American Hunks

by Adam Carpenter

  “Hey, you okay?” Aaron said.

  “Oh, yeah…it’s, just, you know, tonight, that was so unexpected.”

  “Are you suffering from sex regret? After you shoot, you wonder what it was all for.”

  Except I didn’t come, Jake wanted to say, and yet still he felt regret.

  He shifted onto his side. He reached over and stroked Aaron’s chest, the dark hair damp with sweat. He wondered if he missed this more than he missed the man himself. He always did prefer a hairy guy in the sack, and Aaron definitely didn’t disappoint in that department. Was that all it had been? Because he still had trouble staring into Aaron’s eyes, fearful of what he might find inside those blue irises. He had achieved his desired climax, so wasn’t it time for Jake to be getting dressed and getting the hell out of there?

  “Hey, Jake, you’ve gone totally silent on me. Everything okay?”

  “I’ve got to hit the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

  “Oh, uh, sure. You know where it is.”

  Jake got up from the bed and padded naked across the room, finding the bathroom on his left and closing the door behind him. First thing he did was splash some cold water on his face, and watch as the beads caught in his beard before dripping down his chest. He thought they looked like tears. Reaching for a towel, he noticed on the top of the toilet a small travel case, packed with razor and shaving cream, hair products and toothpaste. Was Aaron going somewhere, or had he just come back from a trip and simply not unpacked yet? Not that it mattered. Jake and Aaron could be in the same bed and somehow they would be miles away. Wasn’t that what he’d just experienced with him? Sex without feeling? With a man he’d once loved.

  This was ridiculous. He should just get the hell out. Forget tonight.

  A knock came at the door, and then it opened. “Jake, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing…uh, I just needed to pee,” he said, and quickly he flushed the toilet for effect.

  “I know what will get you excited,” he said.

  Aaron came up behind him, pressing his semi-hard cock against his ass, while brushing his chest against Jake’s back. Jake felt his strong arms wrap around him, sliding down his stomach until he reached his cock. Despite his feelings, Jake’s cock responded to the touch and began to harden. He felt Aaron’s kiss to the back of his neck, and then the man broke free of the embrace. But he’d done that only because he’d gone to the nozzle of the shower, and turned on the water. A quick mist began to encircle them. Aaron stepped into the shower, an extended hand serving as in invitation to join him.

  “Aaron…”

  “Come on, Jake. This time, you do me.”

  Jake was torn by a mix of desire and reluctance. His mind said get out. His body said fuck him.

  Water cascaded down Aaron’s body, matting his hairy self. He splashed water on his face, his raised arms revealing sexy, furry pits. Jake felt his cock harden with blood, with a desire that threatened to overwhelm him. A wave of dizziness hit him, and that’s when he stepped over the edge of the tub and joined a waiting Aaron in the rising mist of the hot shower. It was about to get even hotter.

  Jake suddenly found aggression within his tortured soul. He pulled Aaron to him, kissed him. His mouth then trailed down, to his neck and to his matted chest, seeking out nipples in the wet blanket of fur. He sucked one nipple, then another, a free hand reaching down to find Aaron’s cock was hard again, it thickness filling Jake’s fist. But it was his own cock that was stretched to the limit now. As they continued to kiss, Aaron whispered that a condom could be found in the top drawer of the cabinet. Jake paused, drew the shower curtain and found the sheath, tearing it open with authority. Aaron’s eyes lit up, and he positioned himself against the tiles of the shower. Jake rolled the condom down over his cock, and he grabbed at a bar of soap and swiped at Aaron’s ass, readying him for entry.

  Jake rubbed his cock against Aaron’s ass, enticing him, teasing him.

  “Just do it, Jake. Fuck my furry ass.”

  Jake slapped at it first, once, then a second time, and then he positioned himself.

  He watched as his cock entered him from behind.

  He heard Aaron’s cry of pleasure.

  He put his hands upon Aaron’s shoulders, tightening his grip.

  And then he shoved himself inside.

