Rogue Nights

by Ainsley Booth

  “Can I use your shower?”

  Derek’s gaze raked over me again for what must have been the millionth time that night. My skin was almost raw with the desire he either couldn’t or didn’t want to conceal. Something inside me vibrated in resonance with it. If he didn’t answer me soon, I’d just as well skip the shower and hit the sheets.

  “Sure, it’s that way.” He nodded to his right. “Fresh towels are under the sink. Feel free to use whatever products you need.”

  I gave him a smile that I hoped mirrored the desire I saw on his face. From the slight flush of his cheeks, I think I managed quite well.

  Derek’s bathroom was like the rest of his apartment: tasteful and trendy. Shells from the beach sat on the toilet’s water tank. The shower curtain was an image of the ocean. The towels were all color coordinated, rolled up and stacked neatly in a wicker basket under the sink. I grabbed one and held it up to my nose; it smelled like fresh laundry.

  In the shower were the products Derek had mentioned. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face wash, they were all brand names that I’d never used before. I helped myself. By the time I was done and toweling off, the aroma of Derek’s cooking wafted through the crack under the bathroom door. My stomach growled. That was when I realized I didn’t have any fresh clothes on me, and climbing back into my dirty coveralls and tank top was the last thing I wanted to do.

  I should have foreseen the consequences of strolling out to the kitchen with only a towel wrapped around my waist. Derek was too busy tipping the delicious-smelling food onto a plate to notice me at first. But when he finally did, he dropped his metal spatula, and it clanged loudly on the tile floor.

  He mumbled something as he bent down to grab the spatula, but even with his head bowed, I saw him taking a sneak peek at me. Maybe it was cocky, but I knew I had a good body. I rarely had the time to work out, but between regularly skipping meals and the heavy lifting I did at the garage, I didn’t have much fat on me. With the way Derek was looking at me, though, the towel wouldn’t do much to hide the swell of my dick.

  “I don’t have any clean clothes on me. Mind if I borrow a pair of shorts?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice was huskier than normal.

  Derek cleared his throat before answering. “Uh, yeah, sure.” He dropped the spatula into the sink and shuffled past me out of the kitchen, eyes glued to the floor the entire time. He came back a moment later with a pair of gym shorts. “I think these should fit.”

  “Thanks.” Instead of going back into the bathroom, I slipped the shorts on under the towel and then repurposed the towel to dry my hair. Derek watched my every movement, eyes growing hazy, mouth hanging open.

  “Um, did you want a T-shirt too?”

  “No, I’m good.” I didn’t typically walk around the house without a shirt on—after all, I lived with two women. But I liked the idea of teasing Derek, of watching him get flustered and tongue tied. Plus, knowing that I was wearing his shorts and nothing else turned me on just as much.

  He swallowed and nodded, then turned back to the food he’d left on the counter. “I made some rice too.”

  There were two bowls already filled with fluffy white rice sitting on the breakfast bar, and he set down the plate of stir-fry in between them. Snow peas, carrots, broccoli, chicken, and cashews—it was colorful and smelled like heaven. “This looks amazing. Thanks so much.”

  “No problem. I like cooking.” He held up both hands, armed with utensils. “Chopsticks or fork?”

  I hated admitting it, but my chopstick skills were abysmal. He must have read it on my face, because he dropped the chopsticks back into the drawer.

  “I’m going to use a fork. Easier with the stir-fry.” He set the cutlery down and waved me onto one of the stools before he took the other one.

  The first bite was paradise. Perfectly seasoned, the vegetables were fresh and crisp, the chicken was tender, and even the rice was light and fluffy. “This is delicious.”

  Derek grinned around a mouthful of food and gave a little half shrug.

  “You always cook Chinese food?” I stabbed another piece of broccoli and froze with it halfway between the plate and my bowl. “This is Chinese food, right?”

  He giggled. “Yes, it’s Chinese food. And no, not always. This is easy and quick. Sometimes I make more complicated Chinese dishes like soups and stews. But I also make pasta and bread. I don’t really limit myself.”

