by KC Kendricks
Dalton's eyes pleaded for my silence. I wouldn't say a word, but I knew what Dalton hadn't realized or simply couldn't consciously accept yet. Peter knew his father was gay.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Kauffman.” Peter released my hand and slid off his bar stool. “I need to make a phone call. I'll be right back."
Dalton nodded, and Peter eased around a group of plumbers blocking the way and slipped out the door, cell phone in hand.
Shit. I hoped he wasn't calling his mother. I turned to Dalton and found him watching me intently.
"I'm sorry, Reed,” he said, voice pitched low enough no one would hear. “He wanted to come back with me for the week. I couldn't say no. I haven't seen much of him the last few years since he's away at college."
"Nice looking kid. I see the problem, but I'm still pissed.” I caught the bartender's attention and she nodded. “You certainly could've found three minutes to sneak a call."
"You're right. I should have, but I was afraid if I heard your voice I'd ditch my kid and come find you."
Damn him. The hurt I'd carried for days bled away. “It's been a bad week, Dalton."
"I'm sorry. How pissed are you? He's leaving in an hour or so to go back to school. He wants to spend his birthday with his girlfriend."
"Hope springs eternal,” I murmured as I accepted a beer from the bartender.
Dalton tapped the funds he had on the bar, and she smiled at him as she extracted a five-dollar bill and went to get change.
"He's been up here all week with me, hanging out, driving his mother crazy because he wouldn't stay with her."
"Well, if he was at your place, I guess having guests in would've been difficult."
"To say the least, and I tell you again ... I'm sorry."
"Okay, okay. I got that. Now let's move on."
Dalton turned to face me. “Peter doesn't know about me."
I snorted. “That's what you think. You need to have a chat with him."
"Fuck."
"You know, Dalton, I've never heard that word uttered with such eloquence before."
Panic flickered in his eyes. His face paled. “He's my son, for God's sake."
"You don't think he's smart enough to put two and two together and get four?"
"I know how fucking smart he is! What would you do if your father told you he was..."
"I'd laugh my fucking ass off, that's what I'd do. But he's not me. Peter just came back inside."
"Fuck."
In spite of the seriousness of the moment, I laughed. Dalton glared at me as Peter reclaimed his bar stool.
"Tiffany's only one exit away on the Interstate. She'll be here in ten minutes,” Peter said to his father. “It's really been great spending time with you this week, Dad."
Dalton beamed, his rugged features full of pride and love for his son. “Yeah, I'm really glad you could take a break and come up. Next time I'll let you drink in public. Come on. We'd better get your duffel bag out of the truck.” He turned back to me. “Step outside with us?"
I shook my head. “No. I'll wait."
He nodded. Peter shook my hand again and flashed me a tentative smile. I appreciated how he must feel coming face to face with a man he no doubt suspected of being his father's lover. I watched them as they walked through the door. I understood Dalton's panic ... at least I thought I did. I knew intellectually how hard it was for him. As to the emotions he experienced, I could only assume, but I didn't think I was far off.
Guilt over an orientation not perceived as normal. Shame over what was often considered a sexual perversion. Fear that loved ones would ostracize him.
I knew these emotions from my own life, but how much greater the intensity when it was your child you needed to protect from unpleasant truths. I'd never know that first hand. My curiosity over what transpired outside got the best of me. I picked up my beer and slunk to the window.
Dalton and Peter faced each other between my pickup and his, smiling warmly and chatting easily, laughing. My own father and I would never be that relaxed with each other again.
A classy-looking red coupe driven by a dark-haired beauty pulled up behind the trucks. Dalton waved at her as she climbed out of the car and opened the trunk. Father and son embraced for a few seconds, then Peter picked up his duffel, stowed it, kissed the smiling beauty with gusto, and settled in the driver's seat. With a final wave at his father, Peter drove off. Dalton watched the car as it hit the street with a little squeal of rubber and sped off. He leaned on his pickup, the lines of his face settled in a tired appearance. I set my half-finished beer on the bar and went to him.
