by Cooper Davis
I brace a forearm across his chest. He’s safe with me, and I want him to know it as he makes another aching cry of pleasure.
“Hunter, I’ve never… God, I’ve never…” His voice trails off as I cup his abdomen within my palm, helping his motion.
My Max. Of course he’s a talker.
I grin like a fool as I deliberately push in a little deeper, wondering what it will do to his stream of words. He’s silenced completely, the utterances replaced by erotic groans and pleas.
My sweet Max, I think again, grasping at his chest and hips. We’re like a summer storm, all motion and noise and intensity. Dark rolling clouds move through my head, highlighted by erratic flashes of lightning. Jagged, long. Moody as hell.
I’m going to lose it any minute, I swear.
Max is perfection, and I almost can’t handle that fact.
Graceful fingers dig into my thighs, our insistent rocking growing more needy. I am needy…and desperate for him. That’s what I think, as I let one hand drift to his cock, and begin stroking it.
I need all he’s got to offer.
Apparently, he needs all of me, too, because once I begin caressing his erection, he writhes and quivers within my arms. Frantic doesn’t even cover it. Next thing I know, I’m burying my face against his shoulder, rocking him, and then together we’re utterly spent.
He grows limp within my arms, collapsing against me in a heap of gorgeous exhaustion. I brush the hair away from his damp cheek, and hold him for a long while. Something about the way he rests on my lap strikes me as almost delicate. The full curve of his bottom jutting into me, the way he’s so surprisingly light to hold.
My hand and fingers are coated with his sticky warmth, and I spread it softly between his legs, through the wiry patch of curls that I love to stroke. Not sure why I want his seed there, but I do. Maybe because then it seems like I was the one who left it there in the first place.
I could get turned on all over again thinking about it.
We’re sweaty and sated, worn out as hell. But only one thing matters to me. We’re lovers now.
***
The sun is almost up and I still can’t sleep. Max has curled up right against me, his head nestled over my heart, and it seems so appropriate. Besides, this thing thundering in my chest isn’t even mine anymore; it belongs to him completely.
I stare at the ceiling, at the pinkish light filling our room, and am amazed that we’ve wound up this way. It’s been one hell of a journey, falling in love like this, and Max has been incredibly patient with me.
I never deserved that kind of patience.
But the thing is, until Max came along, I was straight as an arrow. I dated girls, plenty of them, and I’d slept with my share, too. Including Veronica, and I flinch a bit as I imagine her reaction to our shocking news. I hope she doesn’t laugh right in my face.
Hunter Willis is what? I can hear her giggling. Willis is gay?
Especially when I remember our uninspired sex life. Very uninspired, and now that I think about it, that should have been a good clue about me. Veronica’s hot as hell, and there were a half dozen times when I couldn’t even get it up with her.
But not after she first introduced me to Max. No way. That night, after staring at him, and feeling my throat go dry and my hands shake, I dragged her into the bedroom and made love like a freaking stallion.
I was wired tight from just sitting near him. That was four years and a few girlfriends ago. Why the hell did it take me so long to figure out the score?
Of course, Max’s situation is totally different than mine. He’s actually dated a few guys during the past two years, since his breakup with Louisa. He and Louisa have been best friends since they were five years old, and apparently their romance fizzled before it ever got started. It was a little too much like being with his sister, he’s told me.
I’m glad, because otherwise I’d spend a lot of time feeling worked up and jealous over how close they are. But instead I get it—she’s not me, and she’s never going to be. Besides that fact, she’s a woman and Max’s bread isn’t buttered on that side anymore. He realized that while dating her, too.
In fact, it was shortly after their breakup that Max went on his very first date with a guy, someone he knew from pickup basketball.
I nearly busted a gut over that one when he told me; especially since we all know him. Bruno. Bruno the pickup basketball player, Max’s first gay kiss. I love to tease him about that whenever I get the chance, and he always blushes terribly.
