by E M Lindsey
Rowan gave him a look, pressing his hand just above James’ left ass cheek. “I can’t date you. I…there’s so much going on in my life right now, and I don’t know where I’m going to be in six months. But that’s in six months. Right now, I’m here, and I like you, and this was a lot.”
James let out a tense laugh, dragging his hand down his face. “Yeah. I guess that’s fair.”
“Personally, I’d like to stay. But if you’re not comfortable having someone else in your bed…”
James reached for him, quieting his words by tugging on his hand until Rowan climbed over him and got the sheets over them both. It was a little awkward. James only ever did this when he was wasted and one of the guys was too drunk to drive home. He’d never had a real sleepover, and the fact that Rowan now new him more intimately than anyone else in his life was a lot to process.
But it also felt good. He felt wanted, and he felt safe. Rowan curled into him, leaving his hand against James’ lower back. He didn’t kiss him again, or try to push the moment further, but that simple touch was enough.
He breathed out, then closed his eyes and catalogued all the feelings in his body. He wasn’t a virgin anymore. He’d done exactly what he’d been warned about his entire life— he’d given in. If he wasn’t hell-bound before, he was definitely on his way now.
Chapter Nine
Rowan stared at the top of his desk, not really taking anything in. He felt strange about the night before. The sex had been amazing—he hadn’t been lying when he assured James that watching him come just from touching Rowan’s dick was probably the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his life. And the way he’d come down Rowan’s throat at the end, the way his orgasm had all-but consumed him—he’d keep that memory for as long as he lived. James had calmed down when it was over, after Rowan assured him he wasn’t leaving.
The morning was a little awkward, but no worse than any of his previous hook-ups. He’d kissed James awake, nuzzling a little and pressing into whatever touch the other man offered him. He spent a few minutes drawing his fingers over James’ ink, the marks along his shoulder, up his neck, across the side of his head. James blinked at him, bleary-eyed and sweet, and didn’t seem full of regret, which was what Rowan had worried about most.
But he’d left without either of them promising it wasn’t the end. Rowan wasn’t ready to give up James just yet, even if he knew he wasn’t long for Denver. He had been courting other firms in the south, brushing up on his law, looking into the exams, and he knew it was inevitable. He’d gotten into the work for a reason, and he didn’t plan to give that up because some pretty virgin cried when he came. Even if he could masturbate to that image for years to come.
He’d expected more, though. He’d expected James to at least imply he was interested in seeing him again. Maybe his silence was just his pride, or maybe James really had regretted it when it was over. Rowan hated not knowing, and it was taking all of his effort not to pick up his phone and text.
The sound of his name drew his attention up, and Jeremy was staring at him with a cup of coffee in his hand and a look of concern on his face. “Do you need me to cancel anything for you?”
Rowan frowned. “What? Why?”
“Well, you look like shit for one,” he pointed out in his usual, blunt way.
“Thanks,” Rowan replied dryly.
He set the cup of coffee at Rowan’s elbow and straightened, crossing his arms. “Two, I said your name like three times before you looked up.”
Rowan felt his cheeks heat. “Sorry. It was a weird night last night.”
“Yeah, I kind of got that. I’m assuming it’s nothing to do with Braga. Unless, shit,” he breathed out. “You’re not fucking him, are you?”
Rowan narrowed his eyes. “You know I would never.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you,” Jeremy said with a shrug, stepping back. “The dude is all kinds of hot.”
Rowan made an impatient noise and waved Jeremy away. “I’m not fucking my client. Yes, he’s hot, but trust me, it’s not happening.” He didn’t mention that he accidentally hit on his client’s boyfriend—or whatever the hell Niko was to Sam— because he wasn’t in the mood for Jeremy’s particular brand of dramatics. He also had no intention of mentioning that the guy he had fucked was Sam’s friend and co-worker. “I did hook up, and no I’m not giving you details,” when his assistant’s eyes brightened.
