“Want to come in my hand or my mouth?” He whispered against Chad’s lips while he jacked Chad, sliding his foreskin over the sensitive head that poured scalding precum. Chad slammed his head against the wall, squeezing Skip’s arms so hard Skip would have bruises tomorrow. He rocked his hips against Skip, thrusting his cock into Skip’s hand. “Tell me what you want Chad. Tell me how to please you.”
“Yessir,” Chad murmured, and Skip’s hold on his fragile sanity dissolved. He shoved his sweats down to free his own dick. He jammed his dick into his hand with Chad’s and squeezed them together. “Oh, god!” Chad cried out, biting his lip again. His eyes wilder now. The ice blue nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils. He pumped his hips, forcing his dick to slide in Skip’s hand.
“That’s it, Chad. Fuck my hand. Feels incredible doesn’t it, your cock sliding inside its sheath. Imagine how it will feel inside me. You’ll feel so good inside me. Fuck me, Chad. That’s my boy. Get it out. Let me hear it.” Skip didn’t give him a chance to say a damned thing. He sucked his bottom lip back into his mouth, and bit him until his muffled groans turned to muffled screams. Heat spilled over Skip’s hand, but Chad didn’t stop fucking his hand. He wrapped his arms around Skip’s shoulders, and tried to pull him closer. Skip wouldn’t let him; he liked the distance between them. He wanted to look into Chad’s eyes, while he drained the man of everything he needed.
“Skip…” Chad shattered, calling Skip’s name until he was hoarse. That’s when Skip let himself go, fucking his hand, feeling his dick sliding inside its sheath, and the half-hard, silken heat of the cock pressed against it. “Skip…” Chad took over the kiss, pulling Skip’s lip into his mouth, releasing it to call Skip’s name. “Come… now. I want to see you come. I want to know I did that to you. I want to know that I made you lose control. I need you to show me what I do to you.” The kid learned too damned fast. His crystal blue eyes sucked the soul out of Skip, and he rose on his toes to shoot his fucking soul between them.
When he was finished, he sank to his knees, and pressed his forehead to Chad’s hipbone. He kissed the bullet wound, and licked their mingled cum from the man’s abs.
* * * * *
Past midnight in the garden of good and evil. Chad kept looking back at the lights in the house as he walked the landscaped grounds. His mind felt clear for the first time in his life. Yet, everything was confusion. The squirrels that resided in his personal attic were silent at least.
Skip’s shadow crossed in front of one of the windows on the lower floor. He sat at a desk and leaned back to stretch. Chad hadn’t asked him what he was doing in the office. It wasn’t his business. He’d helped clean up after the pot roast and the sex. Especially the sex. Pot roast and sex. Would he come out of this with some weird fetish in which the scent of roasting beef would make him horny as all get out?
He watched the moon make its way over the sky, and the stars come out and go away. He wasn’t cold. He’d grabbed his heaviest sweats off the top of his stack of folded clothes after Skip had licked him to another orgasm. He had bite marks on his lip, and the inside of his wrist. No telling what was left over from the shower or what was from the kitchen.
When the heck had his life become all about his dick?
The moment he walked into that tavern carrying his father’s ashes, and met the man’s gaze.
He looked back at the window just as Skip walked across the room in front of it to retrieve a book from a bookcase. He had a phone pressed to his ear, and was talking animatedly while trying to juggle the phone and the book. He smiled, laughing at something the person said on the other end.
The smile that wasn’t for him still sent a bolt of something painful through his chest. He couldn’t catch his breath. His stomach fluttered and flittered. He rubbed his belly, subconsciously wondering if he was coming down with Skip’s flu.
Skip smiled again and came to the window. The phone and the book were nowhere to be seen now. He lifted the sash and leaned out. “It’s almost dawn. Want to get out of here for a while? Work off breakfast?”
Chad looked around at the slightly pinkish tint to the sky. When the hell had it gotten so late… early? His inner clock was off. Seriously off. Along with everything else. He looked back up at Skip who was tugging his sweatshirt off. “What do you have in mind?” He shouted back.
