by Cooper Davis
I have no idea how to answer that. So instead, I arch back into his arms, allowing his touch to truly pleasure me. My eyes press shut, and then his other hand wanders right down into my boxers, stroking and coaxing me a whole lot further.
Not sure when, but we’ve begun rocking together, moving as one and I stifle the cries of pleasure that find their way to my lips. I feel his legs opening behind me, and he thrusts a knee between my thighs, parting them.
“Not here,” I manage thickly, as he lowers my boxers off of my hips. “Can’t…here.”
I roll to face him, and in a sudden motion, pin him against the mattress. His dusky eyes grow wide, filled with desire and shock at how I’ve gotten him beneath me so fast.
“Why not? If we’re quiet?”
I’ve pulled his T-shirt up, until now it’s bunched around his shoulders and I begin kissing his muscled chest, especially lingering over the one nipple I love best. That mole right beside it just drives me half crazy, and I kiss it every chance I get. He laughs huskily in my ear, stroking my hair.
“When are we ever quiet?” I murmur against his chest, slipping one palm beneath him and raising his hips.
“Make love to me.” He’s not going to let me demure on this, and I lift up onto my elbows until our eyes meet in the darkness. The golden gaze doesn’t leave my face and I really get that he means it. He wants to have me, right here in his parents’ house.
“I-I don’t…have…”
“I do.” Just like that he pushes me off of him and is across the room, rummaging through his suitcase. Zippers open and close, and there’s a muffled sound before he comes back to bed, stripping off his shirt and boxers along the way. I’m not sure which way it’s going to go, until he presses the small tube into the palm of my hand and rolls onto his back, staring up at me in absolute invitation as his legs part a bit.
“Oh.” I smile, just nodding. Then slowly, deliberately, I begin to caress him in just the way that drives him most wild. The small hips begin to squirm and lift in a heated little motion, and then I don’t waste a moment about what I want.
Max Daniels is my addiction; that’s what a month of making love to him has taught me, and right now I need all of him. I push and strain, determined to get all the way inside his tight walls without stopping.
Beneath me he trembles, clinging to my shoulders in desperation. And then the soft pleading begins as he urges and begs me to move. I love these first sounds he makes almost as much as I love being deep inside him, so I smile languidly, kissing his jaw and his mouth, but I don’t move just yet. Even though it nearly kills me, I savor the tightness of him, wrapped all around me, the feel of his narrow hips pressed flush against mine.
“Please,” he moans on a sigh. “Please, Hunter…you know what I want.”
As our lips crush together, I begin shifting my hips against his, a tender rhythm that I know won’t hurt. That I know will cause him to tense beneath me and writhe and quiver. A rhythm I know will take him straight to paradise.
The familiar talking starts then, his sweet stream of words and cries, but I’m lost in him. We’re so different, and we even make love that way, but I adore how he responds to me.
“I-I…oh, yes, baby,” he moans tightly. At least he knows how to be quiet, I think, as our movements intensify and I feel his loving hands roam all across my hips and lower back. He touches me everywhere, and it’s all I can do not to buck like a madman within him.
That’s when I hear the muffled sound from the hallway, and we grow still, gazing at one another in intense alarm. There won’t be any way to explain what we’re doing; the truth will be painfully evident. I’m making love to Maxwell, end of story. He’s curled beneath me like a goddamn prom queen.
For an eternal moment, we grow still, and stare into one another’s eyes. Our breaths are burning and furious, and I’m scared I’m going to lose it. Gently, he strokes my chest beneath his fingertips as we just listen.
He’s helpless beneath me, and I’m helpless pushed this hard inside of him.
But there’s only silence from the hallway.
He sucks in sharp gulps of air, watching me in wide-eyed expectation, as I slowly shower him with sweet kisses. His forehead, his cheek, his nose, anywhere I can find. Anywhere I can be as silent as I need to be.
