Served Hot (5 page)

“Jesus.” That trick got him moaning loud and clenching my hair.
Almost there.
Anticipation raced through me, and I pulled back only enough to get a quick breath before diving deep, this time milking him with my throat until he groaned, his voice Barry White deep. Needing air, I slid back up, working the base with my hand while I sucked hard on the tip. That did it. A couple of quick pulls and he came on a stream of curses and full-body shudders. He tasted salty and musky and perfectly male, and it took everything I had not to join him in shooting.

“Oh. My. Word.” Yup. There was my quaint dude again. Offering me a hand, he hauled me up next to him. “Wasn’t expecting that when I unlocked the door.”

“Complaining?” I kissed him under the ear.

“Never.”

“What were you expecting?” Still concrete-pylon hard, I rocked against him. “I take requests.”

“Yeah?” His voice still sounded rough.

“Totally. Whatever you want.” Even though he’d come, I still wanted to indulge him. I didn’t think he’d be up for anything too kinky—and even if he was, I was turned on enough to be down with just about anything he could dream up. Now that I’d handled his impressive dick, what I really wanted was to fuck, but I wasn’t sure if that would be too much, too fast for him.

But if he asked? Oh, hell yes, I’d wait for him to get hard again.

His eyes took on a half-lidded, dreamy look. “This way.”

Taking my hand, he led me through the sea of beige, down a narrow hallway and into his bedroom, which was a study in gray—gray comforter, gray carpeting, gray curtains. Someone needed to get this man some aqua throw pillows or something. And look at me, not even in his place fifteen minutes and already redecorating. A laugh escaped my throat.

“What?” he whispered, looking at me like I was the winning lottery ticket. The giggle died in my throat. I didn’t think anyone had ever looked at me as reverently as he did right then.

“Nothing.” The word was little more than a breath. I reached for the hem of my T-shirt.

“No. Let me. That’s what I want.” Skimming his hands down my sides, he gently pushed my hands aside.

“Sure.”

Undressing me slowly, he pulled off my shirt, then folded it. I bit my lip to keep a smile back. His broad palm skimmed down my back, a meandering trail of heat. Dropping a soft kiss on my collarbone, he stroked my chest. Judging by his little smile, he liked my smooth look. In my case, it was genetic, not a waxing studio, and personally, I much preferred fuzzier men like David. He unzipped my pants but didn’t go for my aching dick. Instead he motioned for me to kick free of them.

“I just . . . want to look at you.” He took a half step backward and tilted his head, like I was a snapshot he’d been waiting to capture and couldn’t quite figure out the angle.

“That all?” My dick strained against the stretchy cotton of my boxer briefs. The disco-beat thrum of my pulse made it hard to stay still.

“Well . . . not
all.
”

“Good.” Stretching up, I captured his mouth in a soft kiss. I pulled at his shirt. “You gonna let me return the favor?”

“Sure.”

Removing his clothes was more of a joint effort—him pulling things off and me running my hands over every bit of exposed skin. His dark hair contrasted with his pale skin. As I’d suspected, he had a decent pelt of chest hair smattered across his pecs, then a thicker trail down his stomach. It crinkled against my palm, but his gasp was even more gratifying. Like me, he didn’t exactly have gym-rat muscles, but he had a lot of lean definition that created interesting lines and places to kiss.

Somehow we collapsed together onto the bed, both still in our underwear. We kissed for several long minutes, a slow dance of tongues that defied the raging insistence of my dick. My pelvis wasn’t touching anything more than air, but I was still a heartbeat from coming.

With anyone else, the destination would already be clear at this point—hell, most guys were quick to assume that I’d bottom, and I was usually only too happy to go along with it. A fast conversation about the where/when/how subbed for foreplay with plenty of hookups. But this was different. There was no destination. We were already there, hands tangled in hair, lips dragging across stubbled skin, mingled breath, synchronized heartbeat.

We rolled on the bed, him ending up sprawled half on me. Each movement was infused with so much . . . joy.
Joy.
That was it. I didn’t think I’d ever had that—the almost giddy pleasure of simply being in this place at this time, knowing that we’d actually made it to this moment. His touch held a sense of wonder I didn’t think I’d ever had, even as a teen. He smiled down at me, a shy expression, as if he was amazed I hadn’t disappeared.

