Cuddling

by Allan, S. H.

  While Colt steadied his waist, Gray shucked off his jeans and underwear, enjoying standing naked in his lover’s arms while Colt still wore his own beat-up jeans. Completely against the odds, Gray felt his cock start to stir again. He decided he was younger than advertised and definitely still virile. Maybe having Colt home would reenergize their sex life.

  It had simply been too long since they last had any decent time alone like this. Colt kissed down his chest, slowly sinking to his knees and nuzzling his face into the crease between his stomach and thigh. Gray threaded his fingers through Colt’s thick, softly curling hair and dropped his head back when Colt licked a wet stripe from the root to the tip of his cock.

  He gasped, then groaned when Colt swallowed him down, licking and sucking while fingers teased the still-sore rim of his ass. It was a sweet pain, though, and Colt never pushed inside, just stroked in time with the rhythm of his mouth.

  Gray forced his eyes open and looked down at his husband, on his knees, looking back up with big brown eyes filled with lust and love and sex and desire. All the things that made them perfect for each other.

  Colt had his own cock out too—Gray wasn’t sure when that had happened—but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to it. That was Colt all over, though. He got off on giving. And he was just so fucking good at it.

  When Colt’s mouth picked up a more enthusiastic rhythm, Gray started to pinch at his own nipples, knowing that would tip him over the edge.

  “Colt,” Gray said, a harsh whisper, a warning. Colt nodded, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Gray to know it was okay. He started to thrust, short, intense pulses over the smooth flat of Colt’s tongue, and cried out as his orgasm spilled over Colt’s lips.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Mmm.” Colt hummed low in his throat and allowed Gray to tug him to his feet.

  “Want me to return the favor?” Gray mumbled against Colt’s lips, tasting himself.

  Colt shook his head and kicked off his jeans. “No. I need a shower, though….”

  There was a clear offer there, and Gray followed him through to their adjoining bathroom to get wet and slippery. Colt loaded up his toothbrush to take into the shower, a strange habit Gray had almost forgotten about.

  Clean, but tired, they emerged some time later and slipped on pajama bottoms. Colt set the AC to run through the night, then fell into bed. It had been too long since they had been able to do this, and Gray relished the feel of his partner’s arms around his waist, the calm, solid reassurance.

  With the moon shining cool light into the room, they slept.

  THE next morning dawned brighter. Even though Gray slept in, he still got up before Colt. The dark shadows under Colt’s eyes told Gray he’d been working hard while away and was probably stressed as hell about the business. It wasn’t just a business, after all; they lived here, worked the land, worked some of the horses, and sold the rest on. Even though there was no mortgage on the house—Colt had inherited it from an uncle who had never married—there was no way they could ever leave. There was no situation that would make them want to.

  It was a beauty of a house. Colt’s uncle had built it himself with his father, and it sprawled low to the ground, open plan. From the top of the stairs, you could see down into the living area with its huge brick chimney stack, leather couches, and deep fur rug. Floors, doors, and the magnificent staircase had been made by the Mavericks by hand with the wood from their own land. The kitchen ran the length of the back of the house; family legend had it that even though Uncle Riff never took a wife, there were plenty of women who had come through over the years.

  Gray fixed a breakfast of coffee, pancakes, and fruit—strawberries and oranges, since that was all he had in the house. He toasted near on half a loaf of bread and carried the whole lot back up to the bedroom, where Colt was beginning to stir.

  “That coffee?” he grunted.

  “Yes, sir. Come get it yourself, you lazy ass.”

  Colt heaved himself up in bed, scratched his belly, and emptied nearly half a mug of black coffee in one swallow.

  “Damn, that’s good. You cooked for me, baby?”

  “Yeah, but don’t get used to it. I’ve got better things to do with my days than wait on you hand and foot.”

  The sniping was in good humor; this was how they communicated. The easy teasing back and forth contained an abundance of affection, something that was reinforced by the slow kiss they shared as Gray settled back into their bed.

  They picked at the food, eating the hot stuff first while rubbing their bare legs together under the sheets. The conversation about Jared hung over them, though, spoiling the easy morning quiet.

  “He’s a good kid,” Gray said eventually, cradling his mug to his bare chest. “He works hard and knows his way around. I was going nearly crazy before I hired him to take over.”

  “I asked for too much of you.”

  “That’s for damn sure.” But he gave Colt a small smile.

  “What are you paying him?”

  Gray named a figure.

  “Shit.”

  “You mad?”

  “Not really. Not anymore.”

  “If you want to fire him, at least let me give him a few weeks’ notice and good reference so he can move on to somewhere else.”

  “Well,” Colt said, heaving himself up out of bed. “S’pose I better talk to the kid before I make any decisions.”

  After turning his face away so Colt couldn’t see, Gray smiled.

  GRAY returned to his kitchen while Colt went out to meet Jared to discuss horses and cattle and all the things that bored Gray to death. When he was working to a tight deadline, little things like housework would be cast aside in favor of finishing a commission. Colt had offered, again and again, to get someone in to do the cooking and cleaning for them—a housekeeper, he called it.