  “I have no idea how to cook. Mami does most of it. Sometimes Aless helps.” I brought a forkful of rice to my mouth, marveling how white rice with nothing in it could possibly taste so good.

  “I learned a lot helping my mom when I was still living at home.” It was the first time Derek had mentioned his family. It didn’t seem fair that I didn’t know anything about his after Aless had already told him so much about ours.

  “Where does she live?” I asked.

  “Irvine. With my dad and my younger brother. My older sister is in NorCal working at some start-up tech company.”

  They sounded like a perfect nuclear family. Well-to-do, living in a wealthy suburban city. Smart kids—one working in Silicon Valley and the other soon to become a lawyer. “Did you always want to be a lawyer?”

  A little furrow appeared between Derek’s eyebrows. “Pretty much. Got hooked onto the idea in high school civics class.”

  I’d decided to be a lawyer in high school too. But not in civics class. No, I’d taken a business class and realized that lawyers were the gatekeepers to all the successful business deals that made the news. “You want to do human rights law?” Derek’s words from the library floated from my memory.

  “Yeah. I’d love to work for the ACLU.” Derek’s face lit up. “Or maybe in immigration law. Legal aid. You know, something that will help people.”

  And I looked like a self-serving asshole in comparison. I set my fork down, my bowl empty. It’s not that I was against civil rights or anything, it just wasn’t something I could afford to indulge in. Derek was lucky that he could. It was admirable that he did. And the passion with which he spoke about it was captivating, despite my usual aversion to topics of social justice.

  “Do you want more rice? There’s plenty. I always make extra for fried rice the next day.” Derek pointed to an appliance that looked like some sort of space machine.

  “No, I’m good. Thanks. It was delicious.” I reached for the half-empty beer I’d left on the counter before my shower. It was a little warm now, but still did the trick. Time to move things to the bed.

  Derek slipped from his stool, but before he could take the empty bowls, I caught him by the wrist. He glanced down at my hand, lips parted, eyes wide. Keeping my fingers light, I tugged him closer, giving him a chance to pull away if he wanted. He didn’t. Instead, I widened my knees, and he stepped right in between them like he belonged there.

  “You’ve got such a good heart.” I settled my hands on his hips. His hands floated up, and for a moment he seemed unsure of where to put them, until they eventually landed on my shoulders.

  “It’s as good as anyone else’s.” His voice was a low as mine, teasing my growing appetite for him.

  I shook my head. “Better than mine, that’s for sure. I’m in law to make money, not to help people.”

  He stiffened under my touch, a frown bringing his brows together. “That’s not the only reason you want to be a lawyer, is it?”

  “No.” But it was the main reason. “I want to be able to provide for my family. Mami’s worked multiple jobs ever since we moved here. I’ve been working since I was old enough. We’ve managed okay, but I don’t want us to worry about money forever. We came here for a better life, and it is. But I know it can be even better, and I want that.”

  Derek nodded, his fingers weaving into the hair at the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “I get that,” he said. “That’s the American dream, isn’t it? That’s why my family moved from Hong Kong, too. We all want something better.”

  “A
nd we’re willing to work hard to get it.”

  He nodded again, and I drew him closer until our chests bumped together. Derek drew his fingers through my damp hair, brushing the strands off my forehead. “I love your dimples,” he whispered.

  “Yeah?” I smiled for him, putting them on display. The feather-light pass of his thumb over my cheek was followed by his palm, and I turned my face into it. Then, suddenly Derek’s palm was gone, replaced by his lips: soft and pliant and everything I dreamed they would be.

  I think I groaned, because Derek smiled against my lips and then licked me, teasing my mouth open until his tongue dipped inside. I definitely groaned this time, as his tongue slid over mine, his fingers in my hair, his hips grinding his hard on against me. God, he could kiss. I was light-headed by the time he let me up.

  “Bedroom?” he whispered, and all I could do was nod.

  4

  He said I had a good heart. Maybe it was a line, but if it was, it worked. I probably would have fucked the guy even without the line, to be honest. I mean, we’d been eye-fucking each other for a couple of weeks now, what was another pick-up line?