His eyes burned with a strange fire as I approached him. I clapped him on the shoulder, the sort of gesture that friends make all the time.
"C'mon, Dalton. Let's ditch your truck at your place and go get some food."
Dalton shook his head. I stopped, surprised at his rebuff. “Do you know what Peter whispered in my ear?” he asked.
I steeled myself for something big. “Do I want to know?"
"Yeah. He said you were cute and I should go for it."
"Jesus.” No wonder he looked feverish. “What did you say?"
"Nothing. I fucking said nothing.” He turned and leaned over the side of the truck bed.
I eased up beside him and mirrored his position. “I doubt he expected you to say anything. Look at it this way—not every man gets his son's approval."
He held up his hand, a tired gesture I took to mean he'd had enough talking about it, or even thinking about it, for the moment.
"What did you two talk about all week?” I asked in the attempt to change the subject.
"Tiffany. Tiffany. Tiffany. Football and Tiffany some more,” he replied, then laughed. “He's giving her a ring for Christmas."
"Good for him!” I was sincerely happy for Peter. I hoped his marriage would give him everything he needed and he'd be the sort of man to thrive within its conventions. I grasped Dalton's forearm. “Let's go eat. It seems we both had a difficult week."
He nodded. “I'll stop and get a six-pack. You get a pizza. Throw the works on it. Meet you at my place."
"Sounds good.” I stepped away from him when I really wanted to put my arms around him and lend him my strength.
He flashed me that quirky, lop-sided grin of his and climbed into his pickup. I hopped in mine and we left on our errands. When I arrived at his place, he was already there. I walked in without knocking. The living room certainly looked like a young man had camped out in it all week. I stepped over a couple of throw pillows as I carried the pizza to the kitchen and set it on the counter. Dalton was on the patio talking to a pretty woman holding the furry mutt. It wasn't long before he came inside, securing the back door behind him.
I didn't wait. I couldn't. I'd been a whole week without him, a week in which despair had been a mocking companion who now needed banishment. I pulled him to me and claimed his mouth. Dalton backed me to the refrigerator and pinned me there. Lust sank talons into my brain as his hand snaked down the front of my jeans.
Turnabout is always fair play when someone has you by the balls. I unzipped his fly and maneuvered his hardening cock free. He smiled against my lips, his voice husky with humor and arousal as he squeezed my penis. “You know what kids call this these days?"
I didn't care. I thrust my tongue into the heat of his mouth. Dalton groaned and drew me in, giving back tenfold what I offered him. The pressure of his fingers around my shaft made me nuts.
"Okay, okay. What do kids call this...” I stroked him, sliding silky skin over the hard core of his erect penis.
"A stiffy."
I laughed in spite of myself. He joined in and we held each other as the tensions and disappointments of the past week dropped away. I soaked up his scent and committed the solid feel of him to memory, one to have and to keep so I could wrap myself in it during those times we couldn't physically be together.
"Do we have time to eat?” he asked nibbling at my neck and ear. I didn'
t want him to stop, but the mere mention of food made my stomach growl audibly.
"Yeah. I'm starving, Dalton.” Eating had not been a priority this past week. “I need fuel."
He sighed and laid his forehead on my shoulder. I didn't want to let go of him either, but I reluctantly did. Dalton grinned and pulled me away from the fridge.
"My hands are full. Get the beer out, will ya?"
"There's a comedian born every minute,” I responded, snagging two long neck bottles of brew. Hand still down the front of my pants, he led me to the table.
We talked a little shop while we ate our pizza, both using two hands to hold the slices. I sensed Dalton's continuing preoccupation with his son and finally took his hand.
"What's the worst that can happen since Peter knows?"
His face went cold and stark for a split second, then the look was gone, far too late for I'd seen it. “I guess the worst is he never speaks to me again."
"Yeah. And what did he say instead? Doesn't sound like he's going to cut you out of his life."
"I'm struggling here."
