Faking A Groom (Marital Bliss Book 3)

by DJ Jamison

  “Does this feel good?” Rory asked as he used the material to caress Avery’s inner thigh, then slip over his balls.

  Avery inhaled sharply. “It does, but—”

  Rory wrapped the boxers around the shaft of Avery’s cock and stroked it while he sucked the tip into his mouth. Avery cut off with a sound of surprised pleasure.

  Rory used his tongue, teasing more than sucking, playing in a way he hadn’t gotten the chance to do in that hot, frantic sixty-nine on Bliss Island. And all the while, he continued stroking that silky fabric up and down Avery’s cock.

  Avery buried his hands in Rory’s hair. “Fuck, please,” he muttered, rocking his hips forward, begging for more.

  Rory let him push deeper and deeper into his mouth, dropping the fabric and his grip on Avery’s shaft, letting him plunge into his throat. He placed his hands on Avery’s hips, encouraging him to fuck his face, and Avery groaned deeply as he came over Rory’s tongue.

  He collapsed back onto the bed, laughing breathlessly. “Came all this way, and we didn’t use the bed.”

  Rory stood, grinning. “Scoot over, and we’ll rectify that.” Rory stroked his own aching hard-on. “I’m not done yet.”

  Avery scuttled to the middle of the bed, settling against the pillows, eyes locked on Rory’s cock. There was a hint of wariness there. Rory kissed it away. Part of him wanted to push Avery to accept what he wanted, but he knew it was too soon. He didn’t want a repeat of their last time together.

  Instead, he straddled Avery’s waist and began jerking off. Avery grabbed his ass, pulling him forward toward his mouth. But his tongue barely touched Rory’s dick before he exploded, coming over Avery’s lips and tongue.

  He shuddered, falling forward, and barely managed to catch himself on the headboard as he came hard and fast. He was almost disappointed. He’d not even gotten the enjoyment of Avery’s mouth. Next time, he thought. If there is a next time.

  Avery pulled him back down, kissed him with sticky lips. “Next time, let me get my mouth around you first.”

  “Next time don’t be so fucking sexy.”

  Avery laughed, delighted. His lips were still shiny, though he’d wiped away most of the cum. Rory kissed him again.

  “Come on, let’s shower. You’re a mess.”

  Avery laughed and wiped at his mouth again. “That was an impressive show, though, right in my face. I thought you were going to blind me.”

  Rory grinned. “And dim those beautiful blue eyes? Not a chance.”

  Avery looked away, but a tiny, pleased smile tilted his lips. He looked almost shy, and Rory suddenly had a vivid memory of the first time Avery had ever blown him. He’d been hesitant and unsure, and Rory—who’d sucked him first, and so was full of experience and wisdom after one blow job—guided him through it, praising him as he went.

  Back then, Avery had not swallowed. He’d pulled off, watching as Rory spilled into his hand, and had blushed brightly when Rory said, “Avery, that was so good.”

  He’d looked up through his lashes, a tiny smile on his face. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  He didn’t realize it at the time, but that was the face of someone unaccustomed to praise. Despite the confident face Avery showed the world, he’d always been a different person when they were together in private. Someone eager but sweet, secretive but sincere. Someone afraid to be who they were and desperate for it at the same time.

  Rory wasn’t sure exactly when he’d forgotten that. Blinded by his own hurt, he’d never realized how much he’d been giving up.

  They showered, taking turns scrubbing one another’s backs, teasing and kissing. The shower smelled of an herbal, spicy scent Avery had associated with Rory without realizing it, and he kind of liked the idea of smelling like him. Ordinarily, he used his own body wash, but he happily let Rory suds him up and rinse him, that intense focus of his zeroed in on Avery’s body.

  He still trembled with aftershocks from just thinking about Rory stroking his cock with silk while sucking him. That had been…sexy, surprising.

  Strange.