  “Oh, oh, oh…shit…fucking great. Yeah, Jake, do it…”

  Jake answered every plea, responded to every demand. His body was afire, wet from the shower, sweaty from the hot mist that nearly enveloped them. Their bodies were locked in motion. Jake thrust, Aaron received, and their voices echoed in the small room. But even as his body did what was needed, what it needed, Jake felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. He was watching from the other side of the tub as these two men—one of them himself—indulged in the carnal pleasures of the flesh. One body the aggressor, the other accepting whatever was given. For how long they went at each other, time didn’t even know. Jake pounded him, Aaron cried out. Jake pulled him tight, their bodies nearly one, his hands wrapped around his torso, keeping his cock locked deep inside him. He felt the hair on Aaron’s chest. He ran a hand over his hard shaft. He whispered dirty words into his ears, and Aaron answered the call with filth of his own.

  Finally Jake felt the pressure well up within him. Holding back was not an option.

  “I’m coming…shit, I’m coming…” he said.

  “Me, too,” Aaron said, now stroking his own cock. “Fuck me hard, let it go…”

  Just then Jake pulled out and he ripped the condom off, and that’s when his cock blasted a load of white come, ropes of it splashing onto Aaron’s matted, hairy back, and the sight of it mixing with the dripping water cause his cock to spurt again, again, until at last it was satiated by the sexy beast before him. He heard Aaron’s familiar cry of climax, too, and watched as the man’s cock allowed spurts of come to hit the tile, only to trail down in an ooze of unleashed desire. The two men held each other, catching their breath, seeking refuge from the heat of their bodies and the hot steam of the shower. They stepped out, and wrapped towels around their waists.

  Aaron retreated back into the apartment, where he opened a window, allowing a cool breeze to sweep in. Jake gazed at the sexy man, seeing nipples harden in the fresh cold. He wanted to take the man into his arms again, but something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He did a double-take when he saw a suitcase. But his wandering eye found something more. Flat, empty boxes, several of them, resting against the wall. Jake’s heart deflated, just as he knew it would at some point tonight. An encounter like this, it was too good to be true. Aaron wasn’t interested in tomorrow. He had just been reliving yesterday for one last time.

  “When were you planning on telling me?”

  “Jake, I’m sorry. New York, it’s not for me. I’m moving back to Chicago.”

  Jake nodded, a lump in this throat preventing him swallowing. “So this was…”

  “You were the only thing keeping me in New York. I guess I wanted to remember you.”

  “But our meeting tonight, at the theatre, you couldn’t have planned that.”

  “No, I didn’t. I guess the fates were looking out for us.”

  Jake nodded, determined not to allow a tear. “I’ll get dressed. I’ve got to go.”

  Even to him, his voice sounded like a stranger.

  That’s when Aaron reached out, his hand grabbing Jake’s. He could feel the pulse of the man’s heart. “You could stay the night. We could still have fun…the sex between us was always great.”

  “I think I’ve had all the fun I can endure for one night,” Jake said.

  He dressed and he left the apartment, feeling like he was the first thing Aaron had packed away. Back out on the street, the cool spring New York night allowed him to fade into anonymity. Eight million people in this city, why should his life have any more meaning than everyone else? He wasn’t guaranteed anything, certainly not happiness. Then he thought of Matt,
of his happiness and his upcoming wedding, a wave of jealousy hitting him in the face. Hadn’t their European flings been Jake’s idea? So what right did Matt have to be the one to have found true love?

  But despite his feelings now, nothing would stop him from attending that wedding in Paris.

  It just looked like he’d be going alone after all. Single, unattached, lonely Jake Westbury.

  That, he told himself, needed to change.

  PART TWO

  Lovers Forever

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Matthew

  Never try and predict the direction of your life. Where you think you’ll end up and where you actually do will never match.

  Matthew Donovan was living proof of this.

