by E M Lindsey
“Then that would be your own fault for not looking deeper. Amit wouldn’t belong in this little family if he was anything like that. It’s okay to be afraid, but it’s also okay to start trusting. You’re wanted here.” Wyatt drew his lower lip between his teeth, then smiled and backed up, hand brushing along the wall until he found his cane. “Go ask him to dance. Mat said he looked a little lonely. Go tell him his lip gloss looks good, then offer to kiss it off him.”
“Jesus,” Miguel gasped, his entire body going warm at the thought. He scowled when Wyatt laughed again, but he couldn’t deny the other man’s words had an effect on him. Maybe he was being a fool. Maybe he’d traded one trapped life for another—only this one, he’d done it to himself.
He said nothing, and he didn’t follow Wyatt out right away. When he was finally alone, he looked at himself again. He forced himself to see past the picture so many other people painted, to the person he actually was. Not a stranger, but not someone he looked for often. That old spark—the one that knew he deserved better, that he could find better—was still in there. Buried deep, but not gone yet. Maybe, if he really did have the courage to leap, he’d find himself with a soft landing.
With Miguel mysteriously absent, Amit let himself go. He had another drink, let Nick and Eddie drag him out onto the floor. The music flowed through him, the conversation light and meaningless, the comfort of his friends around him giving him the support and courage to just be himself.
This was where he belonged. Lonely or not, he still had a place there. He could finally feel truly happy for Chris—a big deal when a Deaf man could make waves in law—and he looked forward to seeing his future. Amit wanted that. He wanted more than a useless degree, and a mountain of debt, and an aging mother weighing him down.
But he didn’t want to think of that. He didn’t want to make room for family drama, for worry over his sister’s marriage, for any of it. He just wanted to exist and be happy. He wanted to feel the stretch of lace over his ass, and look down at his hands and see the red polish standing out like its own sort of pride flag.
He wanted to run his tongue over the remnants of the gloss Nick had smeared on his mouth and know that someone there might want to kiss it off him because he looked good. And damn, he really did look good.
A touch at his hip startled him and he spun, his heart catching in his throat when he saw Miguel standing there holding a bottle of water in his hand. His eyes widened further when Miguel tucked it under his arm, then dragged a finger down his throat.
‘Thirsty.’ It was probably a question, though his face didn’t indicate that. And it probably meant literal—even if the answer to both meanings was yes. Amit was very thirsty.
‘Thanks,’ he signed, then took the bottle Miguel offered and cracked the top. It was soothing to his parched throat, and the chill of the liquid brought a relief to his overheated limbs.
‘Dance,’ Miguel signed again, then pointed to himself.
Amit couldn’t stop his grin, realizing that he must have picked up a few signs from the other guys. His gaze darted across the room to see Derek and Basil watching with matching looks of mischief. Amit fought the urge to roll his eyes, a fondness in him he hadn’t expected, and he put his hand on Miguel’s arm while thrusting the half-empty bottle at Nick.
His friend didn’t fight it, which probably meant that somehow, they were all in on this together, but Amit couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d wanted Miguel from the moment he’d laid eyes on him, and he wasn’t sure it would get further than this moment. He wanted to make the absolute most of it before it was snatched away.
Miguel didn’t flinch away from his touch, instead putting his left hand over Amit’s and lacing their fingers together. He pulled him further onto the dance floor, where a small space had opened up, then tugged him close.
“That’s all I know in sign,” Miguel said.
Amit’s hand rested on Miguel’s chest, and he didn’t feel a rumble which meant he was probably mouthing his words. “That’s okay. I can read your lips pretty well. Can you read mine?”
“I can sort of hear you,” Miguel confessed, offering him a sheepish smile. “Tu bailas muy bien.”
Amit bit his lip, then asked, “What does that mean?”
Miguel dug his fingers into Amit’s hips. “You dance very well.”
Amit rolled his hips, grinning, feeling a rush in his own groin when he felt a bulge in Miguel’s. “I used to do this a lot. Not anymore. But it’s nice.” He reached down and looped Miguel’s right arm up and onto his shoulder. He caught a flash of color, so he stepped back a bit and ran his thumb over what looked like marker in haphazard scribbles and circles. “Fun with the kids?”
