Silent Heart

by Amy Lane

  “Let’s see.” Preston’s knees were on the side of the bed next to Damien’s hips, and he rucked up Damien’s shirt and bent his head, licking experimentally.

  Damien gasped and tried not to whimper. Oh hell oh damn oh…. “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop!”

  Preston pulled back and gazed at him, a look of utter enchantment on his face. “Really? Wow! That’s incredible. Are you always this sensitive?”

  Damien fell back against the pillows, panting, completely out of fight and out of pride. “I have no idea. I haven’t had sex in almost two years. For all I know, the doctors rewired my whole body and my nipples are like teeny-tiny little penises.” He felt like his sex drive was exploding out of his skin.

  Preston smoothed a hand back through his hair, gentling him almost like he would one of the dogs.

  “I understand,” he said softly. “This is new all over again, and special.”

  Damien’s eyes began to sting. “Preston, did you think it wouldn’t be special with you?”

  “Because we care about each other,” Preston said, licking at Damien’s nipple again—but softly this time.

  “Yes,” Damien admitted, trying hard to knot his fingers in Preston’s short hair. “Suck on it? Please? I’m… I’m going to come too soon, but I’m dying here and—”

  “And we’re going to do this more than once,” Preston told him, and that eye contact, from Preston, was more intimate than his mouth on Damien’s flesh. “Because we care about each other.”

  “Yes,” Damien said, conceding in a rush. His body sagged against the bed, still throbbing from arousal, but all of the fight was gone, all the self-restraint. There was nothing left other than his desire to give in to Preston’s desires, to Preston’s skillful, no-bullshit lovemaking, and to enjoy whatever Preston wanted to do with him.

  It had been so long since he’d felt good about himself—about anything.

  “Good,” Preston almost purred. He bent his head again, playing with Damien’s nipples, raising his arousal to a fever pitch, and just when Damien was about to lose his mind, right before he started begging so loud every resident of Las Varas would come running to make sure he wasn’t being eaten by a dragon, Preston raised his head and said, “I’m going to touch your cock now. I’ll push your underwear down so it won’t get messy.”

  Damien might have gasped, “Sure, okay, go ahead,” but he was never sure how. He thought the air on his overheated skin was like another touch, and then Preston’s big callused hand wrapped around him and that thought was a lie.

  “Oh God,” he gasped. “Preston, I’m gonna—oh God—”

  Preston pulled his head back. “I can suck your cock or I can kiss you and keep you quiet,” he said, completely sober. “Which one do you want?”

  And usually Damien would have picked the blowjob, because who wouldn’t pick the blowjob, but Preston’s clean smell of sunshine and exercise and dogs was permeating Damien’s senses, and they’d only now started kissing, and he found he hungered for it, wanted that contact even more than the sexual release his body was screaming for.

  “Kiss me,” he begged, and Preston’s mouth on his, invading, taking ownership, was a heaven he would never have guessed.

  And true to his word, Preston’s hand kept up that mesmerizing stroke, long, hard, without mercy, until Damien’s begging whimpers were muffled by Preston’s insatiable kiss.

  “Please!” he pleaded, not even sure what he was pleading for, but Preston seemed to know.

  He pulled back and gave Damien a pillow. “When we’re at my house, in the cabin in the back, you can make as much noise as you want,” he promised, and then he lowered his head to Damien’s cock and Damien screamed into the pillow.

  Ah! So good! His body was so sensitized, so needy, it didn’t take much—a stroke of Preston’s hand, a swirl of his tongue, the delicious pressure of his mouth, sucking hard—

  He screamed again, body arching from the bed, come boiling from his balls, his entire body exploding in white light and sweet, sweet release.

  Preston kept milking him with his mouth, and aftershocks rocked Damien’s body for a couple of minutes until he pushed lightly on Preston’s shoulder in discomfort.

  “Tender,” he murmured, and Preston popped off and swallowed messily.

  “Scoot over,” he commanded, and Damien scooched his body sideways so they could both lie on the bed, facing each other. Damien reached up with a thumb and wiped some of the glaze from Preston’s lips and chin, and Preston grinned at him without shame.

