At Attention
Page 15
Apollo withdrew his tortuous fingers, maneuvering Dylan until—
“Condom.” Dylan scrambled for one he’d tucked in his pants pocket, trying to not think about how much he’d like to take Apollo bare, give him that.
“Right. God, you make me crazy.” Apollo took care of the condom, then pulled Dylan back on top of him.
“This is the best for your back, right?” Dylan tried to be cautious as he settled his weight on his knees.
“Fuck my back.” Apollo laugh was a dry bark. “I want it like this because I want to see your face as you take my cock.” Dylan’s whole body clenched at that suggestion. “And I want to watch you work in the mirror. So fucking hot.”
“Fair enough.” Dylan grasped for the last shreds of his composure before positioning himself over Apollo’s cock. Apollo held the base with one hand, his other hand going to Dylan’s hip.
Despite saying that Dylan would do the work, Apollo quickly made it clear that he was the one really in charge of this show, hand controlling the speed of Dylan’s descent.
“Oh. Oh fuck.” Dylan panted as his muscles stretched and burned. Fuck. It had been a long time, and Apollo was a fucking eighteen-wheeler compared to the compact pickups Dylan usually played with. But at the same time, it also felt so fucking good and right. Like he’d been waiting years to be filled like this.
He started rocking, trying to get more, chasing the licks of pleasure against that spot deep inside him. He wanted this, wanted to go so fast, but Apollo’s hands stayed him. “Slow.”
“Sadist.” Dylan tried to quicken his pace anyway, but Apollo’s grip was just shy of punishing, limiting his range of motion. And fuck if Dylan’s treacherous cock didn’t twitch at that denial, leak at how good it felt to cede control to Apollo, let Apollo drive the fuck.
Apollo kept him to an agonizingly slow slide, each motion an exaggerated rush of pleasure. Every so often, Apollo’s eyes drifted off Dylan’s face toward the mirror. And it should have felt weird, being watched like this, but instead it made his spine undulate, made him want to preen. Yes. Yes, it was so good, having all Apollo’s attention focused right on him. On them. On this.
And man, that gaze was so intent, so potent. It made Dylan feel like both god and supplicant in the same instant. His hand snaked toward his cock, both wanting to add to the show and because he might die if he didn’t get some relief.
“Nope.” Apollo batted his hand away. “Just feel. Don’t rush it.”
“Glaciers rush faster than you,” Dylan complained, bucking against Apollo’s grasp, and hell, it felt so damn good, meeting all that strength.
“Trust me. I’ll get you there.”
Scary thing was that Dylan really did trust this man—not just with the fuck or his body but with everything. His pulse galloped far faster than his body, a steady drumbeat of terror at how much he was surrendering.
“Fuck,” he moaned as the sensations built, seeking some unobtainable peak, then ebbing. “I need it.”
“I know,” Apollo soothed. “Gonna be so good for you.”
“Mmm.” Dylan was almost beyond words. “Untouched...not...one of...my tricks.”
“Ha.” Oh Apollo was a wicked, wicked man, with all those promises in his dark eyes. “We’ll see.”
They kept Apollo’s glacial pace, each stroke lighting Dylan up, getting him both closer and further and further away. Finally, when Dylan was almost weeping with all of it, Apollo’s hand left his hip, going to Dylan’s stomach, resting right at the base of his cock. Not stroking or gripping, just pressing, and fuck...that pressure...
Something inside him was giving way, rearranging everything he’d thought he’d known. “Please, please, please.”
“Ready to go fast?” Apollo’s voice was maddeningly even, as if this were no more taxing than a few laps in his pool. Only the sweat on his forehead showed what all this control was costing him.
“Fuck you.” Dylan ground down, angling his hips, sensations magnified by the sudden rush of having freedom of motion again. It felt like sandbags losing the battle to the rising tide within him, unable to stop himself from crying out as he rode faster.
“Yeah,” Apollo urged, free hand urging Dylan on. “That’s it. Take what you need.”
Dylan’s cock dripped precome, throbbing, and that spot inside him was so fucking tight, alive with sensation. “Touch me,” he begged. “Touch me and I’ll come.”