“Please,” he finally whimpers, his eyes fluttering closed. “There’s no one…there,” he gasps, pleading quietly in my ear, and I’m relatively sure he’s right. “Hunter, please.”
At that one word I arch my back, thrust my hips and take him all the way. I feel the warmth of him explode all between our bodies, causing us to slip and ache all the more, as I bury my face against his neck.
Then I feel my own warm seed release all inside of him as I collapse against him, gasping for the life of me.
His family doesn’t understand this is what he does to me, how much he loves me. They don’t understand that I’ve never known anything this sweet in all my life, because if they did, they would give us their blessing.
They’d plan the damned wedding for us, if they even halfway knew.
Please, baby. Please tell them about me, I want to cry, as everything grows soft and muted between us.
Please just tell them what that ring really means.
Chapter Three
“Oh. My. God!”
I hear the shriek, and weave it into my dream for a half-moment, but when Max bolts upright beside me, the sleep fades away. Then it’s all happening so quickly, I don’t have time to process a damn thing.
Leah’s standing in the middle of his bedroom, and the sheet has fallen away from his body, revealing him in all his naked glory. And then there’s just me, bare, right beside him.
A couple of gay lovers found tangled up together in the sack.
Leah’s brown eyes are wide as hell, and she just works her jaw. “In our house?” she finally manages, staring at Max. “You brought this into our childhood home?”
“Leah, please.” Max clasps the sheet, drawing it up over his chest protectively, and I just rake a hand over my sleep-filled eyes. Morning sunlight filters through his windows and it’s apparent that we’ve definitely overslept. And slept together, for that matter.
“Oh, there’s not even anything to say about this!” She stomps toward the door. “About you and this…this person.” She emphasizes the last word with such disdain that her face literally scrunches up, and that just pisses the living hell out of me.
“Yeah, you know, actually there is,” I announce really calmly, sitting up in bed. If she had any doubts about my own nakedness, well, they’ve all faded away now. Thank God for Maxwell’s weight room.
“And that would be?” she asks tartly.
For a long moment I stare her down, and her gaze does waver a bit before I say, “I’m Max’s boyfriend, okay? So get that much straight.”
I feel Max tense beside me, hear a soft little hiss of breath. Then, she just shakes her head in apparent revulsion and spins on her heel.
“Straight?” she laughs from the doorway. “Well, the one thing I’ve got straight is that Max sure as hell isn’t.”
Then she disappears into the hallway, and there’s the sound of a door slamming a moment later. It’s so loud that the wall behind us reverberates as I reach for Max.
But he shrugs me off angrily, and I know it’s not about me as he shimmies into his boxers with a scowl. Down the hall, I hear raised voices and arguing and I realize it’s only a matter of time until Max’s parents have been dragged into this scene.
Deliberately, I climb from the bed and begin dressing; I don’t have a damned thing to hide from these people. Let them come charging in here, asking questions about what we are to one another.
Lovers, damn it, that’s what I’ll tell them.
We’re lovers, and come spring, they’re cordially invited to stand right a
longside Aunt Edna when we speak our vows.
Max darts into the hallway once he’s got his boxers and T-shirt on, but I figure it’s best for me to dress completely. I listen to the murmured cries and shrill voices from the end of the hallway and take my time as I tug my jeans and T-shirt on.
When I reach the kitchen though, everything’s already at a fever pitch and Diane is leading Leah away from Max. Then there’s just Max, standing there half-clad in the middle of the kitchen, facing his father. He suddenly seems incredibly muscular and strong, even though his father towers over him.
Phillip glances at me, scowling. “I want to talk to Max alone.”
“No, he stays,” Max disagrees, sounding a little breathless. “He’s part of this.”
Phillip folds his arms over his chest, setting his jaw. “Fine, then the three of us will discuss this problem.”
“There’s no problem.” Max’s voice rises, becoming sharp and defiant. “Leah came in there on purpose. To set me up.”