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t going anywhere, but words failed me when he circled my nipple with a blunt fingertip. Sucking on my shoulder, his hand skated down my torso. The air-conditioning in his apartment was cool, but his mouth was hot and his skin scorching. The press of his chest against mine spread heat throughout me, a delicious lick of pleasure that made me shift against him until our groins aligned. All at once, the room seemed brighter, the sound of our breathing louder, the scent of our sweat stronger—everything lit up as our dicks slid against each other for the first time.

“
Fuck.”
David gasped against my mouth.

“Love it when you say fuck.” I chuckled against his neck. He could take that as an invitation if he wanted, but this was pretty damn perfect. My fantasy earlier in the evening paled next to the reality of his big body rocking into mine, his weight balanced on his elbows.

“You make me wish I knew a lot more dirty words.” Stretching, he uncurled one arm to link hands with me. Desperate for more skin, I snaked my free hand down to the waistband of his boxers. He got the message, and we both wiggled until the last scraps of fabric were gone and we were down to nothing but skin. And then perfect shifted, redefined to this, us, hands linked, hips slowly undulating against each other, his silky hot length dragging against my own, a slow wave of pleasure building from deep inside, every cell humming.

I could read his pleasure in the little huffs of breath against my cheek, in the tension in his palms, in the shudders racing through him every time our cockheads dragged against each other.

It was the most leisurely climb of my life—my balls throbbed with the need to come, but neither of us picked up speed. Just kept kissing and rocking. Small movements became everything; he sucked on my tongue and my balls lifted. I squeezed our interlaced fingers and he groaned like I’d put a hand on his dick. Tonguing my ear, his breath felt like licks of fire down every nerve ending in my back.

“
Robby.”
My name was husky and tender on his lips and the sound was almost enough to push me over. “So. Close.”

And then that did it—knowing he was right there, that the desperation and hunger wasn’t all on my side, that he was riding the same wave. I pushed up, grinding hard against his flat stomach as the first spasms hit me. I felt him go seconds later, a harsh groan and splash of heat against my belly.

Pressing a kiss against my forehead, he flopped next to me. I drifted along on the last of the heady wave of pleasure, muscles getting heavy as sleep threatened to claim me.

“Let me get a towel.” David didn’t seem to be suffering from the same near-brain-dead fatigue I was as he hopped off the bed and went to a bathroom across the hall. Tossing me a brown towel, he pulled on fresh boxers.

“Holy moly. I’m not sure I’ve
ever
come twice in an hour before.”

“Was it seriously only an hour?” It felt like days had passed, or at the very least like the clock should read 4
A.M.
, like we’d ridden out the darkest part of the night together, drowned it in a river of kisses. But no, it was barely 11 according to the alarm clock next to David’s bed.

“Heck.” He slapped his head. “I didn’t think. How late does TriMet run?”

“Eh?” I opened an eye to assess him. He didn’t seem to be joking—his voice still sounded fucked out, his face still all soft and pink.

“Don’t want you stranded.” Leaning down, he ran a hand through my hair, affectionate smile at odds with the glass shards nicking my heart.

“Oh, uh. It’s till midnight or one
A.M.
on Saturdays. And not like my roommates will be waiting up.” I tried to joke, but the moment was lost.

“Good.” He grabbed his pants and slipped them back on, leaving his belt and shirt on the floor.

Well. This was . . . unexpected. I mean, I’d had plenty of hookups not turn into sleepovers, and this wasn’t even the most obvious you-can-leave-anytime hint I’d ever gotten, but it still stung how ready he seemed to be for me to leave.

“Um . . . I really do make good pancakes. We could skip the brunch place . . .”

“Wait.” He turned back toward the bed. His forehead wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. “You want to stay?”

“Um. No.”
Not when he so obviously wanted me gone.
Gee, this was a one-way ticket to awkwardville. “Guess I’d better get dressed.” I hauled my creaky muscles out of the bed and stumbled to my clothes, which, unlike his, were neatly folded on a side chair.

“Hey.” Sitting next to me on the bed, he took my hand. “Sorry. I didn’t think—”

“No, it’s no big deal.” I tried to push off the bed, but his arm stayed me.

“I like pancakes.” He kissed me softly on the lips. “A lot. I just wasn’t thinking.... Sleepovers are kind of new to me.”