“I have a couple of bikes stored under the back deck. Or a run. You pick. Meet you on the deck in fifteen minutes.”
Skip closed the window before Chad could answer. He didn’t have any bike gear. He did have one pair of running shoes, even though he did most of his running in boots. He climbed the steps to the back deck, and went upstairs to the guest room Skip had assigned him to, and found a pair of cold weather compression pants, and pulled them on under a pair of cotton USMC shorts. He laced up his Nikes, and changed into a long sleeve t-shirt with the same insignia as the shorts. He left his cover and his phone, and grabbed his sunglasses.
Skip, dressed in a pair of tight shorts and a long sleeve compression shirt, met him on the back deck. He grinned at Chad, letting his gaze drift over his body. “You are a walking recruitment poster.”
Chad felt the blush start at his hairline, and creep down his entire body. “I should probably buy some regular clothes.”
“Not going to help, the body is a dead giveaway.” Skip slapped his ass as he tied a bandana around his head, and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. He hadn’t shaved since the morning after the snowstorm. The strawberry-blond fuzz on his chin made him look so much younger than he probably was. “It’s not the clothes, Chad. It’s the way you hold yourself.”
“I’ll try to relax.” He stretched his legs one at a time behind him, then lifted them up onto the rail like Skip was doing.
“God, no. Just… it’s hot. Really hot.” Skip smiled, and that stomach aching, heart-piercing pain was back. “What’s your poison today? Wheels or feet?”
“Feet. I haven’t run in a long time. And I don’t know the trails. I’d rather not kill myself falling over a cliff.” He took the backpack Skip handed him, and strapped it on. He felt the water slosh inside. “How far do you usually go?”
“I thought I’d take it easy today. Maybe ten miles. You up for that?”
Chad could do ten miles in his sleep. “Only if you are, old man.”
“Oh, good, just what I need, some young whippersnapper slowing me down,” Skip said smiling, and the stomach thing happened again, hard enough to suck the breath right out of Chad. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Chad stood up straight, and brushed off the strange feeling. “Let’s get going. You lead, I’ll keep up. Let me know when you need to take a break.” He wasn’t teasing. “I mean, I’m used to twenty or more-mile humps with sixty pounds on my back. We’d run until we puked, and then run some more. Ten miles are nothing to me.”
“Point taken, Marine. We’ll run until one of us can’t. Then, you can carry me back. How’s that work for you?” Skip slapped him on his shoulder, and took off at a jog down the steep stairs. He checked his watch when he hit the path, and set off into the rising sun. Chad watched his tight ass for a minute before following down the stairs, and into the chill of the early morning.
He’d never run through the woods before. The trail wasn’t some well-beaten path through the suburbs. They climbed steadily, and Chad had to jump over roots to keep from falling. There was wildlife along the way, deer mostly. Skip stopped about five miles in, and held out his arms as he backed up. Chad bumped into him, and grabbed him by the water pack to keep him from falling over. “Bear,” Skip whispered, moving them backward until they came to a fork in the road. “Okay, she didn’t see us. Or didn’t care about us. Maybe she was the one that knocked on my door last year. Dunno. Just don’t want to be eaten today. At least not by a bear.” He winked at Chad, and that gut-punching feeling damn near floored him. Skip left him again, and Chad chased him downhill for another four or five miles, until they came to the end of the trail near th
e highway.
Skip ran in place on the side, checking his watch. “That’s twelve miles,” he said, looking up at the sun. “The cabin is two miles that way.” He pointed west, and up the hill. “Or six miles that way.” He pointed along the highway. “Goes through town and back up the mountain. What are you up for?”
Chad didn’t need to look at the sun. It was coming up on mid-morning, and he was feeling no pain. “You lead. I’ll follow.”
Skip lifted his glasses to give him a quick once over, and with a lift of his eyebrow, he took off down the road toward town. Chad laughed and followed. He didn’t mind following that ass in skin-tight pants anywhere.
