by Witt, L. A.
I had a good thing going. My volunteer shifts kept me sane. My animals kept me company. My garage kept us all fed.
Relationships were fine and good. I wasn’t big on the concept of settling down, though, and somehow being with someone for any length of time meant the conversation was inevitable. Buying a house. Maybe getting married, especially now that it was legal. I wrinkled my nose at the thought. After my ex had packed up and punched out, I’d decided I was done with all that shit. Marriage was outdated. Monogamy was for penguins.
Rumor had it, there were plenty of gay men out there who were perfectly fine with stopping at shacking up to save on bills. No rings. No family beyond each other and a few pets. An open relationship, maybe even the odd threesome if the mood struck. If those guys were out there, they were sure as shit steering clear of me.
Maybe Shane was one of them. He’d been married a couple of times, and most guys I’d known who’d felt the sting of divorce more than once gave up and didn’t volunteer for a third go. So that was possible, right? That Shane was done with long-term commitments and signing on dotted lines?
Right. That explained why he was bringing up relationships already. Fuuuck.
I blew out a frustrated breath. Shane was everything I wanted in the bedroom and the last man I wanted as a partner. He came with a family already installed, so by default, being with him meant settling down. A relationship with Shane meant sooner or later—probably a lot sooner—segueing from piece of ass to boyfriend to stepfather.
Maybe he wasn’t sure how wired he was for casual sex, but I knew damn well I wasn’t wired for the deal he was bringing to the table.
I closed my eyes. The sex was great, and he seemed like a nice guy, but . . . no.
I couldn’t do this.
I wouldn’t.
* * *
Thanks to a bunch of storm-damaged cars, the garage was good and busy, so that mostly kept my mind off Shane.
Except when it didn’t.
I’d spent half the morning dealing with an insurance adjuster who didn’t believe it should really cost that much to repair a particular car. Apparently bean counters like him thought we could magically unfuck a dented-all-to-hell vehicle for a song, because at least twice a month, I had to disabuse one or two of them of those stupid notions. Until the day came that I could conjure rebuilt engines from thin air or pull a timing belt from my ass, they could either pay up or junk the car. Either way.
The guy finally accepted that I wasn’t going to budge, and I went back to my office to catch up on some paperwork. At least, that was what I’d intended to do.
I made it through a work order and a half before my mind wandered back to Shane, and my concentration was shot. Pen still in hand, I stared at the wall with unfocused eyes.
Maybe I needed to explicitly end this whole thing so I could move on. All I had to do was send him a text and tell him I wasn’t interested. I wasn’t obligated to do a damn thing except give him the courtesy of bowing out. I might be an asshole, but I didn’t ghost people.
Just one text.
Call it off, shake it off, walk it off. Maybe spend the evening watching a movie with the animals or risk a bleary-eyed morning by going out on the prowl for some no-strings dick.
Because what Shane was suggesting? I didn’t need that shit. Didn’t want it. Things had been fine before I’d met him, and they’d be fine after I moved on. There were plenty of queer men around here besides him. Hell, I had several favorited on Grindr who’d said they were more than willing to meet up for a rematch with a lot fewer strings than Shane was asking for. There was no shortage of dick out there if I put forth a little effort.
My gaze drifted to the twenty Reese had pinned to my corkboard. She was convinced I’d fall for him. Shane was flooring the accelerator while I was still tapping the brakes. That . . . didn’t sit well with me. At all.
I shuddered. Nope. Not a chance.
I took out my phone and—
There was a text from Shane. When had that come in?
Sorry about last night. Can we talk?
Oh. Right. Because agreeing to that wouldn’t mean stepping into a minefield or anything.
C’mon, Aaron. You were going to let him down and delete him. Do it. Fucking do it.
I sighed as I let my phone clatter onto my desk, and I rubbed a grease-scented hand over my face. Maybe I should give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Hear what he had to say. Then bow out and move on.
