Hearts and Flour

by Tara Lain

  Micah yelled, “Oh God. Oh God.” It had to be every time Quentin’s cock slammed over his prostate. For Quentin, the flaming, searing drag of tight flesh over perfect nerves sent his brain into outer space. No, inner space. Straight into his balls. Black dots and flashes of red floated in front of his eyes and shocks of electricity shot up his spine every time the base of his cock slammed against Micah’s butt. Micah’s cock bounced like a hypnotist’s watch. It was all Quentin could focus on. Feeling, drowning in feeling. He wanted to go under. Never come back. Live in this bliss. But—

  “Holy sweet God!” Micah’s cock spurted onto Quentin’s belly and chest.

  Cool flames ripped up Quentin’s shaft, into his balls, and out into every cell. His breath caught, then poured out in a wail. “Yes, yes. Oh my God, yes.” He filled the condom in Micah’s dear ass, and the sweetness poured into his heart.

  Quentin’s head fell to the side as Micah’s full weight collapsed on his chest and his fast breath hissed against Quentin’s ear. “You’re so great. How can you be so great?”

  Quentin sighed. “You inspire me.” Their hearts thumped together, and gradually breathing became possible. Quentin exhaled slowly. Then in. Out. “Sadly, I must go.”

  “Wish you could stay.” Micah rolled to the side, leaving Quentin’s cock feeling cool and well used.

  “Me too, but I need to check in on Mary Beth.” He sat up slowly and removed the condom, then scooted his legs off the side of the bed.

  Micah grabbed a piece of tissue from the nightstand and handed it to Quentin. Quentin grinned as he wrapped the latex. “Must admit, I enjoyed my experience as a top. Even though I wasn’t really on top.”

  “First time?”

  “First time in a long time. I love getting fucked, but this was delightful. Thank you.”

  “Thank you. I’m comfortable switching. I do love to top, but this was kind of the best of both worlds.”

  “It was the best. Period.” He stared at Micah for a moment. Those dark eyes sucked him deep. He sighed. Move your butt, lazybones. He stood and carried the wrapped condom into the bathroom. After tossing it, he used the facilities, then dragged a wet washcloth over his equipment and his sticky chest. He rinsed the cloth thoroughly, then went back out to where Micah still lay on the bed, gently sorting his pubic hair with idle fingers.

  Quentin sat on the bed and washed the half-dried goop off Micah’s chest.

  “Thank you.” Micah smiled, and his pretty, slim face lit up like an illuminated window.

  Quentin stood, took the cloth back to the sink, then walked to the chair and pulled on his panties and skirt.

  “Will Mary Beth still be awake?”

  “Oh yes. She’s quite the night owl, that devil. She doesn’t really need me. She’s active and capable. I probably need her more than the other way around.” He pulled on his padded bra and hooked it, then sat on the bed holding his blouse.

  “But you don’t think you can tell her you’re gay?”

  Quentin stared at his hands. “I think I could. She loves me so much and has always been pretty accepting. But she’s an old Southern lady and has great hopes for me. I just can’t bear to disappoint her. Telling her I’m gay would just lead to… the other thing. You know, the women’s clothes. And she’s not going to be able to understand that. I keep thinking I’ll stop it. But I never do. She deserves so much better than me.”

  Micah scooted beside him. “I’ll bet she loves you any way you are.”

  “That’s true. It’s me that wishes I was some other way for her.” He sighed and pulled on the blouse. “But I always say good night, and she would certainly be worried if I didn’t.”

  Micah kissed his shoulder. “Haven’t you ever spent the night with someone?”

  “When I was younger, I’d kiss her good night and then sneak out afterward.”

  “Younger? Good God, you’re still younger.”

  Quentin laughed. “I’m twenty-four and quite grown-up. I have a college education and my own business, I’ll have you know, Mr. Smartypants.” He turned his head and kissed Micah’s cute slim nose, then stood and went to the dresser and looked in the mirror. A bit of a wreck, but he’d have a couple of minutes to freshen up when he got home.

  “What kind of business?”

