“Now who’s the slut?” Quinn asked, scuttling back to reach for the lube on the nightstand.
“Shut up.” But Peter smiled as he stretched out on his back.
Quinn dragged Peter’s ass to the edge of the bed, and Peter grabbed at the lube, pumping some over his fingers and stroking down under his balls to his hole. Quinn shifted from trying to read Peter’s eyes to watching him slide two fingers into his ass.
“Hey, hon, what’s wrong? You’re not even hard.”
“Went a little fast.” Peter’s words whistled through a clenched jaw. “Why don’t you do something about it?”
“Okay.” Quinn knelt next to the bed and licked up the length of Peter’s dick before mouthing the head. The flesh pulsed and thickened against Quinn’s tongue, and he groaned as Peter hardened enough to stretch Quinn’s jaw, press into his throat.
Sliding a thumb down the thick ridge under Peter’s balls, Quinn tested the stretch of muscle.
“Stop. I’ll come.”
“You can come like this. I don’t care.”
“I do. Want you in me.” Peter’s last word was muffled by a hoarse groan as Quinn popped his thumb past the tight rim and back out.
“So tight.” It had been a long time, and Quinn didn’t want Peter taking one for the team because he owed Quinn something.
“Just fuck me.” Peter pulled Quinn’s hair hard, dragging him off, but not before he gave the salty crown a last noisy kiss.
“You got it.”
Quinn stepped back off the bed, lifting Peter’s hips, hauling him forward enough to get just the head pressed to the slick hole. God, he’d missed it. The flutter of muscles, the wet textured heat against his cockhead, like a mouth sucking him in. Quinn’s hips and ass and thighs clenched, fighting the sweaty, hungry need to drive in, force the muscle wide and open. As he held himself still, he watched Peter shift around, mouth thin, eyes squeezed shut.
Peter’s face relaxed, and he wiggled down farther onto Quinn’s cock, and Quinn slammed home, sheathing his dick in hot flesh. His abs ached from the strain of holding back, and he worked himself in and out, deeper every time, and Peter arched to meet the thrusts, head thrown back, fingers grabbing hard enough to bruise wherever he could reach.
Four months of distance disappeared as they moved together, with Peter’s ass pumping and pulling on Quinn’s dick, mouth open to whisper his name. No space between them now. Quinn drove him forward so he was on the bed too, hands on Peter’s hips to drag him down on his cock with every thrust.
The muscles on Peter’s chest and belly shuddered as Quinn angled them to get his dick rubbing inside on the right spot, and Peter’s eyes snapped open, hand shooting down to grab his own dick.
“You first.” Peter’s voice was always deep. Now it was all rough and wet. His sex voice. “Want to feel you come in me.”
“How bad?” Quinn slowed his strokes to a rub where he knew it would make Peter crazy.
Peter bit his lip. They both loved it when he begged, Quinn for seeing his big strong lover desperate for it, Peter for being driven out of his mind. Why had they gone so long without doing this?
“Just come, you son of a bitch.”
Quinn swiveled his hips and held Peter’s as still as he could to keep him from starting his own thrusts to drag the orgasm out of Quinn.
“Fuck you, Quinn.” Peter’s breath raced out of him, then his fist pounded the mattress. “Please, please. Come on. Fucking fill me with it.”
Peter’s plea hit Quinn low and deep like it always did, and he started thrusting, quick and hard like his balls were screaming for him to do. Peter bit his lip, and that was all Quinn saw before his eyes squeezed shut, body locked in the sweet explosion that emptied his dick in Peter’s ass.
When Quinn opened his eyes, Peter’s hand was a blur on his cock. “Want me to suck you off?”
Peter shook his head. “I’m good.”
Quinn stroked his hands over Peter’s chest, a forceful rub on his pecs, then flicked his nipples with his thumbs. Peter shuddered and gasped and came, warm spurts landing on Quinn’s wrists and belly.
As soon as Peter let go of his cock, he dragged Quinn down against him, mashing their sticky comey parts together. A towel would be good. Quinn was going to get one as soon as he was sure his legs would handle the long trip to the bathroom.
Quinn started to move, and Peter grabbed him tighter. “No. Wish you were still in me.”
Quinn couldn’t remember Peter ever saying that before. He shifted a little, and Peter rolled onto his side. Peter reached back for him, and Quinn’s dick had just enough blood left it in to ease into Peter’s slick open hole. Peter made a grunt like it hurt, but he held Quinn’s thigh.
“It’s okay,” Quinn said, but he didn’t know what he was offering reassurance for, only that Peter needed it. Stretching out an arm, he managed to free a sheet and blanket to get a cover over them and fell asleep with Peter snug in his arms.
QUINN WAS on his second cup of coffee, Hubert keeping his feet warm under the kitchen table, when Peter came in with a cardboard box in his hands, wearing sweats and a purposeful expression.
“Jesus.” Peter jumped. “I thought you’d be at work.”
“It’s winter break. We have the week off.”
“Right. I forgot.” Peter slid the box onto the counter.
Quinn gestured at the box with his coffee cup. “Early spring cleaning?”
“Not really. Shit. I can’t believe I forgot about winter break.”
