Manny Get Your Guy (Dreamspun Desires Book 37)

by Amy Lane

“Not yet, but I haven’t started on your front yet.”

  “Ha—” Gasp. “—ha!”

  Brandon sat back on his heels and ran his palms all the way up from Taylor’s ankles to his inner thighs, spreading them just enough to make him open, vulnerable, accessible to any caress. He leaned forward and used his hand on Taylor’s lower back, running down the valley of shadows, using his fingers and spit to tantalize Taylor’s entrance.

  Taylor pulled his knees up to his chest and reached back to hold himself open.

  Brandon kept teasing, kept his fingers at play, kept rubbing, making the tight rim soft, but he scooted up on the bed so his face was next to Taylor’s.

  “I’m not ready yet,” he whispered in Taylor’s ear. “Too soon.”

  Taylor kept his head turned. Brandon was on his left side, but he didn’t think that was the problem. “Dying,” he confessed, laughing a little. “’S been so long.”

  Brandon ran his tongue along Taylor’s ear, feeling the unusual indentations, the twists to the curve. “We have all night.”

  Taylor’s response was a controlled nod, and Brandon found the lubricant with his free hand. He paused to dump some on his fingers and then resumed his play.

  “Brandon….”

  “You beg so pretty,” Brandon whispered, running his other hand and his lips along Taylor’s outer arms, under his core, spanning his tight concave stomach with spread fingers. “I could touch you all night.” He thrust one finger in, allowing Taylor’s greedy moan to vibrate straight to his groin.

  “More touching,” Taylor pleaded. “Everywhere.”

  “Sure.” Brandon kept thrusting gently, but he continued to press his body along Taylor’s, smooth his hand along Taylor’s thighs, along his backside, along his stomach.

  “Lie on your side, facing me,” he ordered in Taylor’s ear. “Spread your legs—”

  “Like a clam?” Taylor squeaked. He tried to tighten his knees then, and Brandon stopped playing long enough to manhandle him onto his back.

  Taylor rolled to his side, legs together, and Brandon leaned over him, covering Taylor with his massier body, protecting him from the chill dark. “Please,” he whispered, doing his own share of begging. “Please let me.”

  Taylor flung an arm over his eyes and stayed, knees splayed open, one foot propped in a classic clamshell position.

  Brandon kissed his mouth, gentle at first and then deeper as Taylor moved his arm to cup Brandon’s face in his hands. Brandon palmed his chest then, continuing the kiss but stopping to play with one tiny nipple and the scar where the other one had been.

  Taylor gasped—not in pain.

  Brandon smiled at him in the dark. “That feels good?”

  “Just don’t—”

  “That feels good!”

  “It’s not—”

  Brandon closed his eye with a kiss. “You don’t have to watch me. You don’t have to see. But I’m going to make you feel amazing. Trust me.”

  He bent his head and sucked Taylor’s nipple into his mouth, watching him arch impatiently off the bed, knotting his fingers in Brandon’s hair. Brandon kissed his way over Taylor’s chest, noting the beginning of the scarring, making sure he ran his tongue along the whole skin at the edge so Taylor knew he was kissing everything.

  The scarring on Taylor’s chest was the thin, papery skin that was often tender to the touch. Brandon was exquisitely gentle, finding the sensitive area by paying attention to Taylor’s gasps and the tightening of his body.

  He licked—no teeth here—and kissed gently, exploiting the nerve endings even if the flesh was marred.

  Taylor bit his lip and arched his hips, slow at first, and then faster and faster, until Brandon grasped his erection firmly, almost as a means of control.

  Taylor froze, quivering, rocking his hips so he was on his back, spreading his knees and planting his feet and shoving himself into Brandon’s palm with an almost frantic desperation.

  “Sh….”

  More scooting on the bed, so he was even with Taylor’s member, and then a delicate, multitasking dance.

  With one hand, he stroked Taylor’s chest, his ribs, his abdomen—anywhere he could reach, because Taylor seemed so starved for it, so needy.

  With his other hand he stroked Taylor’s cock, slowly, from base to tip and down, before lapping at the head.

  Ah… tangy. The slippery fluid at the end burst salty and sweet in his mouth, and he kept licking across the bell, around the crown.