  It was a Thursday in April, and even though the city of lights was a bit of a misnomer now with the heavy cloud cover and rain threatening, the lovely view from his balcony was still one he would never get accustomed to. Living above the gallery in a stylish one bedroom apartment was more than Matt could ever have dreamed of, and truth be known, it was his third dream residence since he’d made Paris home. Not counting the Hotel d’Louvre where he’d stayed after first landing, he called the garret in the Latin Quarter his first home, and later Anton’s place in Menilmontant, not far from the fabled Pere Lachaise ceremony. But it was thanks to the financial resources and connections of Colton Abbott that Matt and Anton had found the narrow building which housed their home, their start-up business, two things which added up to their future. He and Anton had just finished up a light lunch of salad and a crepe, prepared by Matt.

  Taking his glass of white wine to the balcony, Matt let out a sigh of contentment, even as a light wind ruffled his hair. He took a sip. He’d allowed himself one glass, but Anton had refilled it before he’s excused himself to prepare for an afternoon of selling art along the Seine. The view stretched west, but the usual sight of the Eiffel Tower was obscured by the gray skies. He could only see a few buildings before him, and even the honk of the taxis on the street were muffled by the low-hanging fog. It was the perfect kind of day to stay inside, curled up with your lover, where you could explore the inner depths of your relationship. If the sky was going to close in on you, why not hide within its clouds?

  “You look lost in thought.”

  Matt spun around at the sound of Anton’s voice, allowing a sly smile. “Days like this, they make me think.”

  Anton came up behind him and slid an arm around him. He kissed his neck. “You think too much. Life here is as lazy as the flow of the Seine. Is it the wedding plans that have your mind occupied?”

  “Well, despite Colton’s kind offer of his villa on Cap Ferrat, we still haven’t picked a date.”

  “Is that your worry, Matt? That I’m stalling?”

  “No, never,” Matt answered, turning around to face the man who filled his nights.

  Anton leaned forward, kissed him. “Tonight, when I return. We will decide.”

  “You sound so Parisian when you talk, Anton. I know the truth.”

  “You fell in love with a Parisian painter, and that is who you get. The past is more hidden than our beautiful city is today.” Anton edged out on the balcony, his fingers curling around the iron rail. Matt joined him, and together the two men looked out at the world that lay at their feet, knowing their future was as promising as tomorrow’s forecast. They would just have to weather the storm that hung over them now.

  “I must get back to my place along the Pont Neuf,” Anton said, “sell to the tourists what I can before the rain comes. Nothing spoils an afternoon of strolling along the Seine like raindrops.”

  “It sounds romantic to me,” Matt said.

  Anton kissed him. “That is what I love about you. You find silver linings in clouds. Now, though, I must go. Tonight, my love, we will choose the date for our wedding. It will be a night for us to always remember, planning a day we will never forget.”

  “Now who’s the romantic?”

  “See? That is what makes us work.” Another kiss, and then Anton headed back into the flat. Matt remained where he was for another five minutes, his mind lost in a jumble of thoughts, and only hearing his name shook from his reverie. He realized Anton was waving to him from the sidewalk. Matt waved back, smiling as he saw Anton back in character—his head covered by an artist’s chapeau, complimenting the patchy beard on his cheeks and the twinkle in his eye. He already had him in his bed, but he’d happily be seduced again and again by the idea of a French painter selling his wares along the river Seine.

  With Anton gone to work, Matt realized work was what beckoned him, too. Back into the kitchen he went, where he cleaned the dishes and tossed back the last of the wine in his glass. On the table, the wine bottle held a tiny amount and rather than let it go to waste, Matt poured the last remnants into his glass and nursed it while he tidied up the apartment. Satisfied with his housework, he finished the wine and washed the glass and then decided it was time to return downstairs to the gallery. He’d spent the morning working on the plans for Stone’s show, including putting together an invite list of influential critics and wealthy donors, many of whom remained skeptical about the prospects of the Gallerie Passione. Managed by an American, underwritten by Americans no matter how long they called Paris home, it was an uphill battle to gain acceptance into such an exclusive world. Snob was indeed a four-letter word.

  Closing and locking the door to the balcony, again Matt Donovan reminded himself that life went beyond planning. Anton was right, you just had to go with the flow and hope that what your heart desired was what the world gave you.