Miguel laughed, the look on his face so gorgeous, so transforming, it made Amit’s heart race. “Sam’s daughter. I couldn’t tell her no.”
“It’s the eyes,” Amit said. He swayed his hips a bit, and then he could feel the tempo of the next song start to slow, the heavy bass fading to almost nothing. The silence was pressing for a moment as his ears adjusted, and then he could make out a very faint melody rippling across the crowd.
Miguel looked unsure until Amit tightened his hold, and then he tugged Amit closer and began to sway with him. His movement was stilted and stiff from his hip, but somehow, it was still the most perfect dance he’d ever had. His hand lifted from Amit’s shoulder—his right one. The end of it, where the skin had been folded and sewn, leaving a thin scar which looked starkly different from the knots of burn scars, was soft against his cheek. The knuckle of his thumb traced an arc at the corner of his mouth.
“I like this gloss on you,” he said, and this time Amit could hear the rumble of his voice, even if he couldn’t make out the words. “Dios, mírate, eres tan hermoso.” He cleared his throat. “You are so beautiful.”
Amit’s face heated. “Yeah? I um… I wasn’t sure.”
Miguel grabbed Amit’s hand with his free one, thumbing over the red polish. “I like this better than the pearl one you were looking at in the store. It suits you.”
Amit licked his lips, and when his eyes met Miguel’s, his breath stuttered. He couldn’t look away. He was trapped there, locked in a deep, pained gaze. His mouth opened, like maybe he was going to ask if Miguel was okay, like maybe if he was going to prod into why this gorgeous man always looked so fucking scared and so fucking sad. But he didn’t have a chance.
Miguel’s palm pressed harder against him, pulling at him, and Amit went easily. Their lips met, parting, tongues brushing just a little, and the sensation was so strange, he pulled back with a gasp. Miguel blinked, then a flush rose along his neck as he very carefully darted the tip of his tongue out.
It was split—Amit had seen it before, but never in person. He watched as the ends separated, ran over his bottom lip, then pulled back in.
“It’s weird,” Miguel started to say, but Amit didn’t let him finish.
He curled a hand around the back of Miguel’s neck and tugged him close. “Kiss me,” he murmured against the other man’s ear. Then he angled his head, and closed his eyes, and he waited.
For a brief, hanging moment, he thought he was going to be denied. Then all the tension seemed to drain from Miguel’s body, and their lips crashed together, far more desperate this time. He felt a rumbling moan ripping from Miguel’s chest to his own, felt Miguel’s hips press against him in a muted thrust, felt Miguel’s hand curl into the back of his shirt.
“God,” Amit gasped when he needed air. He searched Miguel’s face for regret, for worry, but he found none. Just completely and totally naked, raw lust. “I want you.”
Miguel swallowed, took a couple of breaths, then nodded. “Yeah. Yes. Do you want to…I live far, but…”
“I live with my mom and sisters,” Amit confessed, hating every word that came out of his mouth. “I…it’s complicated. It’s not that I can’t afford my own place but…”
“I want to take you home,” Miguel interrupted. His palm stro
ked over Amit’s cheek. “I can drive, I haven’t had more than a beer, and that was a while ago.”
Amit licked his lips, then nodded and was unable to stop himself from going in for another kiss. Miguel took his mouth willingly, opening his own, deepening it but keeping it soft and sweet. It was unexpected, and it left Amit burning for more. “I hope you’re not parked far,” he said, leaving lingering pecks across his lips.
“Right outside, querido,” he murmured.
Amit nodded, then laced their fingers together. “I’m ready, then.” He knew his friends would see him leaving, and hopefully they’d just let him go. He’d happily explain everything after, but right now, only one man had his attention, and he wasn’t ready to share.
Miguel was half out of his mind with Amit pressed to his back. He kept an iron grip on his bike handles as he hurtled back toward Fairfield, not slowing, not stopping until they hit the gravel on James’ driveway.