“You’re sounding paranoid, son.”
“Yeah, well I wonder why I’d feel that way!” Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair, pacing the linoleum. “From the moment Hunter and I got here, you’ve all been treating us like we’re…we’re…” Max hesitates, glancing at me, though I’m not sure what he needs. I take a little step closer. “Like you’re ashamed of me,” he finally finishes.
“No, Max, never.” His father shakes his head in sharp disagreement.
Max suddenly extends his hand toward his father. “Then why did you look at my ring that way last night?” he asks in a voice laced with undeniable pain. “You saw it. I saw you looking at it.”
Phillip closes his eyes with a weary expression. “I was surprised.”
“You know Hunter and I are together! You know I’m gay, Dad. You’ve known it for months now.”
“No, we haven’t. Not for sure.” His father drops heavily into one of the chairs around the kitchen table. “You never told us a word.”
“I tried, Dad! I told you that Hunter meant a lot to me,” Max explains, and I notice his hands are trembling as he gestures. “That’s what I said, don’t you remember? Those were my exact words. That he meant a lot to me and I wanted you to meet him.”
“But you never told us the exact nature of the relationship.” His father can’t quite meet Max’s gaze as he lies. I’m Max’s boyfriend—what the hell else would he think?
“How could I?” Max’s voice becomes a plaintive whisper. “Look how you’ve reacted now that I’ve finally brought him home.”
Silence falls between them as Max takes the seat across from his father. I can’t shake the feeling I should say something—do something—but I just don’t know what it is. So I lean against the doorframe, keeping my own silence. I can tell that Phillip wishes I’d leave them, and his gaze keeps wavering in my direction, so I fold my arms across my chest in what I hope makes a resolute gesture, just staring back at him.
“We weren’t expecting the ring,” his father finally says again. “We weren’t even sure about…well, you, Max. We just weren’t.”
“Leah was sure. We discussed it, Dad.”
Phillip nods, absently arranging sugar packets on the table. Apparently anything is better than looking at his gay son—or his gay son’s lover.
“Didn’t Leah tell you?” Max leans into his father’s line of vision. That one gesture, his undeniable need to simply be seen by his father, tears at my heart.
“Yes, son, she told us what she suspected.”
“Then why the hell should my ring shock you so much?” Max shouts, slamming an open palm on the table in a furious explosion of temper.
For a moment Phillip stares at him like he’s been slapped soundly across the face, until quietly he says, “You didn’t used to talk that way. Guess that’s a new lifestyle change, too.”
“Yeah? Think so?” Max throws his shoulders back. “Well, try this on, then. I’m marrying Hunter in the spring. How’s that for a lifestyle change?”
With those words, Max stands so quickly from the table that the chair spills backward with a loud crash. He pushes past me without a word, and I’m left staring right into the furious gaze of Phillip Daniels.
And in that moment, I know one very important fact: Max Daniels is all grown up now, and by his father’s calculation, I can see that it’s my damn fault.
Late in the afternoon, once I’m dressed for dinner, Max’s father ushers me into his study, a masculine room lined with leather-bound volumes and smelling of fine cigars. The kind of space that might have intimidated me a while ago. But after hanging with Max all these years, I know that these are just the trappings of power, so I drop into the plush armchair across from Phillip Daniels’s desk without a second thought.
Well, I am having second thoughts, but they have nothing to do with intimidation tactics and everything to do with impressing Max’s family.
He pours me a small glass of scotch, then fills his own and takes the seat across from me.
The whisky burns going down my throat, even with just a small sip. Expensive, single malt for sure. Maybe this is where Max’s caviar tastes come from.
“Nice,” I observe, and Phillip smiles in agreement. “Salty,” I add, wanting him to know that this Iowa boy has his moments of refinement.
“A discerning palate.” He smiles genuinely and I realize that I’ve hit a bulls-eye quite by accident. “Balblair.”