“Seriously?” I mean, the guy had been with someone for twelve years. If I’d been with someone that long there would be a shared bed with a premium mattress and chichi monogrammed sheets.

“Yeah.” He looked away, his eyes cloudy and distant. “Wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence in my past relationship.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ancient history.” He waved my sympathy away, seeming to make a deliberate effort to brighten his expression. “And no, you’re not getting dressed.” He shook his head as his eyes raked over me with enough heat to make me forget about our sudden landing in awkwardland. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

He kissed his way down my chest, pushing right past all the discomfort of the last few minutes. Yeah, I was staying. And, yeah, I was going to show him all the good parts of sleeping over he’d been missing out on.

Chapter 6

D
avid woke up first, foiling my plan to rouse him with a blow job. Whereas I had to drag myself up every morning at oh-dark-thirty and relished my sleeping-in days the way a sailor treasures leave, David was downright chipper at six-thirty.

“It’s okay. You sleep longer.” He kissed my shoulder. “I usually go for a run, then come back and shower.”

“How about you get your workout here? Then we shower together?” I held the covers open for him to crawl back in. Round two last night had left me boneless, my usual nerves too blissed out to overthink things like usual.

“What did you have in mind?” He slid back in beside me, fuzzy legs rubbing against mine, sending heat straight up to my groin. He rested a hand on my chest.

Last night, we’d ended up rubbing off together a second time. And that was lovely, long and slow and oh so sweet, with lots of kissing until he’d finally wrapped a hand around us both and stroked us over the edge. But right now, sleepiness and leftover good juju from last night had me a bit bolder.

“You feel like fucking?”

“Didn’t we . . . ah, you mean . . .” His face turned dusky red.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready.” I stretched to kiss him. I could feel his heart thumping under my palm.

“That really what you want?” Cupping my face, he gazed into my eyes like he expected to find deception there.

“I’m dying to feel you in me, but I can be patient. Whenever you’re ready.”

He inhaled sharply, his eyes going hotter. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t repelled by the notion. I rolled so I was more on top of him and could kiss him easier. Nipping at his lips, I let the kiss build slowly, licking my way into his mouth, sucking on each lip in turn. This was more than enough, and I tried to tell him that in my kiss. Frot and oral and David could make me a happy guy for a long, long time.

“I want you,” he whispered as he pulled back. “But I . . . uh . . . don’t have condoms.”

“I do.” I scampered off the bed before he could change his mind and retrieved my wallet from my pants. I’d come prepared. Hope and hard-up dick sprang eternal. By the time I got back to the bed, David had retrieved a bottle of lube from his nightstand. The idea of him beating off with a slick fist had my blood rushing to my already painfully hard dick. Condom in hand, I straddled his waist.

“How do you like it?” he said against my jaw. “Want it to be good for you.”

God, he was sweet. “You on top.”

Not that I was adverse to playing cowboy, but I really wanted to be surrounded by David, to feel him straining above me, to grab his shoulders and pull him close like I was never letting him go. For once in my life, I knew exactly what I wanted, and it was him.

“Show me what you like.” He grabbed the lube with one hand and my hand with the other. His near reluctance worked like an odd aphrodisiac for me, made me more assertive than usual. Raising one leg up, I worked some lube around my rim.

David’s eyes never left me as he knelt in front of me. He watched me for a few seconds, then his finger joined mine. “This okay?”

“
Yesss
.” My breath whooshed out as the tip of his finger penetrated me. Together we worked me open, and I had to keep reminding myself not to hold my breath. This strange, intimate space made me afraid to breathe lest I disturb this beautiful new landscape we were charting together.

“Now?” he asked, his hand trembling as he withdrew it.

“
Please
. Want you.”

His thighs were tight against mine and I could feel the tension in his muscles as he slowly pressed forward.

“Don’t . . . want . . . to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” I breathed around the tight pinch, trying not to let it show on my face. David’s expression was so earnest, eyes wide, mouth open—like it would kill him to stop, but he’d do it in an instant for me.

It wasn’t my body he was at risk of hurting; it was my heart. It felt like my heart beat in time with his thrusts. Beat
for
him. Like he was my sole reason for existing right then.