  Quentin smiled at Micah, then went back to pulling on his wig. Best not to walk around looking half Quentin and half Queen. “Oh, quite nice, actually. I’ve got a little bakery. I get to use my grandmother’s favorite recipes. The shop has only been open a few weeks, but we have lines out the door and down the block. Mary Beth is thrilled.” He turned and smiled at Micah—whose face had turned to stone. “What’s wrong?”

  His voice sounded flat. “What’s your name? Your real name?”

  “Oh. It’s Quentin. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No, you didn’t. And your business is called—”

  “Charismatic Cupcakes. Don’t you think it’s a great name? Mary Beth thought of it.”

  Micah just stared. “It never occurred to you to tell me what your business was when I was going on about my place?”

  What’s wrong with him? “I started to, and then the waiter came and we changed the subject. Why is this a problem?”

  Micah stood up, still stark naked. “Because my best customers—people who’ve worked for months and years to perfect their diets and improve their health—are coming into my classes carrying cupcakes. Your cupcakes. It’s like watching them swallow poison.”

  Well, hell’s bells! “Poison? We use the best ingredients. My grandmother’s recipes aren’t poison.”

  “Of course they are. Do you know what white sugar and flour do to the liver, the DNA? It’s worse than poison.”

  Quentin stuck his hands on his hips. “And do you know what going through life without benefit of any food that’s truly pleasurable does to you? It kills you a whole lot faster than poison.”

  Micah stared at him, breathing hard. “I guess we just don’t have that much in common after all.”

  A rolling pin in his heart couldn’t have hurt more. “I guess not.”

  “Glad we found out now instead of—later.”

  Later, as in when Quentin’s heart could break in one hundred pieces instead of only ninety-nine? “If you say so.”

  He grabbed his purse, ran to the living room, picked up his shoes and shawl, and tore out the door. On the landing, he stared at the three-inch heels. He wasn’t putting them on. He hurt enough for one night.

  OUCH. QUENTIN hobbled into his living room. That theory about the shoes had lasted halfway across Micah’s lawn, when Quentin stepped on a rock and used many words inappropriate for a lady.

  He threw the shoes into the hall closet and hurried to the bedroom. Mary Beth would be worried. He stopped. Tears trickled out of both eyes and ran down his face like some damned leaky faucet over which he had no control. Micah. Why had he let himself get involved with the man? But Micah had seemed so sincere. So sweet.

  Oh, face it, Queen, you thought with your cock. You didn’t really know the man. One date and a couple of great fucks do not a relationship make.

  He flipped on the shower, ripped off his clothes, and tossed them in the back hamper. Maybe he should burn them. He stepped under the water and let it pour out on the top of his head. Could he drown in the shower? Somebody should have drowned him at birth.

  He soaped, scrubbed his face, rinsed, and jumped out. Don’t think. Mary Beth is waiting. He passed some cotton soaked in nail polish remover over his manicure, then threw on some sweats and a T-shirt—more casual than his usual attire, but all he could manage right now. Some flip-flops and his back-door jacket and he padded across the connecting lawn to Mary Beth’s place. Deep breath time. Do not worry her or let her know you’re upset.

  He fixed a smile and opened the back door with his key. “Halllooo the house.”

  Her voice came from the living room as he expected. “In here, dear.”

  Still plastering a smile, h
e walked into the living room. Okay, this wasn’t what he expected. Mary Beth had somehow pushed back the coffee table and had a yoga mat spread in front of her couch. A talk show chattered on the TV while Mary Beth lay on her stomach and raised her upper body into a cobra on the mat. Not half bad either. That eighty-three-year-old back did some good bending. “Quite impressive.”

  “Thank you, sir. The postures really help me relax and get rid of my infernal back pain.” She lowered herself until her forehead touched the mat. Her voice came out muffled. “Be right with you.” She took a deep breath, then pushed up to a kneeling position. “So, how was your get-together?”

  Smile, dammit. “Oh, fine. So you’re really getting benefit from your classes?”

  “Yes, even though that teacher is a piece of work, he does know his postures.”

