by Jodi Payne
“No, that’s okay. Thanks. You look like you’d fall down them anyway. You should get inside and call the police. I’m calling my boyfriend. You and James are brothers, right? You have the same bad luck. Maybe it’s you that should move.”
“Maybe.” He offered Haley a nod before he unlocked the door. “Night.”
He closed the door behind him, locked it, then stood there for a long minute before he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table with a half grin.
If today wasn’t the day to start smoking again, he sure as shit didn’t know what was.
Lord help him.
19
Thomas got back from the gym later than he’d intended, but then his whole morning had been a little off because he hadn’t slept all that well.
When he’d gotten home from the Thanksgiving party, he was high on his day and a little high on that last shot too. But mostly, he was high on Sam, on Sam’s candor and kisses.
He’d taken a shower and managed to get just a little higher on Sam before he dove into bed.
But at some point, he’d had that dream, the one where James was sitting there, then just wasn’t. Sometimes it was in a coffee shop, sometimes on the subway. Last night they were together in James’s bedroom, in James’s bed, and this time when James disappeared and he woke up in his own bed…well. He’d lost it. It wasn’t anything he’d have wanted anyone to see.
But routine was his shelter, and the gym got him back on track, and now that he’d showered and had coffee, it seemed like it was a polite enough hour to try Sam and get on with the rest of his plan for the day.
Good morning. Do you have plans today? I’m off—I thought you might like to come use the office.
Sam could use his office, and he could read and maybe take Sam out for lunch. Something to make up for the fact that he was too anxious last night and hadn’t trusted himself not to do something he’d regret if he’d gone in for coffee.
Sam began to answer him almost immediately, but it took forever for the text to drop.
I would, but I can’t. I got mugged. I lost James’s coat. I smoked a lot and puked and the neighbor said I was bad luck. I can’t do it today. I’m broke dick and low and I can’t do no more.
What? He hit Call, his stomach tightening.
It didn’t even ring. “ ’M sorry.”
“Don’t. Can I come over? I’m coming over.”
“I can’t cowboy up right now. You got to know that.”
“I get it. I just want to be there. Will you…do you want to stay on the phone? I’ll take a cab.”
“Yeah. I’m…Jesus, I’m fixin’ to lose my shit, swear to God.”
He rushed around the living room finding shoes, getting his coat, his wallet. Trying not to panic. “Keys. Where are…oh. Coat pocket. Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“I started to, over and over, but it’s your day off, and I hit him. What if it had been him, man? What if it was him and he was right there and I let him go?” Sam sounded shattered. Totally.
His day off? His fucking day off? He wanted to scream into the phone, but he forced himself to take a deep breath before he said anything at all, and reminded himself that Sam could have just said no, would have just said no without any explanation at all not even two weeks ago.
Breathe. He’s in pieces; you can’t be.
“It’s okay, Sam. You’ve got me now, right? Your door is locked? You’re safe right now, and I’m on my way.” He got in the first cab he could find, not caring that it was headed uptown and he needed to go down. “Make a U-turn.”
The guy glanced at him in the rearview mirror, and he tossed a twenty into the front seat. “And step on it.”
“Am I ever not going to be fucked up again? I swear to God, I feel like I’m on the circuit again, somehow.” Sam sounded hollow, like his boy was speaking down a well.
It did seem like every time Sam started to get his feet, someone pulled the rug out again. Sam’s voice was painful to hear. It sounded hoarse and washed out, nothing like the laughter he’d enjoyed at the party yesterday. It hurt, made his chest ache. He leaned into the little window between the front seat and the back. “Move it. Please.”
Thomas turned his attention back to his phone. “Sam, you’re all right. I know it feels overwhelming, but we’ll sort it through. When I get there, you’ll tell me what happened?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Make some coffee. Turn the heat up a little, okay? You need to be able to think.” He was almost there. He sat back in the seat and closed his eyes, breathing, trying to find center. Sam had been mugged, hadn’t slept; the boy would be green from overdoing it with the cigarettes. He refused to be shocked by any of it.