  As he started down the stairs, he missed a step and stumbled. He was a lightweight when it came to booze; had he had too much at lunch? Anton had drunk down more than half the bottle and seemed unaffected by it. But of course Anton had more practice at it. As the saying goes, a meal without wine is called breakfast, and he thought with easy bemusement that even the French might find an exception to the rule. Matt reminded himself to make a cup of coffee when he got to his office to help wake him up, or at least to keep his wits about him. Stone was expected in 30 minutes or so, he and Matt still going through his paintings to decide which ones were best representative of his talent. His show, “Stone’s Throw,” was a month away.

  Matt arrived back at the gallery to find his assistant, Sheeba, clicking away at a laptop. She was seated on one of the plush chairs which they had set up in the reception area. If not for her round, small size, she might have been able to manage crossing her legs for comfort. As it was, her legs dangled a few inches above the floor. She looked up at him but continued to type.

  “Nice lunch?”

  “Yes, thanks. Your turn.”

  “You sure?”

  Matt nodded. “Take as much time as you need.”

  “Matt, you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Hardly. But you don’t have to put in such long days either. You may be my assistant, but that was your decision to accept the job. Before I even posted it. Someone who invests money in a business usually has a loftier title.”

  “It’s Daddy’s money, not mine. Besides, I like helping out.”

  “Well, you’ve helped out enough today. Take the rest of the afternoon off. Go spend time with Amanda.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

  She closed her laptop and got up off the chair, attempting to properly kiss him on the cheek. He bent down to accept not one, but two, one on each cheek. “You’ve really embraced the Parisian way, haven’t you, Sheeba?”

  “Best time of my life. I owe it all to you and Anton.” She paused. “And Amanda.”

  “Go, enough with the compliments. You’re already in the inner circle, no need to butter us up.”

  Sheeba grabbed her coat and umbrella and headed out the front door of the gallery, leaving Matt alone. He turned the lock and spun around, walking into the main gallery room. The walls were bare, since the gallery presently did not a show up, but that didn’t stop Matt fro
m marveling at the promise before him. This was his world, blank as a canvas before imagination could claim it. He wiped a hand against the wall, thought he could almost feel a pulse beneath the plaster. As though it knew the life’s images that would soon hang from its surface.

  A buzzing sound broke his concentration, and he retreated back toward the entrance to let in his artist: Stone stood there, his clothes soaking wet and sticking to his muscled frame, his dark hair matted against his head. Matt saw that the sky had erupted with heavy raindrops, dampening everything in its wake. He urged Stone inside, closing the door behind a waft of strong wind.

  “Wow, that came on suddenly,” Stone said. “Nasty out there. I was only two blocks away.”

  Matt immediately thought of Anton and his kiosk along the Seine; it would keep his wares dry but not always Anton himself. He felt bad for him, since the arrival of rain would mean only one thing: ironically, his business would dry up.

  “Go on upstairs to the office, Stone, use the bathroom up there and dry yourself off.”

  “Thanks,” he said, “not sure it will make a difference. I’m soaked to the skin.”

  He was indeed, and Matt could see the fine contours of his chest through the thin shirt; his nipples were like coins.

  Still, Stone rounded the spiral stairs that led to the gallery’s office, leaving Matt to wait an additional time for them to get down to business. He was eager to hear how the painting was going, and whether Stone had made progress on rounding out his collection. Given the last time he’d seen him, he’d been quite distracted. Legs in the air, Gavin Simon pumping away at him. He had tried to push the image out of his mind, but now that Stone was in his presence he couldn’t help but see it again. He hadn’t said a word. It was Stone’s life, but damn, Gavin was no good for anyone but himself; a selfish lover who would discard you with barely a wave. He wondered, not for the first time, if the two men had carried their affair beyond that night. Had Gavin too taken him to the garret in the Lain Quarter and screwed him for as long as he saw fit? And why did it matter? Matt was marrying Anton. He was happy. What he had seen in Stone was envy at his easy confidence; it wasn’t an attraction. So he told himself. Again. And again.