  “Good?”

  “I’m very relaxed now,” Damien said primly, and Preston’s grin went wider.

  “That’s good.”

  “Would you like me to, uhm….” Damien reached down between them and stroked him through his shorts.

  Preston arched happily against the pressure of his hand. “If you want to,” he purred, and Damien shook hard with how very much he wanted to.

  “Yes,” he whispered. But first he had to kiss Preston again, taste the sunshine of his grin, taste his own earthiness on Preston’s lips.

  Preston returned the kiss with interest, and Damien’s slow stroke turned urgent as Preston thrust up against him.

  “Slow down,” he panted, pulling back a little. “Here, help me—”

  Preston lifted his hips and helped strip himself of the shorts and briefs underneath.

  Damien got a look and swallowed. “Nice,” he muttered, because Preston’s flesh had felt huge in his palm, but it looked even bigger thrusting palely under the dim overhead light.

  “Do you want to know how many inches it is?” Preston asked wickedly.

  Damien rolled his eyes. “No. I never want to know how many inches it is. Not length, not girth, not distance from your balls.”

  Preston laughed and leaned in and whispered three outrageous numbers into Damien’s ear that somehow made what they were doing raw and real.

  “It’s a good thing I top,” Damien gasped, and Preston’s laugh grew filthier.

  “Not anymore.”

  Damien opened his mouth to argue, but Preston kissed him, and Damien’s hand found his cock all over again.

  He shivered, because holding a man was a sensual pleasure all its own, and he broke off the kiss to explore Preston’s body.

  It didn’t get any worse without clothes.

  Preston was stringy and fit, all of it from being happily active with his dogs. He wasn’t grotesquely defined, but his muscles were everywhere, including his chest, and as Damien kissed down it, Preston said, “I like my nipples played with too,” with so much hope in his voice Damien had to chuckle.

  And then he had to taste, just to see how true it was.

  Preston made that very singular humming noise again, and Damien sucked hard, laving the end with his tongue to make up for the sharpness.

  “Ouch,” Preston murmured. “Good ouch. More!”

  Oh, this was fun. Preston’s body wasn’t fragile, and he wasn’t ticklish. He liked firm touches, and lots of them. Damien glutted his palms on smooth golden skin and the muscle underneath, and Preston encouraged him with every touch.

  By the time Damien got down to Preston’s rather splendid erection, he was aroused again, and dying to taste.

  Ah! It was every bit as firm and as satisfying in his mouth as it had been in his palm, but with the added sweet and salty taste of the slick fluid at the end.

  Preston spread his legs and rocked his hips rhythmically while Damien sucked, the in-and-out motion unmistakable. Damien stroked the base with his fist and swirled his tongue around the head while Preston hummed his encouragement, and Damien found he was arching his hips against the bed, his own cock erect and aroused again.

  “Swing your—oh, that’s nice. Swing your bottom this way,” Preston murmured. “I’m going to touch your asshole—is that okay?”

  Damien almost stopped what he was doing, because he hadn’t lied to Preston—he’d been the giver since he’d first started ha
ving sex. But Preston slid his palm down Damien’s backside, the same firm, all-encompassing touch he seemed to like himself, and Damien shuddered.

  He found that he’d repositioned himself on the bed without consciously saying yes, and as Preston’s finger, slick with lubricant that he’d apparently hidden behind the pillow, touched Damien’s cleft, he groaned around Preston’s cock, aware that he just might have to stop this blowjob if things got any more intense.

  Preston’s finger slid in to the first knuckle and wiggled around, and Damien opened his mouth, thinking he was going to give a polite “no, thank you,” but instead he dropped his head to Preston’s thigh and groaned again.

  And reached back behind him with one hand and spread his cheeks, because God, he wanted more.

  “Oh, good,” Preston said happily. “That’s a yes, right?”

  He slid the finger in deeper, and Damien found himself in a totally undignified position chanting, “Yes, yes, yes, yes….”

