I flipped on the light switch at the top of the stairs and stood in awe of his studio. One wall was nothing but mirrors and the rest were painted in a medium shade of gray. Huge, vibrant watercolor paintings of male ballet dancers were hung on the walls. It appeared that ballet was another one of Josh’s loves and I wondered if he ever took lessons or just loved it from afar. Regardless, it was another nuance of his personality that I stored in my heart.
Then my eyes feasted on the pole in the center of the room. I had never in my life seen one of them before, except in movies. I had never seen a man pole dancing anywhere except in my imagination after Josh told me about his hobby.
“Will you put me down now?” he asked.
“Will you promise not to run?” I put him down without waiting for his answer because I knew in my heart he was done running from me. I also knew that Josh liked to do things on his terms and timeline. He wasn’t just Josh anymore; he was part of an us.
“I wanted to wear something sexier or…”
“I don’t need sexy outfits, scented air, candles, or anything else except you. Hell, I don’t even need the pole, but I’d sure like to see what you can do.”
He studied me closely for several long moments while he chewed on his bottom lip. I hated the insecurity I saw in his eyes and was about to call the whole thing off when he stood taller and straightened his shoulders. “Prepare to be wowed.” Josh set about lighting candles and adjusting the lights in his studio anyway. He pulled a chair over for me to sit at directly in front of the pole, but far enough away that I couldn’t touch him.
Josh took a deep breath and then stripped down to his underwear, which happened to be the aqua jock strap that I loved. You can bet both my dick and I perked right up when I feasted my eyes on his firm bubble butt. Josh pushed play on a remote then slit it across the floor so it was out of his way. My mouth fell open when the sexy, bluesy music from Eric Church’s “Like a Wrecking Ball” began playing. If I was going to create a soundtrack to make love to, that song would be my first pick.
I watched as Josh mounted the pole and began to perform a routine of spins and moves that were both beautiful in their execution and perfectly timed to the sultry beat of the music. I watched in complete awe as he appeared to be walking on air at times or supporting the entire weight of his body with one hand. Every move he made was flawless and appeared to be effortless, but I saw the way his abdominal muscles flexed beneath the skin.
My need for him grew with every sexy beat of the music until I couldn’t take it anymore. Josh ended his routine when I rose from my chair. He stood with his back pressed to the pole and watched as I stalked the rest of the way to him.
“You’re so beautiful and sexy,” I said, “and all mine.”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond, but I didn’t need his words to know that he was as turned on as I was. He shook in my arms, his lips trembled beneath mine, and he dug his fingers in my ass to pull me closer. I knew the way he panted into my mouth had nothing to do with physical exertion and everything to do with his hunger to have me inside of him.
It wasn’t arrogance on my part for saying that because he pulled his mouth away from mine and directed me to where he hid condoms and lube for my big night. I retrieved the items like he asked me to, but I didn’t just lube up and fuck him like he expected. I turned him around to face the pole then dropped down behind him to get at his sexy ass.
I took my time teasing the crinkled flesh that Josh had teasingly called my pleasure portal more than once. At the time, I had snorted because it sounded so corny but hell if it wasn’t true. I teased his ass with my tongue and took my time stretching him open with my tongue and two fingers until he begged me to fill him. His body shook with anticipation when I rolled the condom on and added more lube.
I rose to my feet then turned Josh to face me. I lifted him up and he wrapped his legs around my waist then I pressed his back against the pole. Josh hooked his arms around my neck and pulled my face to his for a hot, searing kiss. I captured his gasp in my mouth when I entered him. The music he danced to was on repeat and I showed him that he wasn’t the only one who could perform to music. Yep, it was the perfect song for making love.
Josh dug his nails in my scalp to get me to fuck him harder, but the tempo I set felt so fucking good that I never wanted to stop. I ignored his attempts and pinned him tighter against the pole to prevent him from fucking himself on my dick and continued with the pace that, although he fought, made him moan and whimper in pleasure.