  Taylor made more of those amazing sounds, and for a moment he flailed, scrabbling at the blankets, before he finally grasped Brandon’s wrist as Brandon rubbed his chest—and held on.

  “Like this?” Brandon asked, excited. His own erection throbbed against the mattress, and he undulated, a sinuous rhythm of arousal and pleasure. His lover quivered under his hands and mouth, and Brandon craved the taste of him, more, deep in the back of his throat.

  He pushed farther, swallowing, coming up for air when he needed to, and again and again and—

  “I’m going….” Taylor stopped and forced a deep breath. “To climax….” Brandon tightened the pressure of his tongue in response. “In your mouth.”

  Brandon’s palm skated on the sweat from Taylor’s chest as Taylor tried to hold it in. His whole body shook with denial, and Brandon pulled back and then sucked down more so he’d get the hint.

  “Please….”

  Brandon pulled back again and blew softly on the sensitized head. “I want to taste you,” he breathed. “Don’t be afraid to come—”

  The first spurt caught him by surprise, and he opened his mouth to catch the rest. Salty. Salty and bitter. He swallowed and swallowed again. Taylor let out a low cry and thrust hard. Brandon stayed with him, though, keeping the pressure until Taylor let go of his wrist and tugged at his hair.

  Brandon pushed up even with him, licking at his lips and laughing. His own erection strained, slippery and damp, against the cool air.

  “That was amazing,” he panted, whimpering at the welcome pressure of Taylor’s hand wrapping around him. “I could come in a second just from that.”

  He’d thought the moans were good, but Taylor’s wrecked laugh was sweet, sexy candy. “Don’t you… I mean….” He let go then and rolled to his stomach, bottom in the air as he looked shyly over his shoulder in provocation.

  Brandon almost came right then.

  “On your back,” he whispered hoarsely. “Can you stretch enough for that?”

  Taylor turned his head, one shoulder dipping defensively. “Really?”

  Oh—oh yes. Brandon rolled over and kissed the sheltering shoulder. “Do I really want to see your face? When I’m inside you?” he asked, lapping at the sweat on Taylor’s skin. “Do I want to watch you hold yourself? Squeeze? Come?” Taylor’s breathy moan told him all he wanted to know. “I want you all, Tay. Let me see you.”

  “Idiot,” Taylor muttered, but he rolled over as requested, and Brandon spent a giddy moment lying on top of him, skin to skin, caressing him with the entire length of his body.

  Taylor broke, wrapping his arms and legs around Brandon’s shoulders and hips and clutching him tight. “You’d better not be bullshit,” he warned.

  “I promise.” Brandon kissed him, hard and deep, until Taylor’s erection pressed at his groin once again.

  Brandon sat back on his knees and kissed Taylor’s inner thighs, then poised himself at Taylor’s readied entrance. Taylor stared up at him limpidly, a little afraid.

  “First time for both of us,” Brandon said with a little smile.

  Taylor nodded and then rocked his world. “Don’t be gentle.”

  “Dammit!” Brandon breached him, pushing slowly, watching as Taylor’s entire body went slack to accommodate him.

  For a moment his face—always tense, always watching, wary, ready for the worst—relaxed, at peace, waiting for more than his flesh to be invaded. He was waiting to be owned.

  Brandon wouldn’t make him wait for long.


  Slow. Gentle resistance was met with gentler pressure until, without warning, he was in, sliding firmly home.

  Taylor grabbed under his knees, shuddering.

  “Good?” Brandon whispered.

  “Yessss—move!”

  Urgency swept him—he had no choice.

  He rocked backward and forward, thrusting home with a little more force, and Taylor sighed. That completely submissive, peaceful look suffused his expression, and Brandon felt the power of it. He brought that to Taylor. He made Taylor feel safe. And as much as Taylor was his first sex, he was Taylor’s first…

  Oh God.

  Brandon read it in his face then, expressive eye closed, lashes fanning the unscarred cheek—a battered angel.

  Taylor needed him. Taylor even loved him. Brandon better not be playing around.

  “Faster, dammit!” Taylor’s peace ended as he glared at Brandon and started issuing orders.