Chapter Thirteen
Skip whistled while his computer booted up. He pulled out the reference book he’d taken down this morning, and looked through his computer bag for his notebook. His editor had called as soon as New York opened for business. He’d spotted Chad walking aimlessly in the yard, and decided he needed to shake the cobwebs before he could settle down to whip this manuscript into shape.
He could hear Chad moving around in the kitchen, the flat screen TV in the small den off the kitchen on a news channel. The sound of the talking heads would drive him crazy. He loathed entertainment news. Apparently so did Chad. He heard the man growl, and the channel changed to sports. It was the middle of the day on a Monday… no, Tuesday. When had it become Tuesday?
He pulled up his email first, and looked for the file his editor had sent him. The book was approved based on his very rough handwritten first draft and his notes. The deadline was fast approaching, and the trip to Ireland would cut off most of the time he’d have to do another pass. He had a tour scheduled for the book that would come out at the end of April, starting in Ireland, before moving to England, and back to the US. He didn’t do tours often, and wouldn’t have done this one, if his publisher wasn’t paying for it.
The last book had sat atop the bestseller list for nearly a year. Skip was now a bona fide superstar, and no one knew a thing about him. And Skip wanted to keep it that way. He liked his privacy, and the freedom to roam the world. He’d never thought one of his stories would cause such a fuss. The first three novels were going to be republished this summer for a new audience. It was all rather daunting in scope, and it was happening to him.
He yawned. He didn’t want to go to bed in the middle of the day. But damn, last night and this morning felt so good. He’d slept, and gotten so much done, and finished a long day with a run. Something smelled good. His stomach growled, and he yawned again.
He leafed through the folder with his notes, arranging them in order by chapter, while the scent of food played havoc with his stomach.
That pot roast had been nearly ten hours ago, and he hadn’t stopped to eat a thing since.
He checked the time. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he was pretty much done.
He fixed each set of notes to each hand-written chapter with a gator clip, and stacked everything up neatly. His stomach rolled over hard, and Skip gave up on getting anything else done today. He left the computer on, and went to the kitchen to find out what smelled so good.
The Marine had stripped down to his compression pants and dog tags. He stood at the gas stove in the middle of the kitchen, a look of concentration on his face. He hummed while he moved around the room, the TV silent now. He cracked pepper over a skillet, a glass of white wine in his hand. Skip would have taken him for a beer man. He picked up the bottle of wine with a shrug, before pouring some into the skillet. He threw in some heavy cream after, and finally looked up to find Skip watching the show.
“Hey,” he said, glancing up from the skillet. “Lunch is almost ready.”
“Smells delicious.” Skip didn’t add that he looked delicious. “You can cook?”
Chad shrugged again, and sipped his wine. “I took classes in high school. And a couple to fill my time between deployments. I like cooking. There’s something… I don’t know how to describe it. It’s peaceful, I guess. I don’t have to think about anything but the food.” He poured a pot of what smelled like pasta into a colander, then added the pasta to the skillet, while Skip pulled up a bar stool, and grabbed the wine bottle. Chad reached for a glass, and handed it to him. “I hope you don’t mind. I was hungry. The pot roast breakfast was a long time ago.”
“No, I don’t mind. I don’t cook. I know how to heat things up. I’m surprised you found ingredients.” Skip peeked into the skillet to see what looked like chicken cutlets simmering with the pasta in cream sauce. “Looks good. I would have thrown those on the grill outside.”
“You’re out of charcoal,” Chad said with a smile and a wink. “I’ll get some, if I can borrow your Jeep later. I thought I’d drive down to town, and get out of your hair while you work.”
“Yeah, sure, not a problem. Use the Jeep whenever. Use anything here,” he said, draining the glass. Trying not to say the words that popped into his brain. In this case, he wanted to finish that last up with ‘including me’. Dear god, he wanted to be used by this man, hard, and fast, and sweaty. He’d forget he had a book to write and just spend the next month naked in bed if he could. “I have a weight room, and the office is not off-limits. I do have a laptop computer around here somewhere, if you want to check your email or something.”