“I’ve got you, Josh.” I needed him to know, that no matter what, I had him covered regardless of the pace life set or the obstacles it threw at us.
“I need…” His words came out in pants.
He wanted to take control because the things I made him feel scared him. If he could just take control, then he’d feel grounded. Well, his feet weren’t on the ground, they were wrapped around my waist and I wanted to show him that he could trust me–then and always.
It would’ve been easy to sit in the chair and let him ride me, but easy wasn’t the answer. I kissed him through his panic until he relaxed completely in my arms. Josh’s body gave off the signs that he was close to coming and I kept making love to him until I felt the hot splash of his cum on my stomach. Once I got what I needed from him, I relaxed my grip and let him take over.
Josh reached behind him and gripped the pole above his head with both hands and pushed against me until I stepped back enough so that his body was at an angle. I placed my hands on his hips when he began to move, riding my cock by undulating his hips in a hypnotic way that had me on the edge too fast.
“It’s my turn,” he said, when I moved to take control back.
Josh rode my cock until my legs shook and threatened to give out. He smiled wickedly and his hazel eyes gleamed a darker hue as he worked me until I thought I would die if I didn’t come. The smooth way his body moved had to be illegal, because I was surely addicted to him as others were to narcotics.
“Josh,” I said between gritted teeth. I needed more friction and for him to move faster. I. Was. Right. There. Josh laughed wickedly the moment I came inside him. My orgasm was a slow roll through my body until I shattered into a million pieces.
I don’t remember falling to my knees with Josh wrapped around me, but that was how we ended up. He cooed and kissed my face as I returned to the land of the living. “Look who’s back,” he said lovingly.
“I think you nearly killed me,” I told him.
“No, that’ll be my reverse cowboy. I’m only going to bring that bad boy out on special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries.”
My heart rate tripled when Josh mentioned anniversaries, as in he planned on having them with me. “Who are you and what have you done with my Josh?”
“I’m still your Josh,” he said. It was one of the sweetest exchanges we’d ever had. I was impressed on how far we’d come in a relatively short time. Then he said, “So try to avoid getting framed and sent to prison for this Nate Turner case. It would be murder on our sex life.”
“There’s my Josh.”
BEFORE I KNEW IT, Gabe and I were boarding a plane to Miami for Meet the Parents Week. An itty-bitty part of me expected Internal Affairs to ban Gabe from traveling due to his shady past in Miami. Okay, that was a huge exaggeration on my part because I had no clue what the deal was in Miami. A few months ago, I would’ve taken it personally that Gabe didn’t trust me with the story. I knew him enough to know that he did trust me and would tell me if he could. Gabe was a man with a lot of integrity; if he was told not to discuss the case then he wouldn’t discuss the case.
I wasn’t thrilled with the early departure time because the guy beside me in seat 11A kept me up half the night before our trip. Apparently, vacations, or the fact that I was meeting his folks, made Detective Sex on a Stick very horny. Limping up to meet his parents after a night of Gabe liberally using my ass wasn’t my idea of a fun time. Luckily for him, and my sore
ass too, he splurged and bought first class seats for us so I could stretch out and be as comfortable as one could be on a plane.
I enjoyed the convenience of flying, I loved taxiing down the runway and lifting off, but I didn’t like air turbulence or landing. The flight was quick and devoid of much air turbulence, which made me happy because I was already anxious about meeting Gabe’s mom and dad. I didn’t want anything to amplify my tension and turn me into some spastic version of me for when the big moment came.
My spirits soared the minute we grabbed our luggage from the little spinning thing–I could never remember the correct name–and headed toward the airport exit because I could see through the windows that the weather was glorious. Gabe promised me that both the air and water temperatures in Miami in February would be in the ’70s. I expected Gabe to veer over to the rental car agencies, but he kept walking toward the exit.