  Of course, that made him think of Dharmaram, which made him think of Micah, which made him want to bawl. “Good, that’s really good.”

  “So where did you go?” She sat with one leg out and dropped her head toward her knee.

  Shoot. So he had to talk about it. “To a place called Dizzy’s. They have a nice bar.”

  She held her pose. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. George says he likes that place.”

  “George?”

  “My friend from yoga class.” With a big exhale, she sat back up.

  “Oh right.”

  She smiled. “Did you have a good time with your new friend?”

  “It was okay. Tell me about George.”

  She frowned. “Quentin, what’s wrong?”

  He shook his head and tried to smile. “Nothing. We just didn’t have that much in common after all.” His voice broke just a little, so he cleared his throat to cover it. “But I enjoyed the place. I’ll have to take you there.”

  She gazed at him. Didn’t miss much, that lady. “I’m so very sorry that this person didn’t turn out to be a good friend for you.”

  He breathed out slowly. No tears. They could come later. “Friends are hard to make.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “So, you have class tomorrow, right? I’ll drive you. I have some errands to do in the morning before I go to the store.”

  “How is that new girl working out?” She started to get up, and he stood and helped her.

  “Quite well. She has a perfect grasp of the taste and texture of the cupcakes. I feel very comfortable leaving the store when she’s around.”

  She picked up her mat, and he pulled the coffee table back to its usual location. After she clicked the TV off, she walked toward the stairs, and he followed.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll come to the store after my class. I want to see everyone and make sure all the recipes are working well.”

  “The coconut lemon is a huge hit.”

  “I thought it would be. But we need some new flavors to keep our customers coming to try new things.”

  Micah’s voice rang in his ears. My customers work so hard to maintain their diet.

  “I have a couple of ideas for new cupcakes.”

  “Wonderful. Tell me all about them tomorrow when I’m there.”

  “I will.”

  She turned on the step, which put her almost eye-to-eye with him, two steps lower.

  “Quentin, I’ve been alive a long time. I have some friends and many acquaintances and few illusions about any of them. You are one of the finest people I know, deserving of every good thing this world has to offer. I want you to know that.”

  No chance of holding back. The tears pushed out of his eyes, and he swiped at them before they could reach his cheek.

  Her hand cupped his chin. “I want you to believe that.”

  “Thank you.” But believing was even harder than making friends.

  Chapter Five

  MICAH STARED at the ceiling above his bed. The bed that smelled like sex and the subtle scent that was Quentin. Just another hour and he could give up on this god-awful night and try to create a better day. I’m an idiot! Worse than the worst thing people said about him.

  He kicked the covers and thrashed his head on the pillow. How in hell could he have done that to Quentin? How could he have blamed Quentin for having a different lifestyle than he did? How could he have let someone that kind, gentle, beautiful, and sexy go because of some idiotic pseudoconvictions he’d adopted to try to stay alive in the face of his mother’s addictions?

  Yes, he believed in the benefit of organic, raw food. But he also wanted to believe in being happy. In falling in love. If he didn’t get the organic, biodegradable stick out of his ass, he was going to lose the best thing that had ever happened to him. Quentin did it for him. No explaining it, but there it was.

  He kicked again, and the covers slid off the side of the bed. Furtwangler sat up and stared at him. Shit. Get up and try to repair the damage you’ve done, idiot. His feet hit the floor.

  Three excruciating hours later, he approached the cupcake store. Even at nine in the morning, a small line snaked out the door. He recognized Shelly Bloom, one of his customers. Just grin and bear it. He smiled and waved as he walked up to the door. The man in line about to walk into the store looked at Micah threateningly.

  “Hi, I’m not buying. Don’t worry. I just need to talk to the owner.”

  The guy frowned suspiciously but let Micah pass. He scooted into the store and looked around. The smell of sugar and flour assaulted his nose, and he shuddered. Still, it was a pretty place, with pictures of brilliantly colored cupcakes on the walls and masses of the real things lined up in a glass case facing the front. Customers filed past and pointed to the ones they wanted as two attractive young women filled cardboard containers with multiple cupcake orders. Micah noticed the stacks of cupcake containers were prominently marked “One hundred percent recycled material. Biodegradable.” Well, good.

