Worth Dying For: Worth It: Book 8

by Styles, Peter

  I groaned at the name, hand covering my face, my smile. It was easy to forget our age difference—unless he brought it up.

  He crawled onto the couch, something feline and hungry, and nudged at my tent with his nose, his cheek, until finally he plucked at the opening and let me slip out. The very tip of his tongue found the base of my cock and twitched back and forth, trailing a jagged lightning bolt of pleasure all the way to the tip. There, he planted a kiss right on the top, and that kiss softened, and then I was inside his lips and straining as my body thrust automatically to get deeper.

  Quinn wasn’t having it yet. He raised up, so that I had to chase him, and held just that sensitive head trapped there, under the sway of his teasing, wet muscle as it flicked and swirled and made me want to start muttering prayers or filth, one or the other. “Quinn, please,” I hissed.

  Please what, I didn’t really know. Not more of that, but more of… just more.

  He chuckled as he let me go with a little pop that made me flinch, and slipped off the edge of the couch to hook his thumbs behind the band of his boxers.

  He stripped out of them, then reached for mine, too, and that was a second realization: we wouldn’t just be giving each other handjobs this time. I looked at him, and wanted to give him pleasure back, all of his body tempting, from the lithe muscles in his back to the bobbing of his cock, free and heavy and hot in my hand when I took it—his hand flew to his mouth to cover his surprised noise.

  I wasn’t as experienced as him, but I wasn’t totally clueless. I’d been with enough people to know what felt good. I gave him a few steady pumps, and when he made no move to push my hand away, I sat and bent my head.

  Thinking over the things he’d done to me with his mouth, I ran my tongue over his cock.

  His hands found my hair, gripping hard.

  When I took him in, it wasn’t as neat as when he’d done it, but it didn’t seem to matter. Getting head, however sloppy, in plain sight of anyone who cared enough to come up and look seemed enough to do it for him. I relished the sound of his breathing, the soft noises coming out of him as I took him deeper; felt his hands tug in my short hair as he tried to keep his hips from flinching deeper into the wet heat. I didn’t suck very hard, and kept my lips a little loose, mostly exploring with my tongue, mapping out all the ridges and creases and textures as I drank in the new taste of precum that spilled into me. I got so caught up in the taste and feel of him that I sort of zoned out until it was all I could handle feeling.

  “Oliver,” Quinn whispered warningly, snapping me back to the outside world.

  I sucked just the head, the pressure of it heavy between my lips as it swelled a little more than it already was—

  “Oliver.”

  When I let him go and looked up at him, he looked wrecked.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  Quinn almost laughed. “No,” he hummed, a little breathless. “I just really want you to fuck me already.”

  Pulses of heat came through me. We were going to fuck. He wanted me, and I wanted him, wanted to be inside him. Nodding, I made space for him to lie down. When I touched Quinn, my body hovering over his now, he was shaking with the need to be filled up. I had never thought of him as needy, but the idea of him wanting so much and so openly in bed was extremely hot, in a way that I didn’t expect. Like I had something to give him, something he could only get from me and he knew it, craved it. It was all over his face, and in the ever soft tremble of his body.

  “Do you, ah… have anything?”

  “My back pocket,” he mumbled.

  I felt around in the dark for his jeans, our bodies pressed close together as I did, and he laughed quietly, hands hooking around my back. He was an opportunist, grinding his cock against my abdomen, giving a bit of a show as he moaned breathily in my ear.

  “You always this much of a cocktease?” I asked.

  “When the mood strikes me.” Quinn bit at my ear. “You might have to put me in line.”

  I found his jeans eventually, fishing out a condom and small packet of lube, what was very convenient, I thought, for someone who wasn’t even sure if I would show up. Leaning back, I undid the wrap with my teeth, and he watched with total attention as I slid it over myself, then tugged at his hips and started to line it up.Quinn chuckled, and stalled me. “Mm… gonna need a little down there first, big guy.”