  Preston added another finger, and Damien went sprawling across his legs, facedown, embarrassed and aroused beyond endurance.

  “Wait,” he moaned. “Can I just… you know… get up or—”

  Preston pulled out both fingers, and Damien found himself manhandled, for once outweighed and out-muscled by his partner.

  “I’d put you on your hands and knees,” Preston said practically, positioning Damien on his back, “but that would hurt your leg to bend like that. Here—I’m going to bend this leg right… like… this—” And he put it over his shoulder. “—and stretch this other leg and….” Preston bent Damien’s weak leg gently at the knee and set his foot on the bed, then, oh wow, put his fingers back into play.

  Damien’s mind went blank with dark, exquisite pleasure, and he closed his eyes. Conveniently, he forgot that he hadn’t done it this way since high school and that hadn’t ended well, and that he liked to take charge. He forgot that he was vulnerable, at Preston’s mercy, and he’d always imagined being the one leading during this moment, and he forgot that he’d been trying not to imagine this moment at all. He even forgot his dignity.

  All his traitorous body remembered—all it remembered—was that he trusted Preston, and Preston would never hurt him.

  Preston pulled out his fingers and replaced them with his cock, and thrust carefully inside.

  Damien’s eyes flew open as his body was invaded, and he shook, sweat breaking out across his shoulders and throat.

  It hurt, but it didn’t, and it was full, too full, but it was wonderful, and it needed to stop, but he didn’t want it to end. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, allowing the inevitable to happen.

  And still Preston thrust, until his head popped in, and Damien took a breath, trembling.

  “Good?” Preston asked, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his closed eyes. “Is this good?”

  “It’s amazing,” Damien said on a shaky breath. It had been so long since he’d been new to sex, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like at all. “Don’t stop.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Preston thrust all the way in, until Damien didn’t think he could take any more, and then he pulled gently out. Damien gasped, clenching because he didn’t want the sensation to end, and then Preston pressed forward again, and now he cried out in bliss.

  The timeless rhythm continued, and Damien’s sounds grew guttural, animal, as his body pitched higher and higher. Preston’s hums became grunts, and Damien opened his eyes to see Preston’s back bowed, his neck straining as he fucked Damien senseless into the mattress.

  Damien remembered how to be an active participant then, not a receptacle, coming undone. He lifted his fingers to Preston’s nipples and pinched, and ran his hands over Preston’s neck and shoulders and biceps. Preston hummed again, and his thrusts went triple time, until Damien’s vision washed black and then white, every synapse in his body exploding into light.

  His orgasm shook him, from the soles of his feet to his chest to his core, leaving him helpless and liquid. As he melted into the bed, his clenching muscles relaxing, Preston moaned and slowed his next thrust with careful control, hitting himself right… right… just….

  Preston groaned, shuddering, spending into Damien’s body in long, slow pulses, and Damien realized he hadn’t asked Preston’s health status before they’d come together.

  His own was clear—had been when he’d been in the crash, had been the months prior, and he hadn’t done anything to change it since.

  As Preston fell on top of him, he realized how undone he’d been, how much he’d needed this, Preston’s touch, Preston’s sex, all of it—if he’d been so lost he hadn’t even asked, he’d been made of need.

  “No condoms,” he muttered, confused and a little afraid.

  “Status clear,” Preston said into his ear. “I use condoms with everybody but you, tested after my last partner.”

  Damien moaned a little, his body still shaking in the throes of orgasm. “Can’t believe I didn’t—”

  “You knew I’d take care of you,” Preston said with an unconscious arrogance that probably should have pissed Damien off.

  But as he lay there, under Preston’s heavy body, marked thoroughly by his sex and his spend, he realized that all he had in him was relief.

  Preston was going to take care of him. Oh God—somebody would.

  DAMIEN’S phone went off at seven thirty in the morning, and he groaned and fought his way from the tangle of Preston’s limbs so he could stop it. Preston wrapped arms and legs around him again and retangled the both of them, his every move eloquent of possession.

  “Preston,” Damien mumbled. “We need to get up.”

