Aria (15 page)

A
IDEN took a deep breath as he stepped out of the rental car and followed Sam up the front walkway to the Ryans’ Memphis home. It had been a chilly forty degrees when they’d left Philly that morning. Here it was nearly sixty already, and it was barely noon. The grass in front of the single-story brick house was still green, and pink flowers clung stubbornly to a tall crape myrtle in the center of the half-moon drive. A single electric candle shone, perfectly placed, in every window. The red double door at the entrance to the house was already hung with festive greenery in anticipation of the Christmas season. Aiden saw a huge fully decorated tree through the front bay window, as well as the corner of a mantel draped with more pine swags and perfectly formed velvet bows in a deep red.

The East Memphis neighborhood was reminiscent of Aiden’s parents’ neighborhood in Mississippi, though it was obviously more expensive with its well-manicured lawns, bushes trimmed to a millimeter’s precision, and driveways lined in brick. Aiden caught a glimpse of a shiny BMW sedan and matching SUV in the carport. These observations did little to quiet his already jittery nerves. The Ryans clearly were more than several steps up from the Linds on the economic ladder.

Sam must have sensed Aiden’s renewed apprehension, because he met Aiden’s gaze and smiled, squeezing his shoulder in a tacit gesture of reassurance. It helped. It always helped to know Sam was there with him. Still, Aiden couldn’t help feeling as if this performance was far more important than any appearance he’d ever made singing, and yet it was the only one he hadn’t been able to prepare for.

“Just be yourself,” Sam had told him as the plane landed. Aiden wasn’t sure if that meant he should be Aiden the hick or Aiden the opera singer. He hadn’t wanted Sam to worry, so he hadn’t pressed the issue. He was sure Sam was a little nervous too. He could tell by the way he kept running his hands through his hair as they drove the twenty-five minutes from the airport. They’d barely spoken in the car.

“Samuel!” A graceful woman with silvery blond hair neatly pinned back in a bun peered out of the now open doorway.
Sam let go of Aiden’s shoulder and planted a graceful kiss on his mother’s cheek. “Mother, you look wonderful. You always do.”
The formality of both the greeting and Sam’s words surprised Aiden. It seemed in stark contrast to Sam’s usual warmth. He’d just assumed Sam’s family would be the same—easygoing and relaxed.
“Mrs. Ryan,” Aiden said, stepping forward and offering her his hand, “I’m Aiden Lind. Very pleased to meet you.”
Claudia Ryan’s handshake was as measured as her expression. Not unfriendly exactly, but hardly the warmest greeting Aiden had ever received. He reminded himself that he’d felt the same way the first time he’d met David Somers—awkward and self-conscious—and he figured he shouldn’t make too much of it. David had become one of his closest friends, after all.
“We’re happy you’re joining us, Aiden.” She motioned them both inside. Even her slight Southern drawl was polished and understated. Sophisticated.
Aiden had expected the interior of the house to be impressive, given what he’d seen outside. He wasn’t disappointed. The front hallway had a vaulted ceiling with a modern chandelier suspended from the highest point, marble tile on the floor, and several understated watercolors hung on the walls.
From this vantage point, Aiden could better see the living room he’d glimpsed through the window. A fire roared in the fireplace. White pile carpet blanketed the floor. The furniture was typically Southern with Queen Anne influences, the porcelain knickknacks perfectly placed. The only similarity to the apartment Aiden shared with Sam was the extraordinary neatness. No. “Neat” didn’t cover it— fastidious, maybe. Meticulous. Aiden made a mental note not to leave his shoes in the vestibule overnight.
“Please,” Mrs. Ryan said, “have a seat. I’ll bring you both some sweet tea.”
“Thank you,” they chorused in reply. Aiden thought a good shot of bourbon might be a better option. He hadn’t been this nervous since his first audition after college.
“You doing okay?” Sam asked as Claudia left them alone.
“I’m fine.” Aiden sat down on the overstuffed couch, felt the down filling deflate beneath his ass, and tried not to laugh. He wondered if it’d leave an indentation after he got up. He thought briefly about the plastic covers his grandmother used to put on the sofa and love seat when he and his sister came to visit.
Stop it!
He bit his lip and repressed a snort.
Sam must have noticed his odd behavior, because he took Aiden’s hand and squeezed. “I know she’s a bit intimidating when you first meet her,” he said in a low voice, “but she warms up with time.”

I
T WAS not, Aiden thought in retrospect, a bad first meeting as first meetings go. Sam’s mother returned with sweet tea garnished with fresh mint and tiny cucumber sandwiches with the edges cut off. She then proceeded to engage both of them in polite conversation ranging from the warm Memphis weather to the Memphis Symphony’s recent concert season.