Chad nodded without looking at him. He busied himself by taking up the cutlets and plating the pasta. He handed a plate to Skip, and set his on the bar across from Skip. He rinsed the wine from his glass and refilled it with water from the fridge door.
He didn’t sit to eat. He stood at the island shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I… thought…” he picked at the food nervously without looking at Skip.
“Just ask. It can’t be that bad.” He had no clue how to handle this… whatever the hell this was. The Marine was a guest, yes. One he was sexing, if not exactly sleeping with… yet. He had no term for what they were doing right now. Just some heavy grinding and naps. But it felt strangely like the kid asking the dad for permission to go out and be a kid. “I’m not your dad; you’re an adult. Just don’t smoke pot in the house.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Chad dropped his fork onto his plate with a little more anger than Skip anticipated. “And I’m not asking for permission to go buck wild in town. Just to borrow your car to get to town. I wouldn’t take someone’s personal transportation without their consent. And I don’t need a computer. I have phone access. I know I’m not your kid. And I don’t need a father. Stop trying to turn this into something perverted. And if that is what you think it is, maybe I should leave.”
“Then what is it?” God, he should have kept his damned mouth shut. He set his own fork down, and rubbed his hands over his eyes. He was tired. Really tired. The run this morning after a day of being sick had kicked his ass.
“I don’t know. I want to be with you. I want you to want to be with me. I thought maybe you understood. I don’t like boys. Most of the guys my age are immature assholes, and I don’t relate to them. I certainly never wanted to be with any of them. And I never wanted to just… slut around. I wanted it… to mean something.” Chad drained the water, and pushed the food around on his plate. His face a mixture of mottled red and white beneath his beard.
“Brian is twenty-seven,” Skip said, apropos of nothing. “I have a twenty-seven year-old son. You’re younger than my son, Chad. I feel like some dirty old man here. I don’t know what we’re doing. I like being with you. Not just for sex. Which, we haven’t actually gone far enough in that department… if you’re having second thoughts.”
“I was going to ask if I could have my mail routed here, if I’m staying… That’s all I was going to ask. I don’t want to just… move in. I don’t have anything else but what’s in those boxes. The last step to moving in with you is to change my address. It seems— presumptive.”
“Move in. Yes, if that’s what you want to do. Change your address. Live here. No one else lives here. I’m not here year-round. If you want to have a place t
o figure out your next step… then do that. Move in with me.” His heart was beating so fast he couldn’t think straight. There was a naked Marine in his bed when he woke up. He wanted to have a naked Marine to wake up next to tomorrow. Maybe next week. He picked up the wine and drained his glass. Then poured more and drained that. “Eat your lunch; it’s delicious.”
Chad quirked a shy smile at him, “Yessir.”
Skip pressed the cold bottle to his forehead and moaned. “You do that on purpose, don’t you?”
The smile wasn’t so shy now, as much as sly. “Part of it is habit. I’m still… I don’t know how to be a civilian anymore. You’re older. Sorry. It’s true. Can’t deny that. You’re sort of bossy. But yeah, I like to hear you moan. It’s kind of a turn on.”
Skip picked up his fork and pointed it at the man. Chad grinned, and after a moment he winked, blushing furiously. Skip put the fork down, and stepped around the island before Chad could duck away. Chad stood up straight to face him, his eyes gone carefully blank again. Skip reached out, and cupped his jaw with one hand, the other he skimmed along Chad’s arm from his elbow to his shoulder. He shivered, goosebumps forming as Skip touched him, and Skip stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “I like that I don’t have to duck, or look up to kiss you,” he said for no reason. “I like that you react to my touch. I like that you smell like sweat and pine right now. I love that you took care of me when I needed it. You fed me when I didn’t think to feed myself. You’re more of an adult than I am. And you scare me. So… yeah… live with me.”
Long Way (Adventures INK Book 2) Page 12
