon’s chest had stayed as smooth and hairless as a baby’s butt. Smooth… and hard… and…. nope.

  He wasn’t going there.

  Shane frowned, running a hand over his own chest. Was he too hairy? Was that the reason Brandon had never looked in his direction? Brandon always seemed to go for guys that were pretty hairless. Well, not that Shane had seen Brandon’s boyfriends naked, but he could imagine. And not that Brandon really had boyfriends. He didn’t seem to be looking for anything long-term, and—selfishly—Shane sort of liked the fact that Brandon had never seemed to be serious about anyone.

  Of course, that was just another sign that he and Brandon weren’t actually meant to be.

  Shane sighed. He’d rather blame it on chest hair. That, he could do something about. Although he wasn’t hairy hairy—not scary-hairy—but it was definitely there. Maybe he should shave it? Peter hadn’t minded his chest hair, but Shane had had boyfriends in the past who’d preferred him to shave.

  He frowned up at the ceiling even harder.

  Fuck.

  Them.

  How many times over the years had he changed himself for some man? Peter was the extreme example, maybe—and Shane most definitely didn’t want to think about him right now—but the truth was, Peter wasn’t the first man Shane had jumped through hoops for. Relationships were about compromise, after all, but somehow Shane always seemed to end up with men who wanted him to be the one who did all the compromising. He couldn’t even begin to count how many times he’d eaten nasty chocolate cake on his own birthday or listened to vomit-inducing country music or put the toilet paper on the roll in the annoying direction or cut his hair or toned down his wardrobe or shaved his chest or washed every… fucking… dish… by… hand, all to make some boyfriend or another happy.

  Shane was tired of it.

  He was more than happy to work at a relationship. He believed in love, and that it was something worth making an effort for. But couldn’t it just be easy, just once? Wasn’t there anyone out there, somewhere, who would just love him exactly the way he was? Not ask him to change or expect him to improve himself or require him to adapt to fit into their idea of perfect?

  Someone like Brandon.

  Shane’s hand was still on his chest, and he ran it lightly over his too-sensitive nipples, remembering how it had felt when Brandon had held him in his arms, back in the kitchen earlier.

  He felt a delicious shiver of arousal, but that was normal, right? After all, Brandon was a good-looking man. Objectively, maybe some wouldn’t consider him totally drool-worthy—Brandon had once laughingly referred to himself as the poster child for average—but Shane disagreed.

  He’d never been even remotely objective about Brandon.

  Sure, maybe Brandon didn’t have any one feature that stood out and screamed hot, but whenever he smiled at Shane, it felt like everything inside Shane perked up. Went on alert. Turned on.

  Not turned on-turned on… but just on, like a light switch flipping, illuminating the darkness. Like Shane had been sleepwalking, but then bam! Brandon smiled, and he was awake. Like, even if nothing had been wrong before, it also hadn’t been all the way right until he smiled.

  Until the moment the spell was cast.

  And, fine, maybe it was true that “turned on” also applied in the dick-hardening sense. A fact that was emphasized by his dick obligingly getting harder as his hand drifted in that direction. But whatever. He was just too tired to lie to himself about it at the moment.

  Apparently still not tired enough to fall asleep, though.

  But really, who was it hurting if he let loose and fantasized just a little bit now? He wasn’t being disloyal to anyone at all—he was done with Peter, even if Peter wasn’t done with him—and in the privacy of his own mind, in the quiet sanctuary of this bedroom nestled in the safety and comfort of Brandon’s home, who would ever know?

  Shane may not have been Brandon’s type in real life, but wasn’t that the point of fantasy? To pretend?

  He held his breath for a moment, straining to hear any evidence that Brandon might still be awake in the other room. Nothing. Shane brushed his hand up over his bare chest again, grazing his nipples. He’d long ago given up trying to explain to Peter just how sensitive they were and just put up with the rough treatment that Peter kept insisting Shane should like, but now, imagining it was Brandon’s hand…

  Shane knew for sure Brandon would take care with him.

  That he’d notice what turned Shane on, and what didn’t.

  That he’d be gentle… except when Shane didn’t want him to anymore.

  He could still feel the imprint of Brandon’s hand on his back from earlier, turning a simple hug into something that Shane had wanted to be so much more. Sliding down his spine and stopping in the small of his back, Brandon’s touch had been both firm and gentle. And totally perfect.

  Except for the clothes that had been between them, of course.

  Well, that and the fact that the whole thing had been entirely platonic.

  But this was Shane’s fantasy, so he could fix all of that. He could let himself imagine the feel of Brandon’s strong hands smoothing over his bare skin, following the curve of his back down to grip his ass and—

  No. Shane’s breath hitched, and he made himself stop the motion of his hand. The hand that had somehow already found its way down to his eager cock and was already stroking it in a firm, fast rhythm.