“There they are!” His exuberant announcement had me looking around for a celebrity or something. Who was it? Britney? Cher? Beyoncé? My heart rate was already accelerated from anxiety and I worried that I’d have a heart attack or stroke out before I got to meet Mom and Pop Wyatt. Next thing I knew, Gabe powerwalked his sexy ass over to an African American man and a Hispanic woman with their arms open wide to embrace him.
“My baby,” the woman said when she wrapped her arms about Gabe.
“Welcome home, son.” The declaration was followed up with a hearty back slap.
I had followed behind Gabe at a more leisurely pace wondering once again if I looked presentable enough to meet Al and Martina Wyatt. To Gabe this might’ve been a simple introduction, but to me it was everything. Gabe had gone from being my something to my everything. The swift changes to my life were both terrifying and exhilarating, and depending on the day, I either embraced or denied it. That day I chose to embrace it because his parents looked at me with huge, welcoming smiles on their faces when I approached the trio and I forgot to be afraid.
“Mom and Dad,” Gabe said reverently, “this is Josh.”
The Wyatts didn’t bother with formal things like handshakes, they were huggers. Martina snatched me up first and smelled like cinnamon, sugar, and love; her hug was as equally as warm. Al smelled like sunshine and strength when he pulled me in against him; his hug was equally as firm. I was happy that the slap on my back wasn’t as sharp as the one Gabe received.
“We are so excited to meet you,” Martina said. Her smiling lips trembled for a second before she bit them.
“He looks surprised to meet us,” Al said. “I bet Gabe neglected to mention he was adopted again.”
“It shouldn’t matter what race my parents are,” Gabe told his father.
“It’s his way of testing people.” Martina looped her arm through mine and the four of us made our way to the exit. “Let me tell you that plenty of people have failed him.”
“We don’t give a lot of thought to our family dynamics,” Al said. “Miami is such a melting pot of diversity and our situation isn’t unique, but we’ve learned that others aren’t quite as open-minded.”
“Their loss is my gain,” I said, earning a huge smile from Martina.
I learned fast where Gabe got his love of classic cars from when Martina and I followed Al and Gabe to a gleaming, cherry red Cadillac convertible that had to be from the ’60s. The white top was down and the white leather seats were as clean as if the car had just rolled off the assembly line in Michigan. I worried that I had packed too much for a week–okay, Gabe said I did– but I got over it the minute Al opened the trunk of that monster. Hell, I could’ve fit Princess inside the trunk.
“Sweet ride, Mr. Wyatt,” I said.
“None of that mister stuff. Just call me Al,” he said. “Nice to see that you found one that can appreciate classic cars when he sees one.” My appreciation of classic cars came more from envisioning my sexy boyfriend driving them, or better yet rimming and fucking me over the hood, but I didn’t think that Al wanted to hear that.
“He loves Charlotte,” Gabe said. At least I was the only one who picked up on the slight fluctuation in his tone or saw his wicked smile in the wide back seat of the car.
“I bet,” Al said. The humor in his voice said I wasn’t the only one to pick up on that after all.
“You must be hungry,” Martina said once Al had maneuvered out of the parking lot and onto a street. “I thought we’d go back to our house for a while and visit before we drop you off at the rental car agency.”
Their home was an upscale, two-story Spanish style home in a subdivision built around a golf course. As beautiful as it was, I couldn’t help but remember a conversation that Gabe and I once had.
“I’m not so scary, you know,” Gabe had said.
“Said the alligator to the little yappy dog that was standing along the side of the lake before he ate him.”
“There aren’t gators in those ponds, are there?” I whispered to Gabe as we walked to the front of his parents’ home.
“This is Florida and they can be found everywhere, babe.” I could tell by the look on his face that he was remembering the conversation too. Then he leaned over and loudly nibbled my neck, making me laugh and twist to get away from him.
His parents went inside rather than wait on us to stop fooling around. Gabe pulled me to him for a long, lingering kiss before he linked our fingers and led me inside. The ambience of Al and Martina’s home was the exact opposite of Gabe’s in Ohio. His parents’ home was filled with warm colors, inviting furniture, and family pictures were on every surface. Gabe’s home was sterile in comparison and didn’t have a single family photo sitting around.