  I pushed Diego on to the bed and preened when his look of surprise quickly melted into a smoldering smile. Propped up on his elbows, fingers tapping away at the bedspread, he watched as I stripped down to my emerald-green briefs with white trim, so tight they hugged me like a second skin. Diego’s tongue licked a path across his bottom lip, and my dick pulsed at the sight of this beautiful man, who looked at me like he wanted to devour me.

  He sat up when I stepped in between his knees, his breath hot on my stomach, his hands like brands on my hips. The minute he touched me, something changed: his shoulders dropped an inch, his jaw relaxed. He leaned his forehead on my sternum and pressed his lips against my skin; it was like the nearly constant current of energy seeped out of him and into me as all my nerve endings lit up.

  I threaded my fingers through Diego’s hair—thick with a touch of curl from drying unstyled after his shower—brushing it back as he kissed his way down my body, pushing my briefs down as he went. I could feel his breath on my dick, though his head against my stomach blocked my view. It was hotter this way, not being able to see what he was doing. Oh god, his tongue, I was pretty sure that was his tongue flicking at the head of my dick, licking it like a lollipop.

  “Diego.” I loved the sound of his name, the way it felt on my lips. “Diego, Diego.”

  He hummed his response and rewarded me by taking my dick into his mouth—hot, wet—hotter and wetter since I still couldn’t see what he was doing. “Oh fuck.” I grabbed his shoulder, ran my hand down his back as I doubled over with electric pleasure.

  Diego seemed calm, the movement of his back a slow steady ebb and flow as he breathed. Me, on the other hand—I felt like I was touching live wires, jumping at each sensation as he pulled me deeper into his mouth. I slipped down his throat at one point with only the slightest hint of a gag reflex. I tried to hold still, barely able to restrain my hips from seeking an extra inch of heat. He wasn’t helping by grabbing my ass with both hands and pulling me forward.

  It seemed like he kept me there forever, the gentle suction slowly turning up the current flowing through my body until I thought my skin would melt off. When he finally pulled back, I was almost thankful for it, not sure how much more I could take. His heavy breaths didn’t even feel labored, just steamy puffs of air against my wet dick.

  With my fingers in his hair, I pulled his head back, and he looked up at me with those warm brown eyes. There was none of that sharp focus I’d grown accustomed to, or the determination that often shone through layers of fatigue. It was like he let all of that go to be in this moment, and I couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for him. I bent down and kissed him—it was sloppy and wet, but honest in a way that I didn’t know kisses could be before.

  A smile grew on his face until it was flanked by both of those devilish dimples. “I want to blow you until you come down my throat,” he whispered, as if he were asking for a glass of water.

  I almost came from his words. “Jesus Christ, Diego.”

  He pulled me down onto the bed and flipped us over so that I was on my back. Another sloppy, honest kiss later, he was kneeling between my thighs, my dick in his hand. I watched the tip disappear into his fist and then reappear as he stroked me, his other hand massaging my swollen, tender balls.

  “You taste good, you know that?” He emphasized his point by swiping his tongue across my slit, where it was leaking pre-come like it never had before. “Mmm.”

  “God, Diego.” I could barely breathe with his hands manipulating me and his words ringing in my ears. It was like my diaphragm was stuck in the exhale position and my lungs had run out of oxygen. “Please.” I needed him to turn it up to high or dial it back—I couldn’t stand the prolonged torture.

  I was wrong, seeing what Diego was doing was so much hotter. I wasn’t prepared for the vision of him sinking down on my dick, his lips stretched thin, until his nose bumped against my pelvis. His lashes fluttered as a look of bliss took over his face, and his cheeks hollowed with each pull on my cock. “Diego,” I whispered, and the suction increased. “Diego,” I whispered again, and the fingers on my balls tightened almost painfully.

  I repeated his name over and over, and each time he turned it up a little more until the current overwhelmed the fuse in an explosion of sparks.