“Like this?” Apollo tightened his hand on Dylan’s hip, tipping him forward just enough so that the tip of his cock dragged against Apollo’s abs.
“No, no...oh yes.” Somehow, improbably, impossibly, that bare amount of contact was enough to tip him over, make his whole body spasm with the force of his orgasm.
“That’s right, beautiful. Go on.” Apollo’s head tipped back, muscled shoulders and neck straining. “Right...with...you.”
The final hitch in Apollo’s breath was enough to tease another spurt out of Dylan’s cock—so hot to see him finally unravel and let go of his control. He bucked, holding Dylan in place for a last few wild thrusts before he groaned and collapsed back on the bed, big body shuddering over and over.
I did that. Pride made Dylan need to laugh, made him as stupid as every other emotion this man inspired in him.
Apollo pulled him down for a leisurely kiss. His lips were achingly tender and Dylan’s eyes closed again, his body holding still as surely as if there were a photographer capturing this moment. Because this, more than the fucking, more than the soul-rocking orgasm, was what he wanted to remember. Their eyes met, same as they had at the restaurant, like their very brains were linked—a single thought between them.
“Wow,” they both breathed at the same instant, then laughed because that was what they did. They laughed. They made joy. Joy making. Dylan kissed him back, willing a second thought across the brainwaves. Please let this be enough. Let me be enough.
“You’re incredible.” Apollo’s voice was full of affection and his hands on Dylan’s back were soothing and for a moment, it truly was enough. More than enough. It was everything.
Chapter Sixteen
Apollo put on his blinker as he headed for the bridge that linked Coronado with the mainland. A weird energy buzzed through his veins, making him push the speed limit and be grateful for the light Sunday morning traffic. He was used to racing a ticking clock—training times to beat, countdown to a mission, precious minutes to complete a rescue, seconds while the explosives expert neutralized a bomb, and even at home, he was outrunning the to-do list from the moment he woke up, constantly aware of each day that took him further away from Neal, each milestone that marked the kids growing up.
But this was new, this urgency to get home, get back to Dylan before their weekend together expired. He’d had to head to the base in the early morning hours to check on a training exercise scheduled for that weekend, leaving Dylan sleeping in the bed, resisting the urge to wake him up with his mouth. He’s thought there would be plenty of time for that later, but his work at the base had taken longer than he’d hoped, and now he was racing the damn clock to get back, get one more encounter with Dylan before the girls returned. Even with his eyes on the road, his brain kept flashing back to memories of the past thirty-six hours.
“Get on your knees.”
“Your back—”
“Want to watch your face in the mirror while I take you from behind.”
“You’re a bit obsessed with the mirror, you know that?”
“Yup,” Apollo said without shame. The mirror was hot and new, just like Dylan.
Yesterday they’d spent pretty much the whole damn day in bed, something Apollo hadn’t done since... Well, he wasn’t going think about that. What he had with Dylan was so completely different than what he’d shared with Neal, and it seemed increasingly weird to let th
“You know I’m going to have to cite you for this unauthorized use of syrup.” Apollo joked even as Dylan’s mouth traced a sticky path down his chest.
“Hey, I said I was starving. I just didn’t say for what.” Dylan winked at him.
And enjoying himself was something that was way, way too easy with Dylan around. Their dynamic was so different than anything else he’d experienced. Dirtier. More carnal. Needier. This sex strung him out like a HALO jump, pure adrenaline with just enough terror about the unknown to keep him on edge. Like a jump, he buzzed for hours after, but luckily he had years of practice in hiding his jangly nerves.
“Oh my God. You’re...that was... Pretty sure I’m never thinking a full thought again.” Dylan laughed as he flopped against the sheets.
His satisfied grin did something to Apollo’s insides, made it so that he could only say, “Yeah.” Meanwhile, entire stanzas of poetry welled up in his throat, stupid words about how beautiful Dylan looked when he came apart, how him begging Apollo to let him come was his new favorite thing on the planet, how he wanted a tape of the sounds Dylan made, and how he couldn’t get enough of this.