He opened his eyes just in time to see Sam’s building go by the window. “Here. Stop. Let me out here.” He paid the driver and pulled out his keys.
He didn’t worry about the stoop, about anything but getting to his Sam.
“I’m here. I’m coming up.” He shut his phone off and took the steps two at a time, then took a breath and reined it in before he keyed into the apartment.
Calm. Solid and calm.
He opened the door, finding Sam on the sofa, eyes red, wrapped in his blanket, teeth chattering. “Hey. You came.”
“Yes, Sam.” He closed the door behind him and locked it. Taking in Sam’s sunken, slightly wild eyes as he took off his coat, he stopped by the thermostat and turned it up to sixty-five without asking. He’d pay the goddamn bill. “I’m going to come sit with you, all right?” It seemed worth asking permission, because Sam looked like he was either going to shiver to bits or take off like a rocket any second.
“Please.” Sam pushed himself into the corner of the sofa, giving him room, opening the blanket to let him in. “He took James’s coat.”
“It’s just a coat.” He didn’t need room; he needed to get his arms around Sam. He slid under the blanket, though; it was still so damn cold. “Come here. Come lean on me.” He held his arms open and waited.
Sam didn’t hesitate. Thomas’s arms were filled with shaking, shattering man. Sam had found that final straw.
It was raw and painful, and it worried him more than a bit if he were honest, but Sam was finally offering him the level of trust he’d asked for, that he needed. He knew what he had in his hands, and he had to step up now and keep his promises.
But fuck, Sam was so cold.
“I’ve got you. You’re not just free-falling, Sam. I’m here.” He’d get to questions in a minute.
Sam took one breath, another; then he began to relax and warm, which made the tremors worse. That he understood, the shock, how muscles had to remember how to relax.
He rubbed his hands over Sam’s arm and back, but mostly he just stayed there, as present and attentive as he could manage through his own veil of worry and the queasy feeling in his stomach. “That’s good. Breathe. I’m yours all day. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Take your time and breathe.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t figure out how to get my feet under me.” Sam closed his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking.”
Jesus Christ. Sam would apologize to the sun for making it rise. “All right. Tell me what’s on your mind. Think out loud—get it out.”
“I hit him. I hit him twice, Thomas. What if it was the same guy? He has James’s coat. I had him, and he got away.” He could feel the tension ratcheting up. “Jesus fucking Christ—what if I had him right there, after all? No one’s ever going to forgive me for letting him go.”
There was no reason to believe it was the same guy, was there? “You were mugged, Sam. What did he take besides the coat? Did he get your wallet? Where were you? Did you go back out after I left?”
“I was here. At the door. Thinking about you. And I saw a shadow. He grabbed the coat, and I turned and started punching. He hit me in the head, and things got a little fuzzy. He only took the coat.” Sam shook his head. “The girl said he was just a guy in dark cloth
es.”
Right. Just a guy in dark clothes that got spooked when Sam fought back, that was all. The guy didn’t have time to get anything else. Simplest explanation was the best. “The girl?”
“The neighbor girl. She said we’re unlucky, that I should move.” Sam made a soft, odd sound. “I came in and locked the door, and the world fell out from under me.”
Why had he gone home? If he’d come in, it was possible things could have gotten complicated, but not this kind of complicated.
“I should have come in with you,” he muttered.
“What if he’d hit you? Hurt you?” Sam rested one hand over his heart. “Jesus, I’m so fucking tired in my soul.”
If he’d hit me first, you’d have had him.
“I know.” Thomas threaded his fingers into Sam’s. “But you’re not alone. Just let it rest with me.” The heat was kicking in. It wasn’t warm yet, but he could smell it.
“Okay.” Sam hugged him hard, the action sudden and surprising and incredibly dear—Sam accepting the comfort he offered without question.
“Oh. All right. All right.” Thomas wrapped his arms tighter and held him close, holding back the emotion stinging the corners of his eyes by sheer stubborn will. He hadn’t the slightest understanding of what it meant, and he didn’t have the luxury to indulge it right now. He was here for Sam. He was fine.
