by M A Gray
He shifts away from me. I wish he wouldn’t. “Yeah, but now your brother knows about... us,” he mutters, staring at the comforter.
“And?” The word snaps out.
He shrugs. “And I didn’t think you wanted that.”
Do I want that? Shit, if the past few weeks have taught me anything, it’s that I no longer know what I want. I think it’s unfair of August to assume otherwise. Yeah, I’m not experienced when it comes to queer relationships, but I haven’t exactly been hiding it. I’ve been taking it piece by piece, getting a better idea over time of how I want to move forward. It’s scary. That’s the main reason I haven’t spoken to my brothers about it, Noah being the exception.
Reaching out, I sift my fingers through his red hair. Golden afternoon sunlight pours through the windows and onto the hardwood floor, the pale gray walls. “Maybe I don’t know how to navigate this situation,” I say gently, “but I do know that I want you.” A sigh whooshes out of me, and my hand drops into my lap. He picks it up and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “I spoke to my brother Noah a few weeks ago. About how I feel about you.”
“Oh?” Something passes behind his eyes, but it’s gone before I can identify the emotion. He starts playing with my fingers.
I sense he wants to ask, but is holding himself back. I snort and pull him in for a hug.
August huffs. “What?” He sounds chagrined.
“You want to ask what we talked about. I know you do.” I’m smiling. Can’t help it. He’s too cute.
He grumbles something I can’t make out.
“What’s that?”
“I said,” he mumbles, “what did you say to your brother?”
Soft laughter floats into his ear. August’s strong arms band around my lower back, and he somehow manages to tuck his larger, more muscular body into my embrace. He’s quite the affectionate guy. “I told him how I feel about you. And that I feel guilty for feeling this way.”
“And how do you feel about me?” His voice drops to a whisper.
I’m suddenly glad he’s not looking at me. If he were, he’d be able to see everything I’m trying to hide. Because it’s too soon to feel this strongly about someone, right? Six months after the death of my girlfriend, someone I loved deeply. Shouldn’t I mourn for a year? Two? What is the acceptable amount of time to grieve?
Tilting up August’s chin so I can look into his eyes, I say, “I’m afraid of what I feel for you. It feels too big. It feels like... like I don’t deserve it, sometimes.”
Sadness pinches his mouth. Not for himself. For me. “Why would you think you don’t deserve it?”
“Because of the promise I made Kaylie.”
Hoarsely, he asks, “And what promise was that?”
Tears sting my eyes, and pressure throbs in my forehead. You know, I had nearly forgotten the promise until now. It hits me with brutal force, right in the chest.
“I told her,” I say, “that I would love her forever. Only her. I didn’t think I’d meet someone like you. I didn’t think I’d feel torn for what I feel for you. I didn’t think I’d lo—” I stop, push through. “I didn’t think I’d grow to love you.”
August goes still. As still as a held breath.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I whisper, heart thudding so quickly I feel sick. I wasn’t planning on saying anything of the sort, but it came out, and that’s that. “I still wanted you to know how I feel. And... I had already planned on telling my family about us during our next Friday night dinner. Unless you don’t want that,” I add, suddenly afraid August would rather keep this in the dark.
“No,” he says, green gaze lifting briefly to mine. “You can tell them. I don’t mind.”
He says he doesn’t mind, which means he must want it, right? So why does it feel like we’re miles apart instead of sitting next to each other in the same room?
The longer the silence sits, the more frightened I become that I’ve fucked up big time. If only I had locked the door. If only.
“Do you want to go?”
August pulls away and starts slipping on his clothes. “If you don’t mind.” He keeps his head ducked as he buttons his pants.
I feel gutted. I fucked up. I told him what I felt and it backfired. It feels too late to fix.
“Of course,” I say in my most convincing tone. “Let me say bye to my family and then we’ll go. Do you want to wait for me at the car? Here’s my key.” I pass it to him. Smile like everything’s fine. “See you down there.”
