Mind (Naughty Wishes #3) (5 page)

He thought about his and Chris’s wrestling match in the backyard. Chris’s expression right before he’d tackled Geoff had been an echo of that same heated look he’d swept over every inch of Geoff’s bare skin after he’d punched him in the kitchen. Angry, hungry, confused.

Then there was the day the three of them had decided to go back to Naughty Bits. They’d been in Sam’s bedroom, right after she and Chris had first had sex. Geoff had ordered Sam to go get dressed, but when she reached the door, he’d called her to a halt.

“Sam.”

She’d turned, hair tousled and body naked as the day she was born. Only now she had long, slim legs, pleasing curves and a woman’s heart that shone through her soft gray eyes. His own heart had beat faster at the sight, at the miracle of her. He’d had to clear his throat, so the words would come out as a Master’s command, instead of the undignified rasp of a desperate man falling head over heels.
“From here forward, if you want to get off with your vibrator, you bring it to me and ask. Or you ask Chris, if I’m not here. If neither of us is here, you wait.”

He’d looked toward Chris for agreement.
“Agreed,”
Chris said at last. Then Chris went to the door and put his shirt on her, since he’d seen her shiver and knew she was cold. When she dashed off to the bathroom for her shower, the hem of Chris’s T-shirt rippled off her bare ass in a delightful tease.

Chris hadn’t left the room right away. Instead, he’d pivoted to square off with Geoff. Now Geoff slowed the memory to frame by frame. He needed to pick up every detail, understand the slightest nuances of what had happened next.

* * *

As Chris studied him, Geoff crossed his arms and leaned against Sam’s dresser. Neither broke the silence right away. When Chris turned his head toward the sound of the shower starting, Geoff’s gaze was drawn to the corded line of his throat, the bare upper body. Chris had a fine, gleaming pelt of chest hair that dwindled into a line down his stomach, disappearing into his camo pants, which he’d left unhooked at the waist. The pants were even better than jeans at molding a guy’s package, drawing the eye.

Geoff thought about closing the distance between them, shoving his hand down that loose waistband and curling his fingers around Chris. He’d grip the weight of his balls, work his cock back up to the same turgid state it had been in when it had plunged into Sam. Her release, the scent and residue of it, would be on him. That made Geoff want to do it all the more.

Chris looked back at him. Geoff didn’t change his expression, curious to see how Chris would react to the unguarded desire in his face. Would he ignore it, duck for cover? Or would he give Geoff the green light to do exactly as he wanted? When Geoff detected desire in Chris’s brown eyes, a tightening of his sensual mouth, he wanted to hit the accelerator, but he knew that wasn’t enough. He held his ground and waited.

Chris’s expression was suddenly hooded and harder. “Do you know what you’re doing with her?” he said.

“Do you?” Geoff nodded toward the mussed bed. “Or do you want to claim I started this? If we’re going to go that way, she’s the one who started it all by dragging us into that store.”

“Really? Going to lay that on her?”

“Yeah, but not in the way you think. I’m saying she’s the bravest of the three of us. You wanted what she had to offer.”

“Don’t.” Chris shook his head. “Don’t make it like that.”

While the ripple of muscle and the shift of hip in the formfitting camo was distracting, Chris’s feelings kept Geoff’s mind mostly out of his hormones. He straightened. “I’m not, Chris. Christ. You think I’d want to spoil anything about what you just shared with her? Look at me.”

Chris turned confused and frustrated eyes to him. “We both want Sam,” Geoff said quietly. “We always have, haven’t we? We’re all finding our way here. Not only with her, but with each other.”

A muscle jumped in Chris’s jaw, and he lifted a shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s get dressed,” Geoff said, though the last thing he wanted to do was get dressed. Chris’s underwear was still on the floor, so there was nothing under those pants but Chris. But while Geoff wasn’t the most patient of the three of them, he understood a house of cards required it, unless he wanted to see the whole thing collapse.

As Chris moved to the door, so did Geoff. Once they reached it, Geoff gestured with a flourish. “Brawn before brains.”

“Assholes always bring up the rear,” Chris retorted. Geoff left his hand out there, but adjusted it to the traditional handshake offering. Chris’s lips twisted as he recalled the middle school memory, as Geoff had intended. He clasped Geoff’s hand and spoke the Ashanti warrior quote they’d learned in history class.

