“Well, that wouldn’t be fair. You didn’t get off.” He shook his head, damp waves trembling. “I mean… yeah, I’m sure. It’s just been a while.”
That was a common enough lie. For some reason guys always thought it was hotter to be coming off a dry spell. Like I was the one to bring them back into sexcapades. But this guy seemed to mean it.
He unlocked the door and opened it wide. “Come on in. Sorry about the place.”
I entered, and he flipped on the lights behind me. I could see the entire house from the doorway. Kitchen, living room, bath, bedroom. That was it. Probably six hundred square feet total. But like everything else in this town, it was storybook perfect. Gleaming hardwood floor, river rock fireplace, top-of-the-line finishes. And the place was spotless. He had to be apologizing for the size of his house—like I gave a shit. I’d been told countless times I gave off the rich snob vibe. It seemed it had struck again. I turned to him as he shut the door. “Your house is fine. But even if it weren’t, so not why I’m here.”
He took a shaky breath, then pointed over my shoulder. “I know you’re in a hurry. Bedroom?”
I nodded, though right there on the floor would’ve worked for me as well. A man who looked like that, sounded like that, with a cock and ass like his, who didn’t have qualms about getting right to the point, and obviously wasn’t going to pout for a cuddle after? It was enough to make me want to move in.
And again, what the fuck was wrong with me?
For as nervous as he was, he didn’t hesitate. He tossed his glasses on the dresser and was already taking his shirt off as I entered the bedroom. I halted in the doorway, caught by the sight of him pulling his shirt over his head. His skin was pale but had a healthy pink hue. And though he was all muscle, he wasn’t thin enough for the muscle striations to show through. He was bulky and solid. A huge, delicious man. He turned, dropping his shirt to the floor as he did, and the rest of him looked even better without the blur of steam between us. Like his back, his chest was broad and heavy, and while he didn’t have a six-pack, his stomach was flat and smooth.
“Coming in?” He went to work on his belt. “Or are you changing your mind?”
I straightened and pulled off my own shirt. “Oh hell no. Not about to. You are beyond fucking gorgeous, dude.”
He halted, his zipper halfway down, and looked up at me, startled.
“Don’t act like you haven’t heard that before.” I normally didn’t compliment guys. They complimented back, it was just an unnecessary step. But he was gorgeous.
“Not by guys who look like you. Not in a long, long time.”
“Well, then, you’ve been around stupid or blind guys. And even if they were blind, all they had to do was put their hands on you and they’d feel that body, and….” What was I doing? I don’t stroke egos. “Speaking of, let’s get you naked.” Enough of the fucking chitchat.
He almost seemed relieved. He finished pulling off his jeans and underwear, and I did the same. He was hard again. Hard, thick, and precome already dripping through his foreskin. Fuuuuuuck, yeah. “Looks like you’re ready to blow again.”
“No doubt, as long as you fuck with your cock as well as you did your fingers. You’ll have—” His eyes went wide, and he stopped talking.
I couldn’t help but laugh. The man was dirty. Obviously. Thankfully. And seemed conflicted about it. Maybe I should give him Donovan’s number to get his head shrunk. Pushing thoughts of my therapist aside, I stepped up to him, swiped away some of the precome with my thumb, and sucked it into my mouth before grinning up at him. “Just get the condom. You’ll come again.”
He dug into his dresser drawer long enough to confirm he hadn’t gotten fucked at least within the last few days if his supply had really fallen far below whatever clothes he had in there. He closed the drawer, then hesitated, his back to me.
I nearly laughed again when he turned around, though I was able to control my reaction, as I knew a laugh at this point would end any chance of getting to fuck him.
The mortification on his face verified he wasn’t just blowing smoke. “I thought I had a smaller bottle of lube, but I guess I lost it in the move. This is left over, from… before.” In his hands, he held the huge thirty-two-ounce bottle of Gun Oil silicone lube. No wonder we were clicking sexually.
“Dude, that works for me. I order them in packs of two at home.”
He cocked a brow.