Why am I not running for the hills?
Hell. Wasn’t like I had much to lose. And if he really was getting his feet wet for the first time, maybe the gentle approach would be a bit kinder than, Bruh, this is too much, fuck off. I felt for the guy. I really did. He’d been a parent since he was a kid himself. Back when I’d been a soldier who spent more time drunk than not, fucking any man I could even though I was risking my career every time, he’d been responsible for a baby. He’d missed out on being a kid, but he’d been an adult long enough to be scared shitless of the consequences of getting too crazy.
Fine. Fine. We could talk. I didn’t want it to be another date, though. Or even feel like one. So, heart thumping, I wrote back:
Ok. I’ll be home around 6. Come by my place?
Chapter 9
Shane
“Hey. Andrews!” Fingers snapped in front of my face. “You still with me?”
I shook myself and turned to Dan. “What? Sorry.”
He quirked his eyebrows. “You’ve been staring at that C-clamp for five minutes. You all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.” I glanced at the C-clamp. Which I’d intended to use, but couldn’t remember what for. “Just, uh . . . thinking.”
“Well, when you’re done thinking, come give me a hand with this skateboard dolly.”
“Sure. No problem. I—”
“Damn it!” Ashton, one of the gaffers, jerked his hand back and shook it gingerly. “Fuck.”
“You all right?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He rubbed his hand and sucked in a sharp hiss. “I’m fine.”
Dan smirked. “Ashton, did you shock yourself?”
His eyes darted back and forth. Met my gaze as he slid his hand into his pocket. “Um. No.”
“You sure about that?” I asked.
“I did not shock myself.” He winced and shook his hand out again. “I . . . felt the presence of electricity.”
I rolled my eyes. The gaffers had to be checked out by a medic if they were shocked, but everybody knew there were a lot more zaps than exams. Sort of like how the grips were supposed to report every bruise and blister that happened on the job, so we all had a lot of stories about kitchen and car repair mishaps. Saved on paperwork.
“He’s seriously going to electrocute himself one of these days,” I said.
“And no one will be surprised.” Dan chuckled. “Takes a special kind of crazy to be a gaffer, am I right?”
Same kind of crazy that jumps out of airplanes into forest fires.
My breath caught, and I bit back a frustrated curse.
God, does anything not remind me of him?
So far? No. And, normally, I wouldn’t have minded that undercurrent of distraction. Constantly thinking about a man who’d made me come like that? Hell yeah.
But this time, it wasn’t just giddy fantasies and memories. It was all weighed down by guilt and embarrassment. I’d been such a nervous idiot last night, and I’d panicked hard enough to fuck things up. Quite possibly irreparably. Open mouth, insert foot. That would be the title of my autobiography someday.
Open Mouth, Insert Foot—The Shane Andrews Story.
I snorted at the thought, but my nerves killed my amusement in seconds. It was funny until I realized I’d let someone that hot and gorgeous—not to mention talented in bed—slip through my fingers because my brain-to-mouth filter was defective.
I’d tried to make contact and fix shit, but he hadn’t responded to my text, and I wasn’t sure what else to
say. Promise I’d take a vow of silence and not say anything that wasn’t Fuck me harder or I’m about to come? At least then we could have some more of that crazy-hot sex without my stupid clumsy mouth ruining things.
But I’d texted, and he hadn’t responded.
An hour later—still nothing.
An hour after that—nada.
As the third hour wound to a close, I’d stopped checking. That was my answer, wasn’t it?
So I’d thrown myself back into my job. Dan and I’d had a skateboard dolly to set up so the camera could smoothly follow the actors as they sprinted through the scene. Even after spending my entire adult life in the film industry, sometimes it still amazed me how much setup and effort could go into what would ultimately be a handful of seconds on the screen. They’d film the two actors running, get a shitload of footage from every angle imaginable, and splice it together to look like a longer chase across much more terrain. Eric had planned to do this part in front of a green screen with a CGI background, but that stupid tree—Bastard Son of the World Tree, as it had been dubbed on-set—had squashed those plans.