  “Don’t—” Thrust. “—be—” Thrust. “—bossy!” Brandon laughed, watching as Taylor lost himself. Faster, he’d said. Faster it would be.

  He thrust faster, faster, losing himself in the clench around his body, in the rhythm of the dance, in the joy on Taylor’s face.

  Losing himself in sex until it consumed him, sweeping his body like a wildfire, until he hauled Taylor’s legs over his shoulders and ravished him, destroying all pretense that they were anything but one.

  Taylor didn’t cry out this time—he gasped and froze, eyes clenched shut. He grabbed his own erection with his good hand and squeezed. Brandon felt his orgasm roiling up from the pit of his groin, boiling like cold surf on the jagged rocks of ecstasy.

  Crashing through him in a tsunami, surging into Taylor’s body, a willing receptacle, as they lost themselves in climax.

  Brandon pitched forward, still thrusting weakly, unable to stop, as Taylor rubbed his shoulders with come-sticky hands and told him he was amazing, a super lover, all Taylor had ever dreamed of.

  Brandon laughed, emotion pressing behind his eyes as he buried his face in Taylor’s shoulder.

  “I wanted… I wanted to give you the world,” he confessed, young and naked in that moment, all the things he’d been trying so hard not to be. The power of strong emotion washed away his pretenses, leaving him bereft as a child. “It was good?”

  “It was amazing,” Taylor told him, kissing his neck, his shoulders, even the intimacy of his ear. “I never knew….”

  Brandon smiled then, sliding to the side. Taylor reached for the top sheet and the comforter and pulled them both up to their chins. Brandon wrapped his arms around Taylor and hauled him close, his back to Brandon’s front. Taylor kissed his hands and then held them clasped against his chest.

  “Never knew what?” He kissed the back of Taylor’s neck, nuzzling aside some of the straight blond hair.

  “Never knew what it could be like. Never knew it could be good like that. Never knew.”

  “Taylor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This isn’t over. This isn’t a night. Or three. Or twelve. I can feel it in my stomach. This is a lot of nights. Maybe even all of them.”

  Against his hands he felt something hot and wet. Then he felt the slickness of Taylor’s cheek.

  “I’d fight for that,” he said softly. “I’d fight for all the nights like this. It’s worth fighting for.”

  Brandon gave a tired laugh powered by pure joy. “I knew you would,” he said, happy in his bones. “It’s the best of who you are.”

  Taylor grunted and wiped his cheek on Brandon’s hand again.

  Brandon closed his eyes, comforted by Taylor’s warmth, by his quiet acceptance, by the buzzing in his body after what they’d just done.

  This was a good place. They needed to come to this place again.

  Faith and Fighting

  MORNING came too soon—they had just enough time to wake up and dress. The scent and texture of sex still lingered on their skin as they donned their new sweatshirts and ventured to the hospital.

  The following wait tried everybody’s patience. At one point Taylor slipped down to the gift shop to buy a phone charger just so he could text Jacob and make sure everything was okay.

  It was and it wasn’t. Nica and the baby were fine, but Nica was stuck in bed for a while.

  Jacob was trying hard to manage things, but just like Nica, he needed some help.

  Taylor needed to be home.

  Brandon watched the text storm, leaning against his shoulder, commenting softly when Jacob replied to Taylor’s questions. Taylor closed his eyes between texts, savoring Brandon’s warmth, his smell—the knowledge that he’d been inside Taylor, and he was still there, no sign of bailing, no sign of regret.

  Then Jacob hit them with a bombshell.

  Brandon’s boss called to say he was supervising the new addition while Brandon stayed with his family. We didn’t know that.

  Neither did we, Taylor texted grimly. Gimme a minute.

  “I did what?” Brandon asked, shaking himself awake. Taylor had brought them big coffees when he’d come back from the gift shop, but they were still tired.

  Go figure.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask Beavis and Butt-Head.” Taylor wrinkled his nose at Brandon’s brothers, who had spent the whole wait glaring at the two of them like they were the reasons Brandon’s father had needed the damned bypass surgery in the first place. “They look like they have something to hide.”