I have no clue what that means, but I give the glass an appreciative sniff for good measure. “Like it,” I say, nodding in admiration. He’s definitely served some good stuff, so it’s not like I have to fake my reaction.
I swirl the liquid within my glass and we fall into an awkward silence. He’s sizing me up again, and I tilt my chin boldly to meet his gaze. Finally, after what seems an eternity, the man speaks.
“I want you to know that I plan to prevent this civil union from going forward,” he announces, his hands forming a little temple just beneath the bridge of his nose. I suppose he thinks it represents his legal mantle or something like that.
“Marriage,” I correct, meeting his cool gaze as I take another sip of my scotch.
“No, Hunter, the Vermont ruling only provides for a civil union.” His voice is calm, quiet even, but there’s a fiery resolve in his expression that unsettles me.
“Call it whatever you want, sir, but come April twenty-eighth, I’m standing with your son and making this legal.”
“This?”
“Our relationship. We’re getting married, sir. That’s what we’re doing.”
He shakes his head in apparent disagreement. “I work with the law for a living, son, and a civil union is not a marriage.”
“And I suppose that makes all the difference to you?”
“No, I don’t support a union between you and Max, no matter what it’s called.”
“Didn’t think so, seeing as how you began this conversation saying you’d do anything in your power to stop it.”
“I don’t want this coming back on Max in a few years. He’s worked too hard to build a successful career, reputation, to have the legal entanglements of a dissolution like that on his hands.”
I’m not about to back down, and I lean forward in my chair to make my point. “We’re not separating. Not ever. This is what we want, sir.”
“Right now, Hunter. It’s what you want right now.”
“I love Max. Maybe you just don’t get that.”
For a moment, his expression softens, becomes surprisingly kind. “No, I think I do get that.”
I lean back into the chair, leveling him with a hard gaze. “Then I don’t see why you should have a problem with this.”
“Because two men do not belong together, not in the way that you and Max are. Certainly not in marriage, which is a sacred institution between a man and w
oman.”
“Oh, so that’s it,” I huff. “You’re just down on the fact that Vermont basically made it legal for Max and me.”
“I’m concerned that my son will come out of this getting hurt. Or far worse.”
“I guess this means we won’t be seeing you at the wedding?”
His father considers my question, taking a long sip of whiskey before he speaks. “You can have a ceremony in California.”
“Not a legally binding one.”
“That’s true,” he admits with a small nod of his head. “But at least it wouldn’t involve all the potential entanglements.”
“Would you come? If it were only a commitment ceremony or whatever?” I’m unable to suppress the hope I feel growing deep inside. I mean, it’s not what we want, but if it would get Max’s parents there, it might be worth a compromise.
But all those shiny hopes are instantly dashed.
“No.” It’s all he says, but at least he seems regretful. For what, I’m not precisely sure.
“Then we’ll stick with Vermont, sir.” I rise from my seat making sure my body language communicates everything I’m feeling: This discussion is over, and there won’t be any negotiation about what’s to come in April.
He says nothing, as I open his study door, though I hear an oddly weary sound from him, a kind of defeated sigh that catches me off guard.
Yeah, well he is defeated, so good thing he seems to know it.
Chapter Four
By the time we head out to the swanky little French restaurant where Max has booked dinner reservations, he’s pressed no less than two martinis into my hand. While he doesn’t know about my conversation with his father, he must see how tense I am, the way I keep pacing around their living room, picking up his childhood pictures.
It’s strange to see all these framed images of him as a little boy, especially the pictures of him with Leah. A sleeping bag with Max’s dark head and Leah’s golden one poking out; the two of them running on the beach. Later, what must have been high school, and Leah’s in a cheerleading outfit and Max is holding her pompoms and laughing. They were obviously very close at one time, and I wonder again what went wrong along the way. When this icy distance settled between the two of them, dividing them like an unbridgeable chasm.