Faking A Groom (Marital Bliss Book 3)

by DJ Jamison

  Avery rolled his eyes.

  “Seriously,” Rory insisted. “You took charge of your life tonight.”

  Rory didn’t know the half of it. Avery had yet to tell him about the conversation with his father. He almost blurted it all right then, but he didn’t want his father between them right now. He didn’t want to think about the political battle he’d engaged in, or the fake engagement they’d presented to the world.

  This isn’t fake. Us. This has to be real.

  He kissed Rory, focusing on the very real feel of his lips under his, the warmth of his breath. Rory was real, and Avery loved him. That was real. For the first time in his life, Avery was real, too.

  17

  Rory held Avery until practicality demanded they part and clean up. While they did so, he watched Avery closely for signs of regret, a relapse into thinking he was somehow not manly enough after getting dicked down. But there was nothing but happiness in him. He’d never seen Avery so free of tension, and he couldn’t imagine how long he’d been craving that kind of intimacy, suppressing his urges. It was heartbreaking that Avery had been trapped by his own fears for so long, fears that were no doubt seeded by his father.

  Rory really fucking hated that guy.

  They showered together, though the cubicle was almost too small. They had to take turns under the water, and trading spots meant rubbing against cold tile on one side and a glass door on the other, their bodies in constant contact. But it was better than being apart. Rory loved having Avery’s big body against his, loved the strength in him, but the softness too when Avery sagged against him, melting as Rory sipped water from his lips in wet kiss after wet kiss.

  When Avery sank to his knees, blond hair a dark brown under the water, and looked up at him, Rory felt a mini earthquake rock through him at the sight. Avery was a handsome man, but with his hair smoothed back from his head, his eyelashes dark and spiky from the moisture, he was beyond handsome; he was stunning. He was lovely.

  Rory could so easily call up the memory of him in lip gloss and eyeliner. Here in the shower, his lips red from the heat and kissing, he didn’t look so different. Avery was beautiful in any form he chose to take—the wealthy businessman in a suit; the strong, pretty guy in lace; the casual, everyday guy in a T-shirt. He’d take any and all versions of Avery Kinkaid.

  Then Avery parted those beautiful lips and sucked on the head of Rory’s cock. Water poured down Rory’s body, raining onto Avery’s face, wetting his stretched lips. Rory watched as Avery’s throat worked, imagined him drinking the moisture from Rory’s wet cock, and somehow that was incredibly sexy. Avery couldn’t possibly breathe, but he kept up the suction, the licking, until Rory came with a garbled warning.

  Then he stood and trembled in Rory’s arms, gasping in deep breaths, as Rory stroked him to another orgasm of his own.

  Completely rung out, they stumbled to the bed and collapsed. Rory had just enough energy to pull the covers over them and mumble, “There’s food in the fridge.”

  “I’ll eat when I’m dead,” Avery murmured, voice practically slurred with exhaustion.

  Rory wrapped an arm around him, kissing the back of his neck. “You’re incredible. Please don’t die. I’m not done with you yet.”

  Avery craned his head back, smile on his lips. “Good. I might never be done with you.”

  Rory pulled him close, his heart beating hard at how much he liked the sound of that. He and Avery Kinkaid, together for more than a secret affair, more than a fake relationship or a political game of chess with a powerful senator.

  He wanted that. He wanted that so much his heart ached with it.

  Before he could form the words, sleep pulled him under. He fell asleep with a smile on his face and a content heart, his arms full of the man he’d always wanted to call his own.

  Avery woke feeling fabulous—and ravenous. He got out of bed, taking care not to wake Rory, and went into the kitchen. Coffee and toast weren’t going to cut it today. He’d skipped dinner in favor of having the best dessert of his life. Getting fucked by Rory had been as delicious as he’d always imagined it would be. Better, because Rory wasn’t just some random cock, but a man he felt deeply about. Avery imagined he might have felt the familiar shame and guilt if he’d given in to his desires for a hookup, but Rory was so much more to him than that. Their emotional connection had flared so brightly, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d finally figured out the answer to life, the universe, and everything. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy had gotten it wrong. It wasn’t forty-two; it was Rory Fisher’s smile.

