by Joey W. Hill
“You think I’m detached about this? About wanting to make her helpless, give her climax after climax, give her the chance to explore every room inside her that wants this?”
Chris shook his head. “I get it, but . . . it’s still not second nature for me, at least not like it is for you. When we bought the plans for this, and I saw her wondering what we might be thinking about doing, it felt right, the vibes I got from her. But when we’re doing it . . . it feels more impersonal. This is Sam. Our Sam.”
“You bet your ass she is,” Geoff said. “I’m glad you mentioned that. You remember the first wild animal you ever rescued? When we were ten?”
“The squirrel Joel Tanner hit with his BB gun. Knocked him out of a tree and he fell wrong.”
“Yeah. You read everything you could about how to take care of that squirrel. You visited the Raptor Center, talked to the wildlife rehab people. That was how you learned all the mechanics, right? What they needed to eat, how often, how to rehab them back into the wild. But over time, there was the other side of it. When you knew what to do, what they needed to live, you followed your instincts and went beyond how to treat an injury to how to heal it. Two different things, but both were necessary. Right?”
Geoff reached out, closed a hand on his forearm and squeezed. It was the reassurance of a friend, but there was another element to it, too, from someone who knew way more about this than Chris. The gesture, Geoff taking the time to talk this out, reminded Chris he did trust Geoff more than anyone. And Geoff loved Sam, just as much as he did.
“We learn how to make this work, all the mechanics. But the reason we do all that is so we know how to get beyond that, how to care for her, enjoy her, love her on the deepest levels, way beyond mechanics. No one’s detached from any of this. We’re all in it together.” Geoff nudged him. “We’re all on the yellow brick road together, Tin Man.”
Chris snorted at that, picking up the measuring tape. “Okay. But if I keep asking you questions, you’re not going to start acting like a know-it-all, are you?”
Geoff grinned at him. “I thought you said I already act that way.”
“Yeah, you do. I just don’t want it to get any worse, or I’ll have to kill you and grind you up for fertilizer.”
“Fair enough.”
They went back to work then. Measuring and cutting, switching back and forth between favorite radio stations. Drinking coffee. They’d been friends so long, they could talk or not talk and still be comfortable with each other. Topics were random. Work stuff, the mower the neighbor down the street was using. They grinned about the cashier at Hardee’s who Geoff said was still nursing a hangover from the previous night.
It was their usual kind of banter, but as they moved through the tasks of building the bench, Chris noticed the personal space boundary wasn’t nearly as routine. Geoff’s body brushed his several times and, when Chris leaned over the workbench to measure something, Geoff’s hand passed over his back and the curve of his flank before he moved on, leaving Chris with a distracted mind and a pencil mark a good inch off of where it needed to be.
When he caught Geoff’s grin, he scowled and redrew the mark. Geoff picked up the skill saw and Chris backed off to let him do the cut. He watched Geoff focus on what he was doing through the safety glasses, the sure and steady progression of the blade. They’d worked construction jobs in college together, and Geoff was as handy as Chris with the tools of the trade. “Shame you’re a lawyer,” Chris commented as Geoff set the saw aside. “You’d be a hell of a framer.”
“Yeah, because that pays so much better,” Geoff said dryly.
“If you’d become a framer, you wouldn’t have a butt load of school loans to pay off and you’d work way more flexible hours.” Chris sat on a stool and took a drink from the bottled water he’d brought out. At the time, Geoff had said he didn’t want one, but Chris still wiped the top and offered it. As he’d expected, Geoff took it, but after a single swallow, he set it aside.
Screwing his hand in the front of Chris’s shirt, he yanked him forward on the stool to put his mouth on his. Chris’s hands landed on his waist, digging in as Geoff’s tongue slid between Chris’s lips to tease and tangle. Geoff held him fast, hand wrapped around the back of his skull. He kept the kiss going until Chris’s head was swimming. Only then did he pull back and hand Chris the bottle.
Chris managed to rally, despite the surge of blood to his groin. “Gross. Now I have your germs.”
