Level Hands: Bend or Break, Book 4

by Amy Jo Cousins

  Somewhere in the middle of kissing Denny, Rafi drifted off, struggling through the night to stay asleep. He couldn’t keep his eyes open, but he couldn’t quite let go of worry long enough to slide completely under.

  In the darkest hours, he woke up with Denny plastered to his back, overheated and sweating under the comforter now. He kicked it off, trying not to wake Denny, who had a hand shoved down the front of Rafi’s shorts, which was the kind of thing you’d think a guy would wake up for.

  Apparently Denny had enough range of motion for that.

  Moving the covers was enough to rouse Denny though, and his voice rumbled through the dark. “Time to get up?”

  “Nah. Just restless.” He tried to settle back to sleep, but now that he was awake, his brain was racing, revisiting everything Nurse Nikki had told him and coming up with new questions for her.

  “Stop it.”

  “Sorry. Wait, what?”

  “I can hear your brain churning. Stop it. You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

  “I can’t,” he admitted, and tried to roll back a little into Denny’s embrace without making it look like that’s what he was doing, and without bumping his shoulder.

  “Snuggle on up in here, man,” Denny said while scooting closer too. Busted. Damn. But then Denny’s husky voice was in his ear again. “Maybe we can think of something to distract you.”

  Rafi rolled away as Denny reached for him. “Be careful with your arm.”

  “My arm is fine.”

  “Bet your therapist wouldn’t say that,” Rafi scolded, then turned over so they faced each other again. Denny should stay still, but Rafi didn’t have to. Rafi pushed his sleep pants down far enough to kick them off before doing the same to the body next to him in the dark. Then he grabbed Denny’s hip and pulled until their legs tangled together again and the press of a hard, bare cock against his own pushed every other thought in the world out of his head. He reached down between them.

  Denny groaned as Rafi took him in hand. “I swear, one of these times it’ll be me taking care of you. And not because I’m pissed at you in the backyard of some party, like I’ve got something to prove.”

  Rafi stiffened at the memory.

  “You get better and you can jerk me off all day long,” Rafi said, ignoring the fact that he didn’t know what they would do tomorrow or where he would be in a week, much less whether or not Denny would be there with him. Nothing had changed after all, except for the worse.

  Denny’s hand rested on his arm, moving as Rafi moved. They rubbed against each other, hands gripping and soothing, mouths licking and sucking, until they both came, gasping softly against each other’s skin. Rafi scooped his pants out from the foot of the bed and wiped the two of them off with the balled-up fabric before tossing the pants to the floor.

  Then he let Denny be the one to pull, until Rafi’s back was pressed against his chest, Denny’s arm resting on top of his as he tried to turn his brain off for the rest of the night.

  Horns and steel drums blasted Rafi out of bed in the morning. Habit had him leaping to slam down the volume before one of his sisters woke up and strangled him. Then he remembered that he and Denny were the only two in the apartment.

  The music was pouring through the door to the hall. He followed Marc Anthony’s voice to the kitchen, where Denny was at the stove in a pair of boxer-briefs and his sling, swinging his hips and dancing barefoot while he stirred what smelled like frying onions.

  Rafi stopped in the kitchen doorway, hands at the top of the frame to pull a stretch out of his spine.

  This was maybe the fucking cutest thing he’d ever seen.

  Denny executed a spin that would have been the perfect move until he tripped over his own feet when he spotted Rafi watching him. “Shit! Jesus Christ, you startled me.” He smashed the spatula against the counter’s edge as he caught himself with one hand.

  The grin that stretched Rafi’s face felt like it had been born there, struggling to find its way to life. His bare feet didn’t slip enough on the linoleum floor tiles to get his best dance moves on, but he didn’t let that stop him. Grabbing Denny’s hand with the spatula pressed between their palms, he swung him close, always careful about his shoulder, and danced him to the end of the song.

  Then he spotted what was on the plates lined up next to the stove.

  “Aw, you made mangú?” Rafi clasped his hands over his heart and clutched his chest. “You’re killing me here.”