When August heads downstairs, I plop onto the edge of my bed and bow my head, taking deep breaths through my nose and exhaling through my mouth. I feel lightheaded.
I’m sure I’m blowing this out of proportion. Despite August’s reaction, I know he feels for me. Fear affects us all in different ways. But what if he’s not willing to wait for me to untangle all my baggage? Will we return to being straight roommates? Will we continue sharing breakfast together? Will I return to cooking for one?
Ugh. Why does love have to be so complicated? Even when it’s simple, it’s complicated.
Now to deal with Kellan.
Downstairs, the party rages. The bounce house now holds no less than fifteen people. All, I’m sure, wasted. The slip n’ slide is covered in soapy water, and a line of people wait to throw themselves across the blue tarp. Sebastian and Aidan have disappeared. I spot Kellan talking with Harp near one of the tables. He’s waving his arms like a maniac while Harp listens intently.
Knowing Kellan, avoiding him now means a long, grueling conversation later. Best to get it over with.
Kellan spots my approach and stares at me all bug-eyed, like I’ve suddenly transformed into a pelican.
As soon as I reach his side, he grins. “Knew it.”
I glare at him, fighting the need to shuffle my feet. I have nothing to hide. Not anymore. “Knew what?”
“That you’d go gay.”
Harp mutters something that only Kellan can hear. My brother scoffs and brushes whatever his boyfriend said aside.
“It was bound to happen. The odds were already stacked against you. Four brothers, three of them into men. I mean, come on!” he shouts to no one in particular. Harp shushes him. Kellan smiles loopily and wraps an arm around his boyfriend’s waist.
“We’ll discuss this on Friday, okay? I need to go.”
Kellan catches my arm as I pass him. “For what it’s worth,” he says, suddenly serious, “I really like August. He’s a good guy.” With that, he lets me go.
I find August sitting in the passenger seat of the idling car, staring out the windshield. I slide into the driver’s seat, but I don’t put the car in gear. His silence worries me. “You okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” Which is to say, not fine at all.
On the drive back, I let August have his space. But when we enter the house, I can’t hold back anymore. “August, tell me what’s bothering you. I want to help. Please.”
Chapter 18
August
Maverick’s voice stops me from going into my room. I go for the couch instead—which I’ve come to see as our spot—and plop my ass onto the cushions, feeling frustrated, anxious, insecure. I know why I’m upset, but I also know I have no right to be upset. I shouldn’t expect Maverick to tell his family anything. The thing is, the secretive nature of our relationship makes me feel like I’m a dirty secret, like he’s ashamed to be seen with me. There’s nothing wrong with our relationship, and Mav knows more than anyone that being a gay man, a bi man, a queer man can be a source of pride in this day and age.
He approaches the couch, halts on the other side. “May I sit?”
I shrug, because I’m immature like that.
I assume Mav will take the other side of the sofa, but he surprises me by sitting almost on my lap and wrapping his arms around me. When I try to pull away, he tigh
tens his grip with a firm, “Nope. You’re staying right here.”
The position is awkward. His face, right next to mine, his breath whispered into my ear. I snort and stop struggling.
Maverick sighs as he rests his forehead against mine, his eyes especially green today, and sad. “I think I know why you’re upset. Will you let me explain?”
I feel like a petulant child. Like my feelings don’t matter, shouldn’t matter, even though they do. I want to work through this with Maverick. I’m just glad he’s the level-headed one. “Fine.”
“Oh.” He chuckles. “That dreaded word. But okay.” He kisses my cheek in affection and presses his thumb to the side of my mouth. “You’re upset because you think I’m hiding our relationship from my family, is that it?”
A muscle slides in my jaw. Grudgingly, I mutter, “Yeah.”
“August. You have to know that’s not it—at all.” He looks upset by this. That in turn makes me upset, because I should have known Mav wouldn’t intentionally try to hurt me, right? He’s too good.
He sighs. His hands drift to my shoulders and begin to rub. A groan slips free, because recent practices have made my body sore. My head drops forward, and he places a kiss to its top.