The rub against my gland was exquisite; David’s thrusts found the right angle effortlessly. Everything about the fuck was fluid—his motions, our kisses, my hands running up and down his back.

Sweat pooled between us and our breath came in synchronized pants, both of us pushing toward release even as we tried to make it last. We didn’t need words or even eye contact; our bodies followed each other like this was a dance they’d long since memorized. I reached for my cock at the same instant he did, and David laced our hands together so that we both stroked me off. The pull of our hands, the pressure of him slamming against my gland; it was all too much.

“Ooooh.
Fuck.”
I came in thick ropes that squished between our fingers. I was still shuddering when David’s hips stuttered, pushing deep a final time as he came too.

“
Robby.
” Head thrown back, his face scrunched up, he gave a helpless shout. The sight was so intensely erotic that it made my cock pulse again, made a deep aftershock wave pass through me, the afterburn of my orgasm intensified by the sight of his.

 

 

After a nap and a mutual shower that ended up in more sex, we finally had pancakes about the same time we usually had our Sunday brunches. I liked this sans shirts version way better. We sat at his tiny table and I educated him on why his drip coffeepot had to go and he told me about the huge breakfasts his grandparents would host.

He insisted on doing the dishes, and no longer powered by last night’s lust, I took a moment to peruse his place. The small living room ended in a pass-through to a galley-style kitchen that had a breakfast bar open to the living room. The room was pretty much spotless—David’s clean-freak routine had ensured that. The whole place felt sterile as naval barracks; there wasn’t a lot of David’s personality to spot. No wall art. No bookshelves.

“You play the Xbox much?”

David looked up from the sink and I nodded at his flat screen TV, which had both a DVD player and a game console attached. Below the TV were several pull-out drawers, the kind that could hold a whole library of DVDs out of sight.

“Some.” He looked up from the dishwasher. “Just downloaded a really cool snowboarding thing. Wicked runs and neat soundtrack.”

“SSX Tricky? I love that game.”

“Yeah? We should play sometime.”

“Want me to cue up a game?”

“Sure.” There was the sound of the dishwasher kicking on and then David joined me. I reached to turn on the console but stopped, my hand hovering above the on button. Next to the DVD player were the only other personal items in the room: three framed photos. One of a smiling female version of David and two toddlers—dark hair, long noses, reluctant smiles. Definitely the sister and her kids. The second photo showed the same kids but older, more like five and seven, with David, holding up a giant fish.

“You fish?”

“Not lately.” Like me, his eyes weren’t on the fishing photograph; they were glued to the third photo. Blond dude, couple of years older than me, David off to one side. They weren’t touching in the picture or even looking at each other, but I knew instantly who it was. Dead boyfriend whose name I didn’t even know. He looked like a young Brad Pitt playing a sheriff’s deputy. All dark blond hair and blue eyes and sun-kissed skin and an all-American smile. Cockiness radiated from him like a search beam.
He
probably had no problem telling David exactly what he wanted.

Next to me, David’s eyes were distant, and he chewed on his lip. I didn’t want to think about where his thoughts had gone, but I had a pretty good guess. I’d been feeling all smug about the sleepover and giving David something he hadn’t had before, but now that smugness turned into self-doubt. Didn’t really matter that the dude had apparently treated David like shit; the David in the picture practically glowed with love and happiness, eyes crinkled, no worry lines like my David had. David had loved the jerk, and nothing, not even me, could ever make that loss okay.

“I should probably get dressed.” My voice felt all tight and thin.

“Yeah.” David’s voice sounded faraway. I crossed quickly to the hallway, not able to stand there doing some sort of weird penance a second longer.

“I should probably think about heading out.”

“Wait. You don’t want to play?” Catching up to me at the bedroom door, David grabbed my shoulder. He touched my face tentatively, like he hadn’t spent the night becoming intimately acquainted with its contours. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s later than I thought and . . .” I was scrambling and David’s raised eyebrows said he knew it too. I pulled away to go hunt down my shirt.

“I’m screwing this up, aren’t I? Just like last night.” David sat on the edge of the bed.

“No, you’re not.” As much as I was frustrated and confused, I hated the sad puppy look on his face, the way his eyes turned down and his chin drooped. I shrugged into my shirt. “I just got cold.”