“In a couple of different orifices,” Geoff confirmed. He stayed close, his hand sliding down Chris’s side and back, covering his buttock and taking a good handful of ass. “I’m thinking I’d like to test how sturdy the bench is. Hammer myself into you over it.”
“Yeah?” Chris had a mix of feelings about that. Some of it was inexplicable uneasiness, but his cock could care less. It jumped at the tone in Geoff’s voice and was ready to go for it now, now, and oh, by the way—now.
“Yeah. You’re wearing jeans today. An old pair. All faded, creased and with a bunch of tears and holes in them. Didn’t even think you still had that pair anymore. So used to you wearing your camos and painter pants to get dirty.”
“I dug them out of the back of the drawer. Need to do laundry.”
“Hmm.” Moving to the wall, Geoff hit the button that lowered the garage door. As the engine engaged and the door trundled down, shutting them away from the rest of the world, Chris felt suddenly like he was on a cliff ledge, hanging there by his fingernails.
“Think I’m just your fuck toy, whenever, however?”
“Nope. You’re a hell of a lot more than that.” When the door reached the concrete pad, sealing them in, Geoff didn’t bother to conceal the lust in his expression, and swept that look over Chris. “But it’s a definite side benefit. You’ve been looking at me all morning like you want to eat me, but I’m going to take the first bite.”
How did he do that? He made Chris feel naked with those searing hazel eyes, as if they’d already peeled off his clothes and the top layer of skin, exposing everything beneath. Was that a Dom thing? And what did it say about Chris, that it disturbed him as it did, giving him anxiety and a hard-on at once?
As if knowing Chris was teetering, Geoff took a seat on another stool, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I’ve watched you build things before,” Geoff noted, “But not like this. Your mouth sets in a line when you’re concentrating. And you handle everything with such care. You connect to everything you do, whether it’s planting or washing dishes, or listening to me or Sam. You don’t do anything casually. You’re fully in the moment.”
His hazel eyes became more vivid, so the gold, green and brown reminded Chris of bright moss on a tree wearing golden fall colors. “It makes me think if I touch you, get inside you, I’ll be fully in that moment.”
Chris wet his lips and Geoff picked up the water bottle again, extending it with a half smile. Not mocking, just . . . understanding. Chris’s fingers slipped off the ledge a little more. When he closed his hand on the bottle and took it, Geoff caught Chris’s belt loops, bringing him a step closer with inexorable pressure.
“Do you remember Larry Featherwood?” Geoff asked, taking the bottle and setting it aside when Chris was done. Chris wasn’t sure where to put his hands or how to stand, when he was standing between Geoff’s splayed knees.
“You can touch me, Chris,” Geoff said. “Just don’t go for my dick yet, because I want to get this out, and if you touch me like that, I won’t.”
He was used to Geoff being a master of clever words. Geoff didn’t lie, but he often wrapped the truth in clever striped and twisted packaging. Straight honesty put things on a different footing, but it also helped. No games. Chris slid his knuckle along Geoff’s chest, traveling between the pectorals, up to his throat, where there was a dusting of wood shavings. He rubbed them off with his thumb while Geoff’s multicolored eyes stayed on his face. “Yeah, I remember Larry.” He’d gone to the same middle school they had.<
br />
“You remember when he got in trouble for drinking at Megan Sower’s party? That Monday, he said he’d been grounded and his dad had taken a belt to him. You remember what you told me about that?”
“I said a lot of shit when I was thirteen.” Chris was watching his own hand as if it had a life of its own. It moved from Geoff’s throat to his shoulder, and then came to a stop as Geoff lifted his hand to wrap his fingers around Chris’s wrist, stilling him. Chris’s fingers curved into the T-shirt.
“You said you wished you had a dad who cared enough to take a belt to you. Because your mom is so great and made it work as a single parent, you felt guilty as hell right after you said it.”
Chris shifted. “Yeah. Kids can be dumb like that.”
Geoff shook his head. “No, I got it. And your mom would have gotten it.”
“Mom would have taken a belt to me herself if she hadn’t figured out worse punishments.” The one and only time Chris had lied to her, his conscience had tormented him until he admitted it to her. She’d thanked him for telling her the truth, but she’d told him there was nothing he could ever do that would disappoint her more than him lying to her.