  Denny’s cheeks pinked as he ducked his head, focusing on the pan. “I texted your sister to find out what I could make for breakfast and she told me she had some in the fridge. The onions are almost done, and you can have fried cheese or salami too. Thank God I didn’t have to cut any of this up. You’d’ve been out of luck.”

  “I want everything. Definitely.”

  “Great. Heart attack, here we come.” Denny shook his head and slid the fried onions on top of the warm mangú, setting the pan back down and sliding slices of cheese and salami in to fry in the juices.

  Mari was the best.

  “She also said she didn’t care if my parents owned a stable, I better not leave her kitchen looking like I was raised in it.” Denny looked up at him through the bangs that were hanging in his face. “So, you know, you’re in charge of cleanup.”

  Mari was a pain in his ass.

  “Um, yeah. Sorry. I might have mentioned your dad’s horses to her.” He still thought it was weird that he knew someone whose family owned horses. Like, a lot of them, and only for fun. A hobby for the weekends, Denny had told him once, long ago. He grabbed the plates when Denny used the spatula to transfer the browned cheese and salami to each one in even portions. “So, you going all Dominican on me now?”

  “It’s kind of cool, you know? You have all this awesome stuff, like the food and the music. The dancing.” The look Denny shot him as he sat kitty-corner from Rafi sent heat up Rafi’s spine, making him shiver. “My family doesn’t have anything like that.”

  “Sure you do. Quilts and fudge.” He started shoveling food into his mouth, because it turned out he was starving and his stomach was about ready to crawl up out of his throat and go in search of food if he didn’t eat immediately.

  “Quilts and fudge is not a cultural heritage.”

  “Sure it is. It’s New England white people heritage. Like—” He tried to think of other things, but it was harder than he expected. “Clam chowder! Like clam chowder and, and country clubs. And classical music.”

  A withering stare was shot in his direction. “Classical music isn’t from New England.”

  Rafi rolled his eyes. “Close enough.”

  “Anyway, that’s all stuff that everyone has growing up.” On the inside, Rafi shook his head at the things that could still come out of Denny’s mouth sometimes, but he nodded and kept eating. “It’s not, like, cultural heritage. Not stuff that you make a point to include in your life so you have a connection to where your family comes from. I don’t have that.”

  “Yeah, you do. You’ve got, you know…what are you anyway?” Rafi wasn’t sure he’d ever actually asked a white person that before.

  “WASP,” Denny answered dryly. Rafi didn’t actually remember what the word stood for, but he knew it meant white people who’d been here for a long time. “Mostly English, I think. Probably a little Irish mixed in for scandal.”

  “Well, there you go. Fish and chips. Guinness. Uh, the urge to colonize? And how can you not know where your people come from?”

  Denny shrugged and reached for his phone where it sat next to them on the table. “Good question. It’s one of those things we don’t talk about much. But I can ask.”

  Apparently “seize the moment” was the order of the morning.

  “Hey, Mom, quick question. Are we really just English? Like, the family heritage.” It didn’t slip by Rafi that Denny did
n’t mention anything about having flown to Chicago, despite the charge that Rafi assumed was going to show up on Denny’s parents’ credit card eventually. Not his problem. Rafi gathered their empty plates and checked the time. Not bad. He wanted to be at the hospital within the hour, but it was only fifteen minutes away. Plenty of time. “No shit? Sorry. No way, that’s cool. Thanks. Say hi to Dad.”

  It still weirded Rafi out that Denny never said I love you to either of his parents when he got off the phone with them. Rafi might not always say it to his sisters, but no way did he ever end a call to his mami without them exchanging the words. Maybe if you saw your parents more than once every five years, it wasn’t as important to say it, but that didn’t feel right to him either.

  “Turns out I have a great-grandmother who ran away with a Frenchman, so there’s that.”

  Denny came over and leaned against the end of the counter as Rafi washed the dishes in the sink. He offered to dry, but Rafi waved him off. The dishes could drip in the drain board. Meanwhile, Rafi tried to come up with something encouraging. “Excellent. Think of all the food and music and…French films you can enjoy now.”

