He wants this. Don’t overthink it. “Okay.”
I flipped around so I was straddling his upper body, my hands braced on either side of him. He hooked his arms under my thighs and pulled me back so my ass was right in his face. I didn’t even have time to feel self-conscious before his tongue swept slowly up the crease, sending me into near paroxysms. I could have wept for how divine it felt. How hot and wet. How intimate. I’d totally planned on blowing him since my mouth was down there and all, but I couldn’t do a goddamn thing except groan and writhe and let my eyeballs roll back in my head. Maxim held nothing back. He used his tongue, his lips, his teeth, his hands. He moaned with pleasure, as if I was the best thing he’d ever tasted. His thick, hard cock twitched on his abdomen, a few drops of cum oozing from its tip. This is turning him on.
The thought of it sent me spiraling selfishly toward release. I rocked my hips over his face, fucking his tongue. I propped myself on one hand and took my dick in the other, jerking myself hard and fast. I gnashed my teeth and snarled and cursed and ejaculated all over him, marking his body with warm, white ribbons of cum. The sight of it splashing onto his stomach, his cock, his thighs, was so deliciously obscene, my orgasm seemed to go on forever.
The second I could control my body again, I grabbed his dick with one hand and licked it clean like an ice cream cone, swirling my tongue around the tip. He moaned, and the sound reverberated through my entire body. I lowered and lifted my head, taking him to the back of my throat again and again and again, until he warned me with a trembling voice that he was going to come and I took him even deeper. A second later, his fingers dug into my flesh and his entire body stiffened beneath me as his cock throbbed repeatedly inside my mouth.
Good fucking God, it was insane how much I liked it. And him. And this little arrangement we had.
At this rate, we were never going to leave the house.
Twenty-Six
MAXIM
On our way to the mall, Derek said he wanted to drive by a certain house that was for sale.
“Why?” I asked. “Are you thinking about moving?”
“No. I’m thinking about fixing and flipping it.”
“Flipping it?” I looked over at him, confused.
“It’s where you buy a house that needs work, do the work, and then sell it at a profit.”
“Ah. I see. Have you done this before?”
“No. It was an idea I had while working on my house. I really enjoyed the work, and missed it when I was done.”
“You definitely have a talent for it. And a good eye for design. Your house is so beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He was quiet for a minute, one hand at the top of the steering wheel, one finger absently rubbing just beneath his lower lip. “I’d have to cut back my hours at work, probably. If I wanted to be really hands on, which I do.”
“Would that be a problem?”
He frowned, dropping his hand to his lap. “Probably. I think my dad wants to retire and he’s looking at me to take over.”
“But he would want you to do what would make you happy, right?”
“Not necessarily.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“The thing is,” he went on, “I’ve been thinking. Ever since you asked me if my job was my passion, it’s been bothering me that it isn’t. There’s nothing about it that inspires me. Nothing creative or meaningful. I make good money, and I’m good at making deals, but it’s not fulfilling in a way that working on my house was. And I see you coming here all fired up about chasing a dream and kind of wish I had something like that. It’s inspiring.”
The idea that anything about me inspired him was beyond crazy. “And I look at you and everything you’ve done, all the beautiful things you have, your home, your car, all your success, and I think, ‘That’s what I aspire to be.’”
“There’s more to life than a home and a nice car. Those are only things. I feel like…” He shook his head. “I don’t even know what the fuck I’m trying to say. I guess I feel like I’ve lived a very safe life. It’s comfortable for sure, and I’m grateful for everything I have, but I haven’t taken very many risks. I’m starting to think that matters.”
“So take one now. It’s not too late.”
He slowed down and leaned toward me to peer out the passenger side window. “It’s that one. With the Spanish Revival architecture.”
I looked at the white house with the red tile roof. “It’s nice.”
“It was built in 1925 and still has a lot of the original features. But it’s in pretty rough shape.”
It was? Other than an overgrown lawn and some missing roof tiles, I didn’t think it was that bad, but Derek’s standards were different than mine. “Can we go inside?”
“Not today. I didn’t make an appointment.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Traffic coming. Gotta move.”
With one last glance at the house, he pulled forward. “I wanted to be an architect once upon a time.”
“You did?” I looked at him in surprise.
“Yeah. But my dad said there was way more money in property development and I should go to business school.”
“So you went to business school.”
“Yes.”
“If you could go back, would you do it differently?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he thought. “Hard to say.”
“Is it too late?”
He laughed a little. “Yes. I’m not going back to school now. But if there’s a way I can flex that creative muscle a little and turn a profit at the same time, I’d jump in. Maybe.”
“Do you think you can turn a profit on that house?”
“Yes,” he said confidently. “They’re asking too much, but I could get the price down. It will still be expensive as fuck, but I have experience in financing real estate, a lot of knowledge about property in this area, and I’m not in a rush. I’d take my time and do it right.”
“It sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought, and not just in the past few days.”