He pulled up alongside the main house, then turned the bike off and offered Amit a hand down. He didn’t laugh when he saw the other man’s shaky legs, instead looping an arm around his waist and held tight. Amit still wasn’t wearing his hearing aids, and Miguel didn’t want him to have to work to hear him—especially after the rumble of the bike, so he said nothing as he led the way to the door and unlocked it.
The space was small—barely enough room for the pair of them—but it felt cozy in a way. Mat and Wyatt had been comfortable there before getting their own house together, and he could see why they hadn’t rushed off for something bigger the moment they got together.
Normally, a place like that would make him feel claustrophobic, but being steps away from Amit, he felt safe. The feeling only grew when Amit looked up at him and offered him a hesitant smile. The gloss had faded from his lips, and the humidity of the club and so many bodies had caused his eye makeup to smudge under his bottom lashes, but it only added to his beauty. Miguel had thought of those red panties every night, had only been able to imagine what Amit would look like dressed up and accentuated with makeup, and somehow the universe had decided he was worthy of seeing it, right there in his home.
“Are you okay?” Amit asked after a minute.
Miguel only just managed to keep from laughing. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? The big scary biker drags you home to his tiny house after the club?”
Amit’s mouth twitched, and took a step closer. “You’re not scary.”
And oh, Miguel felt that, like a soft caress and a punch to the gut all at once. His fingers shook, but he reached for Amit anyway. “I want you,” he confessed, trying to keep his voice from falling. “But whatever you want to do…”
“I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since I sat in that tattoo chair,” Amit admitted. His hands went to Miguel’s waist, tracing along the edge of his jeans, pausing at the button, though he didn’t pop it. “I didn’t think you’d want me.”
Miguel’s eyes widened. “You serious?”
“I’m a mess,” Amit told him. “I left school, I work as a bartender, I take care of my mom. My family—they don’t…they don’t know who I really am. They don’t know I’m bi, and they definitely don’t know I’m femme.”
When Amit’s face tipped down, Miguel hooked the edge of his knuckle under his chin and lifted his gaze. “Are you sure?”
Amit let out a slightly bitter laugh. “They might know, but they won’t acknowledge it. They want me to be the dutiful son—devout Muslim, head of the house, straight. Hearing,” he added, and his voice dropped on that one. “To them I’m…broken.”
Miguel’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, then he forced them open and palmed Amit’s cheek. “I was burned—” he stopped and laughed, shaking his head when Amit looked at him with a raised brow. “Not the literal injury. By a guy. He tricked me into fucking him because he wanted to know if my dick survived the fire. He had a bet going with his group of friends and his boyfriend.”
Amit’s eyes widened with horror and fury, and it felt strangely good to have someone outraged on his behalf. “Who the fuck is this guy? Does he live here?”
Miguel smiled softly, dragging his thumb over Amit’s lower lip to quiet him. “No. It was a few years ago.”
“Did you beat the shit out of him?” Amit asked, the smallest pout in his tone.
Miguel laughed, shaking his head as his hand dropped to the crook of Amit’s neck. “No, quediro. But that night, I met Martin—the guy who apprenticed me. He offered me a chance to get the fuck away from the shit-show that was my life. I almost turned him down, but I’m glad I didn’t. I’ve been a fuckin’ idiot when it comes to you. I was trying to ignore how I felt because I was afraid, but Wyatt found me and reminded me that sometimes when you take a leap, there’s a soft landing.”
“Am I your soft landing?” Amit asked with a playful smile.
Miguel hooked his right arm around Amit’s waist and pulled him in so hard, Amit let out an involuntary grunt. Miguel ground his erection against Amit’s thigh, then smiled. “I hope not too soft, but that’s not the important part. I decided not to be so afraid. I want you. I want to strip you down, and suck your dick, and then I want you to open me up and fuck me.”
Amit’s eyes went wide, and Miguel knew it was because just like everyone else, Amit assumed he wouldn’t want it. But he did. Miguel didn’t trust everyone with his desires, especially ones that made him feel vulnerable, but for the first time in a long time, Miguel was with someone he could trust.
