The Wedding (Starting Over Book 3)

by Matthew J. Metzger

  “I can fuck you whenever I want.”

  The arrogance brought his dick to life just like that. Gabriel licked his lips enticingly, but Aled’s gaze never wavered.

  “You can do me with a condom.”

  “I can do that whenever I want too.”

  Gabriel kissed him. He coaxed Aled open, trying to tempt him. But Aled was a frustratingly well-controlled dominant sometimes, and he gave nothing away.

  But Gabriel had an ace up his sleeve.

  “I’ll let you rent me out to someone at your club.”

  Aled pulled back a little. His eyes narrowed. Gabriel waited hopefully. The idea was still scary as hell, but he would be safe in Aled’s hands.

  “I’ll let you hold me down while someone else fucks me,” he whispered. “And it’ll be so scary and so hot and you can pick whoever and whenever you want.”

  “You get one chance to back out of that deal,” Aled said. “Because I’ll hold you to it.”

  Gabriel jutted out his chin and said nothing.

  “Deal,” Aled said. “Now go upstairs and get dressed. Pyjama bottoms, briefs, socks, bra, T-shirt, hoodie. And get my dressing gown. Then come back down.”

  “Hoodie?”

  “Do it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He vanished upstairs but had to rummage for everything he needed. He didn’t own any hoodies of his own anymore and Aled’s old university one could be worn as a short dress. It smelled like him even though Gabriel had never seen him wear it, and he tucked his nose into the sleeve for a second before heading back downstairs.

  Aled hadn’t really done much in his absence. He’d kicked off his shoes and was channel-surfing. Gabriel tucked himself up onto the cushions beside him and settled in for a cuddle until Aled found something he wanted to watch.

  “Right. Get up.”

  Gabriel rose, and stood mute as Aled bound his wrists with one end of the dressing gown cord and tied the other around his neck. The hood was flipped up then Aled’s dressing gown draped around his shoulders and the empty sleeves tied across his front. He was trapped before he was ever tipped down to lie on his front on the sofa. The dressing gown was bunched up around his waist, and his pyjamas and briefs pulled to his knees.

  Then the weight came down.

  Gabriel breathed out in a long, luxurious sigh as Aled settled along his back. He was forced down into the cushions. Imprisoned. Crushed. Suffocated. Surrounded. He couldn’t have fought his way out if he’d tried. He was completely helpless.

  It was compounded by the hand that came down on the side of his head. He gasped, and fingers invaded his mouth. They dragged on his tongue and pushed in until he gagged before withdrawing a fraction.

  “Suck them.”

  He sealed his lips and sucked, toying with the short nails and smooth whorls. The hand on his head eased. Hot breath touched his cheek, and Gabriel shivered as his ear was enveloped in wet heat and the shell dragged between sharp teeth.

  For a while, that was all there was. Heat. Wetness. The shivering arousal of a mouth playing with his ear. The fingers slowly withdrew and toyed with his lips like they were labia—teasing them out, rubbing them, dragging nails dangerously around the seams, dipping in and out in idle prods and probes. Somehow, Gabriel knew the hand wasn’t going to be used to make it easier on him, and the knowledge only made him wetter. He’d not need help.

  But the cold air when Aled finally sat back and parted him with both hands was still a shock and Gabriel flinched.

  “Make a sound and I’ll gag you.”

  He clenched his jaw—and his cunt—as Aled pushed in. The sparks of pain filled his cock and he ground down into the cushions as he was slowly, inexorably, painfully parted around that hot dick. It drove into him in a slow and deliberate push, until he was breathless long before Aled sagged back over him and settled again.

  “Looks like sluts can learn to shut up after all.”

  Gabriel gasped wordlessly at the sudden flood of arousal and Aled’s hand sliding between him and the cushions didn’t help. A wet thumb rubbed over Gabriel’s aching cock, and he almost came from that single stroke. then it happened again, and again, and again—

  Then he did come. Hard. So hard that his spine snapped straight in the intense heat that he’d been drifting in. The rocking of the fuck vanished. Everything vanished. There was no rhythm. No pattern. Just him, coming apart in the centre of the world.