  Too fast.

  Shane had never let himself indulge in a Brandon-fantasy before, and, even if it was just a fantasy, he didn’t want it to end too soon. Now that he was finally letting his mind go there, there was just so much he could imagine doing.

  So much he wanted to do.

/>   A million erotic temptations flitted through his mind, but honestly, he had no idea what Brandon liked. Brandon had always been a hugger, though, so it was probably safe to assume that he’d like to spend some time exploring before getting each other off. Shane grinned, his hand tightening around his cock again as his hips thrust up into it of their own accord. Brandon was a Taurus—Shane’s most compatible star sign—and Tauruses were always sensual, weren’t they?

  Brandon would want to touch him. Just like… this.

  Brandon would want to taste him.

  Shane stifled a moan, kicking off the thick comforter as his body heated up at the thought. Because—oh God oh God oh God—Shane wanted to taste Brandon, too. He wanted to taste every part of him.

  He’d happily start with lips, and he was one hundred percent sure that he’d be perfectly content to spend hours on end just kissing Brandon… if Brandon didn’t get too impatient with the slow pace, of course.

  But Brandon wouldn’t. Shane knew that for sure.

  Brandon would want whatever Shane wanted… not because he’d be compromising, but simply because that’s the way Brandon had always been. He always seemed genuinely happy if Shane was happy, as if that factor was more important than whatever activity they actually did. It was sweet.

  And in the bedroom, it would be hot.

  If this were real, Shane wouldn’t welcome Brandon home with banana bread. At least, not with just banana bread. He’d get to wrap himself around Brandon the minute he walked in the door… or crawl into his lap on the couch… or roll against him in bed… lose himself in his mouth.

  Shane would press against him, letting his cock throb with delicious anticipation while he explored Brandon’s lips and tongue and taste until they became his whole world. While Brandon’s hands roamed Shane’s body and he held Shane close, the way he had in the kitchen.

  Well, not exactly the way he had in the kitchen, because, if this were really happening, Shane would get to touch him back. He’d be able to feel exactly what his touch did to Brandon, too.

  A creak sounded from out in the hallway, and Shane froze, whimpering. Was Brandon awake? Had he heard? Had Shane been too loud?

  Was Brandon going to open the door?

  What would happen if he did?

  Shane’s cock throbbed in his tight grip, and he stared at the door… waiting. The wind outside gusted against the window, the soft shushing sound and the faint noise of traffic in the distance emphasizing the utter quiet of the apartment.

  The creak hadn’t been Brandon after all, just the building shifting.

  Shane’s breath rushed out in a gusty sigh that turned into a long, low moan as he started to stroke himself again. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the pillow with his pleasure.

  If he were in Brandon’s bed right now, they’d both be hard… close… getting desperate. Shane would hear Brandon’s breath start to become unsteady, he’d taste a new urgency in his kisses as they touched and teased and tormented each other.

  He’d revel in the heat of Brandon’s cock, burning against him with the proof that Brandon needed him, too.

  Shane had actually seen Brandon’s cock a few times over the years. Accidentally. In passing. During sleepovers and camping trips and the few times he’d let Brandon drag him to the gym.

  Shane’s mouth fell open as he started to pant, letting himself remember what he’d always pretended not to be looking at. He’d never seen Brandon hard, of course, but mmmmmmm… even unaroused, Brandon was thick and heavy and uncut.

  Mouthwatering.

  Shane could readily imagine how that gorgeous cock would feel, pulsing against his while they kissed. Making it impossible to keep still. And, when Shane finally couldn’t stand it anymore, he trusted that Brandon would know, the way he always seemed to know what Shane needed.

  Brandon would wrap those strong arms around him again, rolling them both over so Shane was underneath him. He’d cover Shane with that big, hard body that was protective without being demanding, and it would feel… so… good… to have Brandon’s weight and his heat and his love, pinning him down and rubbing against him and driving him mad in the best possible way.

  Shane knew that Real-Brandon loved him, of course, but Fantasy-Brandon’s love would be different. Fantasy-Brandon’s love would be mixed with lust and commitment and pure, primal wanting.

  Fantasy-Brandon would love Shane exactly the way he’d always wanted to be loved.

  Completely.

  Unconditionally.

  Forever.

  Shane held himself still. He didn’t want to come yet.

  Not yet.

  But then he couldn’t help himself. He bit down on the back of his hand, still moaning too loudly as he thrust up into his fist.

  Again.

  And again.

