by Alexa Land
Duke crossed the room and surprised me by picking me up and tossing me back onto the bed. Lust shot through me, making me shake as he pushed my legs apart and licked my inner thigh. He glanced up at me with a wicked grin and said, “So that’s why you were shivering.”
He climbed up beside me and draped his leg over both of mine, and when he claimed my mouth with a demanding kiss, it made my cock throb. He stroked my erection through my briefs before stripping both of us. I started jerking him off, and when he pushed his cock against mine, I tried to get my hand around both of them. But Duke was much better suited to the task, and he grasped his cock and mine in his big hand and jerked us off together. His lips found mine again, and I moaned and bucked into his hand, totally lost to the sensation.
I clutched him as I started to cum just a few minutes later. My lids closed automatically, but when he whispered, “Look at me, Quinn,” I did as he asked. As we locked eyes, I cried out, thrusting into his palm as cum sprayed my body and his.
A moment later, a moan slipped from him, and Duke started cumming, too. He kept stroking both of us as he wrapped his other arm around my shoulders. His cock was still pressed to mine, rubbing up and down my length, and I grasped his ass with both hands as wave after wave of that overwhelming orgasm forced every drop of cum from my balls.
When it finally came to a shuddering end, I slid my hands up Duke’s back and held on to him. A tremor went through his big, powerful body, and for some reason, it triggered a protective instinct in me. I held him tighter and stroked his back, and when his orgasm ebbed and he let go of our cocks, I crawled up and dotted kisses on his cheeks, his lips, even his eyelids.
He grinned drowsily, and I murmured, “That was intense.” Duke nodded and wrapped me up in his arms. “We’re all sticky,” I whispered as he settled in comfortably beside me. “Want me to get the towel?”
“No, because that would mean letting go of you.”
We spent a long time kissing tenderly. Given his usual tendency toward keeping everything neat and clean, I was kind of surprised he could tolerate the fact that we were both such a mess. But he seemed perfectly relaxed as he leaned back a bit to look at me and murmured, “You’re so beautiful, Quinn.”
“No I’m not. I’m cute, but I’ll never be beautiful.”
Duke knit his brows and said, “You’re also extremely cute, but you can’t honestly believe you’re not beautiful. You’re just being modest, right?”
I shook my head. “That’s just not a word that applies to me, and I’m fine with that. It’s enough to be cute.”
He reached across me to the nightstand and picked up his phone, then held it at arm’s length and snapped a picture of both of us. He pulled it up on his screen and showed it to me as he said, “Tell me what you see.”
“A stunningly beautiful man.”
“Right.”
“And me.”
Duke sighed at that and said, “Come on. Really look at yourself and tell me what you see.”
I frowned at the screen and said, “I should go back to bleaching my hair. It looked better when it was white-blond, but now that I let my natural color grow in, it looks mousy.”
“Do you think my hair looks mousy?”
“Not at all. It’s a gorgeous shade of dark blond, and when you’re in the sun, it’s shot through with gold.”
“My hair is about half a shade darker than yours, so how can you think yours is mousy and mine’s not?”
“I think in my case, there’s just an overall mousiness.” I pushed my ears up with both hands and wiggled my nose, and Duke grinned and looked at the photo. Then he tapped his screen a few times and made it his wallpaper.
He said, “Maybe it’s good that you don’t know how gorgeous you are. It could only lead to the inevitable conclusion that you’re totally out of my league.” He returned his phone to the nightstand and rolled out of bed, taking me with him.
I grinned as he hoisted me over his shoulder and said, “I like it when you carry me around.”
“Good.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the bathroom to get cleaned up. I wonder if we’d both fit in my tub.”
“I think we definitely need to find out.”
The answer, as it turned out, was kind of. Duke was a big guy, and the standard-size tub/shower combo fit him alright, but with little room to spare. We made it work anyway. I straddled his lap, and we took turns lathering each other, then soaking as best we could in the warm water.