  And—slowly—coming back together.

  His cunt was soaking wet and hollow, like it had dissolved and was ready to pour out of him the moment he stood up. He groaned as the cock in his arse withdrew a fraction, only to push farther in. The pain grounded him. Gathered him back together. Between the wet hand toying with his nipple, hot and invading between his bra and his breast, and the agonisingly dry cock forcing his arse apart, the shattered seams were sewn back together until he was right back where he’d started.

  Trapped in a prison of cloth and cushions, pinned between the immoveable object and the unstoppable force, only able to lie there and take the cock driving into him over and over.

  “You’re dripping wet,” a dark voice purred in his ear. “You came so hard that it was like fucking a bowl of soup.”

  Finger and thumb tightened around his nipple. The cushions were rubbing against his cock. Too rough, too dangerous, too—

  “Now.”

  It tripped another. A ripple of electricity through his dick and hips and spine. From far away, he heard the humiliating sound. His face burned as he was fucked through it in slow, dry movements that prevented him lying to himself. He’d got off like a burst water main. Twice—and once on command.

  “Very good,” the voice whispered, and his tit was squeezed until it ached. “But that’s two for you, and none for me. You owe me.”

  The cock inside his arse pressed impossibly deeper—then was pulled out. For a dizzying moment, he was completely hollow. Dragged back onto his knees by the clawed hand squeezing his tit. A finger was shoved into his soaked cunt, and a dismissive tut made his face burn all over again.

  “That’ll not be fun for me. Better relax.”

  Pressure against his arse. A hand in the centre of his back. Pressing him down. Down, until his face was rammed into the cushions and his arse was totally exposed. The pressure got worse. Gabriel gulped a hungry breath, and relaxed.

  Then—

  Pain exploded up his leg. Unexpected pain. Bad pain. The world blinked out under a wave of bright white agony. His back bowed as though it didn’t belong to him. His foot wrenched sideways. Bones ground together with a sickening crunch. Something was wrong. Something was bad. Gabriel clawed for breath, tore his consciousness against the pain and reached for the only anchor that he had.

  “Red.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Red.”

  The lust burning in Aled’s veins turned to ice. He pulled out, instinct lifting his hands away from Gabriel’s body. Let go. Let go. Game over, game over, game over.

  Then he saw the problem.

  Not a boundary. Not a word said wrong. Not a hand too heavy, or a phrase too dangerous. No triggers. No dysphoria. Nothing that he had done.

  No, the problem was the twisting ripple of contorted muscle running up the back of Gabriel’s leg.

  “Oh fuck, oh my God, Aled, please—”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Aled said, dragging the pyjama bottoms and briefs up. “It’s okay. Game over. Let me just—”

  Gabriel howled as he laid hands on the afflicted leg, then gasped and sagged as Aled twisted. The muscle rebelled, then relaxed just as suddenly as it had cramped.

  “Fuck!”

  “It’s all right,” Aled murmured, squeezing hard when the muscle tried to repeat its trick. “Just breathe for me. Just relax. Let’s get this under control, then I’ll let you out, all right?”

  “Mm.”

  Gabriel’s voice was very thin and close to tears. Anxiety tightened in Aled’s gut out of sheer instinct�
��he’d done that, he’d done that—but he forced it down. It wasn’t his first safeword. It wouldn’t be the last. And as safewords went, it wasn’t even a dangerous one to deal with.

  It was just a bloody cramp.

  Aled fought the seizing muscle for some ten minutes before it finally eased, and a pattern of bruises was bound to emerge. But Gabriel finally stopped sobbing into the pillows, and he sagged bonelessly out of the cords and clothes when Aled unwrapped him. The dressing gown was soaked in cold sweat, but he rocked into Aled’s hold anyway and Aled squeezed tight, still massaging the leg draped awkwardly across his thigh. The game was long gone. And despite Gabriel’s ragged breathing and the ruins of their plans, so was the anxiety.

  Oddly, Aled wanted to laugh.

  Force him down, wrap him up, almost choke him, fuck him so it hurt, tell him he had no choice—and what got Gabriel to say no?