“It’s okay. I figured you’d be working. I didn’t have plans.” The last time they’d had vacation time together had been… three years ago.
“Quinn.” Peter sat down, clutching at the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
The coffee was barely warm, but the sip Quinn had just taken burned all the way down his throat.
Tension strung rusty wire through his neck, under his scalp, warning prickles erupting on the skin. “What?”
Peter’s face went motionless, calm. Did he use that face when he was keeping people from running back into a burning building after someone they loved? Quinn had a sudden premonition he was about to know what that desperation felt like.
“I’ve been dealing with some stuff.”
“I noticed.” A preliminary skirmish, no casualties.
“I’ve been with other people. Not a lot. Just sometimes.”
“Okay.” Quinn managed to keep that word even, despite the flare of panic. Christ, how many? Were you safe? When the hell did you manage that in your double shifts?
“Do you remember the Christmas party? When I asked you to come get me?”
Cops and firemen and paramedics drinking. Together. God help the innocent bystanders. “Yeah, some guy met me in the bar and told me they were going to get you home later.”
“Yeah. That was one of those times. And….”
So it was possible for one breath to last a lifetime.
Peter couldn’t look at him. “She’s pregnant,” he finished.
Quinn knew there weren’t too many different ways to interpret that, but he heard himself stupidly ask, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I had sex with a woman eight weeks ago and she’s pregnant. And before you ask, yes it’s mine and no I wasn’t too drunk to know what I was doing. She’s going to keep it and—that’s what I want. We’re going to get married.”
Married. Quinn heard himself repeat the word, but it sounded far away.
“This—” Peter made a vague gesture that was supposed to cover ten years of sharing an apartment, a home, a dog, a life together. “It’s never been all I wanted.”
“We could—” But Quinn stopped himself before he finished it. We could do it together? The three of them? Did he even want to suggest it?
Peter shook his head. “I’m going to marry her. She’s— It wasn’t something she was expecting either, but I need to do this.”
“And the fact that you also need a dick up
your ass or down your throat when you want to really get off? Is that something she can expect?”
“I don’t— I’m not gay, Quinn.”
“You’ve been faking it pretty good for ten years. And it’s not as if I made a pass at you at your brother’s birthday party all those years ago.”
“You’re the only guy I’ve ever fucked. And I was married before.”
“Yeah, to Stacy, I remember. All two months of your marriage. After you jerked me off at your brother’s party.”
“You knew what you were getting into.”
“And I’m to blame for not saying to hell with your closeted ass?”
“No one’s to blame.” Peter looked down.
“Yes, someone is. You.”
Peter pushed away from the table. “I never made you any promises.”
“Living together for ten years is a fucking promise, Peter.”
“You were on active duty for four of it.” Face implacable, Peter leaned back against the counter with his arms across his chest.
Quinn itched to get that look off his lover’s face. “I’m confused. That wasn’t you begging me to come in your ass last night?”
Peter’s gaze was steady, like Quinn was the irrational one in this conversation. Not irrational, clueless. Months of Peter pushing him away, spending all his time at work, coming home last night acting like he’d finally figured something out. Leave out the sex and it almost made sense.
When Quinn didn’t get an answer, he said, “Then what was last night about?”
“I wanted to give you a nice goodbye.” Peter turned away and opened a cabinet. “I’m only taking the stuff my mom gave me.”
Gave us, Quinn wanted to point out, but he stared at the box on the counter as another horrible realization pierced his brain. “So when I came home from work, you were going to be packed and gone?” Did his voice break? Did he care?
“Yeah, but I was going to talk to you.”
“Why bother? I’m sure a note would have covered it.”
“Don’t get—”
Quinn shoved the table away and stalked over to box Peter against the counter. “Dear Quinn, The last ten years were a mistake. I’m straight. Except when we fuck. Later, Peter.”
Peter shoved Quinn away.
“You don’t have to marry her to be the kid’s dad.” Quinn wanted to pin the son of a bitch against the counter again, but he was afraid that would lead to one of them taking a swing.
“Yes, I do. He deserves better than that.”
“Than what? A father who’s so ashamed of himself he wraps himself in a lie?”
“It’s not a lie.” Peter’s face flushed. “My dick got hard. I came. You’re the one who’s having trouble with the facts.”
“And what facts are you going to share with her? Are you going to tell her who’s been getting your dick hard for the past ten years?”
“No. She doesn’t have anything to do with that. I’m not asking her what she’s been doing either.”
“Maybe I owe her a warning. I hate to think of her waking up to this same shit ten years from now with a kid to think about too. Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to explain how not gay our relationship was.”
There it was. An honest emotion on Peter’s face. But it wasn’t love or sorrow. It was fear. “Don’t. Please, Quinn, don’t. I know—I know I’m hurting you, but don’t do that to me. You can’t tell anyone.”
“You know how I love it when you beg.” The words felt like he was swallowing dirt, clumps falling cold and dry into his stomach.
“Quinn.”
“I’m not going to say anything. Ten years is a hard habit to break.”
“Thank you.” Peter went back to taking dishes out of the cabinet.