“It’s something I’ve thought about for a while,” he admitted as we turned into the parking lot at the mall. “I guess you reminded me of it.”
“Why do you think you haven’t done it yet?”
“Well, fear, for one thing. Making money isn’t guaranteed. And houses around here aren’t cheap, even the shitty ones. I didn’t want to get in over my head. I’ve seen it happen where guys tried to move too fast or hired the wrong people or made bad decisions or totally underestimated costs, and before they knew it, the project was completely out of control and they lost everything.” He pulled into a parking space and turned off the car. “I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to fail.”
“Derek. Trust me. You are not that guy.” I wish I had more words to convince him to take the risk, because it was obviously something that would make him happy. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I truly believe that anything you did, you’d do it right. Go see the house, and see what your gut tells you.”
He looked over at me and smiled. “Because your gut is never wrong.”
“Exactly. Your gut is like the universe telling you what to do.”
“Oh, Jesus.” He opened his door. “Come on, let’s go.”
I decided not to tell him my gut was saying he needed to buy that house. For whatever reason, Derek had been holding himself back from things he really wanted his entire life. Maybe it was a fear of failure or of disappointing his father, but I felt like he’d never allowed himself to be the person he was meant to be. And if he didn’t listen to his heart and his gut, the real risk was that he could wind up unhappy, always wondering what if, regretting the choices he’d made.
The more I learned about Derek, the more I wanted to help him.
I felt like he’d just shown me the way.
“This can’t be right. One hundred-twenty-five dollars for a pair of shorts?”
Derek gritted his teeth. �
�Okay, will you please stop looking at price tags? Just stop.”
I felt bad for being such a pain. We’d been at Nordstrom for an hour already and I hadn’t even tried anything on. “But I—”
“Look, it’s necessary. Clothing is necessary.”
“But not clothing this expensive. Ellen was telling me about this store with nice things for not much money called T.J. Maxx?”
“That would be cheaper, yes, but the quality won’t be as good. Things will wear out faster, and you’ll spend more money in the long run. Look at it as an investment in yourself.”
I shook my head. “My butt is not worth hundred-dollar shorts.”
“I disagree. You’re going to try those on, and if they fit, I’m going to purchase them for you, along with a few other things to get you through summer. Then we’re going to get lunch, because I’m hungry and if you keep freaking out over price tags, I might actually starve to death.”
An argument was on the tip of my tongue, but I stopped myself. Derek had said that it made him feel good to do things for me, and I knew what he meant, because I liked doing things for him, too. I wished there were more of them I could do. I nodded, but I felt really uncomfortable that someone else had to pay for my clothes, and didn't know where to look when he was swiping his credit card.
Derek understood. “Here,” he said, handing me the bag. “And don’t say a word. I know how you feel, okay? I’d feel the same way. But this is an investment in the future.”
When he phrased it that way, I felt better. “Thank you.”
We went to lunch, where I ordered something called mac and cheese, which I’d never heard of but Derek assured me was delicious. He was right. I could have licked the plate.
While we ate, I made him practice his Russian words and taught him two more: pozhaluysta, which meant please, and spasibo, which meant thank you.
The best part was paying for lunch. I insisted on doing it, and although Derek put up a fight at first, he eventually relented. It cost me almost forty dollars, but I’d never been happier to spend money in my life.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said as we walked to the car. “You should be saving your money. You saw how much that laptop costs.” He was referring to the computer I’d drooled over in the Apple store.
“I saw. And I’ll get there, because I do plan to be very careful with money. But there are so few things I can do for you, and you’re doing so much for me, I really wanted to treat you.”
A couple minutes later, we got in the car and he put a hand on my leg. “You’re doing a lot for me, Maxim. More than you know.”
No words could have made me happier.
Twenty-Seven
DEREK
The rest of the week went by way too fast. I went to the gym early each morning before work and Maxim worked late at the bar every night. We didn’t even see each other. By the time he got home, I was already asleep, and I woke up so early, he was still in bed when I left. By Friday morning I was tempted to wake him, but I didn’t want to be an asshole. Hey, I know you just got home like three hours ago, but could you roll over and blow me? Thanks. Appreciate it.
Instead I got myself off in the shower to the memories of us, but it wasn’t even close to the real thing. I wanted more of the real thing.
In fact, it was a little disturbing how much I wanted more, and how quickly the days were zooming toward the two-week cut-off. Because we weren’t even doing anything! What good was letting yourself be gay at home for two weeks if the person you wanted to be gay with was never there?
By Friday evening, I was frustrated beyond measure. After work, I’d taken a run (even though I’d already worked out that morning), washed my car, vacuumed all the carpets, and taken the rugs outside to beat them. None of it relieved the tension.
I realized I hadn’t eaten dinner—my appetite had been strange lately, I was either ravenous or so distracted I forgot to eat—so I showered, shaved, and dressed, then went to The Blind Pig for dinner. I had to see him.