  In fact, they looked like they had something to gloat over—they were smirking in Brandon’s direction. Wonderful. Taylor spent his days taking care of children—watching grown men act like infants held no appeal for him whatsoever.

  “Oh Jesus,” Brandon muttered, standing up. He turned and offered Taylor a hand. “We need to put a stop to this right now.”

  Ann-Marie was curled up like a little kid, sleeping on a hospital-issue pillow, but she straightened groggily and watched with interest as Brandon neared.

  “You guys called my boss and told him I was staying up here?” The outrage in Brandon’s voice was understandable. “My boss. The guy who just put me in charge of a project because he thought I was a fully fledged adult who knew what I was doing. That guy?”

  “Gar understands,” Garrett said dismissively. “This is your family.”

  “Since when?” Brandon asked, and Taylor winced. Oh God, no, kid. Don’t get into that argument. “No, don’t answer that. The point is, you had no right. Nobody asked me.”

  “Nobody asked Dad if he wanted to come to the hospital,” Cliff pointed out.

  “Well, nobody asked him if he wanted to die and rot in his recliner like roadkill, but we assumed the answer was no!”

  Taylor sucked air through his teeth, and Brandon turned to him.

  “I did it again, didn’t I?”

  “That’s okay, sincerely. I’m starting to take it as a good sign.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. If you thought there was something seriously wrong about me, I don’t think I’d be left in any doubt.”

  Brandon smirked at him, and that bubble—the one that circled them intimately, that left Taylor with no question that Brandon would be the man he needed—was back. It felt unassailable and definite.

  Like they’d forged the invisible walls out of heart muscle, and it would beat forever.

  “We’re not trying to kill you, Brandon—we just want you to move back home!”

  Brandon gaped at them. “I’d rather you were trying to kill me. I have a job. I have people! I have a boyfriend—and none of those things are here.”

  That bubble wasn’t going away. Taylor tried not to bite his lip like a teenager writing in her diary. He said boyfriend.

  “This guy?” Garrett eyed Taylor up and down. “Brandon, if you have to be gay, I really think you can do better.”

  Taylor waited until Brandon rushed forward before wrapping his arms around that massive chest and holding on. “No, no, no, no—hold on, cowboy! He�
�s trying to be an asshole. Don’t let him get under your skin!”

  “Brandon!” Ann-Marie stood up and put herself between the brothers. “Garrett, I’m not proud of you right now.” She fixed her oldest with a level, sorrowful look.

  In Taylor’s house it wouldn’t have worked. Taylor and his brothers would have kept going until his father’s fist or his mother’s broom handle broke them up. By the time Taylor was twelve, they’d learned not to fight each other—the real war was with the adults in the household, and getting away from the parents was a win.

  But for all their faults, Brandon’s parents must have done some good things—some gentle things—because Garrett turned away from his brother and muttered, “Sorry.”

  Brandon stopped fighting against Taylor’s arms, but his glare stayed fixed on his older brother. “I’m not,” he said clearly. “Nobody says shit about Taylor. That’s a rule. Even Dustin knows that, and he’s nine.”

  Garrett shot a quick look at them from under a brow flushed red with anger. “You let this guy around your cousin’s kids?”

  Brandon opened his mouth, but Taylor wasn’t going to make him say it. “I’m the manny. And Nica’s oldest friend. If you’ve got a problem with that, take it up with Nica’s family. I think that would be hilarious.”

  Brandon’s strained chuckle echoed oddly in the room. “Can you see Tino dealing with this? That would be great!”

  “I’d rather see Nica’s mom,” Taylor said, but then, he was biased. To him, Nica’s mom was everything from cookies to Band-Aids.

  “Yeah, well, Mrs. Robbins is some pretty serious magic.”

  Another layer to their bubble. Please, please don’t break.

  “Brandon,” Ann-Marie broke in—not strong enough to make their bubble pop, but enough to keep it from spinning. “Brandon, I know your brothers did it the wrong way, but… but we were talking to the nurses last night. Even if everything goes well, I’m going to need some help getting your father home and taking care of him. Just for the first couple of weeks.” She glanced at Taylor and smiled uncertainly, then looked back at her son. “I… I was really hoping you could… you know. Go back to Sacramento and settle your things and then move back here—”