by Eli Easton
“Oh, Jesus, that’s incredible,” I said, buried to the hilt, and panting into his neck.
“I want this… every day,” Hank said through gritted teeth.
I snorted into his nape. “A bottom is born.”
“Hey, figure out what floats your boat and own it. Now come on, Frenchie. Show me what you got.”
So I did. I thrust, trying my best to get an angle that grazed his prostate. I’d read you should aim for the other guy’s belly button, from the inside, and that’s what I did. I must have been successful, because Hank was muttering a steady stream of oh gods, and grunts, and tiny, strangled screams that made it extremely challenging to hold back my orgasm.
“I’m there,” Hank said suddenly. “Fuck me hard.”
But I meant what I’d said earlier. I wanted in on that action. I pulled at his hips until he moved onto his hands and knees and then I reached around and took him in hand. Oh yeah, he was close. He felt like he was about to explode—rock hard, dripping pre-cum, and jerking at my first touch. I slammed into him, using the momentum of my own thrusts to push his cock in and out of my fist.
“Sloane!” Hank shouted, and I felt the wet heat of semen coating my hand.
Another thrust and I followed, curving over his back. And for a moment, Hank and I, we flew.
We dozed, curled in our little nest. Our little nest that smelled of hay and man and cows and sex. It was a fetish in the making, and the best Christmas of my life. I thought that just before I fell asleep. Hank’s warm smooth back and thighs were pressed up against me as tightly as possible. He was much more satisfying to spoon than Grinch, though I’d never tell the dog that.
It couldn’t have been very long afterward when there was a bang on the door of the hay stall, or whatever you called what we were in.
Hank sat up. I moved to find my clothes, suddenly picturing being ‘caught out’, but Hank grabbed my arm and held up a finger. Wait.
“Boys?” It was Hank’s dad.
Hank and I looked at each other, horrified.
“Don’t come in, Dad!” Hank said.
“Believe me, I won’t,” Karma said with a vocal shiver. “Just… I have, um, condoms and lube.” And in a mutter. “Your mother made me.”
I put a hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh out loud.
“I’ll just leave them right outside the door then, shall I?” Kar sounded resigned to humiliation.
“Okay. Thanks.” Hank said loudly.
We heard Karma walk away and the barn door close.
Hank and I howled with laughter.
~Epilogue~
Hank
MICAH and I were already in the car, waiting for Sloane to finish saying good-bye to Grinch. That dog could pull one hell of a tragic face, and he had Sloane about ready to cry when he offered a trembling paw too.
Micah snorted. “He’s going to be the most manipulated vet ever.”
“Yup,” I said with absolute conviction.
Micah continued to watch Sloane in the side mirror. I cleared my throat. “I’ve been wanting to ask—did you just come on to Sloane because you were doing a reverse psychology thing with me? Trying to make me jealous?”
Micah turned around in the driver’s seat and studied me. “Now that he’s your boyfriend, I plead the fifth on that one.”
“So yes, you really wanted to hook up with him?”
“Let’s just say, it was a win-win whichever way it went.”
I considered that calmly. “You ever touch him, it’ll wreck us.” I was only partially kidding.
Micah snorted. “You know I love you, Holden, and I would never, ever do that to you. I promise you, Sloane…” Micah looked serious. “Sloane is dead to me now.”
I laughed. “He’d better be. So… you still curious?”
“Maybe. You recommend it?”
“I highly recommend it,” I said with no hesitation and a considerable amount of esprit de corps. That was a phrase I’d learned from Sloane.
“Guess I’ll just have to find out for myself one of these days. It’s still on my list.”
“Be careful. You know what they say: once you go dick, that’s the end of the chicks.”
“They don’t say that.”
“I said it, man, and I’m a philosopher. So it counts.”
Micah rolled down his window. “Sloane! That dog will never look happy about you leaving, so just make a clean break, man. You’re killing me.”
I could swear I heard Sloane murmur something to Grinch that sounded like, “We’ll always have Christmas.”
Sloane
We rode back to PSU with pies for all, a smug smile on my face, a glowing Hank, and Micah looking a little preoccupied. Hank insisted, once again, on being in the back. I would have joined him, but I figured Micah would get annoyed if we snuggled and left him with an empty passenger seat.
“How do you guys want to play this?” Micah asked as we got closer to State College. He looked in the rearview mirror at Hank.
“Play what?” Hank said, looking clueless.
Micah sighed. “I mean, are you guys out or… or is it a secret?”