“The reason I haven’t told my family about us is because I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to. It’s not because I’m ashamed of you, and it’s not because I’m ashamed of how I feel. What we have… it’s special to me. But as soon as I tell my family, they’ll be all up in my business. I wanted to discuss it with you before telling anyone. Can you understand that?”
Maverick’s reassurance lessens my anxiety considerably. Because if that was the case? If he wanted to hide this thing between us? It would crush me and I’d probably break it off eventually. I want to be free with who I’m with. I want to be out. I wasn’t sure if Maverick knew that.
His fabulous fingers unlock one of my tense muscles. I’m putty beneath his hands. “I didn’t know that,” I say, “but I appreciate you telling me.”
He cups my chin, lifting it so we’re staring at one another. Tenderness softens his face, his eyes. He touches me with such gentleness. “What I feel for you is real, August. Not that it was my plan, but since Kellan found out, I plan on telling my family at our next Friday night dinner. If that’s cool with you.”
My heart squeezes in sudden nervousness, but I keep my face neutral. “What exactly are you going to tell them?”
“I’m going to tell them I’m in a relationship with you.”
At the word relationship, my nerves jump twelve feet and stick against the ceiling. Is that what we’re doing? Navigating the beginnings of a relationship? I mean, we eat breakfast together almost every day. We mostly sleep in the same bed. The trust is there, the affection. And, dare I say it, love.
Damn. I love this guy.
The only problem is, I’m worried Mav considers me as a rebound. He’s been healing for half a year at this point. Is he with me because he wants to be, or because I’m the first person since his girlfriend’s passing that makes him feel alive again?
I’m too afraid to ask. I suck in air. “Relationship.”
He looks stricken. “Unless that’s not what’s going on, in which case I won’t tell them that.”
I chuckle. Maverick. Always trying to do right by others.
He leans forward, whispers against my mouth, “I want to take the next step with you.”
The words are music. The sweetest drug. A lightness taking hold of my limbs. I pull away so I can see his eyes. They’re so warm. Everything about this man sings to me.
We’ve already done oral sex. It’s my guess he means penetrative sex. I need to be sure though, especially considering he’s never done it before. “Anal sex,” I clarify.
He goes red all the way to his roots. “Um. Yeah.”
“You want to fuck me.” I’m generally the one on top, but if it makes Mav more comfortable, I can do the receiving. It’s not a problem. It has, however, been a hot minute since I’ve bottomed. I’ll need loads of prep, I’m sure. I’ll walk Maverick through the process.
He’s sweating. Bites his lip and peeks at me through his lashes adorably. “Not exactly. I was thinking… you could fuck me. If you want.”
My body buzzes in anticipation, and my cock swells to twice its normal size in the span of two seconds. If I want? It’s the only thing I’ve wanted for weeks.
“Just to clarify,” I say, “you want my dick in your ass.”
He bursts out laughing, his hair falling over his forehead. I brush it aside and take his jaw in my hands.
“Straightforward and to the point,” he says. “I like it.” He traces patterns on my leg. “Yes, I want your dick up my ass.”
I palm the ass in question and give it a delicious squeeze. His eyes flutter, and me makes a soft sound of need that goes straight to my groin. “We’ll go slow,” I promise. “If at any point you want to stop, we will. Okay?”
His response is a nervous whisper. “Okay.”
Even if Mav says he’s ready for this, I know he’s not. I’ll need to loosen his body, relax him. “Come here,” I murmur, crooking a finger.
His mouth meets mine, and I’m reminded of all the reasons why I love kissing Mav. He gives as much as he takes. He cares about making it good for me as I make it good for him. And boy, the guy knows how to use his magic tongue.
He hums into my mouth before licking deeply inside, a reflection of what I plan on doing with my dick and his body. Short, light flicks of his tongue against mine, teasing. I chase after him with harder strokes, more pressure, but he slips away every time, driving me mad. I growl into his mouth, and his laughter strokes warm hands down my spine. I yank him against my chest and wrap my arms tight around his lower back, forcing him to straddle my waist. His cock presses hard against my stomach.
