We laughed together, and I ended with a yawn. I was looking forward to helping him pack, and my man living closer to my new day job. Maybe the new house was close enough that I could go home for lunch.
I woke up on Bryan’s couch, my face pointing right at his adorable ass. So I reached out and grabbed it. He squeaked, which cracked me up, but only for a second. He shut me up fast with a kiss. A few seconds later, he pulled back and smiled.
“Do you want to drive, or should I?” he asked.
“The Merc isn’t dented.”
He grinned and hurried me off my ass and into the passenger seat of his car. Bryan played the local jazz station on the radio and occasionally hummed along in between talking about everything.
Once the dam broke, we couldn’t seem to shut up—he’d just told me about how he’d started collecting vintage jazz vinyl after stumbling onto a record fair where the DJ we were listening to on the radio had been selling records, when the highway slowed down. Finally, I felt awake, and realized it was morning and also that my man’s face was flushed with excitement—Bry looked like he did when he was horny, so he must have more than breakfast on his mind.
“Do you want me to cover my eyes?”
“No.”
He merged into the right lane.
We’re getting close. To whatever it is.
“You could rest your head in my lap. To block your view.”
If I hadn’t been in love, I would’ve fallen right then. Even before his nervous chuckles and adorable blush.
“I was only kidding.”
“I know, babe.”
The house was thirty minutes off the highway, which resembled the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t up on real estate terms, but it looked like a larger version of a little white cottage—a farmhouse from a movie shot in the Midwest, with a small barn off to the side. It even had a white picket fence around a square of weeds that would someday be a lawn again. Once I figured out how to do that. He gave me the nickel tour, and I kept trying to make comments about how cool it all was, but my mouth wasn’t cooperating. We stopped in a large bedroom overlooking a bunch of fruit trees and a field, and we gazed out an old paned window with slightly wavy glass.
“So…what do you think? It’s close to Mac and Val.”
“It’s nice.” I could barely get the words out, and if I hadn’t had my back to him I think I would’ve started bawling.
“Think about sharing it with me?”
“Shit. You already asked me that, didn’t you?” I turned and when our eyes met our breathing got louder. Not in a passionate way, more like a fighting not to cry like little children way. “Would it be creepy if I said I’ve wanted to wake up with you every morning since the first time?”
“No. It would be wonderful.”
What happened next, my back hitting the faded stripes-and-flowers patterned wallpaper beside the window, felt pretty wonderful.
“I’m sorry,” Bryan said, his mouth on my neck. He sucked gently and my answer turned into a low moan. I was afraid I’d hyperventilate when he pressed the length of his body against mine, his dick already hard. He pulled my shirt out of the way to suck on my collarbone, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d ripped it right off me. “I didn’t mean to slam you against the wall.”
“Y-your…nobody’s coming over, are they?”
“No.” Bryan rubbed his thigh against my cock and pushed my shoulders back against the wall at the same time he spoke. The commanding gesture sent a shiver through me, and I slid an inch or so down the wall. But I got the message: stand here.
Bryan scanned my face, and his smile before he kissed me said it all. It held love and gratitude and desire and a future in this house that I could only imagine—all in a few short seconds. And then it turned naughty. He gripped me through my jeans and slowly slid down my body until he was on his knees at my feet. Gentle pressure and the strongest wave of lust I’d felt yet started my hips rocking and my knees shaking. I hoped I could keep my feet long enough.
“You okay standing there? The bed isn’t made, but it’s new…”
I had to force my eyes from his lips to remember to answer. God, his mouth… “I’m—That’s new? You bought a bed already?”
“First thing.” He grinned and leaned back on his heels and I moved forward to maintain the contact.
No way is he getting away from me now.
“It’s a benefit of being a grown-up. Not having to fuck on the floor or in a car. It’s hot to give in to the moment, but my knees aren’t up for being on the floor as long as I’d like to suck your dick.”
“Well, in that case.” I gripped his shoulders and bent to kiss the top of his head. When he nuzzled my stomach, I hooked both hands under his arms and pulled him onto his feet, into my embrace. “Let’s christen that bed.”
I walked him backward as he ripped my shirt off over my head and opened my fly. The bedroom was larger than it had seemed at first glance—the bed too. We bounced onto the mattress, breathless and panting, and shed the rest of our clothes. After a leisurely few moments of kissing, he nipped my bottom lip and told me to stay where I was.
“Where are you going?”
“Not far.” Bryan grinned and turned so his mouth lined up with my dick, and mine with his. It was a perfect match, even with my longer legs. And nobody’s feet hung off the bed.
In the middle of wondering whether the bed was a king, or larger, Bryan closed his lips around the head of my cock and sucked, and all I could think of was him.
Chapter Eleven
Bryan
I’d never been to a street fair outside of Portland before, but since we lived in Southwest now, the Tigard Street Fair was much closer. We’d all settled in amazingly quickly, which felt like validation for my idea of living with Cay and turning the barn over to the band—a feeling Rosie shared, as well as claimed credit for. She had bought the house a year before, over my objections, knowing I’d come around sooner or later, so she deserved that credit.
Street Fairs in general were a lovely way to spend the day. Not only was there much to see and taste, but even if one wanted to run, it would be next to impossible—not to mention rude to the others in the crowd.
People had started to arrive early, even before the stages and booths were fully set. They strolled past while we worked, sipping coffee and some eating a late breakfast. Everyone looked happy—the forecast predicted a gorgeous seventy-seven degrees, and in three days, the kids would all be back in school. My favorite time of year, even when I hadn’t met the man of my dreams and his amazing and beautiful family.
By the time Always Forward! played, it was over eighty and everyone was sweating, even those of us who hadn’t lifted a finger for the past three hours other than to bring a cup to our lips. I had managed to stand, giving my chair to a harried woman with three kids in tow, to watch Cay and the band work their magic on stage.
Mac nudged my shoulder, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off him. “So, what do you think?”
“The band sounds… Well, they always sounded good, but the music is so much… richer? Sorry, I’m not sure how to describe it.”
“Richer works. Having Dad back is like adding a rhythm guitar and another bass player. Plus, he looks pretty great up there, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I sighed more than said and then blushed, but not as deeply as I might have.
Mac hugged me and started dancing before she’d completely let go. I still wasn’t much of a dancer, but I jumped along with her for the rest of the verse. Until I had to stop to be sure I wouldn’t step on her feet—all I could concentrate on was the sexy keyboard player. Cay.
My man.
The joy radiating from the stage would have warmed me even if it had been twenty below.
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More by Charley Descoteaux:
Buchanan House Love Stories:
Buchanan House
Pride Weekend
Tiny House
Safe House
Holiday Weekend
Art House
Standalones:
Cascades
Curious Sustenance
Directing Traffic
The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds
The Pinch of the Game
Writing as Charli Coty:
Speedbump
Be My Love: Two Mature Heroes Tales
Torque
Toy Run
Better Than New
Comfort & Joy
About the author
Charley Descoteaux is the author of the Buchanan House Love Stories series. Book One, Buchanan House, was a USA Today Must-Read Romance.
Charley has always heard voices. She was relieved to learn they were fictional characters, and started writing when they insisted daydreaming just wasn’t good enough. In exchange, they’ve agreed to let her sleep once in a while. She grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area during a drought and found her true home in the soggy Pacific Northwest. Charley has survived earthquakes, tornadoes, and floods, but couldn’t make it through one day without stories.
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Always Forward- Never Straight Page 9