“You should sing with them, Aiden,” she murmured. “They’re a fine orchestra.”
He smiled in return and thanked her for the suggestion.
Aiden’s own mother would have been impressed with Claudia Ryan’s grace under pressure. Aiden didn’t doubt the woman was on her best behavior with him. She clearly adored Sam—worshipped him, from what Aiden could tell—and she just as clearly wanted to like
him
.
Later he and Sam went out to the car to fetch their suitcases, as Claudia put it, then took a few minutes to relax in the guest bedroom. Aiden had to smile at the twin beds.
“It’s no reflection on you.” Sam locked the door behind them and stole a very relieved kiss. “My folks sleep in separate beds.” He nuzzled Aiden’s neck, then added in a throaty growl, “The good news is that their bedroom’s on the other side of the house. If you’re good—” He nibbled Aiden’s ear. “—you can come over and play.” He patted the bed suggestively.
For the first time that day, Aiden relaxed, melding his body against Sam’s and holding him. “I want them to like me.” He had a hard time admitting it. He felt so vulnerable, so unsure of himself here, knowing Sam’s family was watching his every move. “I know how important it is to you.”
Sam sat down on the bed, and Aiden tumbled on top of him. “I want them to like you. But it wouldn’t matter if they hated you. I love you, Aiden. That’s what’s important.”
Aiden wanted to protest, to tell Sam that it
would
matter if his family detested him, but Sam rolled him over and began to unbutton his jeans. The next thing he knew, Sam had taken him into his mouth, and Aiden was struggling not to cry out.
“You’re evil, Samuel Ryan,” he hissed, keenly aware that Sam’s mother was only a few rooms away working on dinner and that Sam’s father would be coming home any minute now.
Sam released Aiden for a moment. “I love it when you moan.”
Aiden bit his cheek so hard, he could taste a hint of copper on his tongue. He pulled a pink frou-frou monstrosity off the pile of ruffled floral and lace throw-pillows on the bed and put it over his mouth to stifle the low growl that slipped from his lips. This was one time he cursed his resonant voice.
“I want to fuck you,” Sam said as he came up for breath.
Aiden only had sex in his parents’ house once, and it was one of the hottest memories he had of high school. They’d nearly gotten caught, too, he and Joey Stanhope. If it hadn’t been for the barking dog next door…. “God, yes,” he said, trying to focus as Sam nipped at his crown and cupped his balls. “Fuck me, Sammy.”
Sam released his cock long enough to say, “Not before I make you come.”
“Works for me.” Aiden gasped as Sam took his cock deep in his mouth and sucked hard. He wasn’t sure where Sam had gotten the lube from—had he thought so far ahead that he’d stashed it in his pants pocket?—but then Sam slid slippery fingers over his hole, breaching him a tiny bit, then pushing harder inside and brushing his gland.
It was just too much, the anxiety of coming here, meeting Sam’s family, knowing they were doing this in the same house as Sam’s parents—Aiden came far faster than he’d planned, into Sam’s hot mouth. He pulled Sam up and kissed him hard, partly to muffle his own moans and partly because he wanted—
needed
—to taste Sam. Tasting himself on Sam’s lips made it that much better.
A minute later, he was facedown, pressed into the pile of pillows, with Sam’s gorgeous cock up his ass. He couldn’t help but chuckle to wonder what Claudia Ryan would think if she knew what they were doing, and he thanked God Sam wasn’t as uptight as his mother seemed.
“Christ, Aiden, you feel so good.” Sam’s fingers dug into Aiden’s hips, the sting only serving to intensify the disembodied feeling Aiden had happily settled into. Like this, he could forget about trying to be someone he wasn’t. With Sam, he could be himself.
Sam slipped a hand under Aiden and took a nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched it hard, the way Aiden liked it. Sam liked to joke it was an On switch for Aiden’s cock. Today was no exception. The sting made his cock reawaken with a twitch. Aiden shifted his weight onto his left arm and took his cock in his right fist. “You’re going to make me come again this way,” he warned playfully.
“Just try to avoid shooting into the chintz mountain.” Sam said, laughing outright. “Might be hard to explain why my mother’s pillows are crunchy.”
“I’ll do my best—”
Sam pulled out and shoved back hard, then grabbed Aiden’s ass.
Aiden whimpered. Whatever their issues, whatever the distance between them, sex between them was always great.
“I’ve got a special Christmas gift for you.” Sam teased Aiden with long, slow strokes. He bent down near Aiden’s ear, his chest against Aiden’s back. “So I can pinch your nipples and squeeze your ass at the same time.”
“Oh, shit. Sammy… stop it. I’m having a hard enough time not… ahhh… yelling… here.” Sam had been threatening to buy him a set of nipple clamps for the past few months. In no time Aiden was hard just from thinking about Sam putting the clamps on him, maybe twisting them or pulling on them.
He loved that Sam was willing to try almost anything. They hadn’t spoken about it, but he’d guessed that Sam had always wanted to try a little kink and maybe Nick hadn’t been the type. He’d sensed it the first time they’d slept together, six years before. He decided he’d get Sam a Christmas present he’d remember too.
“Thinking about… my… present?” With each word, Sam thrust a bit harder.
Aiden knew he was grinning like an idiot now. He tightened his muscles around Sam and heard Sam’s stuttered breath in response.
“You are
so
going to pay for that.” Sam ratcheted up the pace.
“Oh, fuck!” This time Aiden shoved his hand in his mouth, whimpering again and panting, hoping he wasn’t making as much noise as he thought he was.
They were both coming a minute later—Sam first, followed by Aiden, who hoped it was only his hand covered in spunk and not the bedding. As Sam hopped off the bed to retrieve a towel he’d apparently hidden under the pillows, Aiden rolled onto his back and shook his head. “You’re evil, Ryan. I’m sure your mother could hear us.”
Sam wiped himself and Aiden before climbing back onto the bed, his ass coming to rest over the edge. “Nah.” Sam shot Aiden a look of smug satisfaction. “If she’s in the kitchen cooking, she’ll have NPR cranked up loud enough she wouldn’t hear you if you yelled. Her hearing’s terrible.”
“Why you little…!” Aiden pulled Sam closer and pretended to hit him on the head.
“Yeah. I know. But it was twice as hot thinking we’d get caught, wasn’t it?”
Aiden let out an audible breath.