But he was dead serious when he first described that kiss to me, one night in early summer. We’d been making out pretty heavily for a few weeks, and things were growing intense. It was that stage in a new relationship when you start sharing your secrets, the ones you don’t tell anyone else.
Everything was happening so fast between us, and it was starting to spook me, but I couldn’t seem to put on the breaks. So that night we lay together, talking and laughing until well past midnight. That was when he told me about Bruno, and I felt a little weird, especially because he and I were already good friends back then. I’d never even had a clue.
As he told me about it, his voice grew hushed. “It was really strange when Bruno kissed me, but kind of thrilling, too. I felt something open up inside me.”
I felt something open up inside me. Wow. I nodded silently, fighting the urge to pull away, because I knew exactly what Max meant. I knew because it was how I’d felt the first time he kissed me. When he cupped my face, and dragged my lips to his for that first awkward kiss, it felt forbidden, but wildly erotic, too. I practically ran out his front door that night, I was so completely freaked. But then the very next night, I was back for more. And the night after that one, too. One kiss and I never could stay away again.
I can’t help but cuddle Max a little bit closer at the memory of that conversation, and I press a kiss against the top of his dark head. I’d rather forget that night, though in a way I’m grateful, because it’s part of what led us to this place.
***
Max was nestled beside me in his bed that night, his cheek resting against my bare chest. We were lying skin to skin, and I was fighting a terrible urge to make love to him, fighting it because I wasn’t ready yet.
But, man, how I wanted him; it was scaring the shit out of me that I wanted another guy so much. After two weeks of rolling in his bed together, and giving blowjobs, and touching, I knew I couldn’t walk away. I knew it, but I wasn’t able to admit it yet.
So we were curled up like that, and he kept talking about the gay dating scene, and I felt stranger and stranger. He used that word so easily. Gay. Max knew he was gay. So what the hell did that make me, if I was with him?
Next he told me about a guy at his office, someone he’d dated for a couple of months last year and I became even more unsettled. Something about how Max described himself as having been “really smitten” with the guy hit a nerve, and I became oddly jealous and possessive. I mean, he’d gone out with him for two months in secret, the whole time hanging out and being my friend. Kind of what we were doing now, with our own friends, but I ignored that thought.
Instead, I demanded to know his name, and this amused Max for some reason, so he refused to tell me. I literally burned with jealousy, even as Max joked and flirted with me. Hell, he enjoyed that I was acting like a lover, and made a point of telling me that they still worked together, in the same damned department. Which meant that somewhere over in that office building was a stock trader who knew how sexy Max looked in his thousand-dollar suits, the ones I loved to strip off his body every night.
Oh, I burned with jealousy all right. I burned and the strange mixture of emotions inside me began to clash. The sad thing was, Max remained sweetly oblivious as he kept teasing me about it.
“If I tell you his name, you might show up over at our office with a shotgun or something,” he giggled, rubbing my stomach with a tender motion. He was in love with me, and me being jealous absol
utely lit him up. I could see it in the way his eyes danced, and in how he blushed deep crimson.
Whereas me being jealous only made me feel gay, and I ground my teeth to stop the anger.
“I bet his name is Brian,” I said sulkily, and Max cocked an eyebrow at that one.
I was thinking of Queer as Folk, but I didn’t say that.
“Why Brian?” he asked, curious as he rubbed that gentle hand low across my belly. He was being so incredibly soft with me, while I only felt plain mean.
“Why won’t you tell me?” I demanded crossly.
“Because you’re being possessive and it turns me on,” he smiled, settling a little closer to me. “Why Brian?” He wasn’t going to let it go, and something inside me snapped.
“Because Brian sounds gay.” I felt him stiffen right within my arms, and for a moment, I held my breath. I had wanted to hurt him, absolutely. The fear was choking me, and was so damn thick I could hardly breathe. But now I only wished I could reach into the space between us and retrieve the words. Especially when he looked up at me, his hazel eyes shadowed with pain.
