break point: a m/m romance novella

by Daya Daniels

  I smile.

  A guy like this one probably shouldn’t be standing in front of me with his dick out for more reasons that I can imagine. He probably whips it out for everyone whenever he likes…when the mood strikes him. My gaze drifts down to his cock again. So pretteh… A fabulous cock it is—long, thick, hard, hangs a little to the left. And now it’s dripping.

  “We all lose, Channing. It’s the chance you take when you play the game.”

  He smiles. “I take risks all the time but only because I know what the outcome will be.” He steps closer. “If I didn’t know what the outcome would be, I wouldn’t have dared.”

  I spin around to face him. “So, what you’re saying is that you aren’t as brave as you claim to be?”

  His eyes drift over my torso, and then down, down, down until they’re stuck on my dick that’s swelling by the millisecond.

  Lifting a hand, I cradle his face with my palm. “And here I was giving you all sorts of credit for being a man who likely takes risks, for not being a spoiled brat, for not being an arrogant prick…And it was all for nothing. Because that might be exactly who you are.” My lips drag over his.

  His palm ascends, slides up along my neck and clutches the back of it.

  Firm.

  Powerful.

  Commanding.

  So much rage for a young soul. So much brokenness. Makes me want to fix him.

  Perhaps I am the glue.

  “What made you so brave as to come in here?” I step closer until we’re chest-to-chest.

  He gives me no words. Only his thick sable lashes flutter.

  “I could get you fired. I could scream. I could claim you launched yourself at me…”

  Why on earth would I turn this man away?

  He smiles. “But you won’t.”

  “Because I want you?” I lift a brow.

  A terse nod. “Yes, exactly.”

  This self-impressed bastard.

  Even then still, I laugh because Channing truly is funny. I shut my eyes then open them to find myself staring into his pensive eyes. But, it’s a mirage. This man isn’t that deep.

  He smiles.

  I do the same.

  His other hand trembles as it rises from his side to cup my cheek and then his thumb drags over my bottom lip. So tender. So sweet. So-fucking-scared. Those hazel orbs of his flicker around.

  “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” I grin.

  He doesn’t blink. I find there’s more hunger in his gaze in this split second than there is hesitation or fear. In this instance, he’s brave. Maybe in possession of too much bravado for his own goddamn good.

  “Do you?” He edges closer, lips dragging over my own and then he nips.

  I don’t move, only allow him to have his way.

  The tile at my back licks against my warm wet skin. Channing leans into me. His hand clutches the back of my neck much too hard but it’s nothing I can’t take and his tongue dives into my mouth, searching, seeking, aiming to control. My own can’t resist it. They tangle in a dirty and sweet performance like they were made to dance together, never one step out of beat.

  Perfection.

  Like a Whitman poem.

  My hands crawl over his firm flesh and settle on his powerful pecs. It lingers over his heart where the erratic thump of it vibrates against my palm. It’s a beat I’ve never known and find myself curious about. Is it for me? Or does it beat like this all the time?

  I sink into the kiss, reveling in the sensation of skin against skin, his cock against mine.

  “I like you.” He smiles.

  You don’t know what you like?

  The world hasn’t beat it out of you yet…

  “I know you don’t like me though…” He tips his head back, half smiling.

  Insecurity.

  I grin.

  He kisses me again, softly, desperately, leaving me no time to breathe.

  “Because nobody really does.” He squints.

  Bitterness.

  The type you find in a young lemon.

  Pretty on the outside but so sour on the inside—much too sour to consume.

  It only needs a bit more time on that tree…

  “I don’t care though.” He gasps.

  “Then why do you bother to mention it? Are you attempting to make me feel special?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Just because we’re about to fuck doesn’t mean that afterward I’m going to hesitate to beat your ass out on that tennis court, especially if you deserve it, Channing. Your serve is weak. Your footwork is tired. And all that shit you likely sprout to people about being a fan of this sport since you were a child offends me. If you are a man of this sport, then damn well act like it.”

  His eyes double in size at my words. A tight jaw follows. His slips slam into mine.

  It’s suffocating.

  But God do I want it.

  Live a little, Rupert.

  The water beats down, the sound of it soothing but all the while causing me to sweat. Hot skin. Eager hands. Raging hearts. Souls moving into an unknown existence. Where is he taking me? Over the hills and into the valleys? A direct one-way right to Hell? Does it matter? And if so, can I hang on for the ride?