  He got out eggs and set about whipping up a quiche. Rory didn’t have any bacon or sausage; Avery had noticed that he ate meat, but he was sparing about it. No steaks or hamburgers or brats in the refrigerator. Mostly, he kept some chicken, some deli meats, but ate a lot of vegetarian dishes when they got take-out.

  Avery found spinach, onion, cheese, and milk, plenty of ingredients to work with. He mixed it all up and put the dish into the oven. Then he returned to the bedroom to gently wake Rory, kissing him into consciousness until Rory rolled on top of him and ground their cocks together, his skin hot even through Avery’s T-shirt and silk boxers.

  “Why are you dressed?” Rory muttered.

  “Made breakfast,” Avery managed, pushing his hips up with a groan when Rory grasped him through the silk, stroking him with the slippery fabric. It’d been a while since they’d talked about Avery’s love of pretty things, but he’d put in an order for lingerie, and he couldn’t wait to break down the last barrier to his own desires and wear it for Rory. Tonight, maybe, or tomorrow. Not now.

  Now, he was teetering on the edge from a few fumbles with this man.

  “How does your ass feel?”

  “Uh, fine.”

  Rory’s eyes met his, and Avery’s heart quickened. His cock was so hard he ached with it. “Yes. Fuck me again.”

  “You loved it,” Rory observed.

  “I did. I do.”

  They stripped Avery efficiently, prepped him, and before he knew it, Rory was deep inside him again. This time, he didn’t ask Avery questions, he didn’t take it slow. He slammed in and kept going with a fierce determination that set Avery on fire. They fucked hard and fast and beautifully, coming with mingled cries.

  “So much for that shower I had,” Avery said ruefully afterward.

  Rory chuckled against him. “Get used to showering a lot.”

  Avery shivered, thinking it was a small price to pay for earthshattering orgasms. He’d never come so hard without a dick inside him, and it made him mourn for all the wasted years. He’d made do with other sex acts, of course. He’d even had a few partners, despite his near celibacy since being back in the Portland area. He knew that some guys never had anal sex at all, that some of them didn’t even enjoy it. But he’d always, always craved something different, more. Not just being penetrated, but the connection and intimacy of joining with a man in that way, especially a man he could love.

  “Hey,” Rory said as they caught their breath afterward. “What had you so happy last night? You said you beat your father?”

  Avery grinned, feeling empowered all over again. “He’s going to pull his support of that legislation.”

  “He is?”

  “I convinced him it was in his best interest,” Avery said proudly. “He didn’t want to do it, but I told him we have a journalist ready to release news about it and that it wouldn’t look good for him politically.”

  “Avery, that’s amazing!” Rory said. “I’ll have to talk to Mal. We promised him a story, and I don’t know if we can make him hold off. Sorry, that was my bad for making that deal. I really didn’t think your father would back down.”

  “Tell him he can have my father’s story when he makes his move. I’ll talk to him and make sure that he agrees,” Avery said. “We can’t afford to lose this leverage. It’s the only thing making him back off.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. How soon will this go down?”


  Avery hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  A note of concern entered Rory’s voice. “You guys didn’t establish a timeline?”

  “Well, there’s the holidays. He said he’d need some time to pull some favors, so he can properly kill it instead of just pull his own support.”

  “Avery…”

  “What? That’s better! Better that the bill dies entirely. My father pulling out might not be enough to tip the scales.”

  “Are you sure you can trust him?” Rory asked. “I know you want to believe him, but what if he’s just saying what you want to hear?”

  Avery felt a prickle of irritation. Rory clearly didn’t trust him to handle his father, but he supposed he couldn’t blame him too much. Avery had failed to handle his father so many times before. His stomach tightened with unease, but he shoved it down. This time was different. This time Avery had spoken his father’s language.

  “He makes deals all the time, Rory. That’s what he does. This is just one more deal to him. His political reputation is at stake, and he knows it. This is a good thing. I stood up to him, and I won.”

  “Okay. It’s just that…he sort of threatened me.”

  Avery’s heart skipped. “What, when?”