“‘In our land only the bravest of the brave shake hands with the left hand, because to do so we must drop our shields and our protection.’”

Chris deepened his voice as they’d done it as kids, to sound like superheroes. Only Chris actually did have a deep voice now. Geoff wondered if he realized that. Deepening his voice now only made Superman sound like he had a cold.

Geoff flipped the clasp up into the upright brotherhood move, then they automatically moved in and bumped shoulders in gangsta fashion, the version of the male hug that wasn’t hugging. It made them both grin.

“Sam would say we’re goofballs,” Chris said, but his expression was easier.

“She’d be right. But she’s a girl. She doesn’t get the secret handshake thing.”

Chris smelled faintly of sweat and sex, and that ever-present aroma of earth and green things. Geoff took a deep breath of it and stepped back, releasing Chris’s callused hand. Was it because of all that had happened these past few days that his attraction to the man was sharper, more intense? If Chris didn’t stop studying him like that, his eyes lingering on Geoff’s mouth, dropping to follow the line of his body under his Nike T-shirt and jeans, for fuck’s sake . . .

Geoff cleared his throat. “We better get dressed. After you.”

Chris sent him an odd look but nodded. As he passed in front of Geoff, Geoff didn’t deprive himself of a good, lingering look at the muscular ass shifting under the camo pants.

“There are benefits to bringing up the rear, Dr. Banner,” he said.

During their sophomore year, some of the kids had started calling Chris “The Hulk.” It was Geoff who called him Dr. Banner, seeing the mild manner, gentle nature and intelligence behind the intimidating appearance.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Means I can always watch your back,” Geoff said. “View doesn’t suck.”

Chris glanced back at him, visibly surprised. No matter what had simmered between them for God knew how long, Geoff had never overtly dropped that card. Well, he was dropping it now. It was about damn time he did.

* * *

Amen to that. Coming back to the present, Geoff slowed down for a light. During high school, Chris had figured out that Geoff swung both ways. Geoff had been hesitant to drop those clues at first, but for reasons he didn’t examine too closely, he eventually lost that reservation. When he started visiting BDSM clubs on his work trips, Chris knew about that as well. Chris had even visited one or two with him, though he’d get a drink and merely watch what Geoff was doing.

However, awareness wasn’t communication. Well, nix that. It was what Sam would call typical male communication—the lack thereof—with a roll of her lovely gray eyes that would make him want to smack her ass, no matter how right she was. They never talked about it. Not directly.

They hadn’t been ready to do that, because when they did, the vital current that ran between them, that connected and held their friendship, would be tested and changed. If Sam had never come into their lives, would the catalyst pushing them toward that test ever have occurred? Or would they have been forever content to find sexual release elsewhere and yet remain monogamous emotionally?

No escaping the truth now, because that was exactly what they’d been doing through and past college. It probably
helped that neither of them had had trouble finding women for occasional hookups—God bless the sexual empowerment of women.

Yet Geoff was all too aware that the few male hookups he’d had over the years were things he didn’t mention to Chris. Not lying, just not talking about them. He expected Chris had guessed about a couple of them, because he was typically a little distant from Geoff a few days after one had happened.

He wasn’t sure if Chris had ever had sex with a guy. Even when Chris found a woman, most of the time it took the form of double dates with Geoff. Yet Geoff knew Chris was bisexual, just not as comfortable and open about it as Geoff was. He remembered a time in college when he and Chris were studying for midterms on the bleachers by the track. He’d noticed Chris doing the same thing he was, lazily perusing the fit and form of the male track team. Chris’s eyes had come back to Geoff, held there with an unfathomable expression before he’d turned his attention to his studying again.

Always before, Geoff’s focus on that memory had been on the pleasing realization that Chris wasn’t a hundred percent straight. Now he zeroed in on Chris’s expression when he’d looked toward Geoff. Maybe at the time he’d just been too chickenshit to translate it, but the meaning was clear as a mirror right now.

They’re not you.

Considering the implications of that, all the possibilities, a picture formed that almost made Geoff miss the next light change. He stomped on the brake and brought his car to an abrupt stop. He stared sightlessly through the red light.