  Of

  fucking

  course.

  I’m captured in a kiss, one filled with far too much longing than it truly should be.

  The steam seems thicker…It obscures the ugly parts of this man, maybe conceals the less appealing pieces of me too. And boy oh boy are there lots of them. Does he wish to see?

  When he pulls away, or rather lets me up for air, shock is painted all over his features.

  Mess.

  Confusion.

  Greed.

  He breathes heavily and that cock of his stands at attention, thick, swollen and wet for more reasons than just the water that spills from above soaking it. I take it my hand and stroke it slowly, working it from root to tip. It jumps in my grip. It pulses at the base and just at the end of it the slit there, it drips with precum I’d love to taste.

  He tips his head back and groans. Then his eyes are back on me.

  “I don’t want anything from you, Channing.”

  It’s the truth—brutal, necessary—said with conviction.

  He scowls.

  “Just this.” My grip is firm, and my powerful stroke picks up, earning an appreciative squelch that crackles through the air with the relentless motion.

  I tug.

  Channing hisses.

  Shoulders relaxed, a permanent smile makes its home on his shapely lips. Balls tight.

  I drag my fingers over each one of them.

  Full.

  Just like mine.

  Only mine haven’t been emptied in a fucking decade.

  Channing probably let one off only a few hours ago. God only know where he put it all.

  Which sends my thoughts down a winding road…

  He’s pretty, but not that fucking pretty.

  “Channing.” I press my lips to his.

  His eyes pop open and his hand lifts showing me all the pretty prizes there.

  You just thought of everything, didn’t you?

  I smile, satisfied and now I’m even harder.

  I’m unable to stifle my moans as his increase in volume and every muscle chiseled in the flesh on his stomach flexes with the movement. He’s striking. Not the type of man I’d normally go for. He isn’t reliable. He isn’t kind. He isn’t even mature. Yet, I’m still standing here. Naked. Hard. Painfully swollen. The possessor of aching balls and an empty asshole that pulses to be filled.

  It’s been far too long…

  Channing grimaces as if in pain, but he can’t be, maybe just in agony from the wait, like me. His hand firmly grips mine pulling it away from his dick.

  I keep my eyes on him with interest.

  He pulls my palm to his cheek, shutting his eyes and then he presses a kiss to the back of it.

  So fucking romantic.<
br />
  So goddamn complicated.

  When are things in life ever not?

  A tiny smile tugs at my lips.

  I’m just an old man—boring, normal, begging to be conquered.

  I regard Channing and determine with breath-stealing fear that he just might be the warrior I’ve been looking for all my life.

  channing

  CRASHING INTO RUPERT, I plant a kiss on his lips he’ll never forget.

  When I pull away, he sends a discerning look my way as I fumble like a clown to get the condom on my dick and the lube, I pull from its wet box. Laughing, I gather everything I need.

  Rupert steps closer.

  I kiss him once more.

  He backs away from me, leading me with his blues. I’m a dog on his leash. Lips parted and panting, I follow him, watching the show as he works his thick fingers into his asshole.

  My god.

  The water beats down on my sweaty back. Breaths leave me loud and rapid.

  Rupert smiles. Then he twists around and bends over showing me everything he’s been up to.

  I slam my lips shut right before I drool.

  He parts his ass cheeks with his hands. It’s an invitation, one I accept. I place a palm on his lower back then run it up and over his spine, gripping my dick with my other hand and working it in almost the same way Rupert had only a moment ago. My fingers thread into his hair. I yank his head back and focus on all that gray that makes him so much older than me. But it doesn’t matter right now. I plan to fuck him all the same.

  Hopefully, his old bones can take it.

  I kiss his delectable mouth, softly, so fucking softly and then I’m back and focused on his ass. My eyes lower to his thighs…the path to my goddamn salvation. I run a hand over his warm skin.

  Perfect.

  A man who has a face I could get used to but maybe don’t deserve to look at it.

  Makes me wonder why he’s alone, allowing himself to get fucked in a shower by a man who will likely forget alllll about him by tomorrow just like I do all the rest.

  “You’re perfect, Rupert.” The words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them.