As we dried off afterwards, Duke asked, “Are you still up for a movie?”
“Definitely.”
“Great. Let’s make some popcorn. If you want to watch in bed, we could project the film onto that empty wall in my bedroom. This might be one of the only times when having blank, white walls actually comes in handy.”
“Speaking of which, would you absolutely hate it if I painted the living room? It’s such a pretty space, and with a little color it’d be amazing.”
He mulled that over, then said, “I guess it depends on the color. I think it’d probably make me jittery if you painted the walls hot pink and covered them in glitter, like you did in your old apartment.”
“How’d you know I did that? Did Cole tell you?”
“Yeah, but not to warn me off you or anything. I asked him why you were covered in glitter the first time I saw you, and he told me about your decorating efforts. Apparently, it also included a disco ball. Please don’t put one in the living room.” He thought about that for a beat, then said, “Okay, if you really want one, you can hang up a disco ball. I can learn to live with it. I don’t think I can manage neon pink walls, though. Or neon orange. Or neon green. Basically, no neon anything, alright?”
“I can work with that.” I turned from the bathroom mirror, where I’d been finger-combing my hair, and said, “I always wondered if you remembered the day we met.” I’d gotten a birdcage stuck on my roommate’s head in an effort to armor him up against an attack cat, and then I got my hands trapped in there too when I tried to get him out. We’d been headed to Oakland so Skye could cut us loose when we ran into Duke and Finn, who were out on patrol. Really not my finest hour.
Duke smiled at me and said, “You were dressed in rain boots, goggles, and a skimpy pair of briefs, and you were coated in hot pink glitter. There’s absolutely no way I could ever forget that.”
“Good point.”
We went into the bedroom and pulled on our underwear, and Duke glanced at me and said, “I’d wondered if you remembered meeting me that day.”
“Dude, seriously? You’re six-eight with muscles that would give Thor an inferiority complex, and you were wearing a cop uniform. How could I possibly forget you?” He grinned at that.
I started to head to the kitchen, but Duke said, “Hang on, you’re not dressed properly.”
I looked down at my Superman briefs. “Oh, I thought we were going in our skivvies. My bad. I’ll run upstairs and grab some clothes, since my romper’s still wet.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He scooped the short, red cape from the floor and reattached it to the back waistband of my briefs, and then he said, “Now you’re ready.” I flashed him a big smile, and we headed to the kitchen hand-in-hand.
A few minutes later, as the rain tapped against the windows, we returned to Duke’s bed with popcorn and big boxes of candy that he’d bought just for the occasion. He hooked a little projector to his laptop, and as one of my favorite Miyazaki movies started to play on the wall of his bedroom, I curled up comfortably in Duke’s arms and said, “Thank you again for everything you did for me tonight. It was absolutely magical. In fact, it was the best date in the history of dating.”
He touched my cheek and murmured, “I’m glad you had fun.”
I glanced up at him and said, “Just so you know, I’m going to start referring to you as my boyfriend now, and I’m going to do it a lot. I’ll be asking everyone, ‘have you met my boyfriend Duke?’ And I’ll be tel
ling our friends, ‘my boyfriend is better than your boyfriend,’ and stopping total strangers on the street and going, ‘hey, see that tall, handsome man over there? That’s my boyfriend.’ If you have a problem with that, you’d better speak up now, because otherwise, the boyfriend train is pulling out of the station.”
He held me tight and said, “I have no problem with that whatsoever.”
Chapter Eleven
Christian George leaned over the edge of the scaffolding and said, “Do me a favor, Quinn, and hand me the midnight blue.” He was working on one of the backdrops for my dance troupe’s upcoming performance, and I was supposed to be helping, but mostly, I was just loitering and watching the painting unfold. The nighttime cityscape took up one vertical six-by-twelve-foot panel of a three-sided set piece on wheels, and it was breathtaking.