I had to admit, I’d given that thought a few dozen hours of mental hand-wringing myself. The past week at the Springfields, Hank had been open with his affection. We’d felt like a real couple—going to the movies, holding hands on family walks, sneaking out to the barn on a regular basis…. It felt so right it was scary. I liked his parents, I liked his brother, I liked his family farm, I liked the dogs. I even liked the chickens. And the cows? We were still cautious adversaries, but it was only a matter of time.
It went without saying that I liked Hank a crazy amount too, and I thought he felt the same about me. But for Hank, the idea of being ‘out’ on campus had to be terrifying.
Hank was looking at his cell phone. “We have a frat house meeting when we get back, don’t we?” he asked, barely paying attention.
“Yeah. Tomorrow.” Micah frowned.
“Then don’t worry about it, bro. Leave it to me.”
This didn’t inspire me with the warm and fuzzies. But before I could turn back around, Hank looked up at me and winked.
It was a Saturday when we got back to campus. Classes started on Monday, so there was a lot of shit to do—get my final class schedule, hit the bookstore for textbooks, stock up on essential beverages and snacks. Hank snuck into my room that night, but if anyone in the house noticed the two of us acting differently, they didn’t comment.
By Sunday afternoon, most everyone was back. That night, we had a pizza and beer party.
I was helping myself to some pepperoni on the coffee table when Hank walked in. I did a double take. He was wearing a white tank top and jeans and nothing else. He looked massive, and the expression on his face was different somehow, tougher. He looked like the Hank I’d first met, and it made me realize how much softer the private side of him was, the one I’d gotten to know only recently.
He grabbed a bottle of beer from the table and shook it vigorously, then held it up. “Hey, yo! Listen up!”
The crowd of Delts stopped eating and talking and gave Hank a curious look.
“I got something to say. I hate rumors and shit so here it is, horse’s mouth. First, I want everyone to know that I’m gay. So welcome to my coming out party!” He popped the top off the beer and the foam shot out, dousing mostly Hank himself, but also a few people nearby.
There were looks of shock as his words sank in, but a few guys were on the ball enough to offer congratulations.
“Yeah, yeah. I like guys. Not really anybody’s business, but there it is. Secondly…!”
Hank looked at me. I realized by now, of course, that Hank was acting. He was playing his tough guy part with aplomb. I could feel the grin plastered on my face. I tilted my head. Go on.
“Secondly, that one over there, Sloane, he’s mine. So hands off. Isn’t that right, Frenchie?”
The little devil on my shoulder squawked. “Yes, Sir,” I
said with great seriousness.
“Cool. That’s it, dudes. Party on.”
There were a lot of gobsmacked people in the room, but I wasn’t one of them. Hank walked over to me, looking seriously large and stupendously hot and slightly wet from the beer.
“Okay?” he asked, holding out his bottle for me to clink.
I could see that underneath his bravado he was shaken. That hadn’t been easy for him.
“More than,” I said, touching my bottle to his. “You’re one bad-ass mother fucker, Holden Springfield.”
I thought he would protest my using his real name, or maybe it would make him laugh. But he just smiled a warm, simple smile and leaned in to give me a kiss, right there in front of everyone.
He was always a contradiction, my Hank. And I hoped he always would be.
ELI EASTON has been at various times and under different names a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fanfiction writer, an organic farmer, and a profound sleeper. She is now happily embarking on yet another incarnation, this time as an m/m romance author.
As an avid reader of such, she is tickled pink when an author manages to combine literary merit, vast stores of humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, three bulldogs, three cows, and six chickens. All of them (except for the husband) are female, hence explaining the naked men that have taken up residence in her latest fiction writing.
Her website is http://www.elieaston.com.
You can e-mail her at [email protected]
Twitter is @EliEaston
Available in ebook or audiobook format. Read an excerpt or purchase here: http://elieaston.com/books-by-eli-easton/blame-it-on-the-mistletoe/
Published by Eli Easton
Pennsylvania, USA
First edition, Nov, 2014
[email protected]
www.elieaston.com
Blame It On The Mistletoe
© 2014 Eli Easton
Cover Art
© 2014 Reese Dante
www.reesedante.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution.
Please do not loan or give this ebook to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means.
The author earns her living from sales of her work. PLEASE DO NOT PIRATE THIS BOOK.
Table of Contents
~1~
~2~
~3~
~4~
~5~
~6~
~7~
~8~
~9~
~10~
~11~
~12~
~Epilogue~