“But I gotta say, if you’re trying to pass, you might want to try harder. I don’t think many straight guys pack their stoneware before they walk out.”
“I moved some clothes last week.”
Last week. “Where?”
“I know we’ve got another month on the lease, but I found a place that will take dogs.”
Quinn couldn’t make his mouth form a word. His body snapped to attention, braced for whatever abuse was coming his way as the commandant looked for some kind of weakness in his eyes. He must have made some kind of sound, because Peter turned around.
“He’s my dog.”
Quinn knew that. And he could remember dress whites covered in dog hair, chewed shoes, and endless drool. But he was the one who fed him and took him to the vet when Peter was working.
Quinn started for Peter. Maybe to punch him, maybe to kiss him, one argument no better than the other, but after the first step, the floor turned to quicksand. What had ever happened in his life to make Quinn think this was safe, that this would last? He fucking knew better than that.
His hands closed on the box instead of Peter. The box made a satisfying crunch as it hit the wall, and Quinn stepped over the pieces as he left.
More from K.A. Mitchell
Ready or Knot: Book One
Kieran Delaney-Schwartz—adoptee, underachiever, and self-professed-slacker IT guy—lives his under-the-radar life by the motto: Don’t try, don’t fail. His adopted siblings are all overachievers thanks to his driven, liberal parents, but Kieran has elected to avoid disappointing anyone by not getting their hopes up. He’s coasting through his early twenties when he’s hit head-on by Theo. The successful decade-older Broadway producer sweeps him off his feet for a whirlwind thirteen months that are pretty sweet, until it all comes screeching to a halt on Valentine’s Day, with an unexpected proposal via an NYC Times Square flash mob.
Now everyone wants in on the wedding, except the grooms….
Sequel to Put a Ring on It
Ready or Knot: Book Two
Former child star and deeply closeted adult actor Jax Conlon needs a boost to his flagging career. He promised his mom, just before she died. He hopes he’s found it in a guest spot with the latest directorial prodigy, but his research for the role gets derailed by an encounter with a handsome stranger with more… hands-on experience.
Oz Parsons is a devoted dad to two amazing little girls. Maybe a little too devoted—he hasn’t had anything resembling a personal life since his ex left, leaving Oz and the girls with broken hearts and abandonment issues. So a hookup with a hot guy is just what he needs to let off some pent-up steam without any complications. There’s something about Jax, though, that’s got him finding reasons to draw things out.
With their goals and families pulling them in two different directions, Oz and Jax have to figure if white-hot chemistry and desire that won’t quit is enough to roll the dice and risk now on forever.
Sequel to Risk Everything on It
Ready or Knot: Book Three
Left at the altar by his long-time lover, Spencer, and in desperate need of quality health insurance, Dane Archer can’t say no when his best man and best friend, Gideon DeLuca, steps in. But Dane and Gideon have history, tangled and passionate and complicated.
After seventeen years of cat and mouse, Gideon has realized Dane isn’t the kind of man who ever wants to be caught, and he’s stopped playing Dane’s game.
For Dane, it’s never been a game, but sexual fidelity isn’t his strong suit. Love is too beautiful for limits, something he’s never been able to get Gideon the control freak to understand. Now Dane has nothing but limits, including the timeline on his paper-only marriage to Gideon.
Gideon’s the only person Dane trusts enough to lean on, and Gideon will do anything to get Dane through this crisis. Anything but fall for Dane again.
Living together forces Dane and Gideon to stop circling and face what’s been between them all these years. They just don’t know if they have the power or the time to make things right.
What they do know is that they’re not ready for it to be over.
Readers love the Ready or Knot series by K.A. Mitchell
Put a Ring on It
“This is a b
ook you will not be able to put down until the last page, so be prepared! The writing is excellent, the story intriguing and the characters very real, very human…”
—Three Books Over the Rainbow
“I absolutely loved this book.”
—Gay Book Reviews
Risk Everything on It
“This is definitely a well written story, one with totally fleshed characterization. K.A. Mitchell’s writing is always first rate, and I will always recommend her books, including this one.”
—The Blogger Girls
“I truly enjoyed Jax’s journey of self-discovery and love. It was a slow and steady progression that was never boring.”
—Prism Book Alliance
Take a Chance on It
“Romance… yes, emotion… by the bucket load, an engaging story, and such deep love, make this a book I know I will go back to again and again.”
—Divine Magazine
K.A. MITCHELL discovered the magic of writing at an early age when she learned that a carefully crayoned note of apology sent to the kitchen in a toy truck would earn her a reprieve from banishment to her room. Her career as a spin-control artist was cut short when her family moved to a two-story house and her trucks would not roll safely down the stairs. Around the same time, she decided that Ken and G.I. Joe made a much cuter couple than Ken and Barbie and was perplexed when invitations to play Barbie dropped off. She never stopped making stuff up, though, and was thrilled to find out that people would pay her to do it. Although the men in her stories usually carry more emotional baggage than even LAX can lose in a year, she guarantees they always find their sexy way to a happy ending.
K.A. loves to hear from her readers. You can email her at [email protected]. She is often found talking about her imaginary friends on Twitter @ka_mitchell.
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