I rummaged around in a big cardboard box, which was loaded up with well-worn cans of spray paint, and took my best guess at midnight blue based on the lid color. When I held it up to him, he said, “That’s indigo.” I tried again and was told, “That’s navy.” I held up another can, and he said, “That’s denim blue.”
“Oh, come on!” I straightened up and pulled the red bandana off the lower half of my face, which I’d been wearing to keep from breathing the paint fumes.
“It’s darker, almost black.”
“This would be a lot easier if the cans weren’t all paint-smudged, so I could actually read the labels.”
Christian gracefully leapt off the platform and rummaged through the box himself. A minute later, he pulled the black bandana off his nose and mouth and grinned at me. “I guess I used it up. Can you add it to the shopping list?”
“Yup.”
I pulled out my phone, added the color to the notes I’d been keeping for him, and texted him the list. Meanwhile, Christian flexed his fingers and shook out his hands before wiping them on his torn jeans. He’d survived a brain tumor and the surgery to remove it a few years back, and I’d heard he still had a few problems as a result of all of that. I wondered if that was why his hands were bothering him. When he saw me watching him, he said, “You can go ahead and ask. Everyone always does.”
“That’s why I didn’t want to say anything,” I said. “It’s annoying to answer the same question over and over.”
He peeled off his ragged T-shirt, with the word ‘Ramones’ so faded out it was almost illegible, and used it to wipe his face. He was tall and slim, with a big, black and gray mandala tattooed on his stomach, and between the ink, the clothes, and his fondness for black eyeliner, Christian looked like a rock star. He was actually a graffiti artist, which was pretty close, but he’d also founded a nonprofit community center that offered free art and music classes to kids, so there was a lot more to him than met the eye.
“Come on, let’s raid Skye’s fridge. I need a break.” He tossed his shirt aside and began to cross the warehouse, and as I fell into step with him, he said, “To answer your unasked question, the brain tumor left me with a few lingering issues with my hands. I worked my ass off in physical therapy and regained more than ninety percent of what I’d lost in terms of coordination and fine motor skills, but some of the damage was permanent. It’s not a big deal, though. I can paint, and I can walk. That’s what’s important. As for the rest of it, I’ve learned to adapt. It’s become my new normal.”
The warehouse was crowded. Skye’s huge sculpture of a man who looked like he was clawing his way up through the floor had been pushed against the far wall, to make room for the giant metal jellyfish he’d been constructing for his corporate client. When I’d asked him why he went with jellyfish, he’d said it was because they were the most organic, free-form things he could think of, and just what the sterile lobby of the downtown office building needed. Each bell-shaped jellyfish was made out of rusty, reclaimed metal and was about six feet tall, not counting the surprisingly delicate-looking rope-like tentacles and lacy arms. One completed jellyfish hung from the twenty-foot ceiling, and its tentacles grazed the cement floor. As if all of that wasn’t enough, half a dozen of the towering, triangular set pieces crowded the warehouse, and we had to weave our way to the small refrigerator in the corner.
Once we’d retrieved a couple of sodas, we sat on the workbench beneath the tall windows, and I asked, “Do you worry about the tumor coming back?”
Christian considered the question as he pushed a chin-length tendril of light brown hair out of his green eyes. He’d shaved the sides and back of his head to about a quarter-inch in length, and the part he’d left long had been gathered into a short ponytail. A scar was just barely visible behind one ear. It curved up until it disappeared into the longer hair on top of his head.
“Worrying about things you can’t control doesn’t get you anywhere. It just eats you up inside and keeps you from enjoying the here and now.” He took a sip from his soda can before saying, “I had a fantastic surgeon, and he’s positive he removed the entire tumor. I go in every six months for a scan, just to be sure, and it always comes out clear. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind occasionally, but I refuse to be ruled by fear. Instead, I make a point of being grateful for and cherishing every single day I have with my husband Shea. I’ll never take our time together for granted, not after what I went through. I guess that’s the one positive that came from nearly dying. It put everything into perspective.” Christian smiled when I threw my arms around him, and he asked, “What’s that for?”