“Hunter, I’m gay,” he said softly, with far more patience than I deserved. “Don’t you get that?”
My heart hammered painfully and my throat grew tight. “Okay,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to say, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to add my name to the homo roster.
“Okay?” he repeated, sitting up in bed. The sheet twined around his torso, and I blinked, determined to ignore how the sight of him aroused me. “That’s all?” His feisty attitude had kicked in all the way, but there was terrible pain in his eyes, too.
“What do you want me to say?” I felt cornered and panicked, lying there beside him. His back was to me, and I reached to stroke it with my fingertips.
“Baby?” I murmured into the darkness, still touching him. I’d never called him that before, but I’d wanted to for weeks. I knew I was being unfair, giving him such mixed signals, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
He buried his face in his hands, and raked his fingers through his tousled hair with a desperate sigh. Then, he glanced back at me over his shoulder. His eyes had grown dark and intense as he stared at me.
“Hunter, this isn’t some fling for me,” he explained softly. “I’m really falling for you…and, and if you’re not here to stay, I need to know that.”
There was no way I could give him what he was asking; I couldn’t relinquish my hold on heterosexuality and that’s what he needed. He needed me to admit we were becoming a couple, but I simply couldn’t do it.
Even worse, I knew with absolute certainty that I was falling as hard for him as he was for me. Maybe even harder.
“I-I’m here,” I managed in a thick voice. It was all I was capable of admitting. “For now,” I finally added, hoping it might offer some assurance, but I knew it was lame even as I said it.
Max lay down on his side at my words, his back to me as he sighed—a terrible, bereft sound. “Guess that’s better than here for the night.” I heard the tears in his voice.
Tears brimmed in my own eyes, as we lay apart that way. I wanted nothing more than to reach across the bed, and pull him right back into my arms.
I wanted to admit that I was gay, too.
But what I did instead was climb out of his bed, dress in a frenzy, and leave him there without another word.
It was nearly two weeks before we saw each other again. Two desperate, lonely weeks that I definitely hope to forget one day.
That was when I began to realize Veronica was suspicious about us, because she kept commenting on how inseparable Max and I had been lately, why was I now avoiding him. She wanted to invite Max over to hang out with us. She kept watching me with keen eyes every time she talked about him, and that only intensified my heartache all the more.
What goddamned secrets we’d woven around us, such pitiful lies. I was in love with Max, and I should’ve told Veronica then. Hell, she might have given me some good advice on how to make things right with him.
As it was, I had to endure those two weeks in silence, until finally in desperation I mounted my Harley during a thunderstorm and rode to his apartment in the blinding rain. When I knocked on his door, it was probably after eleven, and he opened it wearing only his boxers and a thin T-shirt.
For a moment I stood there, dripping rain into a little puddle in his hallway. I had no clue what to say, and felt the tears brimming in my eyes again.
I must have looked as broken as I felt, because he took one glance at me, and dragged me right into his arms without a word. I remember clutching his T-shirt like a lifeline.
We nearly made love that night. With our bodies pressed together there on his sofa, we slipped and moved, and I was desperate to have him completely. I wanted to erase the past two weeks. I wanted to erase all the lies.
Finally, he pushed apart from me, panting and flushed, and admitted that he was a virgin. He’d never slept with anyone, male or female, and he wanted his first time to be with me. But he also told me that he couldn’t take that step if I wasn’t back to stay.
I remember shaking a bit, feeling incredibly naked against his body because I wanted to give him that promise. I remember the way he lifted his fingers to my lips, and touched them as he whispered that he loved me.
I knew right then that there would never be anyplace else I wanted to be. I didn’t possess the nerve to tell him so yet.
That was at the beginning of summer, and now we’ve wound up here at the end. As the pinkish light in our bedroom slowly becomes golden, and Max rests so safely in my arms, I can’t help but marvel that I waited this damned long. Being here is so effortless and easy.