"I got that, Dalton.” He wasn't alone. Six weeks of flirtation and one night of glorious, mind-bending, life altering, fuck-me-again-please sex didn't give me too many clues on what to say to ease his mind over it. If anything other than a frank conversation with his son ever would ease his mind. I believed him to be the sort of man who would have that talk with Peter, sooner rather than later. He just needed time to think it through.
Dalton squeezed my hand and looked at me. Something dark and devilish danced in his blue eyes that stole my breath. “How about we go get naked and fix my insecurities later?"
It was the best suggestion I'd heard in a week.
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CHAPTER 8
Dalton stashed what was left of the pizza in the fridge, while I acted semi-domesticated and wiped the table. The tidy kitchen I'd viewed last week had vanished. I assumed father and son had had more important things to do than clean up and didn't fault Dalton for putting time with Peter ahead of less important pursuits. He must have read my mind.
"I gave up on cleanliness two hours after the boy landed,” he said, fatherly pride warming his voice. “I wanted to enjoy him being here."
"You're lucky, you know? Not every son wants to spend time with their father."
He searched my face. “You and your father—no chance of patching it up?"
I shook my head. “Not for a while anyway."
"Don't wait too long, Reed. Life is short."
"So is the night. Why aren't you naked yet?"
Dalton snickered. “What? You don't want to work for it?"
I tossed the dishrag in the sink and stepped towards him. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it at me. I caught it, slinging it over my shoulder.
"Keep going,” I urged him.
He backed into the hallway and I followed him. His bedroom was still neat. The walls had been painted caramel beige and the room glowed softly in the early evening light. “I take it you and Peter painted."
"Yep. His idea, too.” Dalton sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. I stripped out of my shirt and kicked off my sneakers. I shivered, but not with any chill.
Dalton stood and his jeans dropped to the floor. I went to him and hooked my fingers under the elastic of his briefs. I eased them down over his hips. He was already hard, full and firm. I went to my knees and took him in my mouth, the musky scent of male filling my senses. My mind burned with the knowledge of what we would do to, and for, each other during this night.
His hands stroked my hair as I sucked him, the action no longer foreign. His hips moved slightly, flexing to meet me as I moved my lips over his cock. I looked up. Dalton's eyes were closed, his lips parted in a dreamy smile. He took a sudden, short breath and moaned deep in his throat. I faltered on the echoing jolt that shot to my groin. I released him and accepted his hand as I rose, knees shaking. Our fingers fumbled as we both tried to unsnap my jeans.
Dalton kissed my shoulder and left me to finish undressing, slipping past me into the bathroom. He returned with several condoms and the lube. I looked at him, hoping to see some sign of what he had in mind. I wanted to fuck him and see if that incredible merging was just as potent from the other side. He pulled the covers down and we stretched out, side by side, on the crisp sheets.
I reached for him, wanting to feel his skin against mine. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me soundly. My groin was tight, throbbing with each beat of my heart. Dalton rubbed his erection against my hip. I dug my fingers into his ass cheeks and held him to me. Breathless, I pulled away.
He smiled at me in the soft light. I rolled to my knees and looked at him, sprawled before me, mine for the taking, mine for the pleasuring. Not having had light to look at him last week, I took full advantage of it now. Long and lean, well proportioned, unmarred by scars, his body was beautiful. His full erection was dark red against the pale skin of his abdomen, reaching almost to his belly button. My body pulsed deeply with the memory of all that inside me.
Leaning over, I licked the length of him again. His cock rose to meet me. I sat back on my heels. Shadows clouded his eyes. I wondered about the memories that brought uncertainty to such a strong man's face. The past was behind him, and his future, I hoped, knelt over him.
"I want you, Dalton."
He swallowed and nodded. “Okay. Now come down here and kiss me again."
I eased my body down on his, covering him. With my lips and hands I caressed him, teasing him until he broke a sweat. I wanted him hot and greedy before taking him. He reached out a long arm, snagged a foil packet, and carefully sheathed me in latex, then rolled over onto his stomach.
