My head fell back, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp. The initial push of his dick sliding into me would never not hurt, but the pain promised pleasure that obliterated everything else. It took over me, he took over me, and left no room for doubts or worries once his big body was pinning me to the bed.
He held my wrists again, crisscross over my head, and moved against me in a slow unceasing grind. With my legs held open by his broad body and my hands useless, I was there for his taking, and I fucking loved it that way. Every blunt thrust, every low growl, and the drip of his sweat onto my chest and stomach as he moved his hips in a way that allowed him to slide inside of me deeper.
I was overwhelmed by him in all the best ways. The ways that drew agonized moans from my mouth and likely spilled them out onto the streets, and the ways that filled my head with a thousand incoherent pleases for him to never stop. Even when I went off like a geyser from one touch to my erection, I didn’t want him to stop. I prayed that he would hold my thighs open forever, stay so impossibly deep in me forever, because fucking had never been like this for me and I never wanted it to stop.
I wriggled my hand out of his grasp only to clutch the back of his neck as he hunched over me. Our gazes locked, foreheads pressed together, the next time he thrust into me. I squeezed him as tight as I could, loving the way his eyes unfocused and the way he bit his lower lip.
He was gorgeous. He was magic. And he was mine.
When he came, Luis was lodged deep inside me and my heels were digging into the small of his back. I held him to me, not letting him pull out or move away, and kept my thighs locked around him in a Street Fighter grip until he collapsed on top of me.
After a second, he chuckled in my ear all deep and throaty. “Is this stage five or stage six clinger status?”
“Stage ten,” I breathed. “I’m physically incapable of letting go of you right now.”
“Good.” Luis grinned against my face. “Don’t. And keep that shit in mind next time something goes down. Because you know it will.”
I laughed quietly, my chest moving against his. He was right. There would be a next time. There was always a next time. And maybe when it inevitably came—that next scary moment when the world seemed to fall down around me with bits of hope sifting between my fingers—I’d remember how good this felt. I’d remember that I didn’t always have to be scared.
North Shore, ch 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Charles
I threw up twice on the day of my first show with Man-dated Attraction. Not only because I was a nervous wreck, but because I’d had a couple of drinks on an empty stomach and puked like a kid who’d just downed their first red cup.
To me, it was an omen.
To Luis, it was hilarious.
I supposed it was good at least one of us had maintained our sense of humor in the days since he’d lost his job.
“It’s going to be fine.” He watched me sit down heavily on the studio floor in his apartment. “You’ve been practicing nonstop with both me and Gabe while Marquis breathed down our necks. You know this routine like the underside of my dick.”
Half-laughing, half-snorting, I flopped onto the floor in a spread eagle. “It’s different in front of an audience. Do you know when was the last time I performed in front of actual people?”
“Gee, I dunno, like three months ago?” Luis kicked my bare foot with the tip of his Nike. “You performed for a ton of people for six months on a wack boat. Stop acting like you’re old and rusty.”
“That was different!”
“How?” he countered. “Because they were just there because it was a free event, instead of paying to see your art?”
A smile nearly stole from my lips before I remembered I was supposed to be serious about my artist convictions. “Maybe.”
“Maybe you’re a snob. Which, I can be too, but you still entertained someone on that ship, you know. It’s not like your ass was doing the shuffle for an audience of three.”
“Sometimes I was,” I said sullenly.
Luis arched an eyebrow. “Stop. You’re gonna be awesome. My mom is psyched to see us dance together.” The look of horror I aimed his way brought about a sheepish expression, and he smiled. “Oh, forgot to mention that, eh?”
“Luis!” I sat up straight. “What the fuck? How are you going to A—not tell me, then B—tell me right before the show.”
“Technically, this isn’t right before the show.” He looked at his watchless wrist. “The show is in like eight hours.”
I put all the power of Stephanie, Jace, and Mere combined into my glare. “Dude. You have to prepare me for meeting the parents stuff! I am not a parent person. Parents have not liked me since I was in junior high when they knew me as the giant queer kid who cursed too much and had no manners.”
“So, not much has changed?”
I started to kick his ankle, thought better of it, and stomped my foot.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he jeered. “Be easy on the merch before the big show.”
“I’ll be easy on something, all right. Like…” I ground my teeth together. “Like… fuck, I don’t know. Insert something witty. Does this mean I have to meet your parents?”
“Uh-huh. And my cousins. You think my fam was gonna miss my biggest performance yet?” Luis snorted. “I honestly thought it was common sense.”
“My parents literally threatened to send me to live with distant family members in Serbia if I didn’t stop being gay,” I said scathingly. “How the fuck would it ever occur to me that other people’s family would jump at the chance to see their son dance in a rainbow jock strap?”
“I dunno. ‘Cause my parents are as awesome as me?”
“I am going to kill you.”
Luis gave a long suffering sigh and plopped down beside me, appearing physically unable to bite back his cute little grin. “Okay, I’m sorry. I am. But… is it so bad that I’m hella psyched for you to meet my folks? My mom has been stalking your Instagram for two weeks, and she’s all the way into this relationship as long as you pass her tests.”