“Man or woman?” Jeremy demanded. “Or did you meet some nonbinary babe?”
Rowan gave him a flat look, but refused to answer.
Jeremy deflated. “Come on! I’m married. I have to live vicariously through you now.”
“Yes, I’ll be sure to tell your adoring husband,” Rowan said flatly.
Jeremy scoffed. “Yeah, like he isn’t starving for gossip the moment I get home. Anyway, I actually am a little worried about you. I meant it when I said you look like shit.”
“And I meant it when I said thanks.” He reached for the coffee and took a drink, happy that Jeremy had skipped the cream and sugar. “I’m processing some stuff.”
“Okay, well,” he hesitated, and it was then Rowan realized there might actually be an issue.
“What?” he demanded in a terse voice.
Jeremy bit his lip, then sighed. “So, a woman from Portland Pulmonology called for you. She said she had some forms for you to sign.”
Rowan felt his heart hammer in his chest. “What kind of forms?” He tried not to panic, but anything medical in Portland would be his mother, and a pulmonologist was not a good sign.
“She didn’t say, and the fax never came in.”
Trying to temper his anger, he looked at his assistant. “When was this?”
“About five minutes before I walked in here,” Jeremy defended with his hands up. “I offered to patch her through, and she said it wasn’t necessary, just something for you to sign and get back to her.”
Rowan licked his lips, breathing out slowly. “Okay. Bring them to me the second they come in. I need to make a call.” He waited for Jeremy to scurry out before picking up his phone and dialing his mom. His frustration only escalated when it went to her voicemail, and he tried to control his tone as he left his message. “Mom, hey. I was curious why Portland Pulmonology is calling me asking me to sign some papers. You said you were feeling alright, and you know I worry. You also know I hate when shit gets sprung on me like this, so please call me back. I have a couple meetings today, but I’ll take your call so don’t wait.” He hung up, then immediately regretted not saying I love you, though the words were harder since he’d been dragged from her arms as a kid.
Tapping his fingers on his desk, he started to feel restless again, and he stood up, walking into the main lobby. Being that it was Thursday, he only had court that morning with Sam—which was as successful as they were going to get for the moment—and he’d made sure to leave his afternoon free just in case it went badly.
Jeremy was at his desk, determinedly not looking at him, so he turned and walked back into his office. Swiping his phone from the desk, he shoved it into his pocket and picked up his keys. “I have to head out for a bit. Call me the second the fax gets in. And if my mom calls, patch her through.”
Jeremy nodded, saying nothing as Rowan breezed through the front lobby and marched out the door. He sat behind the wheel of his car for a moment, not quite sure what he planned to do with his time. He couldn’t sit behind his desk and freak out about his mom’s health, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have a mountain of work to do, but none of it was pressing.
He just wanted…
He just wanted…
Fuck. He knew what he wanted, and it was no surprise that he was on the freeway heading back to Fairfield in spite of having no invitation to see James again. He was taking liberties—maybe unwelcome ones—and part of him was hoping James would just outright reject him. Maybe it was existing in the limbo of not knowing whether or not they’d see each other again that was keeping him so worked up.
Rowan came to an almost screeching halt in traffic when he passed by Our Lady of Sorrows. He’d been to a few Catholic masses in his lifetime, but religion had never really been his thing. He was grateful for it when he saw just how much it had fucked up James. Now, seeing the other man’s truck in the parking lot, forced him to change course, and he swerved into the turn lane.
He got a few middle fingers and several horns blaring at him, but he made it across traffic and parked a few spaces away from where the red pick-up sat. He got out, hesitant for a second, then peered in the window and saw the familiar hand controls. Something twisted in his stomach, hot and uncomfortable when he realized he was probably the reason James was here.
He was stupid to think they’d both walked away without any sort of consequence.