Aiden smiled and smoothed the cloth napkin on his lap, then nearly jumped as he felt Sam’s leg press against his thigh. “Thank you, sir,” he answered, supremely uncomfortable once more. To be fair, he was usually uncomfortable with that sort of praise, but it was far worse coming from his partner’s father.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Sam chimed in, “Aiden’s making his Metropolitan Opera debut next fall.”
“Isn’t that lovely,” Claudia said. If anything, Aiden decided, Claudia seemed bored by the topic. “Sam used to live in New York, of course. Before Nicholas died. Lovely loft in Brooklyn Heights.”
Aiden smiled and hoped it looked convincing. The butterflies in his gut had morphed into a swarm of bees at the mention of Nick’s name.
“Aiden and I met in New York years ago, mother. I told you that.” Sam looked nearly as uncomfortable as Aiden felt. Irritated too, which made Aiden feel surprisingly good.
“Oh, that’s right. Did you know our Nicholas?”
Deep breath. Just breathe.
This time Aiden felt Sam’s hand on his thigh, squeezing. Thank God for Sam.
“No, ma’am.” Aiden thanked the heavens that the Ryans were not Southern Baptists and lifted his glass of wine. He took a quick swallow and added, “We first met about a year after Nick died.”
“Oh. I see.” Claudia went back to delicately cutting her food. From the look on her face, Aiden guessed she’d realized her mistake in bringing up Nick but wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“I wish I could have met him.” It was the truth. He looked at Sam as if to reassure him that it
was
true, and saw something flicker in his lover’s eyes. Respect, perhaps? Aiden wasn’t sure.
They still hadn’t spoken about Nick, he and Sam. Aiden blamed himself for that. He was afraid of what he might learn. Of what he might not live up to.
“So, Dad,” Sam said, “how’s the firm running these days?”
Sam’s father brightened visibly at the familiar territory. “You know what they say. ‘Bad economy, good for business.’” He speared a piece of meat and looked pointedly at his son. “Could use another pair of hands. Someone to take my share when I retire.”
Aiden knew how much Sam dreaded the topic of his father’s firm, so he was surprised when Sam answered simply, “I’m happy where I am, Dad. But I appreciate the offer. Maybe someday I’ll take you up on it.”
Claudia’s face softened. “Samuel”—she shot a look of reproach at her husband—“you know how well your son is doing. I showed you the article in the bar journal. You should be proud of him.”
Sam’s father looked momentarily irritated, then moved on to another topic of conversation without acknowledging his wife or his son. Sam’s face softened with his mother’s defense of him, the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes now more pronounced. Aiden decided he liked Claudia.
Later, as he and Sam helped clear the dishes over Claudia’s protests, Aiden overheard her tell Sam once again how proud she was of him. Then, before shooing them both out of the kitchen, she said, “Savannah and Tom should be here by eleven tomorrow. Rebecca will be here after breakfast to help me finish the cooking. Ceci says she and Beau will call after dinner.” She smiled at Aiden. “Cecilia’s pregnant with her third child. She’s due any day now. It was too much for her to make the trip up from Texas this year.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Sam leaned over and kissed her cheek. “For everything.”
Back in their room later, Aiden lay on his bed, hands propped under his head. “Your mom’s a good cook.”
“Yeah.” Sam’s voice was subdued, as if he were considering something. After a moment, he added, “Look, Aiden. I’m sorry about tonight. I don’t think my mother realized—”
“Nothing to apologize for. She obviously loved Nick.”
And so did you.
“Besides, I like her. I like how she stood up for you to your father.”
Sam got out of his bed. “Got room for me?”
“Always.”
There wasn’t enough room for two people, let alone two people their size, but Aiden wasn’t complaining. He lay on his side so that their chests touched. Sam laced his arms through Aiden’s, their faces nearly touching on the pillow.
“She’ll love you too,” Sam said as their eyes met.
Aiden wished he could be so sure.