“You know what I thought the first time we kissed?” I manage through panting breaths.
His eyelids flutter, then snap open to reveal dark hazel eyes. They’ve gone glassy. “What?” He grunts and shifts closer to me, rocking his lower body against mine.
My other hand comes up to stroke his face like he’s delicate, a porcelain doll. I’ve never had a more beautiful man in my arms, or a more responsive one. Someone who’s excited to touch me.
“I thought you were too beautiful for words. I thought you were so sad, and so lovely, lonely. I wanted to make that sadness go away.”
Maverick’s throat works like he’s struggling to swallow. He denies me his face, tucking it against my neck and inhaling deeply. His hand seeks mine out, and he links our fingers together, connecting us.
Now it’s my turn to hold onto him. Is this what I want? Absolutely. Sweet, filthy sex, and then the quiet moments, the times of human connection. Physical need, and emotional need. A deeper, baser instinct to seek comfort in someone else. Is Mav it for me? Yes.
I love him. I think I did that night he took me to Kaylie’s spot. I still remember how beautifully the moonlight pooled in his eyes and how it lit up his skin. How tightly Mav held me after I’d gotten him off.
Shifting backward a few inches, I press one hand to his chest, gently. “Lean back.”
He does, never breaking eye contact. His eyes are deep and knowing. I feel them right down into my soul.
“Take off your shirt,” I tell him.
He does, revealing his skin inch by delicious inch. The slender muscles and smattering of dark hair. Maverick Dumont looks like a fallen angel.
He tosses his shirt onto the floor and lifts a brow. “Now you.”
“Bossy.” But I do as he says. We’re both shirtless. I want us naked, skin on skin, but tonight isn’t the time to rush things.
Stroking my palms over Mav’s chest and abdomen is one of the best things I’ve ever experienced. “Your skin is so soft,” I murmur. Warm. Sleek. Delicate. I trace
the shadowy indentations of his abdominal muscles and work my fingers through the trail of hair pointing me in the direction of his groin.
Mav shifts under my hands. “Tickles.” He sighs.
With an evil smirk, I pinch the area near his ribs.
He jolts with a scream. Already, his body is shifting to protect itself. He snatches my hands. “No,” he says. “No tickling. Bad.”
I laugh and kiss the surprise from his face. “All right, fine. Some other time.”
“No other time.”
“Sure, Mav. Sure.”
He grumbles, then leans back against the cushions. I use the opportunity to remove both our pants and underwear. His sleek body is splayed out before me. Red tinges Maverick’s cheeks in a shy blush.
I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open. “You’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”
He’s trembling so hard my body soaks in every small shake. I grab his hips and tug him a few inches closer. Mav’s eyes are all pupil.
He licks his lips. His tension is too great to enter him anytime soon. I’ll need to calm him down, soothe him with my hands and mouth.
Running my hands up his inner thighs, I sweep my thumbs across the pressure points where his legs meet his torso, the dip near the tendons. The skin is hot and damp there, leg hair sticking to his olive-toned skin. Mav twitches and spreads his legs wider, silently telling me he enjoys the touch.
His ankles are so slender I can wrap my fingers completely around them. I lift one of his legs onto my shoulder and spread the other wider, baring him to me. His hole clenches in reflex. It’s dark, pinched, tight. I brush my thumb over the entrance, and watch in satisfaction as Maverick jerks as if lightning moves through him.
“You like that?” I murmur, and do it again. His hips bow off the couch.
“Fuck, August. I—” He’s panting, fucking against the air for relief that doesn’t exist—yet.
“Mm.” I circle his puckered hole leisurely, like I’m sipping coffee or enjoying an ice cream cone on a warm summer evening. Around, around, around. Drawing inward, then easing up and teasing the sensitive skin of his crease. The more worked up Mav gets, the higher he’ll climb, and the farther he’ll fall.