I squeezed him a little harder and said, “I’m just so glad you’re still here, making beautiful art. I also think you’re amazing for going through something like that and coming out on the other side so strong and positive. I feel lucky to know you, Christian.”
When I let go and grinned at him, he said, “I’m lucky to know you, too. You’re a lot of fun, Quinn. The four of us should hang out sometime.”
“I’d love that. I know Duke would, too.”
“So would Shea. He keeps saying he’s shocked at how much Duke has opened up. Maybe that’s your influence. I guess your boyfriend used to be pretty quiet and reserved.”
His husband was actually Finn Nolan’s kid brother, and Duke had worked with him before Shea quit the police force. I got the impression they hadn’t known each other very well when they were coworkers, but Duke and Shea had been bonding over the last few days, while helping my troupe with the backdrops for our show. The two men were currently on a hardware store run and had taken over the job of finishing construction on the set pieces. Meanwhile, Dare and Skye had gone out to rummage for scrap metal to use in the jellyfish mobile, leaving Christian and me to paint (or more specifically, leaving him to paint and me to gawk in wonder at his ability).
“I’m glad they’ve had a chance to get reacquainted,” I said. “What’s Shea been doing since he left the police department?”
“He draws comic books, and he’s taking art classes at my old alma mater, Sutherlin College.”
“God, I wish I could convince Duke to do that.”
“Go to art school?”
“No, follow his passion. He’s a fantastic baker, and it makes him so happy. But he doesn’t think it’ll pay the bills.”
Christian’s full lips curved up at one corner, and he said, “I remember one of the first times I met Duke. It was Christmas, and I was visiting Shea at the station. Your boyfriend brought us a plate of cookies, and it seemed so incongruous because he’s built like a fortress, and yet he produced these delicate little confections. They were damn good, too.”
“Baking is his art.” I pulled out my phone and showed Christian the cookie bouquet Duke had made me a week ago, on our first ‘official’ date.
“Wow, that’s fantastic.”
“Isn’t it? I posted this picture to social media, and everyone went crazy for it and asked where they could buy the cookies. But he still doesn’t believe he can make a living at it.”
“Well, give him time. It took Shea a while to make the transition, too. So many people
dismiss comic books as trivial, which is total bullshit. He’s as much of an artist as I am, but he was hesitant to quit his day job at first, not only because he thought he’d never make a living with his art, but because he believed the assholes who told him there was no real value in drawing comic books. Duke probably heard the same shit about baking.”
I said, “Yeah, especially when he was growing up. I’ve tried to tell him producing something that makes people happy is always worthwhile.”
“That’s exactly right. Just keep encouraging him. Hopefully he’ll take the leap when he’s ready.”
“Definitely. I think Shea is a good influence on him, too. He’s the perfect example of following your passion, especially since he started out in the same profession.”
“It’s interesting, a lot of Shea’s family started out in law enforcement,” Christian said as I took a drink. “It was basically the family business, going back two or three generations. Shea and his brother and several of their cousins became police officers right out of school, because of pressure from their family. But over the years, almost all of them have changed careers. Finn is the last holdout. I think he actually likes the job though, unlike his brother and cousins, who just went along with it because it was expected of them.”
“It’s not easy to let go of expectations like that.”
“Did your family pressure you into becoming a ballet dancer?”
“No, that was my idea,” I said. “But my dad really wants to see me succeed, and he’s been less than thrilled that I’ve devoted the last year to this start-up dance troupe, instead of a nationally recognized company. I think we finally had a breakthrough a few days ago, and he’s trying to see things from my perspective. But there’s a lot of pressure on this upcoming performance. I need him to know I made the right call with Dare’s troupe.”