  Cramp.

  “I think you need a hot shower,” he said. “How many miles did you go with Chris?”

  “I lost track,” Gabriel said hoarsely. “Fuck. Oh my fucking God. That was the worst—Jesus. It hurt less the first time I got fisted.”

  “Kevin?” Aled guessed as he eased the leg off his knees. “Come on. Shower. It’ll help.”

  “Jim, actually.”

  “Who?”

  “First boyfriend.”

  “Oh, the Sheffield lad,” Aled said. Gabriel staggered as he tried to stand and Aled rolled his eyes, catching him under the arms. “All right, come on.”

  “I was enjoying that,” Gabriel complained petulantly as Aled helped him up the stairs.

  “So was I,” Aled said. “You coming all over me like that was hot as hell. Definitely going to try that trick again sometime.”

  “Arse,” Gabriel muttered, blushing hotly.

  Aled just chuckled as he sat Gabriel down on the closed toilet and turned on the shower. The muscle was tightening again, and Aled knelt to work at the knots before they could make another go of it. There was a savage bulge in the calf that probably wasn’t helping matters, and he worked steadily at it while Gabriel audibly ground his teeth.

  “I told you cycling is daft.”

  “Oh, no, I should swim instead. Then I’ll drown if I get a cramp, not just fall off a bike.”

  “I never get cramp,” Aled said loftily.

  “Your idea of a workout is four laps of breaststroke then an hour in the hydrotherapy pool.”

  “I’m noting everything you say,” Aled said coolly, “and you will be punished for every last remark once this is sorted out.”

  “Shove it.”

  “And that one.”

  Gabriel’s sour mood was helped by a hot shower and a hot water bottle and, within the hour, Aled had Gabriel established in their bed with the complaining leg stretched out on a pillow, the electric blanket spread out under him like a picnic blanket and the hot water bottle warding off any further surprises. A cup of sweet tea, because sweet tea cured everything, vanished within a few seconds of its delivery, and the empty cup returned with an imperious wave of the hand.

  “Another.”

  “Yes, sir,” Aled said mockingly and was flipped off.

  He didn’t bother with a second. He rinsed the cup out, then puttered around downstairs, throwing their ruined clothes in the wash and locking up for the night. By the time he came back up, Gabriel was half-asleep and drowsy, flicking through TV channels and staring blindly at the offerings through half-lidded eyes.

  He looked alluring as hell.

  “You didn’t get to finish,” he murmured.

  “Not the first time,” Aled said, climbing out of his clothes. He opted just for his briefs, figuring the bed was going to get obscenely hot.

  “So?” Gabriel asked, patting Aled’s crotch as Aled took off his glasses. “I c’d suck you off from here.”

  “Maybe in the morning,” Aled said. “The mood gets kind of ruined when you say that particular colour.”

  Gabriel accused him of exaggerating. Aled ignored it. The colours were so ingrained that it really was a mood killer. Gabriel had nearly laughed himself sick last summer when they’d been having perfectly vanilla sex with the TV on, and an advert for Red Bull had stopped Aled dead in his tracks. Pavlov would be proud.

  “I take it from the cake in the fridge that the wedding planning isn’t finished?”

  “What?” Aled asked, surprised by the change of subject.

  Gabriel rolled into him and wriggled under his arm, repeating the question. Aled squeezed, kissing the top of his head before settling again.

  “Wedding planning isn’t finished until you’re married,” Aled said drowsily.

  “What’s she got to drag you to next?”

  “Oh, God knows. I think the dragging to stuff is done, but the bitching and moaning won’t be. Her future mother-in-law is a nightmare.”

  “So you’re going to be on best friend duties until the big day?”

  “Pretty much.” Aled yawned. “They’re in the middle of selling up the house, too. And she handed her notice in last week. So they’ll probably move down to Cornwall before the big day, and that’ll be dramatic as well.”

  “She knows phones exist, right? And that Cornwall isn’t…I don’t know, New Zealand?”

  Aled shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand. You weren’t close to your family.”