  It took me half a second before I muttered an apology at the sound of his quiet giggling as I squeezed more lube onto my middle finger and leaned back to get a good look. I didn’t have to—Quinn took my hand and guided it, and spread his thighs as he drew his knees up.

  I found the smooth pucker of him easily, and didn’t expect it to be so hot. It was feverish, almost, at least compared to my hand, and when I brushed over it with the lube, Quinn squirmed and pulled his knees further up. I slipped my free hand under his knee to help him, and made slow circles around it.

  “The outside’s easy,” he panted, and tugged at my hand. “Inside. Little deeper…”

  I nodded, and watched his face with interest as I pressed the tip of my finger against the hole until it yielded and sucked me in. Inside, there was a second ring of muscle that pulsed and resisted.

  “Slow,” he said. “Just… wiggle it a bit…”

  The change was sudden and almost alarming. I twitched my finger up and down against the stubborn muscle, and Quinn arched his back and clawed at my forearm, mewling a little as his body opened up for me and invited me in.

  “Oh, Oliver… fuck, that’s nice.” He tugged at me and grinned, eyes drifting closed as he swam in whatever it was he was feeling. Something damn good, from the look of it. “Toward the front, feeling like a lump.”

  I knew enough anatomy to know what I was looking for, but I didn’t realize that when I found it, Quinn would lose his mind. I stroked the little gland inside and he writhed like a headless snake, clutching at the couch with one hand and me with the other.

  “F-fuck, Oliver,” he whine. “Yeah, harder…”

  He asked, and I was rapt at the sight of him moving like that, so I obeyed and leaned into him, holding his knee up so I could drive deeper and get more pressure.

  Probably, I could have done that all night. I was still hard as a rock, and every time he made one of those tortured moans or grabbed a handful of his hair, or rolled his head it just got worse and worse until finally I thought I needed to be inside him or I’d die.

  Like he could sense it, Quinn curled himself up and reached for my head. He grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me as I gave him another long rub and tasted his stuttered moan before he found his words. “Fuck me,” he panted.

  How could I say no to that?

  Working a lubed hand over myself, he wrapped his arms and legs around me as I lay between them. The couch was almost too small for the both of us, but neither of us cared. I pushed into him slowly, the stretch of my cock much more than my finger had been, and lost myself for a moment as his body swallowed me up and held me tight, Quinn breathing in against my cheek as he began to fuck his hips onto me.

  Whatever I expected it to feel like, that wasn’t it. It was an electric current that ran between us, setting off nerves I forgot I had that seemed to be connected to everything else. The pleasure of it curled around my skull and poured right back into him when he kissed me like he could taste it on my lips.

  “You all right?” I asked, and felt him nod as he nuzzled against my shoulder.

  “Please….” His voice shook, the teasing all gone out of it.

  The words pressed to his ear, I asked, “Please what?”

  Quinn made a sound of frustration, and dug his heels into my ass as he made his desperate request. “Please, move your fucking hips before I start touching my—”

  His words petered into a breathy moan as I jacked hard into him.

  “J-just like that—”

  The pace picked up quickly, neither of us wanting to wait any longer. I could feel the fever of it li
cking like flames up the base of my spine, the damp slide of his untouched cock caught between our stomachs. Quinn’s knees squeezed at my hips as the angle shifted slightly and he began to whine, these breathy, needy, erotic noises.

  “Don’t stop,” he sighed, fingers scratching along my back. “Please, don’t stop, Ollie—”

  His muscles clamped down around me. My breathing was labored as I held him, the build of it coming quickly and white hot. I would have come before him, if it wasn’t for my hand shoving blindly between us, clutching at his cock and pumping in time with my thrusts; none of it was practiced, but it felt natural, like instinct, and the animal noise it drew from Quinn was its own reward.