  Denny raised an eyebrow, clearly less than impressed.

  “Gérard Depardieu pees on airplanes. That’s French.” Okay, so Rafi’s list of fabulous French things was pretty limited.

  The speculative gleam that hit Denny’s gaze was an alert that trouble was here. The steps he took over to Rafi were almost slinky. The glide of his hand from Rafi’s waist up his chest and around his neck was extremely clear in intent. Denny leaned in close and spoke, keeping his voice low and teasing. “You know what else is French?”

  Rafi knew they should be talking. Really talking. But Denny’s mouth under his was eager, open. The thrust of his tongue was as direct as an invitation. Denny slid his hands down Rafi’s back and pushed them into his pants, curling his long fingers around the curve of Rafi’s butt.

  Yup. That was an invitation all right.

  Rafi scooped Denny up under his muscled thighs, giving him a bump with his hips until Denny hopped up on the counter and wrapped his legs around Rafi’s waist, smiling. The two of them, both big, built men, must have looked ridiculous, but he didn’t care. He pressed in and opened his mouth to Denny like his life depended on sharing his next breath.

  They had an hour before he wanted to be back at the hospital, and an empty apartment. Rafi knew exactly how he wanted to use both of those things.

  When they were hard and panting, Rafi pulled away from the kiss. He leaned his face against Denny’s good shoulder for a moment, the bare skin warm under his cheek. Then Denny let his legs drop as Rafi stepped back and urged him off the counter again. He grabbed Denny’s hand and led him back to the bedroom, where he pushed Denny gently to strip and lay himself down on the bed so Rafi could get naked and snuggle up behind him.

  “Hang on. Condom,” Denny whispered.

  Rafi didn’t want to move, pressed against Denny’s back, draped around him as they lay on their sides—Denny’s good shoulder beneath him—until as much of his skin touched Denny’s as possible. Rafi’s dick rode the crack of Denny’s ass, rubbing against powerful muscle, slick enough to glide but not nearly enough for fucking.

  Lube and a condom. Just get ’em, idiot. He’s not going to run away.

  Which was more truth-telling about his fears inside his own skull than Rafi really wanted at this very moment.

  He’d spent most of the school year so far pushing Denny away from him. Maybe he wasn’t entirely sure, if the sexual tension of the mood eased for even one minute, that Denny wouldn’t decide to up and sprint back to Massachusetts instead.

  Which sounded like a piss-poor frame of mind to be in when he was naked with someone he wanted to paint with his tongue.

  Rafi sank his teeth into Denny’s shoulder. That same spot he couldn’t stop biting, because Denny shivered every time. Rafi had noticed Denny touching his neck, unconsciously pressing against the skin even after the bruises faded.

  Just get the stuff. He prepared to roll over to the nightstand—or shit, get out of bed and find his bag, because his sisters barely left his crap alone when he lived here, so he hadn’t left anything behind when he’d left for Carlisle—when Denny spoke up.

  “When were you last tested?” he asked, his voice low.

  Everything stilled.

  “Right before I left for Carlisle.” Rafi remembered the trip to the clinic and snorted, trying not to think about why Denny was asking him this. “Cash insisted I needed to go off with a clean slate. Why?”

  Denny ignored the question for another of his own. “Slept with anyone since?”

  Sheet lightning flashed over Rafi’s body and his arm tightened about Denny. His words were gruff. “Only you.”

  “I’ve slept with people since Drew, but no one other than you in the past six months.” Denny paused, but Rafi knew better than to ask. Denny had been at Carlisle an entire year before Rafi got there. He was lucky Denny was even letting him know that there hadn’t been anyone else since he’d learned that Rafi was definitely coming to campus. “We always used condoms and I’m still on PrEP.”

  Every time Rafi inhaled, the sweaty skin of his belly pulled away from Denny’s lower back long enough for the room’s cool air to sneak in. A chill stroke of a ghostly breeze against his skin.

  “You can fuck me without. If you want. Just lube. Which I put under the pillow last night when you were still in the bathroom.”