  Although it was eternally tempting, Gray said no, every time. His family didn’t know much about what he did and where he lived now, but his youngest sister did come to visit a few times a year. Out of three siblings, she was the only one. He didn’t want her turning up and thinking he couldn’t handle one house on his own, or worse, that his parents were right and he did need a woman in his life.

  They mostly split the chores between them; Colt liked to cook, when he wasn’t out late in the evenings, and didn’t mind running the vacuum cleaner around on a weekend. Gray ended up cleaning the kitchen most of the time, and the bathroom too, and since Colt’s attempts at washing clothes usually resulted in something being shrunk or shredded, Gray did that as well.

  Their daily routine was pretty well worn, but since Colt was out negotiating with Jared, Gray wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to be around in case Colt came back in another foul mood and he needed to defuse it.

  From his previous experience with Jared, Gray thought the ranch manager was calm and levelheaded, which was one of the main reasons why he had hired him in the first place. He was hoping the two of them would be able to sit down and work things out between them, Colt’s hot temper cooled by Jared’s practicality and common sense. That wasn’t to say that Colt didn’t have common sense; it was just… well hidden, sometimes.

  Jared knew his job was likely only temporary until Colt came back, so he wouldn’t be too shocked if he did get asked to leave. In some ways Gray wanted Colt to ask the younger man to stay; the extra help would be good for Colt. God knew he wouldn’t be able to keep doing it forever. He was only seven years older than Gray, but years of physical labor had been hard on his back, and he’d already had one operation to treat a torn muscle.

  Gray had fixed sandwiches and a big salad for lunch and set it all in the fridge, then indulged himself with a cop drama on the TV until Colt rolled back in.

  “Hungry?” Gray asked, poking his head up over the back of the sofa.

  Colt smiled and leaned down to brush a soft kiss over Gray’s lips. “Sure. I’ll go fix something.”

  “I already did it.”
>
  “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

  Gray laughed and went to swipe at Colt’s shoulder, but Colt was faster and jogged away to the kitchen, where he started making a new jug of Gray’s favorite peach tea. Gray set the plates of food on the breakfast bar, where they could look out over their wide backyard while they ate.

  After pouring two glasses of the tea, Colt sat down, hooked his ankle around Gray’s, and took a big bite of his sandwich.

  “So, did you talk to Jared?” Gray asked.

  “He’s gonna stay,” Colt mumbled around a mouthful of food.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mhmm. Gonna work the cows while I take the horses.”

  “That sounds like a good plan. Are you happy?”

  Colt grunted.

  “Okay,” Gray said with a short laugh. “Happy was the wrong word.”

  “I am happy,” Colt insisted. “It’s just… been a long time since I was here. It feels like a lot has changed.”

  “I haven’t changed.”

  “No,” Colt said with a fond smile. He reached over and brushed a few stray hairs away from Gray’s face. “You never do.”

  ANNA MARTIN is from a picturesque seaside village in the southwest of England and now lives in the slightly arty, slightly quirky city of Bristol. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English Literature at university before attempting to turn her hand as a professional writer.

  Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, Anna is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grassroots theatre (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), going to visit friends in other countries, baking weird and wonderful sweets, learning to play the ukulele, and Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk.

  Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, pre-reading, and creative ass kicking provided by her best friend Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept responsibility for anything Anna has written.

  2nd place winner of the 2012 Goodreads M/M Romance Member’s Choice Award “Best Musician / Rockstars” for Tattoos & Teacups.

  Website: http://annamartin-fiction.com

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/missannamartin

  Tumblr: http://annamartinwrites.tumblr.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/annamartinfiction

  Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5251288.Anna_Martin

  The Cat’s Out of the Bag

  Rowan McAllister

  I.

  THE scene was set. The lights were out, leaving only the faint orange glow from the streetlamp outside. I was perched just so in our mustard-yellow, overstuffed, midcentury-modern vinyl swivel chair, affecting an air of indifference I most certainly wasn’t feeling. I had a glass of shiraz next to me on the little antique table we’d bought on our first trip to New York together. And I was dressed to kill in my white linen slacks, kelly-green sweater, and matching plaid button-up: the outfit Joel and I had picked out for me before our last cruise to the Bahamas because he said the green matched my eyes.

  Now, if you’re picturing some lean, sexy model wearing a famous designer’s spring collection in a magazine spread for Rolex or something, I’d love to say you were right on the money. But unfortunately that isn’t the case. And that fact is kind of important to our story, so, alas, I cannot allow that little fantasy to go on—much as I would like to.

  It pains me to admit it, but I’m not really all that much to look at. I’m average in almost every way: cock, looks, height… pretty much everything. I’ve even gained a few extra pounds around the middle over the last few years that I’ve been trying desperately not to think about. I’d have to say my eyes are about all I have going for me—deep green and very expressive, or at least that’s what I’ve been told. Hence why I took the extra hour to find that green sweater and went so far as to apply just a teeny bit of eyeliner in preparation for the role I’d be playing. I did decide against mascara, though, because I knew I’d be crying at some point, and I was not going to make my grand exit with raccoon eyes. I wanted Joel—my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend of six years—to remember me looking my best as he watched me walk out the door.