The move surprised me somewhat. I'd wanted to see his eyes, watch his face as I took him, not for any voyeuristic pleasure, but to gauge how well I was doing. It would show on his face if I hurt him. That was my fear—that I'd be no better than the faceless man in his past. And hurting him was the last thing I wanted. I wanted him to take as much pleasure from me as I had from him.
"You're stalling,” he growled at me, wiggling his ass.
I stretched out on top of him and licked his ear. “Take your hands off your dick and wait for me,” I growled back.
He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, but I noticed the subtle flexing of muscles in his arm stilled. Reassured he still wanted me, I kissed and licked my way down his spine, tasting the salty dew of his sweat.
I opened the tube of lube and contemplated how far to indulge his slippery fetish, deciding now wasn't quite the time to deny him. I coated my hands and cock with a liberal amount, then smeared it over his firm flanks while he moaned encouragement.
Using his example of how he'd readied me as my guide, I very carefully inserted one finger into him. It was easy to gauge the level of his tension as his body struggled to relax. I kept at it, coaxing until the level of Dalton's arousal climbed to where his flesh eagerly accepted my invasion and he urged me on.
His knees slipped apart and his butt lifted. I grasped his hips and pressed my cock that first little bit into him and felt him bear down against me. He hissed as I shifted my weight. I pushed, a little extra pressure, and slid into him fully. Dalton jerked in surprise, and I expected so did I. He was tight and hot, fisted around me. The primitive urge to plunge into him, to plunder, rode me hard.
He was mine. I'd staked my claim to him, a claim I would protect. I struggled to control the need within me. I would not hurt him, no matter how strong the urge to fuck him senseless became.
"Dalton, are you okay?"
His reply was a tightening of internal muscles around me. I took it to be a yes and slowly withdrew. He moaned breathlessly, the astonished sound ripped from him. I eased back into him and his body yielded, then clenched around me as I withdrew. I embraced the exquisite torture and moved strongly within him, over and over, at his urging. The world closed darkly around me as my whole being spun do
wn to those eight inches of flesh that held me cocooned in pleasure.
"Reed. Reed..."
I dropped back into awareness at the strain in his voice. I covered him with my body, amazed at the heat he gave off. I slipped my hand beneath him and wrapped my fingers around his cock. The sheer ecstasy of his inner walls quivering along my shaft almost undid me. I stroked him slowly, moving my hand in unison with my hips. His flesh rippled and throbbed around mine. His erection pulsed in my hand. To hell with trying to finesse fucking him, I was ready to come and so was he. I pumped into him harder. His hand covered mine, urging me to stroke faster.
The beginning of my orgasm snaked down my spine, made sweeter by the sudden clenching of Dalton's inner walls. His back arched as he came, calling my name. I reached for my own climax and fell over the edge with him.
I rode the waves of orgasm, preternaturally aware of Dalton moaning in pleasure beneath me. My head cleared in a rush and I pushed into him and stilled, wanting nothing more than to catch my breath and have him open his eyes and smile at me to make my world complete. I moved with him as one as he eased down flat on the bed.
Dalton sighed contentedly and relaxed. I kissed the corner of his mouth and it twitched, smiling, then the one blue eye I could see popped open. I didn't need him to tell me he was okay. I felt it in every line of his body. The silence stretched on and I began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. “Say something, Dalton."
"Get off me, Reed."
I shook my head. “Can't move."
It was time I did. I withdrew from the heat of him and padded off to the bathroom to freshen up. It wasn't long before Dalton joined me, turning on the shower. We held each other without speaking as the water rinsed and rejuvenated us.
Dalton nuzzled at my cheek until I turned my lips to his. He kissed me, holding nothing back, and I gave him everything I had inside me.
Where did we go from here? I hadn't a clue and was afraid to ask. His murmured words last week haunted me—what did he feel towards me? Was being with me scratching an itch, or much more? For my part of it, being with him felt right, not perverted or sinful.