  “No.”

  Damien struggled to sit upright. “What do you mean no?”

  Preston sat up and scowled at him. “I liked last night better!”

  “Go figure,” Damien rasped, getting a grumpy smile from Preston and returning it.

  Well, who wouldn’t like last night better? Damien had fallen asleep, tired and used and—holy wow!—pain-free for the first time in forever. Preston had gathered him in, possessive and careful and with a minimum of conversation, which Damien appreciated because his head was racing enough for the both of them.

  He wasn’t sure when he’d been awakened, Preston’s hands stroking his flanks, his abdomen, his chest.

  “I want you again,” Preston had whispered, his voice calming the ricocheting thoughts that had haunted Damien even in his dreams.

  “Okay,” Damien mumbled, because he couldn’t find words for why they shouldn’t. Were there words for why they shouldn’t? There were probably words for why this was a bad thing, but right then, with Preston’s hands moving to Damien’s hips, positioning him just so, with his cock—and boy, wasn’t that a surprise—newly slicked and thrusting at Damien’s entrance, Damien couldn’t imagine what those words would be.

  As Preston started to thrust, one hand on Damien’s hip, the other arm under Damien’s head as they spooned, the chaos in Damien’s head gave way to one clear, inarticulate focus—and that was Preston’s body and what it was doing to his own.

  After Preston gave a hard, bottoming thrust and bit Damien’s shoulder, shaking with the force of his climax, Damien gave a smaller shudder, completely depleted and happy. He clutched Preston’s hand to his chest for a moment, not wanting to let go.

  His body was perfect, liquid and satiated, and whatever his brain had been chewing on, that was so unimportant, Damien couldn’t even remember what it was.

  Now, with the cold light of morning searing through the curtains, Damien was starting to have a clue.

  “You know, Preston,” he said carefully after their shared morning grump, “maybe we should—”

  Preston kissed him, hard, possessively, uncompromising.

  He released Damien’s mouth and scowled. “There’s no changing last night,” he said.

  Damien’s cock gave a little perk of arousal, and Damien almost looked at it and told it to stand down. “I know that,�
�� he muttered bleakly.

  “It’s morning, and your brain is going to come up with all sorts of things. Words. You and Glen, all those fucking words.”

  “Words are important, Preston,” he said, and Preston’s snort told him that lesson was not ever going to be learned.

  “Are your words saying we shouldn’t do this again?”

  Damien opened his mouth to say yes, probably they should make it a one-time thing, and Preston harrumphed again.

  “Your words are wrong,” he stated. “We should be doing this all the time.”

  “We have to eat sometimes,” Damien said mildly.

  “That’s a lying thing,” Preston said, scowl intensifying. “Where you’re trying to be funny but you’re distracting me. What are you telling Glen?”

  Oh God. “That I slept with his little brother?” Glen could only break his nose once over this, right?

  “Are. Sleeping,” Preston said, no bullshit in his voice. “I went to school. I know grammar.”

  Damien opened his mouth once, and then acknowledged the change the verb tense made. “More?”

  Preston’s head tilt had more than a little bit of presumption in it. “Not now. You just said we had to get up and get ready.”

  “I meant you want to do this more? Later?”

  “I want us to sleep in the same bed a lot, Damien. I want us to have sex a lot. I told you—I want to fix up the cottage in the back so you don’t have to put a pillow over your mouth. You can scream every night.”

  “But I have an apartment in the city,” Damien muttered, feeling dumb. He and Glen shared it, as a matter of fact, because some of their clients had personal helicopters and rooftop helipads, and those were the people they tried to serve immediately.

  “Glen can serve those clients. We can fix you up a room at the hangar for big jobs. You can live with me.”

  And a part of Damien leaped for joy. A home? A real home, not just a place to crash, where Glen might be getting lucky in the next room? Or Damien, sometimes, but that life had begun to pall even before the crash. It was why, perhaps, Damien had put so much into his useless crush on Mallory Armstrong. His childhood home had been cold and beautiful—and he’d left it behind for a clean barracks and a brotherhood.