Cold feet was more like it. The picture of the dead lover had been like ice cubes landing in a perfect cappuccino, ruining the cozy, snuggly feel of the morning. Now, though, I wanted that feeling back. I wanted that look off his face. Wasn’t
his
fault I had issues about the ex.

“It’s okay.” I went and sat next to him on the bed and took his hand. “I’m pretty sure I’m screwing this up too. I just . . . you must have loved him a lot. You looked so different in that picture. Happier.”

“Crap. I
knew
I should have put the pictures away—”

“You don’t have to hide that part of your life from me. I
want
to know more.”

“You really want to know about Craig?” His foot swung back and forth over the gray carpeting.

“I do.” I squeezed his hand. Much as I already hated the dude, I was desperate to know the whole story, to finally open the part of David that had been locked away. My blood felt like it had been run through a milk frother: equal parts anticipation and wariness.

“He was closeted. I
thought
I was happy with what he could give me. But I wasn’t.”

I nodded. I’d figured as much.

“Like he didn’t even think of us as a couple per se. Never used that word. And what we did . . . we were friends, sure. But it wasn’t dating. He saved dating for women. I tried to get over him in college. But I just kept ending up back in the same place.” He gave a bitter laugh, his fingers tensing. “He even got married briefly. And I . . . I was an idiot.”

“No, you weren’t. You loved him.” It killed me to say it, but I could tell from the flashes of pain in his eyes it was true.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. We were kids together. Played baseball, hung out—he was my best friend. And it was a tiny little town and I didn’t see a way for us to really be together. Not when it first started, at least. And later . . . we’d kind of already established bad habits.”

“I get that.” Lord, did I ever. Brian and I had created a whole slew of bad habits from the start of our relationship, not the least of which was me following all his stupid rules about making sure his family didn’t find out he was gay.

“Anyway. It wasn’t like what you and I have. No standing dates. No public outings. Never any touches where people could see.”

It warmed my chest to have him admit that what we’d been doing was different from whatever he and the asshole had gotten up to. I nodded, encouraging him to keep talking.

“It was all so damn ironic how he went. All that work he’d done to keep us a secret.” He shook his head.

“How . . .” I’d assumed it had been a line-of-duty thing. Some noble exit for Sheriff Perfect.

“In bed.”

“Say what?” My face did the whole cartoon bugging-out thing.

“Well, not
in
bed.” He was beet red now, but he kept going. “It was one of the first nights we’d had together in weeks. And he’d had a headache when he arrived and kept saying he felt sick. But it had been a while and I was all ‘I know how to make you feel better, so we . . . uh . . .”

“I get the picture.”

“Anyway, right afterward, he pukes. Doesn’t even make it to the trash can. Just falls to his knees. Grabs his head. And it’s bad. I can tell right away that it’s heading to a bad place.”

So could I. Wrapping an arm around David, I pulled him closer.

“I start to dial 911, but he stops me. Says he doesn’t need the ER. But he can hardly get the sentence out. Tries to make noises about how we have to get dressed first, but he’s barely making sense. I call it in because I’m just so fucking scared.”

I kissed his forehead because I didn’t know what else to do. Despite the sunshine filtering in, the room felt chilled, bathed in hospital-grade antiseptic. My nose tingled and my hand trembled against David’s back. I would have given anything to be able to take away his pain.

“Somehow I managed to get boxers on before the EMTs arrived, but Craig was still naked . . . and they knew. I could tell they knew as soon as they walked in. Small town. I’d gone to high school with two of them. They weren’t going to keep their mouths shut.”

“Assholes.”

“Damn right. And it didn’t matter. Craig flatlined on the way to the hospital. Brain aneurysm. He was dead and the whole damn town knew how, when, and where he’d died within hours.”

“I’m sorry.” They were the most useless two words ever, but I had no idea what else I could offer him. “I get why you wouldn’t want to try sex very soon—”

“I didn’t. Not for the longest time. To be honest . . .” He played with the edge of the comforter. “I wasn’t sure I
could
have sex again. Wasn’t even sure I could get off.”

“Not even . . .” I made a vague gesture below my waist. I had a hard time imagining a planet where I didn’t jack off regularly, but David’s story was all kinds of fucked up. I could see where he’d be messed up for a long time. My heart felt too big for my chest, a deep ache for all the agony he’d endured.