I barely resist waking Max to kiss him once again, but I know where one kiss will lead, and he needs his rest for our journey home today. With a twinge of nervousness, I think that going back to L.A. will take all the strength that I possess, too.
Actually, going back will be easy enough—it’s the coming out part once we get there that leaves me tied up in knots. Except I know that I’m ready. My chest swells with pride at the memory of what we’ve shared, this sacred, mystic change between us.
Yeah, laugh your damned ass off, Veronica. I smile, rolling a little bit closer to my boyfriend. Laugh, cause I’m right where I want to be.
Chapter Four
Somewhere over the Mojave Desert the truth hits me like a freight train, and I wonder how I missed it before now.
Maxwell realizes how damn sexy those Wayfarers are on him. I know it by the way he keeps glancing over the rims, giving me that languid smile every time.
He’s been cranking me up on purpose all along.
Hell, I’m cranked up right now; so much so that I’ve fallen back into my furtive glances routine. Although I’m freer than I was a week ago, the cautious streak in me dies hard. It’s going to take a while, I think.
So I keep gazing out the window, and then stealing little sideways peeks at him. His dark hair curls from beneath the Polo cap, his Rolex gleams against bronzed skin. Soft hairs dust his forearms, and I ache to run my fingertips over them. Everything about him turns me on, and I swear I can’t stop looking at him.
My endless yearning for him is definitely worse than it was a week ago; there’s no doubt about that. Not exactly a bad thing, the intensity of it, but it’s starting to make me a little crazy right about now.
Not that anyone here cares; we’re in a two-person aisle, and the engines are roaring loud enough to drone over our conversation. But still, I’m doing my best to be covert.
It’s strange, but there’s something about this secrecy that I find oddly arousing. I get a little thrill that nobody around us even knows that we’re lovers. It’s our hidden pleasure, what he does to me in the bedroom. And what I do to him.
My eyes drift shut, and for a moment I think about the barrier that we’ve crossed together. A week ago my sweet Maxwell was a virgin. Now he’s completely mine.
There’s a sharp
tugging in my groin at the thought of what he gave me. And I can’t help the jolt of pride I feel as I glance at his tanned arms, at the way his polo shirt clings a bit to his biceps. For a moment, I can nearly feel those arms clinging to me. I’m pressing kisses to them, while he twines desperate fingers through my longish hair. We’re rolling and moving and thundering together; he’s hard beneath me, yet velvet soft.
That thought’s enough to give me a raging hard-on, and if Max looks, he’ll see exactly what’s happened to the front of my jeans.
He’s clueless, though. Sports Illustrated has his attention, so try to read over his shoulder. For one thing, it’s a great excuse to sit really close to him, and being close is what I want right now. I need to feel those sinewy arms pressing into me, need to smell the faint cologne on his neck.
But there’s more to it than that. I want his attention, period. I don’t want his nose in that magazine; I want him doting on me.
So read over his shoulder because I know from experience how much it bugs him, and the eighth grader in me can’t resist popping his proverbial bra strap.
He nudges me with his elbow, never looking up from the magazine. “Cut it out,” he warns, but I see how he smiles as he says it. I swear, that smile works like black magic over me.
So I nestle closer, right up against his side.
It’s the damned swimsuit issue, and the irony makes me snort with laughter. Especially since he’s ignoring the ladies and reading about some recent franchise sale. Leave it to Maxwell to find the business angle with those babes in plain sight. Of course, it’s not like they do a thing for me either, anymore.
“I mean it,” he cautions with mock seriousness, dropping the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose as he turns toward me. God, he’s so breathtaking.
And then I really get it, how he’s been seducing me all week long. “You know, don’t you?” I ask, my mouth growing dry.
“Know what?” he asks, pure innocence. Yeah, right, baby. I shake my head in disbelief, because I’m certain he knows precisely what those shades do to me.