“Seriously.” And then I felt nervous, which I hadn’t experienced before sex in so long I truly couldn’t recall the last time it had happened. “You don’t judge me; I won't judge you. Hell, at least we both know the other likes sex, right?”
He nodded, some of his nerves seeming to lessen. “It’s just that, I… uhm….”
God, I couldn’t do this. “Can we skip the explaining, please? And any shame around this that we might think we’re supposed to have?” I moved up to him once more and took the lube out of his hands. “May I just fuck you already?”
He laughed, quiet, low, relieved. “Yeah. Please.”
“Fuck, I love it when a bottom says please.”
His blue gaze darted to mine, and he grinned. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
This time he closed the distance, moving near enough my chest hair grazed his smooth skin. He gripped my erection, squeezing, then pulled me flush against him. “Please fuck me with your huge cock.” He squeezed again and grabbed the condom with his free hand, ripping it open with his teeth. I twitched in his fingers.
“Please pound my ass.” He let go of my dick, pulled the condom free, and slid it over my erection. “Pound it until you blow your hot load. Please.”
Fuck, if he kept that up, I’d been shooting that hot load before it even got close to his ass.
He squeezed my sheathed cock again while reaching for the lube. He pumped it a few times, and then his hand disappeared behind him as he readied himself. “Please fuck me till I’m begging you to stop.”
I put both my hands on his chest and gave him a firm push toward the bed. “You’re not the kind to tell me to stop.”
He positioned himself on the edge of the bed so his hole was still accessible. “No, I’m not.”
The switch from nervous to unabashedly slutty was nearly dizzying. Just like it had been in the steam room. One minute looking like he was about to bolt, the next basically gagging for it. I loved it. I pushed against his chest again, and he fell back on the bed, but propped himself up on his elbows to watch. I lowered my other hand to his lubed entrance, and shoved in three fingers. Deep and sudden.
He cried out, loudly, but not in pain. Not at all. His head fell back in pleasure, and he let out a long groan, even as he thrust against my fingers, just like he had at the gym.
“My God, you really love having your ass used, don’t you?”
“Fuck yeah.” He took a breath, then refocused on me, his eyes meeting mine again. “Use my hole, Gilbert, please. Use it.”
The way he said my name in the middle of that. Like it wasn’t just anyone he wanted using his ass, but me. It made me wish this wasn’t a one-time thing. That I could really use his ass. Over and over and over again, until I knew every tiny detail of what drove him wild. Knew each dirty word that would make him hotter. Knew just the right angle and pace to keep transforming that nervous, self-conscious guy into the slut he obviously was. There wouldn’t be a next time, but I could try to make this one good enough to be emblazoned on both of our memories for years to come. “Yeah? You want me to use your hole, dude? Want me to treat it like the come-hungry slut it is?”
He just groaned, his head falling back again, his hips thrusting forward trying to get my fingers in deeper than they could go.
“Fuck, man. What I’d give to get you in a sling. Get those legs up in the air and really use your ass.”
His thrusting stopped instantly, as did his sex sounds.
Fuck. I’d gone too far. How talking about a sling was too much but calling him a slut was
okay, I had no idea. Fuck.
I shifted quickly, not willing to risk this falling apart, and positioned his knees over my shoulders so I supported his weight and could shove a couple fingers from my other hand in his hole. He sucked in a hiss of a breath. One with a hint of pain in the pleasure. I pushed in a third, bringing the total to six, and his head fell back again, his panting returned, and his thrusting pushed against my hands once more. Whatever minefield I’d stumbled into, it seemed I’d avoided triggering an explosion.
Staying clear of any more dirty talk other than what I’d discovered to be safe already, just in case, I twisted my fingers inside him so my knuckles were against each other, and pulled. Teasingly at first, eliciting his panting to grow more staccato, then a little more so I could slip both of my pinkies in him as well. “You’ve got eight fingers in you, dude. Stretching you out. Getting you ready for my cock.”
As dirty talk went, maybe that was ridiculous. I was big. Long and thick. But I wasn’t eight fingers stretching him open big.