A cold sweat was on the verge of breaking out on my forehead, and now he was talking about tests. “Luis.”
“I’m playing!” He knelt in front of me and braced my face with his hands. “Seriously. It’s fine. She just wants to support us, and they both want to meet you. Man, we’ve been talking about renting a space together for our businesses. Even if we weren’t fucking like eight times a day, they’d want to meet you based on that alone.”
This oddly calmed my nerves. I wasn’t just the boyfriend who’d gotten him fired with bathroom sex. I was a potential business partner. The person he’d be signing a lease with. I was more comfortable trying to convince her to trust me with paying half the rent and filling a space with clients than trying to convince anyone that Luis could trust me with his heart. I mean, I thought he could, and he thought I could, but did other people? Did I care what other people thought?
I wanted to say no, but I did care. I cared what his parents thought, and also what the other dancers at Man-Dated Attraction thought.
“I just want people to not think I suck,” I said finally. “Since high school, I’ve been that gay dude. The loud dramatic one. The one who alwaaaays had a problem. And I’ve been stuck in that role for-ev-er.”
“My parents won’t think that. I’m the one dramatically flinging off my boxing trunks to shake my ass in a rainbow jock. How’s that for drama?”
I couldn’t help a smile. With him, I never could. “Do they know why you got fired from Male Revue?”
“Uh. No.” Luis did a full body cringe. “I just said I had it out with my manager and dipped. They don’t need to know that I was trying to get busy at work. My mom will tear my ass up.”
A laugh popped out of me, and my shoulders loosened. “Okay. I’ll calm down. Maybe before the show, I’ll do one of those meditation tapes Ashton gave me.”
“Do it.” Luis kissed my forehead. “I
’d stay and chill out with you, but I promised my parents I’d meet them before the show. They want to say good luck and everything.”
“Where are you meeting them? By Highline? It’s so early.”
“Nope.” Luis hesitated briefly then grinned. “I’m going to the Bronx.”
My eyes opened wide. “Luis, what the hell? You’re going to do that before the show?”
“Yeah, I have plenty of time.”
“That’s not even what I mean. What if something happens?” I nearly bit off my own tongue, and rushed to add, “Not that I think something bad will happen, but won’t you get stressed?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll feel like I conquered my fear and will be ready to take on the audience at Highline?” Luis smiled, and it wobbled a little. “It’s just something I want to do for myself. I want to show my parents I can make the step to go see them again, and I thought it would be pretty cool if they showed up with me to Highline. Is that cool?”
It was actually adorable. His love for his family was one of those things I’d known early on, just judging by how frequently I’d catch drifts of his conversations from downstairs, and it had charmed me. I’d never been close to my family, and so many of my friends had issues with theirs. Seeing him being lovingly embraced, and cherishing that bond, was special. I just hoped no one in his old neighborhood tried to ruin it.
“It’s very cool. Just be careful, babe.”
"Always. I’ll see you tonight.”
We kissed again, longer this time, before he reluctantly retreated out the door. Once it shut, clicking loudly in the old frame, I rolled onto my side to watch him through the windows as he descended the porch and headed down the street. For some reason, I wanted to freeze frame that moment. The sight of him with a gym bag over his shoulder, smiling to himself and striding away from our house, warmed me all over. He’d left happy because of me. And I was here laying on the floor, gazing after him with an answering smile that he would never see, because of him.
Was this what it felt like to be in love? And if so, why was the feeling so goddamn unfamiliar? It was odd to imagine that all the things I’d thought I’d felt in the past, the intensity and passion and heart wrenching angst, hadn’t ever amounted to anything close to happiness or completion.
Exhaling slowly, I grabbed one of the foam rollers from the corner and shoved it under my back. Stretching, yoga, then meditation. If that didn’t relax me before trekking to Chelsea, then nothing would. And wine was officially out of the question.
I cleared my thoughts by sitting on the floor and breathing naturally while trying to focus on nothing but my own breath and how good my body felt with each inhale and exhale—all techniques Ashton had taught me after multiple pleas for him to share the self-care methods he vaguely discussed on Instagram—and quit obsessing. Not just over meeting The Parents, but the show, the other dancers, and of course Luis and my future plans. How would we get back on track? Could we get back on track? And how much would it affect our relationship if things never panned out? Doubting him felt wrong, but people tended to underestimate the power of disappointment and how it could rot even the deepest of affection.
Those concerns plagued me until I found a calm center and slowly felt the worries ease. It wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t on a Scientologist level of clear, but I was definitely less weighed down by a thousand worries. And my body felt limber and flexible enough to put on a good show.
Excitement spun up in my gut, golden threads and silver sparkles that had been rusted over for years. Instead of focusing on my doubts, I thought about my costume. About inviting Luis’ parents for dinner after the show. Of slyly asking them embarrassing secrets about him, and then shyly avoiding questions about how we’d met. Of celebrating our success, and potentially asking them for advice on how to get our plan back on its feet. That was what family was for, right? To help.
Feeling upbeat, I got to my feet and stretched one more time. The sun was gleaming through the window in deep golden rays and, when I followed them outside, all of my feelings of positivity extinguished. I cried out, jumping backwards with my hand flying to my heart.