  The feel of that silk on his body… He’d loved it. But it gave him a strange tangled feeling in his stomach. He was used to indulging in his love of soft, pretty things only when he was alone. Never with a sex partner. That evening on Bliss Island had been the first and last time he’d dressed up for anyone else, and he still didn’t know what to think about that. He’d felt elated and free at the time, but then he’d felt worried. Afraid he’d shown too much, afraid someone would reveal his secret, that he wasn’t just gay, but he was that kind of gay: effeminate, weak, everything his father had secretly thought about him.

  Avery had always loved pretty things. When he was a child, he’d played with his mother’s lipsticks. Clomped around in her shoes. Draped fur shawls around his shoulders. Just kid stuff. But his father had hated it. Avery had never forgotten overhearing him tell his mother: “Stop trying to turn that boy into a girl. You want him to turn out gay or something?”

  He’d remembered those words the day they buried his mother, and he knew he’d lost his biggest confidante and cheerleader. He’d remembered them the day he told his father he was gay, expecting the worst.

  He would always, always remember those words.

  But he hated that they still held power.

  Wearing the pretty things, it filled him with guilt. Like the little boy he’d been that long-ago day. But it also filled him with a sort of power. When he slipped on silk, lace, lip gloss…he wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t shoving his truth down to the pit of his stomach. When he wore what he wanted, he didn’t feel hollow, a shell of a human being.

  Not until after, anyway. Then all the guilt returned, the feelings that he wasn’t a proper man, that he was wrong in his very foundation.

  But here was Rory, running silk up his thigh, telling him he was gorgeous even when he wore eye shadow and lace. He remembered Rory’s comment on Bliss Island about getting lacy panties.

  If Rory was into it, if he was the one who wanted Avery in this stuff, then maybe…it was okay? Just for sex. In private.

  For Rory.

  They returned to the bed, and Avery was more than ready for another round, nervous and excited. His mind was flitting to his suitcase, to other things he could put on. For Rory. To arouse and excite him.

  But Rory’s phone chimed with a text, distracting him from his fantasies. Rory leaned over to grab it from the floor. Avery watched his narrow hips and tight little butt as he dragged the phone from his pants on the floor. Rory was long, trim, elegant. He didn’t have a spare ounce of fat on his body, yet he wasn’t skin and bones.

  Avery rolled onto his side, kissing Rory’s shoulder right over his rainbow-justice tattoo. “Is that important right now?” he teased as he stroked one hand down the center of Rory’s chest, circling his navel.

  Rory tensed and jerked, laughing. “Don’t. I’m too ticklish.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Don’t,” he said firmly, as if he was ordering a dog to stay. Avery tickled his fingers over his abs and Rory contorted and squirmed away, scrambling out of the bed.

  “Okay, okay, come back,” Avery said. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist!”

  Rory took a minute to read his phone screen, then said, “Julien texted to ask what we think of the photos.”

  “He sent them?”

  Rory climbed back into bed, tapping out a quick reply, then navigating through his phone screens. “I, uh, wasn’t ready to look at them. Before…”

  Avery tensed, his postorgasmic bliss faltering. “I’m sorry. I was dumb.”

  Rory brushed his left hand through Avery’s hair. “No. You were a lot of things, but dumb wasn’t one of them.”

  Avery sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “Still…”

  Rory used his thumb to pull Avery’s lip free of his teeth. Then leaned in and licked it, making Avery’s breath catch.

  “Let’s look at these photos,” he said,
pulling back.

  Pressing their heads close, they could both view the phone as Rory opened an email and flipped through photographs of them posed around Bliss Island. Some looked like portraits; others were more candid. Somehow, Julien had caught one of them laughing, faces turned to each other, and it was heartbreakingly sweet.

  Avery remembered how turned on he was that day, but he’d forgotten how close he’d felt to Rory too. He’d wanted him desperately, but they’d also been friends. And he’d nearly lost that. If he wasn’t careful, he could lose that again.

  Rory continued scrolling, stopping on another one. “Here. This one is perfect for Mal’s blog.”

  The Gaily Planet. The interview. He’d nearly forgotten his worries in the excitement of finally having Rory again.