By midafternoon, we had the dolly exactly the way we wanted it, and Eric was pleased with the results. All we had to do now was wait for the sun to start going down so the lighting would be perfect.
Yeah right. There was no such thing as “all we had to do was wait” in this business. We still had plenty to do. Always did.
After we’d rigged up a crane for one of the overhead angles, Dan and I took a break. And to my surprise, there was a text on my phone. Ok. I’ll be home around 6. Come by my place?
My heart lurched. Okay, so face-to-face meant we were less likely to misinterpret something. We could hear each other’s tones, see each other’s expressions. But it also meant if things got awkward and weird—and with me involved, they would so get awkward and weird—there was no shutting off the phone and ignoring it. We’d be, well, face to face.
It also gave him the home-turf advantage. If my foot started inching toward my mouth again, he could show me to the door and be done with it. Or let me say my piece on the front porch before closing the door in my face. Maybe he didn’t like feeling like there was an audience. It hadn’t bothered him while we were making out and feeling each other up, but maybe it made awkward conversations more awkward. And if anyone could make shit more awkward, it was me.
I was enough of a coward that the temptation to delete him and pretend this never happened was strong. But I was also lonely and horny and still in a daze from the sex we’d had. Was it worth it to risk saying something stupid?
A memory flashed through my mind of Aaron kissing me in the bar. Arm around my shoulders. Hand on my thigh. Not even the least bit worried that we were in public or that we’d just met.
Every inch of my skin was suddenly covered in goose bumps.
Yeah, I wrote back. Your place is fine.
* * *
When I showed up, he let me in, and we navigated past the overly large, overly excited dog to the kitchen. Aaron sent the dog into the other room, and once we were alone, he drummed his nails on the counter. “You, um . . .” He cleared his throat. “You want something to drink?”
Not sure there’s anything strong enough for this.
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Apparently he didn’t want anything either. He leaned against one counter. I leaned against the other.
And . . . nothing.
I stole a long look at him. He was in jeans and a hooded gray sweatshirt, barefoot with some salt-and-pepper five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. Was there anything he didn’t look good in? Because he sure as shit looked good in that. He’d have absolutely rocked a skintight shirt and painted-on jeans—or leather pants, wouldn’t that be a sight?—but the more relaxed fit of his clothes suited him just fine too. Especially since I knew exactly what he was hiding under all that gray and denim.
In the same instant, I realized two things.
One, I was staring at him. Two, he was staring right back.
We locked eyes.
My heart sped up. We’d come here to talk, right? So why weren’t we talking? Why were we standing here, a few feet apart, looking each other up and down without saying a word?
I had no idea what to do. Make a joke and break the silence? Suggest we go sit on his couch? Take him up on that drink after all?
Aaron figured it out before I did. In two fast steps, he crossed the kitchen, and before I had a chance to make sense of a damn thing, his lips were against mine.
Forget making sense of anything. I grabbed on, held him close, and kissed him right back. I gathered handfuls of his sweatshirt in my hands to make sure he didn’t pull away, and I opened to his tongue. He cradled the back of my head, fingers twitching against my scalp, and if his hips came even a half inch closer, he’d have a front-row seat to how quickly he was making my dick hard.
So, of course, I cupped his ass and pulled him closer, and we both groaned as our hardening cocks pressed against each other.
See, Shane? See? You can totally do this.
Abruptly, Aaron broke the kiss, and with one hand holding my belt and the other grasping my shirt, he tugged me toward the living room. After a couple of steps, he let go, probably confident I was going to follow him. Which, of course, I did. Out of the kitchen. Across the living room. Down the hall. Into the bedroom.
The black-and-white cat was curled up on the bed, and I swear to God, she rolled her eyes at us before she dropped onto the floor and jogged out of the room.