“You didn’t get any of your mother’s decorating skills, did you?”
“Nope, not even one. I admire a home that’s put together well, but don’t have the first clue how to make it happen. You remind me a lot of my mom,” Gabe said.
I could tell by the reverent tone of voice that he meant that as a compliment, but comparing anyone to your mother is a recipe for disaster. “Babe, that’s just wrong on so many levels.”
“I wasn’t saying that because…”
“I know,” I said, cutting him off. I knew he wasn’t saying that I was feminine in any way. “I meant that our relationship shouldn’t resemble anything you have with a parent. That’s just gross.”
“I was only referring to your effortless cooking and decorating. You make having a warm and inviting home seem so easy.”
“You’re forgiven.” I stood up on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss before we continued to the kitchen.
“Jesus, you two,” Gabe said when we found his mom and dad kissing in the kitchen. “See, what did I tell you?” he asked me.
On our very first date, although I didn’t call it that at the time, Gabe told me that his parents still acted like newlyweds between bites of country fried steak–that I later put to shame. His revelation was the first thing, other than sex, that we had in common. What he thought was gross about his parents, I found completely charming. Of course, I suspected we’d have the exact reverse situation when he met my parents in the middle of the week.
“It’s our house,” Al told him, “and we’ll neck if we want to.” Al gave Martina one last peck on the lips and then waved for his son to follow him out to the garage. “I want to show you the next purchase I’m planning on making.”
I learned from Gabe that Al not only had a successful auto repair shop, he restored and rebuilt classic cars that had been abandoned. Some he kept for himself and others he sold for a considerable profit. I too was curious about the next project, but I could see that Martina wanted some alone time to talk to me one-on-one.
“Do you want to help me fix brunch?” she asked. “Gabe told me what a marvelous cook you are so try not to show me up in my own kitchen.” She winked playfully at me then walked to her refrigerator.
It would give me something to do with my nervous hands, besides look like I had a medical condition, so I jumped on it. Martina pulle
d a casserole dish out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. It appeared to be some type of French toast that you make the day before and let sit overnight. It looked scrumptious and I made a mental note to get the recipe from her later, especially if Gabe liked it, because I suspected that swapping recipes wasn’t on her mind right then.
“Do you have any food allergies?” she asked as she pulled fresh produce from her crisper drawer of her refrigerator. “I put a lot of veggies in Gabe’s scrambled eggs and I don’t want to add an ingredient that offends or attempts to kill you.”
“I don’t have any allergies and I like just about everything except liver and onions.” I began washing the vegetables in the sink as she pulled them out. I chuckled as I washed the button mushrooms because I thought of the faces Gabe made every time someone tried to slip one into a recipe. He thought cream of mushroom soup was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen.
“What’s got you so tickled?” Martina asked.
“Oh, I was just laughing about Gabe’s hatred of mushrooms.” I was still recalling funny memories so it took me longer than normal to realize that Martina was standing as still as a statue. I turned and found her studying me with her head tilted to the side.
“Gabe doesn’t hate mushrooms,” she replied softly.
I realized that I was standing on very shaky ground and worried that my next words could make or break my relationship with her. “Oh, of course he doesn’t. I was confusing him with my best friend Chaz.” I giggled a little bit. “I blame it on my lack of sleep from…um…” I turned back and picked up the paring knife to either cut the veggies, slit my own throat, or defend myself from a marauding mama bear.
Martina didn’t move so I began slicing and dicing peppers and onions. I felt her eyes on me the entire time and I was afraid to blink. “Don’t slice those,” she said softly when I reached for the mushrooms. “Gabe doesn’t like them.” Her voice had a sadness to it that made me look up at her. I felt so bad that I upset her, even if it was accidentally. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that all these years.” Martina shook her head.
Something to Dye For (Curl Up and Dye Mysteries, #2) Page 13