  “Do you really think he won’t write everything about my father?” he asked, worried. “How well do you know him? I know I sounded jealous before…”

  Rory made a scoffing sound. “You were jealous.”

  Avery huffed. “Okay, fine. That’s not the point.”

  Rory grinned, smacking a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Avery liked it. Liked the casual intimacy. It made his heart flutter more than a sizzling hot kiss. It felt so comfortable to be in bed with Rory like this. Not just sharing orgasms, but sharing those quiet moments afterward. He’d never felt this close to a person, ever. Even when they’d been together before, they could never linger, both naked, not rushing toward climax but just…existing together.

  “Holly’s my best friend; he’s her twin.” Rory shrugged. “I don’t think he’d stab us in the back, but he’ll have to include a bit of context about your father. I trust him to wait on the legislation. There’s still time before they vote on it, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll check with Gil on the exact timeline.”

  “Gil’s your friend from the pub?”

  Avery nodded. “He’s all caught up in a new romance.” He rolled his eyes. “So, we haven’t talked much.”

  Rory smirked. “Pot, kettle.”

  Avery glanced down at the image on Rory’s screen. The two of them standing close, their foreheads tilted together, eyes locked. Behind them, the dark ocean rolled toward the horizon. The contrast in the photo was gorgeous. The composition, everything about it, was beautifully balanced.

  Avery’s heart quickened as he looked at the two of them holding hands, leaning in toward one another, looking like a real couple.

  “Yeah, I guess Gil isn’t the only one,” he said, with a nervous glance toward Rory. “Those two guys in that photo certainly look like they’re in love.”

  It was the only way Avery could even hint at the feelings crowding his chest. It seemed ludicrously fast to fall so hard for Rory, and yet…hadn’t he always loved him? Missed him? Regretted the life choices that had led him to being alone, with nothing but memories of love?

  Ten years to fall in love wasn’t so fast. But he was certain he could have fallen for Rory in one day. He was that amazing.

  “I’ll send these photos off to Mal, and then once the article is out, we’ll need to update our social media. He seemed to buy our explanation that we hadn’t been posting because we’d been keeping our relationship a secret, but now we’ve got no reason to do that.”

  Avery’s stomach swooped. Coming out to an interviewer had felt big—he’d known it would result in the world knowing. But posting on his social media about it felt so personal. What if people commented? What if they asked too many questions or were cruel?

  “Hey.” Rory set the phone aside, drawing Avery into a long, lingering kiss. “Are you okay?”

  Avery swallowed. “I’ve wanted to come out for a long time, but it’s just so… Everyone will know.”

  Rory didn’t seem annoyed that Avery was behaving as if he hadn’t known this since the beginning. But there was knowing, and then there was knowing. Rory’s eyes softened. “It’s a lot, and it’s happening fast,” Rory said. “But I’m in your corner. Even if this engagement isn’t real, we’re real, right?”

  “Yeah,” Avery said, though he didn’t know what Rory meant. They were real people, real friends, or real boyfriends? He didn’t know yet what the sex meant, or whether Rory felt everything he did. He chose not to ask. Some things were easier not knowing. “Yeah, we’re real,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss Rory again.

  All thoughts of Gil, those beautiful photos, even the pretty things he could wear for Rory slipped away as Rory rolled on top of him, grinding that beautiful body against his.

  13

  Avery woke Monday morning with Rory snug against his back. His arm was draped over Avery’s waist, his hand a hot brand against his lower belly. His morning wood prodded Avery’s ass cheek. It made Avery’s heart lurch when he registered the sensation, then his blood simmer. It was like walking very close to a fire, something that called to him and repelled him at the same time.

  When he felt trapped—closeted and nearly celibate—he’d daydreamed of the day he could take exactly what he wanted from a man. But when faced with reality, with a man willing to give him exactly that, Avery had shied away. Now that he could have everything he wanted, he didn’t know how to reach out and take it.

  He could make no sense of his feelings. But his body was less conflicted. It wanted what Avery continued to deny. Even as his thoughts swirled and his stomach swooped, Avery’s hips pushed back, rubbing his ass against Rory—an involuntary move driven by the sudden flush of desire.