“I should not be here,” he muttered to himself. He couldn’t make his feet move back toward his car, though. Instead, he marched with purpose toward the front doors. This might have nothing to do with him, but he felt a rush of fear like maybe James was spiraling, and Rowan couldn’t let that happen. Whatever the other man believed, Rowan couldn’t let him walk away thinking they’d done anything wrong.
The inside was just like any other Catholic church he’d been in. The echoing foyer, the basin with holy water, the wide doors leading to the main chapel. It echoed as he walked, and he peered across the room, eyes grazing over stained glass and marble statues until they found James.
He was there, looking strangely fitting in spite of his dirty work coveralls, and his bald, tattooed head. He had his hands clasped on top of the pew in front of him, his head bowed, and he didn’t show any signs of having heard Rowan walk in. It felt strange and voyeuristic to watch him like that, so he pushed forward. The carpet beneath his feet was soft enough, muting the sounds as he reached James’ side.
“I saw your truck,” he said quietly.
The only indication that James was startled was the way his shoulders tensed. He didn’t lift his head or open his eyes, but he did breathe out a soft sigh. “I thought you were busy today.”
Rowan chuckled quietly, and feeling like maybe he wasn’t being totally rejected, he eased down in the space between James and the end of the bench. “Things went well with Sam, so I decided to take a drive.” Only partly a lie, and even in a church, he didn’t feel too bad for it. “You’re not Catholic.”
James huffed, his mouth twisted up in a grin. He tilted his head sideways to look at Rowan, his temple resting against his clasped knuckles. “They’re the only ones who are open on random days of the week like this. At least, the only ones in Fairfield, and I didn’t feel like going all the way to fucking Denver to be told what I already know.”
Rowan wanted to argue with him, knowing where James was at, but he knew it was futile for a man who had been so warped by his past. Instead, he nodded, saying nothing as his eyes drifted to the crucifix hanging on the wall. Christ’s stone face was twisted in agony, and he wondered if the man had known any sort of carnal pleasure. He never believed in the whole idea of chastity—not the way the uptight puritans who wanted to make homosexuality a mental disorder did. He turned his gaze back to James who was still watching him. “Is it helping? Being here and praying, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” James confessed. “I’ve spent years trying to let go of this crap my dad taught me. I went to school, studied the history of it—it never made any damn sense. But at the end of each night, I still said my dang prayers. Still closed my eyes and tried to feel the Lord with me, tried to find some middle ground for the way I was born, and the things I was taught. Stupid, right?”
“No,” Rowan told him. He reached out, brushing his thumb down the edge of James’ jaw. “It’s not stupid. The things we do to comfort ourselves aren’t up for judgement.”
James squeezed his eyes shut. “What if they torment you more than comfort you?”
“I’m not the man to talk to about this,” Rowan told him, hating that he couldn’t bring James at least some measure of peace. “I’ve never been religious, and even if I was, I don’t think I could ever believe that something so natural would be considered a hell-worthy sin.”
James let out a shaking breath, then he relaxed his hands, though he didn’t sit up. Rowan wondered if kneeling like that hurt his knees, and then he wondered if maybe James did it to pay some sort of penance. “You’ve had to work though shit before though, right? I mean, emotionally?”
Rowan nodded. “I had to learn to forgive my mom for something that was ultimately not her fault. I tell people the blame lies with a society who feels they’re bringing about justice when they rip families apart over a misguided belief that disabled people are worth less. But deep down, I’m still angry that she didn’t fight harder, even when logically I know she gave everything she had.”
James swallowed thickly, nodding. “Part of me wants to believe that all the crap I’m afraid of—all of this,” he waved his hand in a lazy circle, “doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t prove or disprove God’s views on…on what I’ve done.”
Rowan licked his lips. “James…”
“I don’t regret it. I didn’t want you to see me here,” James said. He sat up fully, then slid back on the pew and turned toward him. “This isn’t about you.”
Rowan bowed his head. “Maybe it was a mistake. If you’re hurting so bad you tried to find comfort here…”
“No,” James said. He reached out, hesitated, then looked around before letting his palm briefly touch Rowan’s cheek. “I wouldn’t change it, and I don’t want to stop it from happening in the future. I just need to find a way to come to terms with a potential fate, because for me—it’s worth it.”