He didn’t seem to care. “Fuck, yes.” He lifted his head and looked at me again, those blue eyes bright and pleading. “Fuck me, Gilbert. Please. Fuck my ass.”
Pivoting my hips, I lined up with his stretched hole. His head had fallen back once more, but I needed his eyes. Who the fuck knew why, but I did. I needed that. “Look at me as I fuck you. Look at me.”
He met my gaze again, and he tightened around my fingers. I pulled. He sucked in a breath but didn’t break my gaze. “Fuck me, Gilbert. Please, fuck me.”
“Don’t look away.” With my fingers still there, I thrust forward, shoving my cock all the way in, forcing my fingers to stretch him even further.
He screamed, an equal mix of pleasure and pain, but his eyes never looked away.
I held firm, buried deep in him.
He repositioned himself slightly, locking his ankles behind my head, and whatever I’d been looking for in his gaze, I found, and I began to fuck.
I’d fucked countless guys in countless ways, but never with both of my hands alongside my dick. It was sensory overload. The tightness and heat of his hole, the rubbing against my knuckles. Like fucking and getting a hand job at the same time. Yeah, this wasn’t going to be soon forgotten.
Within five or six thrusts, I knew I wasn’t going to last long, and I hated it, but not enough to slow down. I started to tell him to jack himself off, but I didn’t need to. Still never breaking my gaze, he gripped his cock and began pumping. “Keep using my ass, Gilbert. Fuck me.” Still pumping. “Fuck me till I blow.”
I wouldn’t have bet money I could increase my speed or force, but at those words, at the look in his eyes and the gravelly heat of his voice, I did. I fucked like it was the only thing holding the world together. Which, it might have been.
And then he came. His load still substantial, considering he’d come less than an hour before, spraying over his smooth chest and rolling over his stomach to drip on the floor. Some of it hit the top of my foot, and it was too much. With a cry I came, my orgasm rocketing through me with such force it felt like I’d surely split open the condom. My knees buckled under his weight, but I managed to stay upright, refusing to slip out of him as I came.
With each thrust, each surge of orgasm, our gazes stayed locked. I pumped and pumped into him, until I had nothing left to give. I leaned against the edge of the mattress, knowing I wouldn’t be able to stand much longer.
“Fuck.” He sighed and grinned. “Thank you for that.” And finally he looked away.
I wanted to thank him. Wanted to beg to do it again. Instead I gripped the edge of the condom and pulled out of him, which might have been the worst feeling I’d ever had.
He unhooked his ankles and dropped his legs from my shoulders, leaving us in an awkward position. I took a step back and offered my hand, then helped him stand.
He did.
Our gazes met once more, and for the strangest moment, I had the urge to kiss him.
The moment passed, and he stepped away. “Let me get you a cloth.” I took off the condom, and then he was back, handing me a towel. “You can shower if you want.”
I didn’t know what I wanted. Well, yes, I did. I wanted to kiss him. Wanted to lie in bed with him until I had the strength for another round. Wanted to ask his name.
All of which made me want to run.
“Actually, I have dinner with my family. I should hurry. I’m sure they’re already eating.” Fuck, I hadn’t meant to mention my family. Not that it really mattered.
He gave a little snort of a laugh. “Holy shit. You’re going from this to having dinner with your family?”
I shrugged. “Well, I’m not planning on giving them a play-by-play or anything.”
He laughed, a little more genuinely this time, and held out his hand. “I don’t want to make you late. Give me that.”
I started to hand him the condom. “Nah, that’s okay, I can toss it. That’s gross.”
“Really?” He gave a smile that showed his self-conscious nature hadn’t returned yet. He snatched up the condom. “I can toss a condom. Next time, that load is mine, and I’m going to….” His expression fell, and his voice died away. He didn’t even try to recover, just headed to the restroom. So much for the self-consciousness not being back.
Next time.
God. Did I really want there to be a next time? I nearly laughed at the notion. But after what I’d just experienced, how could I not want to do that again?