Chris had seemingly limitless patience. He could sit still for an hour, waiting for an injured animal to trust him enough to offer aid. He was loyal, faithful. If he gave his heart to someone, he wouldn’t ever fuck around on them.

Geoff swallowed. Shit. Was it possible Chris had never been with a guy because . . . he thought that would betray what he had with Geoff? Yet he’d never come right out with his feelings? What the hell?

That had to be wrong, because Geoff sure as shit knew he wasn’t worth that kind of devotion. But if he thought of it that way, the wall he’d kept hitting with Chris these past few days started making more sense.

Chris was patient, but more than that, he was cautious with what he held dear. Hell, he barely let Sam get on a step stool when he was in the house. Maybe he’d settled for a friendship that Geoff himself had valued more than anything, enough that they’d put anything less certain and more volatile on hold. Until Sam came into their lives and showed them that friendship was worth risking . . . if what it could become would expand and surpass it.

Okay, proceeding under the outrageous but strangely fitting hypothesis that Chris had been saving his virgin ass for Geoff, he flipped the mirror on himself. How would he have felt if Chris had ever actually gone after a guy, even for just
some down-and-dirty, nasty, pound-him-in-the-ass, no-commitment kind of sex, which was basically all that Geoff had done with a guy? He imagined male hands touching Chris, gripping his fine ass, parting his buttocks to tease him with a tongue, or closing a hot, wet mouth over his cock. Geoff’s hackles rose, his lip curling in a near snarl. That answered it, didn’t it? Yes. He was a fucking hypocrite, but it didn’t change his reaction one bit.

A honk behind him indicated the green light. He lifted a hand in impatient acknowledgment of his distraction and accelerated. Logan had turned him in the right direction. Now he needed to figure out what he was going to do with the information. He’d go home and get some sleep, because he often did his best strategizing when he was under, where his subconscious could toss out the bullshit. He might need a drink to settle his spinning mind, though. Or a whack with the type of blunt object he’d considered using on Chris.

It was near eleven when he came back into the house. He locked the door, activated the security panel and dropped his keys in the stupendously ugly, brightly colored fruit bowl in the kitchen. Sam had found it at a yard sale, and it had become the collection point for things needed when walking out the door. Spare change, extra keys to their vehicles, pens picked up here and there, many of them with the logo of Sam’s bank. Clothespins clipped on the edges of the bowl held reminder notes, like the one Sam had left before she departed on her trip. “Pick up organic milk. Happy cow logo.” Chris had added “oatmeal” in his large scrawl beneath it.

Geoff slipped open the buttons of the shirt he’d donned to meet Logan and loosened the cuffs as he moved down the hallway. Chris’s TV was still on that low drone. Either he hadn’t hit the sleep setting or he’d woken up again and reset it. Even on weekends, Chris tended to go to bed earlier than Geoff did, since his system was programmed to be up with the sun, the pathological need for coffee to kick-start him notwithstanding. There was very little chance he was still awake.

Even so, Geoff slowed to a stop. Something had changed. The bedroom door was open. Not cracked or closed. The large rectangle of darkness flickered with the blue-gray light of the TV.

He’d told Chris—rather emphatically, with pretty Dom-like panache, if he did say so himself—that he’d wait until Chris came to him. But that had to do with other things, the undefined Dom/sub nuances between them, how that power exchange would play out. His revelation in the car made this a different kind of moment. You had to learn how to walk before you could run. Or, as the first Master he’d ever met had told him: “Learn how to fuck; then learn how to top.”

Chris was the only man who’d ever seen Geoff cry. When Geoff’s mother told him she was staying with his father, despite his blatant and continuous infidelity, she’d given her son a look so distant, it was as if she were someone he didn’t know, had never known. “If you can’t treat your father with respect, Geoff,” she’d said stiffly, “you aren’t welcome in our home.” Geoff had packed and left.

To this day he didn’t really remember making a conscious decision to go to Chris’s place. He’d just somehow found
himself back at college. The guy lived in an eight-hundred-square-foot box with a postage-stamp-sized patio—one step up from a storage building, but it was adjacent to the organic garden the botany students had started. Chris was allowed to room there because he watered the plants.