Aaron closed the door behind her. Then he turned to me, and we exchanged grins before I grabbed his sweatshirt and pulled him in for another kiss.
“There was all kinds of shit I was gonna say,” he slurred between kisses. “But, goddamn, now that you’re here—”
I kissed him hard enough to shut him up and keep me from responding with something stupid. He got the message. Talking could wait. Clothes needed to come off. Orgasms needed to happen.
The last of our clothes landed in a heap on the floor, and a second later, we landed in a heap on the bed. I realized a moment too late that I’d only removed one sock, but then Aaron’s tongue slipped past my lips, and I decided a sock wasn’t a big deal.
We made out with a whole different kind of franticness than the other night. That was the first time. That eager, gotta find out what you taste like desperation that tore seams and left marks. Tonight, we knew exactly what the other tasted like, and we’d come damn close to not landing in bed together again, and we might not make it here a third time if the hasn’t-happened-yet conversation went south, and we needed each other now. Or at least I needed him now, but if he wasn’t into this, he sure had me fooled.
Every time his hands brushed my skin, it was like a whispered reminder that this was Aaron. I couldn’t mistake him for any other person I’d ever touched, and the calluses on his palms just drove that point home.
And, holy shit, when he started stroking my cock . . .
I moaned, pushing myself into his fist. The roughness of his skin created a hint of friction—not enough to be uncomfortable, but more than enough to make my whole body shake. And that was before he started kissing my neck. The burn of his five-o’clock shadow next to the softness of his lips turned me on almost as much as his hand on my dick. Jesus H. Christ, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this turned on.
Kissing his way up the side of my throat, he murmured, “Can’t decide if I want to take my time and lick you all over—” he paused to nibble my earlobe “—or suit up and fuck you till we can’t move.”
A whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it. “That second option. I . . .” The mere thought of having his dick inside me turned my brain to liquid. And when he rubbed that dick against my hip, the only words I could form were, “F-fuck me. Please. Now.”
Aaron raised his head and grinned down at me. “You have any idea how hot you are when you’re down to single syllables?”
“You go
nna fuck me or not?”
He chuckled and kissed me, pressing harder against me. “You better believe I’m gonna fuck you. Now get up on your hands and knees.”
As soon as he said it, he moved out of the way, and while he grabbed a condom and some lube from the nightstand, I turned over. Eventually, I’d see if he was willing to bottom for me. Tonight, I wanted his cock, and I wanted it now.
My arms and legs were shaky, but oh well. I’d be shaking a whole lot more in a minute if he didn’t hurry the hell up. He did, though, and knelt behind me. He guided his well-lubricated cock to my hole and pushed inside, and my eyes watered at the faint burn. I didn’t protest at all—sex was always better with a little bit of pain, a little bit of friction. Not too much. Just . . . just like this. It was just enough force, just enough stretch, with just enough lube to keep it on this side of too much. I pressed the heels of my hands into the mattress and leaned back, seeking more, and he gave me more. He held my hips tight enough to let me feel the roughness of his calluses, and he fucked me so hard the bed frame sounded like it was going to snap.
“Like that?”
“Uh-huh.” I grabbed at the sheets like I’d grabbed at his sweatshirt, needing something to hold on to as he fucked me into oblivion. “Oh my God.” I wasn’t sure I could support myself on both arms, never mind one, but if I didn’t do something about my cock, I was going to lose my mind, so I took the chance. I squeezed my eyes shut as I pumped my dick in time with his thrusts. My elbow threatened to shake right out from under me, but . . . whatever. If I face-planted on the mattress, I’d still have him riding me deep and hard.
“Fuck,” he ground out. “Gonna . . . Oh Jesus . . .”
I bit my lip. Yeah, I wasn’t far behind. How I hadn’t come already, I had no idea, and then Aaron grunted and forced himself into me, knocking me onto my forearm, and that was all I needed. We both groaned, shuddering as I came in my hand and he came in me.