  “He called and threatened me the day your story came out. I mean, I got a voicemail. We didn’t speak. He sounded pretty angry. I’m not sure this can be just another deal when it involves his son.”

  “You don’t understand,” Avery said, the words bitter on his tongue. “I’m not his son. I’m just a piece of his image. He didn’t want his image to be gay. But he can’t put that genie back in the bottle. He can only manage the damage, which means no more articles.”

  “So, you trust him?”

  “No, I just know him,” Avery said. “I used his politics against him. It’s the only way to get him to compromise. So…be happy for me? Please? I finally found my backbone. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? I stood up to my father. I’m strong. Getting fucked didn’t make me weak. I’m still strong.”

  “Of course it didn’t fucking make you weak,” Rory snapped. “You’ve always been strong, Avery. Your father is the weak one.”

  “Then you’ll trust me with this?”

  Rory sighed, softening as he leaned in, resting his forehead against Avery’s. “I’d trust you with anything.”

  A high-pitched beeping sliced through the air, and Rory startled. Grinning, feeling lighter than he had in days, Avery said, “I made breakfast.”

  Rory kissed him hard. “Great, I’m starving. You gave me an appetite.”

  Avery felt his face heat—he couldn’t quite get past his hangups enough not to feel ridiculously shy—but he felt pleased too. Rory was gazing at him with so much love that Avery could feel the warmth bathing his skin.

  It was tempting to stay in bed all day, but the incessant beeping continued, and Avery hopped up to drag on his boxers and rush to the kitchen to save his quiche. Rory followed along, pressing up behind him to look over his shoulder at the casserole dish. “Looks great. I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “Just basic things.”

  Humor entered Rory’s voice. “Quiche is basic?”

  “Well, it’s easy. Not like dinner.” He frowned, glancing back. “Is it too pretentious?”

  “God, no,” Rory said, pecking a kiss to his lips. “It’s cute. You’re cute.”

  Avery huffed, turning to grab plates. “Shut up. I’m not cute.”

  “Unbearably cute,” Rory teased.

  “I think you mean sexy.”

  Rory tilted his head, eyeing Avery’s body head to toe. His gaze was like a caress. Avery could feel his skin tingle under the scrutiny.

  “You are incredibly cute,” he said, to Avery’s consternation. But then he added, “And the sexiest man I’ve ever gotten my hands on.”

  Avery raised an eyebrow, his stomach fluttering like a silly kid with a crush. “But not the sexiest man you’ve ever seen? I’m crushed.”

  “Well, it’s hard to compete with Chris Pine.”

  Avery clasped at his chest. “Harsh. I’m totally hot enough to be a movie star.”

  Rory’s eyes twinkled as he fetched coffee mugs and started the brew. “No lie, Ave. You could be in Hollywood. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

  Now, Avery blushed for a whole new reason. Rory was going to be hell on his nervous system. Clearing his throat, he focused on serving up the quiche. “Good. I don’t want you looking at other guys. Just me.”

  Rory sidled back over to him, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. “There’s other men in the world? I hadn’t noticed.”

  18

  The next few days were hectic as they wrapped up as much work as they could before the full force of the holidays hit. They would be driving to Vermont to see Rory’s mom, and he hadn’t missed that Avery was becoming increasingly nervous. He’d only recently unpacked his bags and filled the closet space and dresser drawers Rory offered, and now he seemed reluctant to repack a bag for the trip. Rory wasn’t sure if he were having second thoughts about going with him, or if he was afraid to abandon the closet space he’d only just gotten.

  But the night before they left, Rory finally couldn’t take Avery’s procrastination. “Pack a bag or I’m going to do it for you,” he said in exasperation as Avery continued to stall. “You’re not getting out of this trip. I want you there, my mother wants you there, and…and…you have to come.”

  He sounded like a child making demands. He bit down on his lip as Avery turned surprised eyes on him. All through this strange dance of a relationship, Rory had taken the lead. He’d been the confident one, leading Avery slowly toward Rory’s idea of heaven, the two of them together in the way they both wanted to be. And Avery had responded so beautifully to him, as if he’d been waiting for Rory, of all people, to come and claim him and free him from his reservations.