Landon was looking at me through the glass. His pale eyes roamed my body in a way that made my skin crawl. I needed to put on more clothes. To lock the doors. To call Luis. To fucking hide. I needed to run.
He made a face at me. “Open the door! I’m here to get my shit,” his muffled voice came through the window.
Right. His belongings. He’d warned me he would be showing up soon. That he’d show up when he was ready. And that time was now. Now, of all times. Today, of all days. How could it be? How could it be that coincidental?
Unless it wasn’t one.
My stomach twisted as we stared at each other through the glass—me stricken, and him raising his eyebrows in impatience. It was the possibility of him being in a hurry that got my ass in gear, and forced my feet to take me to the door. I’d only truly been afraid of him a few times before because I’d been so hellbent on the idea that I could handle myself. I could defend myself. But now my hands were shaking. Everything was misaligning.
“Took you long enough,” he snapped, shouldering past me once the door was open. “You’re not the only one with a life, Charles.”
I didn’t know what that meant, so I said nothing. I watched him look towards Luis’ apartment as if waiting for him to materialize, before scoffing and heading towards my place. The one we’d once shared. There was a moment of panic when I realized the wastebasket in my bedroom had empty condom wrappers, that there was lube on the side table, and that there were signs of Luis everywhere, but the concern was stupid.
He’d just seen me doing yoga in Luis’ apartment. He knew. And I shouldn’t care that he knew, but my stomach still sank.
“What do you even need?” I asked woodenly. “I looked through everything, and there are literally none of your belongings in this house.”
Landon cast me a disparaging look. “If you took it, we’re going to have trouble.”
“What are you talking about?”
I trailed behind him as he went into the living room and jerked open the tiny closet inside. It was so narrow it was basically useless except for the drop-down staircase leading to the attic. I thought there was no way he’d be going to that, except for the part when he did. I watched, mystified, as Landon clambered up the rickety wooden staircase and stomped around.
With certainty, I knew he’d stashed something illegal up there. What other reason could there be for him to find such a remote hiding spot? We’d had access to the attic forever but had never been willing to clean it up. Even when my landlord had suggested I use it for a dance studio, the urge to fix up someone else’s property had not been strong. But Landon had had other ideas.
Once he dropped back down to our apartment, a little dustier and a lot out of breath, I was not surprised to see a chunky manila envelope in his hands.
“Money?” I guessed. “Or pills.”
“None of your business,” he countered. “But if you keep trying to make me sound like a criminal mastermind, you’re going to find yourself in a world of trouble.”
“You doctor shop and resell Xanax while living in your parents’ basement,” I said flatly. “I would never mistake you for a mastermind.”
Landon’s jaw clenched. Instead of tearing into me, he cast a long slow look around the apartment. The wooden floors, the artwork, the sun making it look homey and cozy. Everything that was no longer his, including me.
“So, you’re taking your turn with the stripper.”
I raised my lip in a snarl. “You never got anywhere with him, so don’t even try to talk shit. He’s too good for you.”
“You’re probably right.” Landon stopped scanning the space and focused his laser focus glare directly on me. “He’s too good for you too. And he won’t take your shit.”
“My shit?” I demanded. “That’s how you remember everything that happened between us? Me starting shit with
you?”
“More or less, yeah.” Landon never started with a raised voice. Oh no. He went in exactly like this—calm and methodical as he took me apart word by word. “Our relationship was fucked, I don’t deny it. No one could deny it, babe. Not even our own friends. But it wasn’t just me who was the problem. My main problem was not leaving you sooner, and dealing with it by fucking around with other people just so I could feel normal for a little while at a time.”
I expected a lot of terrible things from Landon but this stunned me. It reminded me of all those comments people had said on social media—the subtle jabs and snide subs. The people who had said “good for you” after he’d posted about walking out on me. I’d been seeing it for months, and yet it still struck me. “Wow.”
“You always do that,” he said, shaking his head. “You always act shocked or hurt when someone points out the truth, and then we feel bad and bite our tongues, so no one ever takes the time to tell you the shit you really need to hear.”
“Such as?” I asked, voice lowering. “What do I really need to hear, Landon?”
“That you’re toxic, Charles,” he said, mimicking my tone. “You’re needy, and you shut down whenever things don’t go your way. Then you blame everyone in a fifty-mile-radius for yet another bad thing that has happened to you. Yet another misfortune, another string of bad luck, because bad things always happen to Charles, right? And it’s never your fault. It’s a coincidence, or someone mistreating you, or a conspiracy. Whether it’s your parents, your high school friends, your Julliard friends, or even me—there’s always someone who has wronged you, right?”
“How…” I had to blink and shake my head. This was surreal. This was unbelievable. And yet this was souring my stomach and making the hair on every part of my body stand on end. “You isolated me,” I managed to grit out. “You made me believe my Julliard friends hated me—”
“I pointed out that they likely didn’t give a shit about you. That’s not the same as hating you. It just means they don’t care. Just like your other friends went on with their lives when you were on that stupid-ass cruise ship, and just like your parents when you iced them out just because they wouldn’t jump up and down with a pride parade when you came out.”
North Shore Page 22