  All I could see were blurry white circles like a camera flash had gone off in my eyes. In my ear, though, I could hear Diego’s heavy breathing as he leaned over me, forehead pressed against my temple. I turned my head and dragged my teeth over his earlobe. He gasped in response, and his body jerked where he held himself above me.

  I ran my hands all over him, down his chest, his arms, until I found one of his hands wrapped around the base of his dick, squeezing tightly.

  “I’m so close, Derek. You make me want to come so hard.” His voice was strained, desperate.

  “Then come.” I pushed his hand away and replaced it with my own, stroking him slow, then fast, then slow.

  He trembled like I had passed all that energy back to him and now he was the one caught in the current. I twisted my wrist, and he tensed, a hot breath against my cheek. “Do that again.”

  Who was I to object? So I did, and he came apart, slamming his mouth onto mine in a hard, frantic kiss as he unloaded himself over my hand and my stomach. His orgasm seemed to last forever, and he didn’t stop kissing me until he collapsed boneless next to me. He lay so still that I would have thought he was dead if not for the light movement of air against my shoulder. No tapping of fingers or bouncing of his leg, no nervous energy emanating from him. He was still, and I wondered how often he got to enjoy that stillness.

  I had some article about trade tariffs pulled up on my laptop, but all I could think about was the weight of Derek pressed against my side as we sat on the couch. His head was on my shoulder, smelling like his expensive shampoo and still a little damp from our shower. It had been a while since I’d hooked up with anyone—and even longer since I’d had anything resembling a relationship. Getting involved with a guy wasn’t anywhere near the top of my list of priorities, but Derek, with his quirky adorableness and his righteous outrage, had managed to slip through somehow.

  I wasn’t getting anywhere with the damn article, but at least I was pretending to work. Derek had Facebook pulled up on his laptop.

  Wait—was that Aless’s profile pic? “Are you talking to my sister?”

  Derek stiffened, his head lifting a fraction off my shoulder. “She messaged me.”

  “About what?”

  He shifted, pulling away and running his fingers through his hair. “Uh, well, Leon, my friend from the LGBTQ club, is organizing this thing that we’re all going to.”

  Why didn’t I like the sound of this? “Yeah? And?”

  “Aless asked if she could come along.”

  “What’s this thing? How did she kn
ow about it? Did you invite her?” I leaned over and tried to read the messages on his screen, but Derek folded his laptop down halfway.

  “No, I didn’t invite her. She approached me, okay?” He scooted farther way, and I immediately missed his weight against me. “She saw it on my Facebook feed.”

  “So what is it?” I didn’t miss how he was avoiding the key question, or how he refused to look at me.

  “Leon organizes a lot of these types of things. A bunch of us from the club always go. We carpool down together and usually go out for food afterward. It’s a regular thing.” He waved his hand as if I didn’t need to worry about, which only made me worry more.

  “What. Is. It?”

  “There’s a protest this weekend, about DACA and the Dream Act, in DTLA, from Pershing Square to Grand Park. And there’ll be speakers and stuff at the end.” He actually looked a little sheepish as he rattled off the details.

  “Are you kidding me?” I nearly threw my laptop aside and only remembered to be gentle with it at the last moment. Only once it was safely balanced on the flat couch cushion did I jump up and pace around the coffee table, but I didn’t miss Derek’s cringe.

  “I told her she should ask you first!” He turned his laptop around and held it up to show me, but that was small comfort.

  “There’s no way she’s going to a protest. Is she insane? What if a fight breaks out? What if people start shooting, or there’s a mob? How could she be so irresponsible?” I needed to go home, find Aless, and forbid her to go. Mami would agree with me.

  “There’ll be police there to provide security. These things are generally peaceful. We’ve been to dozens of them and have never had a problem.”

  “The police. Like the police have ever been on our side of the law.” I let all the derision I felt ooze into my voice; the slight deflation of Derek’s posture at my rebuttal was bittersweet.

  He closed his laptop and walked it over to his desk. Turning to face me, he stood with his hands on his hips and a look in his eyes like he was debating whether to say something.