Apollo grabbed a pillow, turning his face into it, unable to keep looking at Dylan’s shining face, unable to think about what all this meant. Because telling himself “it’s just sex” wasn’t working anymore, not when his soul kept singing at each of Dylan’s happy sighs and unguarded looks of pure delight.
Right then, as he turned toward his neighborhood, all Apollo wanted was another chance to earn one of those looks. He’d come up behind Dylan, kiss that sensitive place on the back of his neck, wrap him up close. Maybe drag him out to the backyard and the hot tub—after all that time shut up in Dylan’s room they needed some fresh air and water and he could practically taste the chlorine on Dylan’s skin already. Come on—
Girls. Heck. That was what he should have been thinking about on the drive back. The return of the girls. Because there was Marilyn’s and Pat’s SUV in his driveway as he pulled in. He tried to banish all his sexy thoughts as he took a few steadying breaths. No more fantasies. No more interludes. Back to real life.
“Baba!” Both girls raced for him as soon as he opened the door. They dragged him to the kitchen, where Dylan stood talking with Marilyn and Pat. He looked good in a T-shirt and pull-on shorts and bare feet and despite himself, Apollo’s thoughts flittered back to his fantasies. Like wanting to bury his face in that neck—
Oh crap. Was that beard burn on Dylan’s neck? Or maybe a very light hickey? No one’s fault but yours.
“We got you a present!” Sophia interrupted his internal freakout with a tug on his uniform.
“Something sweet,” Chloe added.
Please don’t be fudge. Please don’t be fudge. Please don’t be—
“Fudge.” Pat held out a little bag from the Disney fudge shop. “The girls picked out a few flavors for you.”
Neal had always been a hopeless chocoholic, and fudge was his particular weakness. They’d even served it at the wedding, and Marilyn and Pat were always bringing him new varieties to try. Apollo had always gamely taken a few bites, but the stuff was too sweet for him. And now? Now he couldn’t hardly stomach the sight without memories of Neal swamping him. He offered what he was sure was a strained smile as he accepted the bag.
I’m not Neal, he wanted to remind them, but of course he couldn’t. He owed the pair of them so much. He could stomach a little fudge. And guilt. Because however Marilyn had meant the dinner voucher at Christmas, she surely hadn’t intended that he spend his weekend wrapped up in Dylan like this. They’d be horrified.
Or maybe that’s just you. It was hard to say which was worse—his imagined reaction of his in-laws or his own growing remorse at how he’d been acting. Time to pull back. Get back to normal.
He lifted Sophia up, ignoring the twinge in his back that reminded him how well-used all his muscles were. “Thank you,” he said to the girls and their grandmothers.
“Hey, no fair! I want up too!” Chloe demanded.
“Here,” Dylan said, scooping her up when Apollo would have tried to lift both girls. “That better?”
No, things were most definitely not better. It felt too damn domestic, each holding a twin as they made small talk with Marilyn and Pat. It felt too much like they were a couple, splitting the burden of the kids. Marilyn started in on a story about waiting in line for a ride, and Dylan’s eyes met Apollo’s.
I had a ride too, his mischievous blue eyes said.
Behave, Apollo flashed back.
You like it when I don’t. Dylan smiled slyly. A weekend’s worth of meaning passed between them, a secret only they knew. But in Dylan’s gaze there was no guilt, no recriminations, no second-guessing, only warmth and affection.
Apollo looked away quickly. They couldn’t have such private moments. Not now, not ever. And damn if his gut didn’t twist, knowing that. Don’t start wanting what you don’t deserve.
* * *
God bless the Goodwill over on University. As the sewing machine’s whir filled the kitchen eating area, Dylan welcomed each stitch of distraction. He wasn’t surprised that Apollo had had to work late tonight, just like he wasn’t surprised that Apollo had spent all of yesterday back in avoidance mode as soon as his in-laws left. Goodbye sex fest, hello emotions as jumbled as the bargain bin at the Goodwill.