“I was afraid you’d be so disappointed.” The whisper was barely audible.
“About a coat?” The question was out of his mouth before he thought better of it. This wasn’t about a coat. Even James’s coat.
“The coat. The whole thing. My whole thing.”
“I haven’t imposed any expectations on you, Sam. You can’t disappoint me. I’ve grown fond of your…whole thing.” Words were so important, weren’t they? Even he didn’t know what “grown fond of” was supposed to mean. The words were just peeking out of a fog.
“We all have expectations, don’t we? Christ, some days I don’t feel like I can stand up from them weighing on me. I can’t be the only one like that.” Sam chuckled. “I’m rambling. Also, I’m fond of your whole thing too.”
“Well.” He snorted. “I’m glad we’re clear on that at least.” He shifted a little, giving Sam more room to breathe. “You make a fair point. There are things we expect of ourselves and things we expect of other people. There are also things we expect of people, but only in certain situations. So, yes. We live under the weight of a lot of scrutiny. I think you need to sort through who is really putting your feet to the fire. It’s not me. You can’t disappoint me when the only thing I expect is truth. That you live what’s in your heart.”
“I don’t lie to you. Sometimes I don’t know the truth, but I don’t lie.” Sam was melted against him, boneless, soaking up their contact.
“No, you don’t. I know. You’re a master of leaving out details, but you don’t lie.” He grinned and kissed the top of Sam’s head to soften his words.
Sam’s cheek rubbed against his chest. “I vote no one else hits me in the head. Body shots are way more fair.”
“Oh, God. Your head. What am I thinking? Let me look at it.”
“Looks like a head.” Sam winked at him but tilted his head, the bruise under his ear dark blue and angry. “I didn’t go down, but it scattered my chickens.”
“It’s not pretty, but you’ll live. Alternatively, I could amputate at the neck.”
“Promises, promises. Good thing you’re not expecting pretty.”
That made him laugh. “You’re plenty pretty. Sort of…punching bag chic. I’m not sure I’d recognize you without all the green and purple.”
“Shut up, you. Punching bag chic…good lord and butter.” Sam looked up, met his eyes. “Thank you. I was lost.”
He held Sam’s gaze and breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing them again, seeing the Sam he knew in there. “You’re welcome. Don’t hesitate next time, just call. Any hour, about anything. Okay?”
Sam nodded once. “I needed a hand up.”
“I’m glad I—” There was a flash of familiar confidence in Sam’s eyes with those words, just enough to distract him, and he leaned down to take a kiss. Sam met him halfway, the connection like a key in a lock.
He tightened his fingers around the back of Sam’s neck and pulled him in, a sudden heat building in his belly and exploding out in all directions. His head swam with it, and he reached out with his tongue to explore Sam’s lips, begging to be let in.
Sam groaned for him and opened, lips parting like butter for a hot knife, no hesitation, no fear. Just an answering desire.
Oh God. Sam was an irresistible cocktail of freshly showered skin, toothpaste, and raw heat. Everything about the cowboy felt new and clean; even their kiss was curious. Wild.
He took his time, exploring with his tongue, answering Sam’s groan with one of his own.
Sam touched his jaw, fingers sliding down his neck as they luxuriated in each other. Their lips parted, they stole a breath, and dove back in.
He wanted to see Sam, to feel him, and right now the man was swimming in fabric. He tugged on the blanket and shoved it to the floor, then started gathering the enormous sweat shirt that had tangled and wrapped itself around Sam’s body, shoulders to knees. “Skin. I want to feel you.”
“God, yes.” Sam stripped the mass of fabric off and slid over to straddle his thighs, pulling on his shirt before he even got a chance to explore. “You too?”
“Me too.” He helped Sam pull his sweater up and off, before he went right after Sam’s collarbones, tasting his way from one shoulder to the other while his fingers read those washboard abs like braille.