  He was too hard to wait. Too aroused to hold himself back. Too lost in a fantasy world where Brandon was his perfect lover. He was sweet and gentle and tender… but then, just when the intoxicating feel of his thick cock sliding against Shane’s would start to make him want to beg, Brandon would show Shane another side of himself.

  One that Shane had gotten glimpses of now and then over the years.

  One that always left him panting.

  Brandon’s good-guy persona was the real deal, but it was wrapped around a core of solid steel. And when that steel, that uncompromising inner strength, came to the surface, Brandon became forceful… protective… commanding.

  And so, so hot.

  Shane gasped, his hips arching up as the imaginary world he was building for himself became more real than the real one. His cock was so hard that it almost hurt, and he started stroking himself faster and faster because he had to. But it wasn’t his own hand anymore.

  It was Brandon’s.

  Shane wanted to feel Brandon’s strength. He could imagine exactly how it would feel when Brandon put it to use in the bedroom, and he forced his eyes open so he wouldn’t forget himself as it became harder and harder to stop the little moans and gasping breaths that tumbled from his lips.

  Shane pinched his nipples, finally turned on enough that they could take it, and a bolt of pure heat shot straight down to his core.

  “Brandon.”

  He bit his lip, but there was no calling back the throaty whisper. He groaned, squeezing his eyes closed again. Almost beyond caring. He was getting close. So close.

  So… damn… close…

  Shane’s hand traveled down his chest without any conscious thought, his stomach muscles contracting as it passed over them. He bent his knees, trailing his fingers over his ass and reaching around to press against his quivering, needy hole.

  Exactly the way he imagined Brandon would.

  Brandon’s touch in this most sensitive place would be both firm and gentle, the same way it was everywhere Brandon touched him, but for all his care, he wouldn’t waste any time. He’d know Shane wanted him. Needed him. And—oh yes oh God—Shane would be more than ready for him.

  Brandon’s fingers would be heaven, but then he’d take them away. He’d press the smooth head of that lovely… thick… rock-hard cock against Shane’s entrance and push inside him—

  Shane whimpered, turning his head to the side and trying to muffle the sound against his shoulder.

  He slipped a finger inside himself as he imagined Brandon fucking him, needing something more, and his rhythm on his cock becoming almost frantic as he took himself to the edge.

  It would be so good with Brandon.

  It would be so… good…

  He squeezed his eyes closed even tighter, picturing Brandon’s gorgeous blue ones staring down into his. He knew Brandon would want to watch Shane as he fucked him. He’d want to see. Would want to make sure that what he was giving Shane was exactly what he needed.

  Brandon would take Shane’s hand off his cock and replace it with his own, stroking in time with each… hard… thrust…

  And then he’d smile.

  He�
��d smile…

  Shane moaned, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps that he desperately hoped wouldn’t carry through the thin walls.

  He was going to come.

  He was going to come… so… hard…

  He gasped out Brandon’s name, imagining exactly how he’d smile down at him when both reached their peak. The look in his eyes would be hot and loving and utterly devoted to Shane’s pleasure.

  Brandon would fill him up, body and heart and soul.

  … I love you… love you Shane… love you so much…

  Shane gasped, his whole body arching off the bed as the words in his imagination pushed him over the edge. Everything inside him tightened at once, without warning, and then—in a fierce, unstoppable wave that forced a too-loud, too-needy cry from his mouth—it released.

  His orgasm slammed through him, and, for a moment, he didn’t care about the telling words and too-revealing moans that escaped him.

  For a moment, it was real.

  He stroked himself through the waves of pleasure that went on and on and on, and then, “Oh, God,” he whispered, mortified as the tide finally started to recede. His eyes darted to the door. “Oh, shit.”

  He rolled onto his side, burying his face in the pillow as if it could somehow absorb all those unmistakable sounds after the fact. Please, please, please let Brandon not have heard.

  Shane tunneled under the comforter, trying to slow his breathing enough to listen to the silence.

  Nothing.

  More nothing.

  And still… nothing.

  Brandon had always been a sound sleeper, and after a few more minutes of continuous nothing, Shane finally relaxed, exhaustion flooding him. He needed to clean up. He needed to put a fresh pair of boxers on and figure out where Brandon kept his spare sheets and hide the evidence of his indulgence until he could volunteer for laundry day.

  He needed… to… sleep.

  The rest would have to wait. Shane was too tired and his body was too well-satisfied, and he literally couldn’t have stopped his eyes from closing if he’d tried.

  He stopped trying.

  He was happy to let himself drift away into a dream where Brandon was wrapped around him, holding him close, still there in bed with Shane exactly the way he had been during the sex part of the fantasy.