  But that was romanticized nonsense. Avery had just needed to get away from his father, to find the nerve to break away from that toxic control and manipulation. Rory wasn’t special. He was convenient. Avery wasn’t using him, not when Rory had been the one nudging him forward the whole way, and he clearly had feelings for Rory, but now, as they settled into a new dynamic, one where Avery wasn’t afraid of his own sexuality, Rory was less sure of where he stood. What if meeting Rory’s family was more than Avery wanted? What if it was too much, too soon, and Avery was feeling trapped?

  “Sorry, that was out of line,” Rory said. “You don’t have to go with me.”

  “I want to go with you,” Avery said, his brow creasing. “Where is this coming from? We talked about this days ago. Your mother practically ordered me to be there.”

  Rory’s lips quirked. “She can be very…determined.”

  “Like someone else I know,” Avery teased.

  Rory couldn’t quite dispel his unease. “You don’t have to go along with our plans just because we’re so…determined.”

  Avery stepped close, resting one hand on Rory’s hip. “But your plans are so good,” he murmured. “Best plans ever.”

  Rory’s heart quickened, recognizing the sultry tone to Avery’s words. He tipped his head up and was met with a fiery kiss. Avery knew how to fucking kiss, teasing, tantalizing, following Rory’s lead but taking control when Rory backed off. He could reduce Rory to nothing but trembling want in seconds.

  It took all of Rory’s strength to pull back. “Are you just trying to distract me?”

  Avery looked hurt. “No. Why would you even think that?”

  He dropped his hands and stepped away. Rory wanted to kick himself, missing the warmth of Avery against him. “I just…you’re still not packed.”

  Avery turned toward the closet with a mournful sigh. He’d gone home a few times, when his father was out, to collect clothes, so he had plenty of options. More than could fit in Rory’s closet, actually. Designer suits hung in there, while jeans and T-shirts were neatly folded in dresser drawers.

  “I
’m not sure…I’ve just been struggling to decide what to take.”

  “Jeans. Sweaters. We’re a casual bunch,” Rory said. Stepping up behind Avery, sliding his arms around his waist, he added in a low voice, “Lingerie. Lacy shirts. Whatever you want to wear.”

  Avery turned his head so quickly, his cheek grazed Rory’s nose. Rory pulled back slightly to focus on his eyes. Avery had a sort of fearful, hopeful look. “I can’t wear lingerie at your mom’s house,” he said in a scandalized voice.

  Rory laughed, relieved. It was the first time Avery hadn’t deflected his attempt to talk about the side of him he’d only seen on Bliss Island. He was beginning to think that however much progress Avery had made with his preferences in bed, that he might not be able to budge in his toxic struggle with his own masculinity being at odds with his desire to wear pretty things.

  “Well, you can save the lingerie for me,” Rory said. “But you can wear other things, like at Bliss Island, around the house. Here, too, you know.”

  Avery hesitated. “Your mom wouldn’t mind me being, like…you know?”

  “What do I know?” Rory asked, intentionally dense. He wanted Avery to say the words, and barring that, he wanted Avery to at least think those words and realize how wrong they were. His insecurity of a few minutes ago receded. This, Rory knew how to do. He was back in the driver’s seat. He didn’t know if Avery would need him once he was past all his hang-ups, but he needed him now, and that was enough. Rory would hold on to that for as long as he could. Avery was everything Rory could ever want, but their lives didn’t really fit. Avery was wealthy, connected, a businessman. Rory was an activist, a champion of the poor. They’d always been adversaries—separated by social class, wealth, and expectations—but they’d always been irresistibly drawn together, even when it had seemed like a terrible idea.

  Rory still remembered teenaged Caleb urging him in a hushed voice to think about the risk he was taking, trying to teach the handsome, rich boy how to love a boy. And Caleb had been right in the end. Rory couldn’t compete with Avery’s world, with the expectations placed on him by a controlling father, by the fear that lived inside him and had for a long, long time. Avery had given in to his desires then, just as he did now—if in a different way—but when it came to taking real risks, he couldn’t do it.