Sam mapped his body, stopping to explore when he shivered, when his breath hiccupped, and he had to admire Sam’s focus, because there was no hiding Sam’s responses. The strong muscles jerked and rolled, nipples hard as rocks, strangled sounds on the air.
Fuck, the man was glowing like a pint-sized Adonis.
He went after a nipple, rolling the stiff bud between his tongue and teeth. “You taste so good.”
“Oh, fuck…” Sam curled over him, the motion fluid, abs catching his fingers. That tiny, tight ass rocked on his thighs.
Sam was right—this body was made to ride.
“Good, right?” He turned his head and caught Sam’s mouth again, tongue invading, and shifted his hands to Sam’s back, fingers sneaking under the waistband of another pair of Daddy Mike’s gigantic sweats. If Sam had tensed, had pulled away, Thomas would have stopped, but no, Sam arched for him like a huge cat, welcoming his touch.
“Fuck, Sam.” Habit and deeply ingrained principle had him listening for that voice that would tell him to slow things down, to consider circumstances and timing, but if it was there, Sam’s heat, Sam’s need was drowning it out. That was his calling, wasn’t it? His whole purpose? Seeing to Sam’s needs was what he was made for.
Sam nodded, cupped his face, and kissed him again, trapping their shared moan between them. Sam was hard as diamonds, rubbing against him restlessly, the entire beautiful body begging him for more.
That put Sam light-years ahead of him, and perhaps that was for the best. Thomas hadn’t rushed anything in his life, and he wasn’t interested in rushing this. Not wanting what he wanted. Not with everything he knew was at stake.
He took Sam by the shoulders and turned them, dumping Sam on his back on the couch. He caught Sam’s eyes and held them as he slid the sweats over Sam’s hips. They’d barely been holding on anyway, even with the waistband cinched tight.
Sam never flinched away from him, staring right into him, waiting for his reaction. Brave. Sam gave himself over, knowing that it could be a fucking disaster.
It wouldn’t be, though. He’d just get Sam feeling good, take the edge off for him; then he’d think about his next move.
He glanced down and grinned. Big things really did come in small packages. Wait, was it good things? Well, it worked either way. “Lovely.” He gently curled his fingers
around Sam, careful not to set the boy off. “Heavy.” Solid. Like the rest of the cowboy.
“You make me ache, honey, deep. Ain’t never been naked and hard with a man at the same time before.”
He wasn’t the least bit surprised. He’d assumed as much, but they weren’t seventeen and fucking around in the back of a car. They were grown men, and the moment had more weight. “I almost envy you right now.” He smiled. “Firsts are memorable.”
He bent his head to Sam’s cock, his fingers still gliding gently, balls to tip over hot, silky skin, and touched his tongue to the head, flicking it experimentally, gauging Sam’s reaction.
Sam’s shoulders left the couch cushions, body rolling right up, curling over his head.
Jesus, that was the fucking hottest, most genuine reflex ever. Sam didn’t even know enough to know most people were self-conscious during sex. His balls drew up tight, and he had to squeeze his eyes closed. That honesty was more than a turn-on; if his middle name wasn’t “control,” he might very well have lost it right then.
Thomas wanted to make this mind-blowing for Sam, send him flying. They had time for real intimacy when Sam didn’t have a shift hanging over his head. He took Sam into his mouth and scrubbed his tongue over the shaft, ready in case the boy went wild.
“Jesus, Thomas. Please.” Sam reached for him, hands hot as fire on his bare skin.
Goddammit! That “please” was enough to settle a heat like he’d never known at the base of his spine. He forced himself to concentrate and not listen, to keep his focus on Sam. In compensation, he swore to himself he’d have this boy on his knees to him by Sunday if it was the last thing he ever did.
He swallowed Sam deep, throat working, and lightly pinched the sensitive skin behind Sam’s balls.
That was all Sam could take, Sam’s cry ringing out, clear as a bell, salt pouring into his mouth.
It was a rush, to know he was the first, to know no one had ever tasted Sam like this before.