“Hell?” Rowan pressed. He wanted James to really face what he was saying before he agreed to fuck him again. “You think hell is worth a few orgasms?”
“It ain’t just the gay thing, trust me. There’s a lot about religion I have to reconcile, and I’m not sure I want to be trapped for all of eternity with the sort of people my daddy believed were destined for heaven. But the things you do to me?” James finished, his voice low. He twisted his fingers together in his lap, cheeks blazing, but when he looked up, his eyes were intense and dark. “Yes. Hell would be worth it.”
Rowan licked his lips, then nodded. “Tonight. I’m going to text you my address, and I want you there.”
“Okay,” James said, and Rowan felt it deep in his bones when he realized there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in James’ voice. “Do you want to walk me out?”
Rowan nodded, slipping off the bench, and he hugged his middle as James walked close to him, their elbows brushing. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like, to be told this deep-rooted, uncontrollable part of you was the reason you’d spend eternity in torment. He wanted to reach out and touch James, but he didn’t think it would be welcome just then. His jaw was clenched, his body a line of tension.
Neither of them said a word until they got to the parking lot, and Rowan followed James over to his truck. “Last night, when I brought you to tears,” he started, then stopped as James flushed again. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” James said. He leaned against the truck and gave Rowan an unreadable look. “Please don’t apologize for what we did. I know my reaction wasn’t exactly something a guy wants to see after making someone come, but I promise it’s what I wanted.”
Rowan blew out a puff of air, then nodded. “I get it. I mean, I don’t. I’ve never had hang-ups like that before, but I do know you’re a grown-ass man capable of knowing what you want. So, I trust you when you tell me you’re good.”
James laughed, the sound only the slightest bit bitter. “Oh, I’m not good. I’m pretty fucking far from it, but I kinda figured it would be like that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then took a step forward. “You made it better. You made it the best it could be, I think. I liked that.”
Rowan groaned, stepping into James’ space, and put his hands on his hips. “I want to kiss you again.”
“I’d be fine with it,” James murmured, tipping his head down toward Rowan’s.
“Even in a church parking lot?” Rowan teased.
James huffed a breathy laugh right up against his mouth. “I ain’t a Catholic,” he said, right before he closed the distance between them. James was rougher than he had been the night before—it had been all tenderness and hesitance, but now, he was bold. He was claiming, the way he opened his mouth and let Rowan in, the way he pushed back with his tongue and a little teeth.
James’ fingers dug into the front of Rowan’s shirt, ruffling it to hell, and Rowan fucking loved it. He pressed James backward until he hit the truck, then shoved a knee between his parted thighs. Not enough to send him off balance, just enough to remind James that he was there, and there was more to come.
“Fuck, I want you,” James growled.
Rowan sighed, breaking away with smudging pecks over James’ lips. “I don’t think I have time.”
“Me neither. I gotta finish up this fuel injector job, then I have a tattoo at four.”
Rowan’s brow furrowed. “Won’t that take a while?”
“Nah,” James said. He didn’t pull away, and Rowan found himself leaning into James’ warmth. James’ hand reached down and pressed to the top of Rowan’s thigh. “Just a lil’ bumble bee right here.”
Rowan sucked in a breath, his cock so hard and desperate for release, he knew he could come with just a little rutting. He tried to breathe through it. “Look at your list and text me what you want to do tonight. Be explicit,” he ordered.
James’ pupils dilated. “Really?”
“Really,” Rowan said, then leaned in and kissed him, biting down lightly on his lower lip before pulling away. “I want details.”
“Not sure I’d be any good at it,” James said, his face a little embarrassed.
Rowan reached up and used a finger to draw James’ chin up, forcing their gazes to meet. “What if I promise to do literally every single thing you text me. No questions asked.”