Dylan would give an awful lot to erase the guilt and confusion he’d seen in Apollo’s eyes. But Apollo hadn’t given him a chance, carefully ensuring that he wasn’t alone with Dylan even after Marilyn and Pat went home. It was like he didn’t trust Dylan to not jump him in the middle of the kitchen. Which okay, was a tempting thought, but Dylan knew full and well how to segment things and wait until the girls were asleep—not that Apollo had given him a chance then either, mumbling something about needing a muscle relaxer for his back.
“What’s this?” Apollo’s voice startled Dylan out of his funk. And he didn’t sound particularly happy to discover half the inventory of Discount Fabrics strewn around his kitchen table, bright felt and satins draped over chair backs.
“Oh, sorry. Just working on some stuff for the camp play. Wasn’t expecting you back yet. There’s a plate for you in the fridge.”
“Thanks.” Apollo wandered over to the kitchen, getting the plate of pasta out of the fridge and putting it in the microwave before turning back to Dylan. “Camp play?”
“Yeah. Invites went home last week. I put yours on the household binder. This month’s theme is drama and there’s a play next Friday afternoon. Grandparents welcome too, so you might mention it to Marilyn and Pat.”
“Hell. I haven’t checked my binder in days.” Apollo scrubbed at his closely cropped hair. He went to the binder on the counter and held up the invitation.
“Hey, that’s not a bad thing.” As far as Dylan was concerned, Apollo could lighten up and reduce his dependency on all his organization systems. Life needed more spontaneity, and Dylan was glad to have provided that for him, even if for only a weekend.
“I’ll have to see if I can rearrange some things, but I’ll try to be there.” Apollo retrieved his plate from the microwave. “Where’d you learn to sew?”
“When I was thirteen, my mom accidentally signed me up for the wrong summer day camp session and I ended up making a mini-quilt. And liking it. Then later I used my pretty basic skills to help my drama club friends and then the kids at the Y I volunteered at in college. I’m not an expert, but I can make a few capes and stuff.”
“Well it’s impressing me.” Apollo laughed around a bite of food as he lounged against the counter, looking both formidable and entirely too kissable in his uniform. “Hate to admit it, but I still let my mom sew on buttons for me.”
“It’s okay. I figured that sewing might not be in your skill set. I’ve got enough other parent volunteers on costumes so that it’s no trouble for me to do the twins’ and a few others’.”
“Hey now. I can help.” Apollo bristled, looking every inch the pissed-off lieutenant looking for something to command. He studied Dylan and table long seconds before gesturing at the tabletop ironing board that Dylan had set up on the far side. “Want me to iron for you? That I’m good at.”
“There’s lots you’re good at,” Dylan said, keeping his voice light and easy and okay, a little bit flirty. He couldn’t help it, just like he couldn’t help adding, “You sure you want to be alone with me? Not afraid I might have something contagious?”
“Contagious?” Apollo’s forehead wrinkled. “What? Oh. You’re upset that I slept in my own room last night?”
“Not upset.” Dylan didn’t want him thinking that he was some petty kid. “But you did ghost me hard all day. Wasn’t sure what to read into that.”
“Would it help if I said that I wasn’t sure either?” Apollo gave a gravelly laugh. He reached for the stack of fabric pieces Dylan had lined up by the ironing board. “These the ones you need done?”
“Yeah.” Dylan was more than a little unnerved by Apollo’s candor. He showed Apollo how to iron the seams as he struggled with what—if anything—to say. “You shouldn’t feel guilty, you know?”
“Ha.” Apollo made harsh noise. “You’re kidding, right? Guilt is the only thing I should be feeling here—you’re too young, you’re my best friend’s little brother, and I’m widowed. And fuck it, mainly I feel guilty because all that guilt isn’t enough to keep me away, isn’t enough to chase away other feelings.”
Dylan tried not to grin too widely at Apollo’s admission as he returned to the sewing machine. Also, the sight of the big man carefully ironing pink satin was definitely smile inducing. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know? I know you’re Mr. Bigshot SEAL and Dad-of-the-Year, but even superheroes get days off. It’s okay to kick back a little and not give a fuck what people think about.”
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