  He came moments later, his body strung up tight again as the noises became noiseless, wet painting my hand as I snapped my hips into his body that now clutched around my cock like it was trying to take me with him. The high I was chasing was close—so close—

  His lips ghosted over the shell of my ear, my neck, and bit; a moment later, the white hot of it surrounded me, pushed through me as I planted myself deep inside him and came. It was a sweeter high than the one from outside the barn, slick and satisfying, and I thrust it into him hard a few more times, my eyes closed tight as the fire gave way to a glow that settled into both of us. Our bodies pressed together, damp in the cool night air, his fingers ran gentler through my hair as we caught our breaths.

  “You don’t seem to be freaking out,” he said eventually.

  I nodded slowly, withdrew from him just a little, and was pleased when he held on with his legs and pulled me back in.

  No. I wasn’t freaking out. Out loud. Inside was maybe a different story.

  I’d just fucked another man.

  Decades of keeping that all-American straight man facade, of molding myself into the image of that man, were crumbling. I wasn’t sure if it was something I could fix after this; would I even want to fix it? Confusion replaced the release of tension in my chest, and as I pulled out of him, and we began to clean ourselves up, I looked at Quinn—he was shimmying into his jeans, his body touched by the soft light, and when he noticed me watching, he gave a sly smile.

  “I don’t look too fucked out now, do I?”

  I couldn’t help my own grin. Tugging my shirt over my head, I gave a nod. “You look pretty fucked out.”

  He laughed, watching as I dressed myself. Quinn looked like he was thinking hard on something.

  “Do you wanna stay over?” he asked suddenly.

  When I didn’t answer, caught in my confusion, he pointed towards the upper floor.

  “I reckon my bed’s probably a lot more comfortable than James’s couch. More space, too.”

  I thought about it; about waking up in Quinn’s bed. Would we be wrapped up together? Would I regret any of this in the morning?

  For all my confusion, though, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Quinn. Not tonight, at least.

  “Yeah,” I said, lips ghosting over his forehead. “I’ll stay.”

  10

  Quinn

  “What was that, Quinn?”

  “Just some more butter, Mama.” I looked up from the pan to find my mama standing in the middle of the kitchen, her hand holding on to the back of a chair. I couldn’t see her face straight-on, but she seemed winded. Tired. I felt tongue-tied, wanting to reach out to her and tell her to rest again, running the risk of her snapping at me.

  Even if I told her I could manage breakfast on my own, like I’d been doing for a while now, she wouldn’t rest. It wasn’t about helping me; it was about proving to herself she was fine.

  This morning was different, though.

  I could see it right away, in how many breaks she kept taking just moving around the kitchen, and how winded she seemed coming down the steps. She wasn’t fine this morning. She was worse.

  James came in from the back porch, carrying a fresh jug of maple syrup, talking up a storm already about how he’d had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn. He kissed my mama good morning, and that was all it took for him to notice it, too.

  “How you feelin’ this morning, Tilly?” he asked, keeping it casual.

  “Fine, fine,” she said. As if we didn’t hear the rattling in her breathing. “Just a little slow wakin’ up.”

  James and I exchanged a worried look.

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Tilly, I don’t mind hopping in—”

  “No,” she said, waving him off her, “you said it yourself. You woke up early. I’ll get the butter….”

  Footsteps on the stairs, first by me, and then by James, who shot me a different kind of look as Oliver came into the kitchen, dressed in yesterday’s finest, which was also technically what he’d worn the day before. It wasn’t a secret that he’d slept over, and I turned back to my griddle with a casual, “Good morning.”

  Waking up with such a big body in my bed had been a nice change of pace, especially since he was such a heavy sleeper. Apparently. Leave it to James’s loud mouth to have woken him up.

  He seemed shy when he noticed the others in the room, whatever secret he might have made of this obviously betrayed. Oliver opened his mouth to say something, maybe try to turn the attention away from himself, but it turns out he didn’t need to.

  Mama did it all on her own.

  James was the first to see it, reaching for her as she began to collapse. Oliver was just a hair behind him. They caught her before her head could slam onto the hardwood.

  All at once my heart hammered in my chest, constricting with fear as I dropped down beside her.

  “Mama?” I asked, all the while James was trying to wake her with a gentle shake, calling out her name. Nothing worked.