“I want that,” Amit said after a beat.
Miguel let out a rush of air. For a moment, he’d been so sure Amit would turn him down, would confess to wanting him because he thought Miguel was the kind of guy who would pin him down and fuck him senseless. And he would, if that’s what Amit needed, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He was tired, he wanted to feel owned for a little while, to let go. He wanted to put his body, his pleasure, his needs into Amit’s hands and let himself be taken care of.
When Amit lifted his right hand and pressed a kiss to his wrist, then up toward his scars, Miguel’s entire body shuddered. His dick got harder at the sensation of teeth nipping at sensitive skin, and then when Amit took his thumb knuckle into his mouth and sucked, he felt a moan rip from his chest.
“Do you have condoms?” Amit asked.
Miguel nodded, jutting his chin out toward the bedroom. “In there. I…please.” The word tumbled from his lips, and Amit’s mouth spread into a grin.
“Come on. You made some big promises, and I’m ready to see if you can keep them.”
Chapter Eleven
It was absurd how nervous Amit was. He felt like a blushing virgin with his trembling hands and squirming stomach as he followed Miguel into the back room. He was startled by how small it was, but it wasn’t the worst place he’d ever been laid. In his college days, they had to get creative with dorm life constantly cock-blocking them. He’d gotten good at dropping to his knees in linen closets and kitchen pantries, but he hadn’t done a lot of this. He hadn’t taken a lot of people home—or gone home with a lot of people—since he stepped out of his transitional age and barreled into adulthood.
Ruby usually fucked in her car or on her couch, and she didn’t like to cuddle after. Amit had a feeling once he and Miguel slipped under the sheets, there was going to be a lot more than just getting off. The way he touched Amit, the way he soothed and caressed him, went out of his way to make him feel beautiful, it was more than Amit had experienced in a long, long time.
Amit felt the door shut through the soles of his feet, every noise in the small house vibrating through the wood floors. He didn’t mind it. Miguel’s voice carried through the thickness in Amit’s ears enough that he didn’t have to strain too hard to hear him, and the fact that James lived in the middle of nowhere took away any other distractions. It was silent, it was dark, it was perfect.
“You okay?” Miguel asked softly, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair back away from Amit’s forehead.
Amit swallowed thickly, then nodded. “Tonight has been…” He hesitated, not quite sure how to explain. Not really firsts, but a night of bravery he hadn’t anticipated. “I was always hoping I’d end up here with you, but I didn’t think it was going to happen.”
“I’m an idiot,” Miguel said. Before Amit could open his mouth to argue, Miguel shoved his hand under Amit’s shirt, gripping him by the ribs and hauling him in close. His hold was pressing, but not bruising, just ever present and enough to keep Amit grounded. “Kiss me?”
It was definitely a request this time, and one Amit was happy to fulfill. He pushed up on his toes, closing the few inches of height difference between them, and let Miguel claim his mouth. The kiss was sloppy, unpracticed, a little less desperate than the one at the club. Miguel’s lack of apparent skill betrayed his nerves, and the fact that he wasn’t showing off anymore. He was still trying to seduce, but he wasn’t trying to convince Amit of anything now.
His hands wandered a little more, the press of fingers along his spine, the gentle drag of his palm along his stomach. Amit lifted his arms easily, allowing Miguel to undress him that far. Miguel’s breath hitched, then his head dipped in low and his tongue laved around his nipple. Amit let out a sharp gasp at the feel of Miguel’s split tongue parting to take in both sides of his nipple at once.
The sight of it had been strange, the feel even stranger, but he was halfway to addicted now. His hands moved to Miguel’s head without really thinking about it, the pads of his fingers pressing into his short hair, holding him in place. Miguel seemed to have no problem with his, moving back and forth between each nipple until they were tender, standing at attention, almost as hard as his dick.
“…I…off…or… later?”
Amit had been so lost, he missed most of what the other man was saying, and he gently reached down to touch Miguel’s chin to draw his head up. “Missed that. Can you repeat what you said?”
