Undone by You

by Kate Meader

  This was supposed to be about sex, and now the rules had changed. Cade could usually impress a guy with his hot mouth, his great abs, his skilled hands. Conversation wasn’t really necessary beyond instructions to suck harder and pump faster. But as awesome as Cade’s technique might be, of course Dante wasn’t going to put his career on the line for a blow job. The guy could have anyone, so why would he choose someone so complicated?

  In this pause while Cade questioned every single one of his life choices, Dante stepped in. “Cade, relax. It’s just dinner.”

  And then he placed his hand on Cade’s bicep and gave a little squeeze. For a split second, something flashed in Dante’s eyes, taking them from Lake-Michigan-in-March cool to the warmth of a sun-kissed ocean. The man was fighting his attraction to Cade, and Cade was relieved to know he wasn’t the only one feeling out of his depth here.

  “Come on,” Dante said. “Let’s eat.”

  Dinner was amazing. Homemade ravioli with a tangy red sauce, and while it was clear Dante had quality bottles of wine to choose from in the handy wine cellar/fridge in the living room, he insisted on opening the Pig’s Ass wine. He also insisted it was fruity, aromatic, and perfect with the meal.

  The man was a much better cook than he was a liar.

  They ate in the dining room of a house that looked like it should be in Architectural Digest.

  “Leased, fully furnished,” Dante said when Cade asked.

  Meaning Dante might not be here long, though his contract was for three years. People moved around a lot in hockey, even management.

  “Where did you learn to cook like this?” After Cade’s mom died when he was twelve, he’d tried to cook a few things to keep her memory alive for his dad. But his talents did not lie in the kitchen.

  “My parents own an Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. I spent summers there in high school when I wasn’t on the ice.”

  “Did your dad want you to be a chef instead of a hockey player?”

  Dante’s smile didn’t quite make it. “He wanted me to be a lawyer. He didn’t think professional sports were for people like me.”

  “Italians?”

  “Gays.” Tension rolled off him.

  “What did he think when you got drafted for the NHL?”

  “He threatened to write a letter to the GM of the Philly Liberty warning them of my unnatural desires.”

  Shit. Cade dropped his fork on the table, where it promptly did what sauce-laden flatware does: it made a stain on the place mat. Quickly, he wiped at it with his napkin, but it just made it worse. “Sorry, have you got some water or—”

  “Cade, it’s fine. It’s only a place mat.”

  “Your dad obviously didn’t do that.”

  “No, he didn’t. The threat was empty, as it would have brought too much shame on the family. Instead, he barely talked to me. And when I became the head scouting manager in LA nine years ago, I decided I was ready. My family already knew. Close friends were in the loop. But it would take a while to get a GM position, and I didn’t want to wait until then. That’s when my father stopped talking to me altogether.”

  Precisely what Cade was afraid of when it came to his own situation. Losing the love of his father would kill him. Would kill them both. “And your mom?”

  “She sided with him. They’re very old school Catholic, but I still see my sisters. Two of them, both married with five kids between them.”

  Uncle Dante. Oh, that wasn’t hot at all.

  “What about you?” Dante asked. “Your dad’s the head football coach at UT, San Antonio, I believe?”

  “Yeah. I’m nothing but a disappointment to him.” At Dante’s expression of concern, Cade winked and added, “ ’Cause I chose the ice instead of the gridiron.”

  Dante didn’t laugh, though that had been mildly funny. B material, at least. Instead he gave Cade a burner of a look, like the one he laid on him that first day during his introduction at Rebels HQ. A look that connected.

  “He doesn’t know,” Cade said quietly. “We’re pretty close, actually, especially since my mom died when I was a kid, and I’d hate to lose that. You probably think that’s dumb. How close could we be if I can’t even tell him this crucial thing about myself?”

  Shut up, you rambling idiot.

  “There’s no right way, only your way.”

  Cade chose his next words carefully. “How did people take it when you came out? People in hockey?” Cade had read some of the mixed reaction online, but he’d bet his lucrative NHL contract that reality was a million times more complicated.

  “People I didn’t expect would be supportive were the best. Guys I thought of as friends turned their backs.” Dante narrowed his eyes. “Is that what’s holding you back? What other players think?”