But no. Definitely not a next time.
I toweled off quickly and threw my clothes back on. I should have taken the time for a shower. I had to smell like sex. Had to. But I needed to get away from him before I said something completely stupid. Something like here’s my number, let’s do it again, or what’s your name?
He was waiting by the front door as I stepped out of the bedroom.
Maybe he was thinking the same thing. Maybe he was considering hugging me or kissing me.
Or… what the holy fucking fuckety fuck was wrong with me?
I nodded at him. “Thank you for that. You’re a rock star in the bedroom.”
A hint of a smile, though it looked sad somehow. He opened the door and stood aside. “Thanks for… everything, Gilbert. Have fun with your family.”
Then I was outside, the cool afternoon having turned into a cold, damp evening. I turned back, giving him another brief nod. “Later.”
As I walked down the sidewalk, I heard the door click shut and then the twist of a lock.
I got into my car, took a couple of deep breaths, and told myself to be satisfied with the memories. That even though he lived in Lavender Shores and I knew where he lived, there would not be a repeat performance. As beautiful and talented as he was, he was dangerous. So very, very dangerous.
I checked my cell. Lacy had texted.
Dad says we’re waiting. But be quick. The Kellys are coming over. Including Andrew and Joel.
Well, shit. My entire family and my best friend’s family. Sixteen of us. And knowing a few of those sixteen, someone was bound to say something about me smelling like sex. Andrew’s dad, probably.
Back to the gym it was. Dinner was just going to have to wait for me to be showered and sex free.
Four
Walden
I pulled my mint-green scarf a little tighter as I walked through the town. Forty-three degrees wasn’t that cold, but the wetness brought an added chill. The fog had fallen over Lavender Shores, making it even more magical looking than usual. I still couldn’t believe I was there.
My family had driven through Lavender Shores the few times we vacationed at Point Reyes National Seashore, which surrounded the town. They liked to eat at Mabel’s, but refused to spend the night, instead driving to nearby Olema. The reputation of Lavender Shores as a safe haven for the LGBTQ population was enough to make them avoid it, with the exception of Mabel’s. I doubted they realized Mabel was a lesbian. Although, maybe her Louisiana-style fried chicken was enough to
allow my folks to put their religion on pause for a moment. I’m sure they looked back at our brief hours in this town and wondered if I’d caught the demon of homosexuality here—somewhere between the Craftsman and Victorian-style homes and Mabel’s creamed corn. Though I’d never said as much to them, I’d concocted an entire fantasy of escape, with Lavender Shores as the sparkling golden perfection at the end.
And now, here I was. Finally. It only took me twenty-six years. I guess that wasn’t too bad. Less than a decade after I left home. For a while, I’d been content in Stanford, then again in San Francisco. This tiny town became nothing more than my childhood fantasy. The city offered what I really needed.
And boy did it. A fresh start. A career. The love of my life. Heartbreak. Then more sex than a person is supposed to have in a lifetime. And at the bottom of it all, as I fell asleep in tears, little Lavender Shores called to me. Memories of Mabel’s at first. She really could do some fried chicken. Then the visions expanded to the charming shops downtown. The beautiful homes and picture-perfect neighborhoods. People not afraid to hold whoever’s hand they wanted to hold. Then stretched past the town borders and into the nature preserve. One of my degrees was in biology. Might as well surround myself with it. At least the sea lions and bobcats wouldn’t hurt me the way men seemed to do.
As soon as I walked into my new little house, one whose mortgage I could afford on a teacher’s salary, I felt at home for the first time in my life. The house was fine; it was the backyard that made it a no-brainer. I’d thought I felt at home before. In the apartment Levi and I shared. I’d been wrong. So, maybe twenty-six wasn’t so late. How many people found where they wanted to spend the rest of their lives before they even hit thirty?
Though maybe I was hiding.
Well, I knew I was hiding. Duh. But maybe that was okay. Where better to hide and find yourself? To start fresh once more and really become the man you were meant to be this go round.
The Garden (Lavender Shores Book 2) Page 3