  “We’ve gotta get her somewhere,” James said. “Hospital.”

  I rushed to turn off the stove and moved the pan quickly. “I’ll grab the keys. You two get her up, I’ll bring the truck around to the front.”

  The sound of Oliver and James helping my mother into their arms carefully was all I could hear or pay attention to as I ran out of the house, keys plucked up along the way. They were fast, at least; when I pulled the truck up to the front door, they were already there, easing her out and down the steps.

  Loading in, I was the one to drive; I trusted them both well enough, but I needed to be the one to do it, to get her to the hospital. If I had been shotgun, I would have been losing my damn mind, thinking that they weren’t driving fast or smooth enough. All the while, weaving down the old country roads towards the hospital, I could hear James talking to her, trying to wake her:

  “Tilly… come on, Tilly, wake up….”

  The nurses flowed in and out of the nurse’s station. The waiting room was quiet and too stuffy and gray. The whole place, appropriately, reeked of hospital. I hated it. I knew Mama would hate it too, when she woke up.

  My leg jiggled at a steady pace, taking up on my urge to do something when there was a whole lot of nothing I could do. I kept thinking about my mama, thinking about her collapse like a record caught in a groove, playing over and over again all the while telling myself I should have been firmer; I should have made her stay in bed. She’d pushed herself too hard. She—

  “Here.”

  I looked up. Oliver was holding a cup of water out to me.

  “Thanks.” I took it and sipped from it slowly as he sat beside me.

  “Got a call from James,” Oliver said. “He said he’s back at the ranch now, letting people know what’s going on. Says he’s gonna keep the ranch running as normal as possible.”

  I nodded slowly, staring into the cup. “That’s good. Mama wouldn’t want this getting in the way of work.”

  There was a strange silence between us, and for once, it wasn’t because he was feeling cutely shy or nervous. The silence was almost comfortable, except for the fact that I was too aware of it. He rested a heavy, warm hand on my back. Not sexual, just comforting. A new feeling began to well up in my chest, like the touch was breaking it. I swallowed against it, knowing
that I might tear up if I let it through.

  “Will, um….” I cleared my throat, looking carefully at Oliver. Despite a full night of sleep, I felt exhausted. “Will you stay here?”

  He looked at me a moment—long enough for me to second-guess.

  “I mean,” I began with a sigh, “I know they probably need the help still, but—”

  “I’ll stay.”

  It shut me up. I nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

  He rubbed my back, and I leaned into it. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked.

  I huffed; he was offering his comfort after a night of sleeping in my bed. This was already over the lines I’d set with the other farmhands I’d started fooling around with when I turned legal.

  “That’s nice of you to offer,” I said, scrubbing at one tired eye. “But one of the rules of having a fuck-buddy is that you don’t have to deal with this sort of thing, specifically. You know.” I looked at him. “Emotional support and all that shit.”

  His hand drifted off my back, the first sign. His face followed, brow furrowing as he processed the words. “I didn’t….” His face turned a little bashful again, but it wasn’t shy and sweet; it was like he was embarrassed or confused. “I didn’t see us that way. Fuck-buddies.”

  I sat up a little straighter. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I mean…” He gave a shrug, leaning back into his chair. Those huge arms of his crossed over his chest. “It’s new to me, and it’s… scary because it’s new, but I don’t just have casual sex with anyone.”

  I must have looked shocked—and, honestly, I didn’t know what to say right away—because he tacked on a quietly: “I care about you, Quinn.”

  That dam that kept all my feelings held back began to crack again. It was like another metaphorical hand on my back. Comforting as much as it was new and scary.

  I thought about the other hands I had been with, the quick barn fucks and careless seductions. I could remember names and faces, of course, but none of them stood out like Oliver in my memory. There was a natural pull there between us I could feel working even now; it wasn’t so one-sided as me trying to get into his pants to blow off some steam. He was a guy I had known for a while through Nico, and he was here for me now. There was the physical attraction, duh, but it was something more than that.