“It not only disrespects me, it tells me you don’t trust me to care for you, to know what’s best for you.” A thousand belt stripes wouldn’t have affected him the way that statement had. Nothing was worse than letting her down.
“Momma Bear is the best.”
Chris smiled. Geoff had always called his mom that, ever since Geoff had been pulled over for speeding—ninety in a forty-five. Chris had been in the car with him. Geoff’s dad had basically brushed it off as teenage hijinks and told Geoff he’d get a lawyer to reduce the charges so he could keep his license. The next day, when Geoff came over to Chris’s house, he’d faced something entirely different. Chris had been on the sidelines, wide-eyed, while his mom had torn Geoff a new one. He’d tried to deflect her, give Geoff a break, and she was having none of it.
“See him?” His mother had pointed at Chris while a teenage Geoff stood there white-faced. “That is your very best friend in the whole world. Your brother, in every way that matters. My son. The center of my world. I don’t care what kind of I’m immortal, riding on hormones bullshit anyone else uses to excuse a teenager acting like this, it doesn’t fly with me. I know your heart, Geoff Tywin. You are smarter and better than this. You will take care of him and yourself, because if I ever lose either one of you to some act of teenage stupidity, I will dig up your bodies and kick the shit out of them in front of God and the whole world. I promise you that. And should you live through that act of stupidity and my son dies, you will wish you’d died and gone to hell rather than having to face me.”
Chris could tell Geoff was recalling that same memory, because . . . well, he could usually just follow Geoff’s mind the way Geoff could follow his. Maybe that was why he was suddenly uncomfortable again as Geoff rose off of the stool. Reaching out, he slipped the tongue of Chris’s belt free and slowly stripped it out of his jeans. He doubled it over, threading the strap between his clasped hands. Then he pinned Chris with a steady, unflinching gaze.
Chris took a step back. Not in retreat, but to establish a perimeter, figure out what was going on. Geoff inclined his head.
“I thought about doing this last night, but here is even better. I want to strap your ass with this, and then I want to be inside you.”
The thought should have set off a Forget this shit explosion in him. Instead Chris felt that curious stillness of breath and heart, his hands curling at his sides, his cock suddenly constricted by his fly. He imagined Geoff, his hard hand gripping Chris’s shoulder as he held him, as that strap stung and struck.
“Okay.” The word echoed in the silent garage. Chris pressed his lips together. “But I want something, too. Tonight, you let me inside of you. I want to make my one-man club membership official.”
Geoff lifted a brow. “You’re determined to keep this on an even footing.”
“Yeah. We covered this last night. I’m not Sam. If you want me to be a male version of her, I can’t do that.” Never mind that he couldn’t take his gaze off that belt. “I don’t know where that leaves us.”
“Right where we’re at.” Geoff inclined his head. “You have a deal. Drop your pants to your knees, boy, and bend over the bench. Take a good, hard grip on it.”
Chris’s forced half chuckle was an attempt to lighten things up, but Geoff didn’t smile. He just kept threading the doubled-over belt through his fingers, his gaze fixed on Chris, waiting.
“If I don’t?” Chris taunted, though his hand was on the fastener of his jeans and Geoff’s attention had flicked to the arousal swelling behind his fly. He could tell himself his reaction was because the belt thing was just a precursor to Geoff and him fucking, but Chris couldn’t seem to get the images in his mind past that belt and Geoff’s dangerous expression.
“Then I’ll make you do it. And the punishment will be worse.”
He could scoff at the idea of Geoff making him do anything, but he didn’t. Chris slipped the button of the jeans, slid his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers and pushed both off his tense ass, taking the clothes to his knees as instructed. If Geoff weren’t acting so serious, if he’d treated it like a game, Chris might have felt foolish and backed away from this. Yet nothing about how Geoff’s gaze slid over him, a possessive caress, suggested a game.
Not sure what to say, or how to quantify what he was feeling, Chris turned toward the bench and closed his hands on the top edge, pressing his palms into the cushioning where Sam’s body would be resting, bound. He wasn’t on the bench himself, just leaning over it, which made him feel less out of control, though he suspected that was self-deception. His cock was a pulsing, taut rod between his thighs.