  Cade’s response to Dante’s question was a laugh that was slightly off. “Uh, yeah. I happen to be a D-man in one of the most full-contact sports in the world. You think I want to put a target on my back and set myself up for beatdowns in every shift? It’s bad enough we get checked for game reasons. Even you waited until you weren’t a player anymore.”

  Dante looked like he wanted to argue, but bit it back. “All true. And I was older than you when I came out publicly. I knew it was the right time for me.”

  Cade would never forget when Dante came out. He’d already been a fan when the big D-man was in the NHL, even had a crush on him. But Dante’s reveal of who he was nine years ago had struck a chord. One of Cade’s sports heroes was just like him.

  Was this why he was here? Looking for the man who’d once been in his position to tell him “it gets better” like a sappy after-school special?

  No. He was here to get laid, not that it would be happening, because Dante seemed nowhere near as affected by Cade as Cade was by Dante. The night was playing true to its billing: a cozy chat with a little psychobabble thrown in. Disappointment chilled Cade’s gut.

  “Finished?” Dante smiled appreciatively at Cade’s squeaky-clean plate, the one he would have licked if he thought it might not come off as trashy.

  “Yeah. I can help with dishes.”

  “I’ve got it. I’ll meet you in the living room in a few with dessert.” Dante whipped the dishes away to the kitchen, leaving Cade to head to the living room. Nice leather furniture, everything in its place, but comfortable. Livable. On the mantel were photos of two dark-eyed women with Dante’s smile and kids of assorted ages who would grow up to be Italian heartbreakers. The nieces and nephews, no doubt. Cade picked up another photo in a nice silver frame with Dante, maybe ten years ago, and an older man with twinkling eyes just like his GM’s. A candid shot, it looked like they were sharing the funniest joke ever.

  “My nonno,” Dante said behind him. “Grandfather.”

  Cade turned and almost dropped the frame.

  Apparently, Dante had been working on more than just dish-clearing and dessert prep in the kitchen. A wardrobe change had occurred, and man oh man, were the results spectacular. The addition of a tie, vest, and jacket meant Dante was now dressed in a hot-shit suit.

  I repeat. Dante Moretti is dressed in a hot-shit suit.

  “You guys close?”

  “We were. He died nine years ago.”

  Nine years ago, around the time Dante came out publicly. The death of his grandfather was related to his decision somehow.

  Dante placed a half-drunk glass of wine on a side table, shot his cuffs, and picked up his wine again. For the length of a long sip, he never took his eyes off Cade.

  Cade couldn’t speak. Watching Dante watch him had evicted all rational thought.

  “There’s cannoli in the kitchen,” the chef murmured, “but it needs time to get to the perfect eating temperature.”

  Cannoli? Who the hell cares about cannoli when every freakin’ one of Cade’s fantasies was standing before him? “You changed.”

  “You like when I wear a suit, don’t you?”

  Cade nodded, his tongue too thick to respond. Dazed, he started
at Dante’s shiny shoes and worked up slowly. Having seen the man’s thighs in the gym, Cade was hard-pressed to decide whether those bare, hairy pillars of temptation were better than the winter wool-covered tree trunks he saw now.

  Cade took his time moving up, needing to savor every moment. Trim hips, narrow waist, and a thickening—under his very eyes—bulge in the crotch of his suit pants. The three buttons of his vest were done up, a slight disc-shaped lump in the pocket. It held an old-fashioned watch on a chain, the links of which draped at the side.

  This crazy detail would have pronounced anyone else a pretentious asshole, but not Dante. It was elegance and style and placed the man in a league above. A dark blue tie matched Dante’s eyes. His broad shoulders filled out the jacket perfectly. There wasn’t a single thing Cade would change except . . .

  Abandon. Cade planned to change Dante’s cool expression to one of utter and complete abandon.

  Dante set the wineglass down and walked over, stopping a foot from Cade. His gaze dipped to Cade’s mouth, heated promise building in his eyes with each passing second. Another step, and he took the photo out of Cade’s hands and set it back on the mantel.