  The two women behind the counter worked briskly to meet the obvious demand. Two women, but no gorgeous man. Micah walked over so he was lined up with the door that led back into the baking area. He tried to peer in but couldn’t see much. Still, neither Quentin nor someone who looked like an older grandmother appeared to be back there. Damn, I have to find him. Who knew what he was thinking? Well, hell, Micah knew what Quentin was thinking. He was thinking that Micah was an ass and an asshole. Correctomundo.

  Shit. He didn’t know where Quentin and his grandmother lived, and he felt pretty sure no one here was going to tell him. How could he find the man? Or the grandmother? Oh God, he didn’t want to use the phone. He really wanted to see him face-to-face.

  Wait. Grandmother. She took yoga from Dharmaram the asshole, speaking of assholes. Micah glanced at the clock on the wall. One of Dharmaram’s beginner classes was going on right now. Maybe that was why she wasn’t in the shop? What were the chances? Hell, his only chance. If he failed, he’d have to call.

  He rushed out of the store, waved again at Shelly, and broke into a run. The yoga studio was only about five blocks. He glanced at his watch, stumbled a half step, then kept on running. They’d be done in about five minutes.

  Breathing hard, he approached the studio. A couple of people stood in the reception area. It might mean the class was over. He skidded to a stop and walked into the familiar building. Sure enough, students were gathering up their mats, but there were a number of older women in the group.

  A cute girl walked by carrying her mat in a shoulder bag. He put out a hand. “Excuse me. Do you know a student named Mary Beth? She’d be an older lady.”

  The girl grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t think of ‘older’ as Mary Beth’s prime characteristic, but she’s over there talking to that tall guy.”

  “Thanks.” He walked into the practice room and looked at the woman standing on her mat chatting with a handsome white-haired man. Hell, if Micah had just used his eyes, he would have known her in a minute. She looked just like Quentin. Same fair hair, wide eyes, and pretty face.

  He took a step and stopped. Dharmaram stood at the front of the class, pr
esumably talking to a couple of students but actually staring over their heads at Micah.

  The nasty smile on his face gave Micah the willies.

  Micah breathed deeply and slowly. Okay, he really wanted this lady to like him—maybe then she’d tell him how to find Quentin—but he had to be careful. Just appear as a friend. Not look too desperate. After all, she thought her grandson was straight.

  He approached her slowly with a smile. She glanced his way. “Excuse me, ma’am. May I speak with you for a second?”

  “Of course.” She looked up at the tall man. “I’ll see you Thursday.” The man nodded with a soft smile, gathered his things, and walked away after a questioning glance at Micah.

  She turned to Micah. “How can I help you?”

  “Uh, ma’am, my name is Micah Truveen. I’ve heard so much about you. You see, I’m a friend of—”

  “Of mine.” A slim hand grasped Micah’s shoulder, and he looked up into Dharmaram’s handsome, lying face. “Micah is a great friend of mine, Mary Beth. And, of course, I tell him such great things about all my students.”

  Micah pulled on his shoulder, trying to loosen Dharmaram’s hand, but his fingers tightened. Dharmaram stared at him intently with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m so glad you came by, dear. I was wanting to speak with you.”

  Micah managed to pull free from the tight grip. “I want to talk to Mary Beth.”

  Dharmaram’s gaze got very intent, and Micah shivered. “I think you’d better talk to me before you do anything else.”

  Shit. That didn’t sound good.

  Mary Beth stepped a little closer and frowned at Dharmaram. “Would you like me to wait for you, Micah? Or better yet, I’m going over to Charismatic Cupcakes when I leave here. Why don’t you come see me there? In fact, my grandson, Quentin, will be there as well. I assume you know him, am I right?”

  Micah nodded. Dharmaram’s fingers dug into his arm. “Thank you. I’ll talk to Dharmaram and be right along, okay?”