  Denny put his head down on the crook of his arm, moving his top leg forward to open himself up to Rafi, and then waited.

  Rafi trailed his fingers down Denny’s side, counting ribs and soothing the twitches of his skin. He didn’t have to see Denny’s face to know what it looked like. The barely there arch of his light brown eyebrows. The way he pushed his lips out a bit when thinking hard. How pink his mouth could get when he bit at those lips, like Rafi knew he would be doing right now.

  He pushed his face against Denny’s neck, opening his mouth against skin that still smelled like sleep and the scent of food from the kitchen. He wanted to eat this man up. Suck him and lick him and trace every inch of Denny’s body with his mouth, until he’d taken the taste of him so far deep inside himself it would never come out.

  Denny shifted his legs again and pushed back with his butt, as if ready to pretzel himself into whatever position would get the rub of Rafi’s dick where he wanted it. Rafi lifted his mouth and blew air across the wet skin he’d licked until Denny’s skin pebbled up in goose bumps.

  “I can feel you looking at me,” Denny said, and the rumble of the words vibrated through his chest.

  Rafi drew a fingertip from Denny’s nape all the way down his spine, so slowly, until he was pressing against the entrance to his body. Tension hummed in Denny’s muscles as Rafi rubbed circles against him until he softened, relaxing against Rafi from head to toe.

  “Easy,” he murmured.

  Denny huffed a breath. “It is not. It’s like you’re dangling me over the edge of a cliff here.”

  Rafi smiled into Denny’s hair, then slid his hand up and under the pillow until he found the lube. Cold and wet on his fingers as he fumbled with one hand, the other one wrapped under Denny. He took his time, working slowly at opening Denny up. He didn’t want to hurt this man again.

  “So good,” Denny moaned and tilted his head back, arching his spine and pushing back even harder on Rafi’s fingers. “Fuuuuuck me. This is way better.”

  Rafi stilled. “Way better than who?” He couldn’t quite keep the sharpness out of his voice.

  “What,” Denny said, not asking a question.

  “This is way better than who?” Rafi was.

  “No, I meant, what. This is way better than what.” Jesus Christ. They were a gay porn Abbott and Costello routine. Denny gigglesnorted into the pillow, and then gasped when Rafi
smacked his ass.

  Attention on me, the sting of that light slap said, loud and clear.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Rafi demanded.

  “This.” Denny wiggled his ass and groaned as Rafi crooked his fingers reflexively. “Feels way better than what I’ve had up there lately. Not who.”

  “Got it.” He exhaled and started again with the slow stroking that had been driving Denny to nonstop squirming. “What do you use?”

  “Just, unh.”

  Ooh, that was the good spot. Rafi memorized that. “Just what?”

  “Are you…seriously going to quiz me, unh, right now?” Denny whined, twisting against him. Rafi pulled out for more lube and then pushed back in with two fingers while Denny complained, and then groaned again.

  “I want to picture it.” God, he couldn’t think of anything hotter than picturing Denny getting himself off. Please let him do it thinking of me. He burned for that, would make Denny do it for him. In front of him. The idea was enough to make Rafi so hard he shuddered.

  “I have a plug.” Denny pushed his face into the pillow. He wouldn’t look Rafi in the face and talk about this while getting fingered. The shyness almost killed Rafi. “But I like the dildo better.”

  “I want to watch that.” Rafi found his favorite spot again and stroked.

  With a loud cry, Denny arched his back and reached for his dick. Rafi slapped his hand away, forgetting to be gentle. He wanted to torture Denny some more with words.

  “Can you picture it? What you look like right now? Trying to fuck yourself on my fingers. I’m watching them push inside you, picturing my dick there when you’re ready.”

  “Stop talking. Ready now.” Denny panted out the words between harsh breaths.

  Rafi aimed to please. He pulled his fingers out of Denny’s ass, and the tube of lube made a fart noise when he squeezed it that had Denny laughing again and apologizing for the silliness. Then Rafi was pushing into him and he wasn’t laughing at all.