  All this setup and preparation for my breakup might sound a bit theatrical, but I didn’t spend most of my free time volunteering at the community playhouse because I liked the coffee. The theater was in my blood. And besides, I deserved a little drama after what had to have been the worst weekend of my life.

  I’m sure some people might say I should count myself lucky that the worst weekend of my life only involved a false-alarm heart attack for my dad and learning that my boyfriend was cheating on me. But I’m sorry, at that particular moment that kind of wisdom and perspective was simply beyond me. I’d just spent the previous night in a hospital, holding my mom’s hand in a waiting room, terrified for my dad and unable to get hold of the one other person in my life who meant the world to me… after finding out he’d lied to me about his work trip and was off who knew where, doing who knew what, with who knew who. And believe me, while I sat in that awful, cold, sterile room comforting my mom and trying not think of my dad barely clinging to life, I had plenty of time to picture the whos, the wheres, and the whats, and it wasn’t pretty. Let me tell you.

  So there I was, waiting in our living room in the dark, all dolled up and ready for my scene—and it was going to be a scene, because dammit, I was shattered. Joel had broken my heart, and I was going to make one hell of an exit… one he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

  I know what you’re thinking.

  If I was so shattered, how could I coldly plan out my own breakup like I was directing a play?

  The answer is simple. I needed to plan it out, because it was the only way I could stay in control, to not crumble into a million little pieces, beg him to forget whomever he’d been sleeping with and come back to me. If I didn’t have my little drama planned out, I wouldn’t have been able to make it through the night with any self-respect or pride left. And at that point, self-respect was all I had, fragile, pathetic little thing that it was.

  The sound of keys in the lock made my heart jump in my chest. I could almost hear a director whisper “Action” as I watched Joel shoulder his way through the door, his pale gold hair highlighted by the overhead light from the hall outside our condo.

  Our condo. My lips trembled, and I stifled a sniffle.

  Don’t be fooled into thinking I was too embarrassed to cry. I would definitely be turning on the waterworks. I’m not one of those stoic guys who keeps everything bottled up. When I’m upset, everybody knows it. I just didn’t want to spoil the effect of the scene I’d set before it was time, that’s all.

  Joel switched on the light in the entryway after setting down his suitcase, laptop bag, and a large, almost cube-shaped box, draping his coat over the box as if to hide it. He stretched his arms above his head and groaned a little, forcing me to stifle a groan of my own. Even after six years together, the sight of that man still got to me: six foot three inches of solid muscle and masculine beauty. He could have been a pro football player with those massive shoulders and rippling abs. He was smart, successful, charming, and gorgeous, so far out of my league that a little part of me had always believed it couldn’t work between us, at least not forever, anyway. The fact that it had lasted this long had always been a bit of a surprise to me… and therein lay most of our problems.

  But I’ll get to that later. Just then, I was geared up for a confrontation about his unworthiness, because that was what I needed to focus on so I could stay angry and not break down into a weeping, wailing mess.

  Joel didn’t see me waiting for him, so after he stretched, he threw his keys on the hall table, kicked off his shoes, and wandered into the kitchen. A moment later, I saw the refrigerator light come on and heard the clink of a bottle as he pulled out a beer. He twisted the cap off as he wandered into the living room. In the dim light from the entryway, I saw him bend to turn on the sm
all lamp by the couch, and I took one last deep breath. Picking up my wineglass, I let it dangle nonchalantly from my right hand and waited for him to finally see me.

  Joel sprayed his mouthful of beer all over the couch and the rug as he sputtered and coughed. “Holy shit, Michael! Why didn’t you say something to let me know you were there? You about gave me a heart attack!”

  I watched in haughty silence as he wiped his face on the back of his hand and stared at me with those heart-wrenchingly beautiful soft brown puppy-dog eyes. His thick blond hair was a rumpled mess, smooshed a little on one side and sticking up in those adorable spikes on the other. The spikes I’d always loved to play with first thing in the morning. He’d obviously slept on the plane, probably because he hadn’t gotten much sleep over the weekend, the bastard.

  I stifled another whimper and stiffened my spine. I wasn’t going to crumble. I was mad, and justifiably so.

  “Baby? Aren’t you going to say hello?” His voice was all deep and sultry, and I had to clench my hand around my glass to keep from reacting to it.

  “Where were you?” I asked quietly, not moving from my pose in the chair, raising my eyebrows just slightly, as if the answer didn’t mean the world to me.

  Joel’s eyebrows came together in a frown. It was really unfair that the man could still look gorgeous even when confused.

  “Where. Were. You?” I repeated with a little more bite.

  I wanted to give him a chance to come clean before I dropped my bombshell. Part of me still hoped he’d tell me the truth and it would be something silly. He’d drop to his knees in front of me, and I’d forgive him for what he’d put me through, and the nightmare would be over.

  But he didn’t.

  “Honey, you know I was in Atlanta for work. I got off the plane and came straight home, just like I said I would. Right on time. I texted you when I landed,” he said as he walked closer and leaned in to kiss me hello.