Geoff moved in, the silence a palpable weight between them. The radio was still on, but it was as distant as a conversation happening in China. Chris tensed as Geoff’s palm slid down Chris’s back then up, finding his way under his shirt to trail along his spine. His palm flattened, exerting pressure, pushing Chris over until his hands spread out wider, his chest touching the bench.
“Better,” Geoff murmured. “Spread your legs. Shoulder width.”
When Geoff used the position to reach between his legs and take a firm grip on his balls, Chris’s cock sprang up higher. Geoff leaned over, nudging his hair to the side with his chin, and Chris closed his eyes as the man’s lips found his nape.
“That was a pretty ballsy move, coming into my room last night to suck me off when I was on the phone. I’m okay with that, just as long as you’re okay with me taking my due for the presumption.”
“Didn’t hear you complaining at the time,” Chris muttered.
Whap!
Chris bit his lip as the belt slapped across his haunches, a lick of fire. Pivoting in a blink, he clamped his hand on Geoff’s wrist. He and Geoff held that toe-to-toe position, though Chris was keenly aware his pants were at his knees and his dick out there, all vulnerable and hard. His heart was racing. Geoff zeroed right in on it, putting his palm flat against his chest, leaving the other wrist in Chris’s tight hold, the belt dangling over Chris’s forearm.
“You can’t decide whether you want it or hate it. How about you take a second and work that out?” Geoff’s voice was neutral, but his eyes were laser sharp.
A long pause. Then Chris let go of his wrist, one finger at a time. Geoff lifted a questioning brow. Waiting.
Chris turned around and took hold of the bench again. The fire was settling in, a coiled serpent in his belly that said he wanted more. He wanted more than more. He wanted Geoff’s ferocity, needed it like a hunger for red meat and a woman’s touch. “That the best you got?” he ground out.
Geoff’s chuckle was nasty enough to spear need right into Chris’s balls. “Just keep talking back. Chest down and keep your ass up. When I’m done, you can answer that question for yourself.”
Chris set his jaw and complied, ready
for Geoff to whale on him. If he’d done that, Chris could have endured it like a hard football practice, nothing touching him below the surface. But Geoff chose another, far more devastating tactic.
The strap whispered over Chris’s tense flesh, a featherlike sensation that had a shiver running up his spine. He could almost feel the heat of Geoff’s gaze following it, studying every inch of his back and nervously flexing ass. When Geoff slid a firm, heated palm down the line of Chris’s spine and down to cup one buttock, fingers gripping with casual possession, Chris’s heart rate went up another octave. “Geoff . . .”
Crack! The blow had him sucking in a breath, swallowing Geoff’s name. He could tell himself the loud pop of the strap gave a false sense of how hard it was hitting him, but the sting through his nerve endings called him a liar. He put his head down and tried to breathe, trying to keep his head in a center space where he would stand apart from this. On the third strike, he failed. A churning mix of arousal, nerves and deeper, harder things gripped him, and he was grunting as much from their clamp on his mind as the force of the blows.
Geoff began alternating the strikes from side to side, coming up from beneath so that the impact sang through his perineum and balls. He made a flat crack against both cheeks, so Chris jerked and tightened. Hell, Geoff had him practically dancing, his toes curled tight in his work shoes, his hamstrings strained.
Then, he’d change it up again. A couple of times when Chris was ready for the sting, Geoff ran his hand over the throbbing flesh instead, a caressing, firm touch, teasing Chris’s balls. His dick got harder and things higher up got even tighter. He was white-knuckling the edge of the workbench.
“Geoff . . .”
He hadn’t bent all the way over when he turned back toward the bench, but Geoff took care of that now. He pushed him down to his chest again, which meant Chris had to adjust his stance, putting his ass farther out there. Geoff clamped his hand on the back of Chris’s neck and landed a half dozen blows that went past sting into full burn. Chris snarled, cursed and kept his ass lifted, some part of himself he knew but didn’t understand asking for more.