  One thumb rubbed over Cade’s cheekbone. Just that one stroke, unbelievably sensual, and Cade was a mess.

  Can’t breathe. Can’t . . . breathe. Can’t—

  Cade managed to suck in a breath, and on exhaling, Dante leaned in and licked the corner of his mouth. Oh, sweet Jesus. Some weird, garbled sound came out of him. But whatever it was made Dante smile, and then his lips moved over Cade’s slowly, building a fire, stealing all sense. Breaking Cade down to a cellular level. His hand found anchor at Cade’s nape, a gloriously possessive gesture, and Cade knew in that moment he’d give this man anything, anything, he wanted.

  Not even last night’s win in New York could compare to the pulse spike when Dante’s lips took control. His tongue slipped in and licked inside, all sweet, dirty promise, blasting the fantasy to fragments and hurling it beyond Cade’s admittedly very active imagination. If this was what the kiss was like, how the hell was he going to survive the sex?

  And hello, it looked like sex was back on the menu.

  Hunger took hold, and within seconds, Cade was kissing him back, moaning like a dumb animal and clutching at his lapels.

  They separated by an inch, but it may as well have been a mile.

  Dante’s eyes burned like hard-core suns of blue fire. “Let’s get started on this list, shall we?”

  God, yes. But then he had to open his big mouth. “I thought—shit, I thought this wasn’t going to happen.” Are you out of your fucking mind, Burnett? Do not give the man any reason to second-guess this.

  “Honestly, Cade? You’re impossible to resist.”

  Said with a simple frankness that curled inside Cade’s chest. Dante was making an exception to his rules, telling Cade he was worthy of this ethical infraction. That Cade was just plain worthy.

  Yet despite the fact that this was all his idea, Cade was shaking as he reached for the waistband of Dante’s pants, only to have Dante place a hand over his.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Am I?” My name, my social, my no idea.

  “You said your fantasy was to be naked while I was dressed.” His mouth twitched. “Time you stripped, Burnett.”

  SIX

  Dante had no clue how he’d managed to get through dinner without jumping Cade Burnett’s bones. Every time the sexy Texan dipped the focaccia in olive oil and raised it to his lips, he left a shine behind. Every time he swallowed a ravioli and his throat bulged slightly, Dante’s mouth watered with the need to lick those lips and tongue his neck.

  All morning and into the afternoon, Dante had typed text messages to Cade.

  Don’t come over tonight was too abrupt.

  I’ve had time to think and we should probably call a halt before we regret this was too wishy-washy.

  This is a really fucking bad idea summarized the problem perfectly.

  Yet none of them had made it out of the blocks.

  Throughout dinner, Dante had done a masterful job of convincing himself that his intentions in inviting an employee—this employee—into his home had been benign. Listen without judgment. Nod wisely. Gay Yoda I am. He’d heard Cade’s worry about upsetting his father—yes, how he could relate—his heart checking at the vulnerability in Cade’s voice. Then he’d sent him to the living room so Dante could escape to the kitchen with the dishes. Hell, he could have used his erection to carry out half the plates!

  Dante had it bad for this guy. So bad that he had now convinced himself that the only way to move on was to give them both what they wanted. Oh, the lies we tell. Lately Dante had found he could convince himself of anything.

  Putting clothes on might seem counterintuitive to getting good and fucked, but Cade had a fantasy. Dante had every intention of turning this room into the Make a Dirty Wish Foundation and this kid’s dreams into reality.

  Kid. Damn, Cade was so much younger than him. But what thirty-five-year-old guy didn’t enjoy the idea of a hot young stud chasing him to his bed?

  Or sofa. Because they weren’t going upstairs. This was purely a bang-and-bolt situation, and no one would be getting comfortable, despite the fact they’d just shared a meal that Dante had slaved over for hours. This was a fantasy for them both, and fantasies were exactly that. Dreamed of, wished for, jerked off to. Ephemeral and slippery. While Dante figured out the lay of the land in Chicago, pun intended, he could scratch an itch this way. No harm, no—best not to think too hard about that.

  “You’re still wearing clothes, Cade.”

  “I’m just—” He shook his head, apparently unable to finish his thought. Bene, thrown again.