  “I guess so,” Gabriel murmured. His voice was a little wistful and Aled squeezed.

  “She feels a bit like I would if you moved to the other end of the country,” he clarified. “I could still see you. But I’d miss you anyway.”

  Gabriel stretched. The kiss that landed on Aled’s chin was soft and sweet.

  “Me too,” he whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry about all the drama of me moving in.”

  “S’fine.”

  “If I was monogamous, it’d be you,” Gabriel said, burrowing his head against Aled’s shoulder a little. “I think I’m falling in love with Chris, and Kevin will always be a big part of my life, but—they aren’t you. I want you too, no matter who else comes around.”

  That more than anything made Aled’s heart melt a little around the edges. He rubbed his thumb over the space on his ring finger, no longer pale like it had been when he’d finally taken the ring off. In Gabriel’s flat of all places. The man who’d helped him let go, and the man he’d had to persuade to hang on.

  But Aled didn’t see the romance or the love in needing someone. It meant far more that Gabriel wanted him. Need was as though there were other reasons than love to stay there. Money, pride, habit, loneliness, whatever. Need wasn’t always a good thing. Need wasn’t something Aled had ever thought to be a sign of being loved.

  But want?

  Gabriel wanted to be here, dozing off on Aled’s shoulder. He wanted to leave his dirty bike in the conservatory. He wanted to cook for two in the evenings. He wanted to hitch a ride in Aled’s car, or on Aled’s lap. He wanted telly evenings and pub dinners together.

  He didn’t need it. He could walk out whenever he liked. There was always somewhere else he could be, someone else he could be with. Aled was not—and had never been—his only option.

  But he wanted to be here.

  “I love you,” Aled murmured.

  But Gabriel was already asleep.

  * * * *

  Aled stepped out of work on Tuesday morning for an hour.

  His office was in the middle of Leeds. The commute was shit, but his promotion into upper management had scored him a space in the underground car park. Normally, he’d never dream of going anywhere in the middle of the day. Traffic in the city centre just wasn’t worth it.

  But this time, his target didn’t require a car. After all, the shopping centre was only minutes away. And—unlike in Wakefield—there was no chance he’d be seen in Leeds in the middle of the day and the news get back to his nosy partner.

  He walked briskly, and the other shoppers skirted around him as he
radiated a similar kind of deadly power to that he gave off in a game or a boardroom battle. Beggars didn’t bother calling to this arrogant fuck in a Boxing Day sale suit. The charity workers aimed their false smiles somewhere else. A couple of young women—and one man—took a second glance for rather different reasons, but Aled ignored them. He had eyes only for the shimmering displays in the window of the shop at the end of the street.

  A sea of silver was set out before him, draped over velvet clothes and silk cushions. Glittering gold framed the silver centre and other, richer, darker colours gleamed from within their chains and frames. Rubies. Pearls. Sapphires. The brilliant play of an opal in the afternoon sun. The pale authority of a fat diamond sitting arrogantly above the rest. Tiny labels, covered in beautifully neat copperplate handwriting, set out prices that ranged from easy to eye-watering. And the trinkets themselves had a similar range. From gaudy garnets to elegant emeralds, from the oversized to the understated, Aled could have bought a hideous screamer of new money for a loathed mother-in-law, or a shy statement of staggering wealth for his other woman.

  But he didn’t want any of those.

  It took only a few moments to pick out the piece he’d see on their website. It was tucked away high in the window, almost totally obscured by other offerings with similar stones. Oddly common, strangely unique. Staggering beauty amidst a plain, almost cheap, setting. It had looked good online, and it looked even better there. He could see it elsewhere, too. See it framed by pale skin. See it where it belonged.

  Aled blew out a breath and steeled himself, before reaching for the door and stepping into the cool interior of the jeweller’s shop.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” twinkled a girl young enough to be his daughter. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” Aled said. “I want to buy something special.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aled slammed the boot.

  The big day was—well, days away. He had everything packed. Suze was calling almost every day with the latest drama, gripe, panic, moan, whine, anything. And yesterday had been his last day at work for ten days—and this morning, his last day at home until after his best friend was married.