Maxim lit up when he noticed me sitting at a high-top table, and I probably did the same, judging from the way my heart started to pound. God, were we too obvious? I dropped my attention to the menu.
He came by a little while later.
“Hey,” he said, sliding onto the chair across from me. “I have a quick break. How’s your dinner?”
“Good.” I set down my burger. “Maybe not as vkusnyy as your syrniki, but good.”
He laughed, his eyes lighting up. “You remembered.”
“Yes, but I haven’t had much occasion to use them. The only Russian I know isn’t around much.” Fuck, did that sound needy?
“I’m sorry. I’ve been working so late.” He lowered his voice so only I could hear it. “But I’ve missed you.”
He’s missed me. He’s missed me. I wanted to let it show how much I liked hearing that, but I couldn’t. I wanted to say it back, but I couldn’t. I took a drink of my beer, set the bottle down, and looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “Wake me tonight. When you get home.”
His eyebrows went up. “You’re sure?”
Fuck yes, I am. Even sitting across the table from him was driving me nuts. I wanted to reach over, grab a fistful of his shirt, and yank him toward me so I could devour his mouth. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
“Hey, you!” Ellen appeared at my table. “Someone said you were here. Twice in one week, I’m honored!”
“Good.” I picked up my beer again, tried to play it cool, but my pulse was racing. Had she heard what I said?
She tilted her head. “No Carolyn tonight?”
Maxim and I exchanged a glance. “Uh, no. Actually, Carolyn and I decided we’re better as friends.”
Ellen clucked her tongue. “Oh, really? That’s too bad. She’s really nice.”
“She is.”
“Well, you’ll meet someone else.” She perked up. “Hey, want me to introduce you to—”
“No,” I said firmly. The dates Ellen set up for me were always disasters. “Do not introduce me to anyone.”
She pouted. “You’re no fun. You’re like a grumpy old man who’s all set in his ways and doesn’t want to do anything new or different. But you’re never going to meet anyone if you keep going to the same places and hanging out with the same people.”
“I’m fun,” I said, jerking my chin at her. “I’m just busy right now. There’s a lot going on.” And I only have eyes for one person. He’s sitting right across from me right this second, and I’m having trouble breathing because of it.
She sighed as if I was a lost cause. Maybe I was. “Fine, fine. Enjoy your dinner. I gotta get back to work. You’re okay, Maxim, take your break,” she said when Maxim got off his chair. Then she turned to me. “Did he tell you he’s been taking the bus the last couple days?”
I looked at him. “No. You are?”
He nodded. “I felt much too guilty needing to be driven all around.”
“It’s a long walk to a bus station from the house.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. And I like the independence.”
“But after work, I make him take an Uber home,” said Ellen.
Uber? He didn’t even have a credit card yet. “But how do—”
“I call it for him.” She giggled. “I told him it was part of his benefits package.”
“I told her to take it out of my pay,” Maxim said.
“And I’m totally doing that.” My sister gave me a look that said I’m not doing that. “Okay, I’m going. Bye.”
“Bye.” I watched her go and looked at Maxim again. “Think she heard?”
He looked blank. “Heard what?”
“Me saying the thing about waking me up.”
“Oh. No, I don’t think she did.” He looked like he might say something else, but didn’t.
“What?” I prodded. If there were thoughts about me in his head, I wanted to hear them. Actually, I wanted to hear all the thoughts in his
head, whether they were about me or not.
“Nothing.” He dropped his eyes to my plate. “I was just thinking that if you ever wanted to talk to a family member about…things, Ellen would be a good choice. I think she would understand.”
I considered it for less than a second. “Impossible. It would be way too weird. And she’d never keep it a secret. She has the biggest mouth in the world.”
“Okay. You know her better than I do. I should get back to work.” He gave me a look that heated my insides. “I’ll see you later.”
I nodded and lowered my face in case anyone was close enough to see it flush. But I couldn’t resist peeking at him as he walked away. His butt looked so good in the new jeans.
It would look even better naked in my bed tonight.
The creak of the stairs woke me. He’s home. Immediately, I started to get hard. Jesus, give him a minute.
I’d left my bedroom door open tonight, and I waited for him to walk through it, to shed his clothes and climb in beside me. To offer himself.
A couple minutes went by, and I began to get worried he wasn’t coming. Had he changed his mind? Fallen asleep? Did he think I hadn’t meant what I said?
A moment later, I heard the bathroom door close and the shower come on. Aha. I tried to relax and be patient. Brought a hand to my aching cock and stroked myself slowly. I didn’t want to go off like a canon the second he walked in here. But every second was an eternity, and the more I thought about him in the shower, naked and wet and maybe even hard like me, the more agitated I became.
Every sound I heard made the tension in me pull tighter—the water going off, the shower door closing, the bathroom door opening.
Footsteps in the hall.
The creak of my bedroom door.
Hey. A whisper in the dark.
Come here. My own voice, low and commanding.
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