  “Morning,” Rory rasped in his ear.

  Avery stilled, his heart racing. “Morning.”

  Rory nuzzled the back of his neck, and Avery sighed, tingling. He loved the feel of Rory’s body against him. They’d slept together three nights in a row, and Avery still couldn’t get over the thrill of waking in Rory’s arms.

  When Rory slid his hand down, tightening his fist around Avery’s hard cock, he groaned.

  “Yeah,” Rory whispered. “You need it. You’ve got so much time to make up for. I’m going to make you come every day. Twice a day.”

  “Only twice?” Avery asked with a chuckle.

  “As many times as you want.”

  Rory flipped the sheets off them and rolled away. Avery barely had time to miss his warmth before he was back, flipping open the cap on a small bottle of lube. He slicked up his hand before returning it to Avery’s cock, the wet slide perfect. Avery thrust into his fist, rocking his hips, but he gasped when he felt Rory’s wet cock nestling into his crack. He’d lubed himself up too.

  “Stay with me,” Rory murmured. “Just a little bump and grind, right?”

  Avery’s desire mounted with every glide of Rory’s cock through the furrow of his ass cheeks. So close. So very close to the fire now. Avery thrust forward into Rory’s hand, then back just as hard, tipping his hips, trying to get what he wanted, needed until—

  Rory’s cockhead dragged over his hole, and Avery cried out at the sensation. He wanted to beg Rory to slide that big cock inside him, just ram him full and pin him in place, force him to take what he wanted.

  But that was just the stuff of fantasy. Avery couldn’t have gotten the words out if he’d wanted, and Rory would never force anything. Instead, they imitated what Avery really wanted but couldn’t admit out loud. Rory thrusting behind him, his hand tight around Avery’s cock, waking sensation throughout his body until it coiled tight, tighter, ready to explode into pleasure.

  Then Rory made a rough sound behind him and spilled hot and wet against his ass, and it was too much: Rory’s sounds, the slick feel of him against Avery’s hole, the fire lapping at his skin.

  Avery came hard, far too hard for a simple bump and grind, as Rory had put it. No, this was something much more.

  It was the closest Avery had ever come to what snuck into his fantasies in the dark of night, what drove him to slip a finger against his hole, to prod at it and eventually push inside as he jerked his cock. By the time he had two fingers inside, he’d be lost to the pleasure, but afterward
? That’s when the guilt came. The thoughts about what people would think of him if they knew. What his father would think. The replay of his father’s words to him after he’d first come out: “You’re gay, but you’re not gonna be like those prissy guys. You’re not gonna bend over for it or sashay around like a fool. I raised you to be strong, to take charge…”

  Avery had stopped listening as his father went on about how he wanted a strong, virile son. A man’s man. He’d accepted Avery was gay, but only as long as he was the kind of gay that Drake Kinkaid could deal with, the kind of gay man who dominated others, fucking them into the mattress.

  At the time, Avery didn’t know his preferences. He’d barely come to terms with being gay, with liking hand jobs and blow jobs with another guy. But the words had stayed with him. No matter how many times he told himself they were narrow-minded, bigoted, and ignorant. He couldn’t shake them, or the feelings of guilt that came when he indulged in his secret desires.

  He waited for the guilt to come now, for the old feelings of disgust and self-loathing to slam into him.

  Rory pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “That was amazing,” he said. “But we’ve made a big mess again.”

  Avery’s chest loosened as he choked on a laugh. “Sorry.”

  “Better hit the shower. I’ve got work soon.”

  A glow built inside Avery, a light that was drowning out the usual darkness. This time was different. There was no heavy, ugly drop after his orgasm. And he realized the reason was Rory. Rory, who he could never regret.

  Avery turned and kissed Rory hard and deep, unable to express how happy he felt, how grateful he was that Rory gave him another chance, when he hadn’t even deserved the first one. When they parted, he rested their heads together. “Call in sick today. Spend all day in bed with me.”