  “You need help?”

  “No—just—just sit.”

  Dante sat on the leather couch and waited. He was good at waiting—witness his lengthy stint in the closet—but he questioned whether he truly had the patience to stand by and not rip Cade’s clothes off.

  Just when the last of his fraying nerves started screaming in want, it began: Cade Burnett stripping in his living room.

  First came a slow unfurling of his gray Henley, which on anyone else would look plain, but on Cade highlighted the man’s flawless body. Henley, meet floor. The man was a vision shirtless: defined ridges, perfect pecs, blocked abs.

  Belt unbuckling occurred next, then off with his cowboy boots and socks. Jeans shoved down with his briefs. No longer slow, just an efficient recognition of need. For them both.

  Thighs parted, Dante placed his hands on his knees, his mouth watering at Cade’s impeccable form. Of course, he’d seen the guy’s cock before in the locker room, but it had been off-limits. Now he would get to touch it. Stroke it. Love it to completion.

  But apparently not much time to appreciate it, because Cade jackknifed to his knees in two seconds and wedged between Dante’s thighs. His fingers brushed over Dante’s bulging erection, and then he was pulling his zipper down, so fucking slowly Dante thought he might die with the want.

  Those whiskey-colored eyes flared. “Commando, huh?”

  Not usually, but tonight he wanted no barriers. He sprang free into the welcome of Cade’s ready hands.

  “Love a two-hander,” Cade muttered, biting his lower lip. Leaning in, he took a moment assessing Dante’s erection, like he needed a plan of attack. A kiss. A lick. A suck.

  All of it, Dante’s brain urged. Pleasefuckingplease.

  Close enough for Dante to feel his breath hot on the plump head, Cade’s tongue darted out in a teasing lick, and it was like every nerve ending in Dante’s body was focused there, there, in that one sensitive spot.

  “Jesus, Cade, just take it. Suck me hard.”

  And he did, first with a lick of a thick wet stripe on the underside, then a tight draw that sent Dante’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. Jesus fucking hell. Cade took him in, inch by inch, and Dante worked to remain still, though hi
s hips longed to thrust and his body itched to fuck that hot, wet mouth.

  Hot, wet, perfect mouth. Where had this guy learned to give head? He’d said he was discreet with his hookups, but Cade’s talents had to be the subject of the best-BJ forums throughout Chicago.

  So there’s this defenseman on the Rebels who could suck the orange off a carrot . . .

  Dante groaned as Cade took him to the back of his throat and tightened over the head. The low hum of pleasure the Texan released vibrated all the way back up Dante’s cock, sending a jolt of pleasure to his balls that resulted in Dante’s hips flexing involuntarily. Cade looked up, his eyes lust-stoked to a dark chocolate, then he wrapped his hand around Dante’s dick and pumped. Up and down, the slickness of his mouth facilitating the glide, the extra pressure just what Dante needed to bring him home—but not yet.

  He cupped Cade’s jaw. “Stop.”

  Burnett halted, his lips still enclosed over Dante, lust and surprise mixed in his eyes.

  “Not yet. Come here.” Hand curled around his neck, Dante drew him in for a kiss. Cade’s mouth greeted Dante’s with an all-consuming, messy hunger. “Up in my lap, tesoro. Now.”

  Cade stood, then knelt on either side of Dante, and for the fiftieth time tonight, Dante’s breath clean left his body. The man was a god. Dante spread his hands over his chest, shaping the contours, enjoying the possessive blast that heated his gut.

  “Perfetto.”

  Cade’s eyes widened. “Italian? You’re killing me.”

  “Open the drawer.” He jerked a chin at the table beside the sofa. “Get the lube.”

  Spurred on, Cade yanked at the drawer where Dante had stashed lube and condoms on the off chance he might one day bring someone home. Boy Scout badge for sex preparedness right there. Dante poured some on his fingers and gave Cade’s cock a long, slick stroke. Nice and thick, another man’s dick had never felt so good in his hands. Then he moved under his balls to his crease, slipping up, but not yet pushing in. Instead he just rubbed against his entrance, pressing slightly, teasing all the nerve endings while Cade shook his head back and forth like he was already losing it.