  God, I sound desperate. As desperate as he looks right now crouched and searching for someone or something to fill his heart. Why is it empty? He’s gorgeous. Does everything have to make sense? And more importantly, why on earth do I care?

  You don’t, Channing. You don’t.

  I don’t know how many minutes pass before I realize my hands are still roving over his flesh and he’s enjoying it, craning his neck this way and that and expelling appreciative gasps at my touch.

  It’s electric—all of it.

  He moans.

  I groan, running a hand over my wet cock that’s sheathed because it should be.

  I don’t play those sorts of games, ever.

  And I doubt this man would allow me to.

  Unable to take it anymore, I dip down and press a kiss to ass cheek then I lick it over and over and over appreciating the taste of his skin and the sensation of it against my nose and lips. And then helplessly my tongue slithers its way to that stretched out hole. I kiss. I lick. I nibble. I make sure it loves me because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with it. I bury my face there, shoving two fingers inside of him, stretching him out and eat.

  Rupert swears.

  He rocks back and forth on my face.

  And when I’m satisfied, I back away and regard the masterpiece in front of me.

  One pretty gaping hole. Open. But not quite open enough for the monster in my grip.

  Consider this a stretch session…

  I grab hold of his hips, position myself behind him and with my pulse thrumming so hard that I can feel it in my spleen, I lift my hand. SLAP. It comes down on his ass leaving a pink palm print there. Consider it a marking. SLAP. I do it again, adoring what I swear are the hottest, tightest glutes on the west coast.

  “Is that all you’ve got, Channing?” He laughs.

  My heart trips over itself.

  SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.

  “Oooh.” Rupert smiles.

  My thumb caresses that hole and soon I send my cock chasing after it. With a grunt that rattles my chest, I sink into him, burying myself down deep.

  Rupert shudders, chokes, slaps the tile with a hand and holds on to his knee with the other.

  “Yeah, that’s everything.” I pull back, rock forward then settle into a rhythmic stroke, squelching, moaning, groaning, balls slapping his with each long, harsh one.

  They’re gifts…and I intend to keep giving them. Consider me Santa fucking Claus.

  “Oh god.” Rupert’s face contorts.

  Yep, I’m your god.

  “Keep going.”

  Absofuckinglutely.

  His back arches, gifting me with more of him, taking-it-all. He clenches his teeth and gives me the most controlled yet lost look.

  A challenge?

  I fuck him harder.

  I’m drilling for gold!

  Euphoric sounds sync.

  And soon my stroke is crazed, full of follow through, and Rupert is baying like an old goat. He tugs on his dick. His wet asshole consumes my cock. With each dive I make into his tight tunnel, his flesh massages mine, causes it to thrum and throb until it’s out of control. Soon, his cum is all over the shower floor and in the same beat it’s washed away by the water. Forgotten but not to me. My fingers dig into his hips and my dick goes wild, spurting and jerking wildly inside of him, earning moans from him with every pulse of my cock.

  So attune.

  So in sync.

  So bad, bad, bad.

  I’m dizzy when I pull out and yank the condom off my dick, finding myself still hard.

  Rupert sinks down to his knees. His hands find their way to my stomach, caressing, stroking and then those same fingers are curling around my cock.

  I’m still panting like a beast, staring at him, adoring him, wondering…

  “Do you have anything to say?” Rupert’s blues regard me.

  Yeah, lots, but it’s just for me, not for you.

  A delicate kiss is pressed to the swollen head of my dick.

  I accept it with grace and smile. “No, nothing at all.”

  "This is the last time I plan to see you, Channing…” He smiles. “It’s clear I’ll have to get another instructor.”

  A joke.

  It must be.

  Rupert takes my cock in his mouth like it’s his bessssst friend, working it with an expert tongue.

  “Well, then you better make this worthwhile.” I stroke my thumb across his cheek.

  Because I’m unforgettable…

  ~

  “You have a good evening, Channing.” Rupert sends me a wave before he heads off to his car. He’s wearing the thick glasses I already presumed he did and a polka dot T-shirt and plaid shorts.

  Dear god.

  He looks like he just stepped off the cover of Popular Science magazine.

  I can’t tear my eyes away from his smooth gait. After the valet pulls up, Rupert heads toward his car—a gunmetal gray Range Rover. Definitely not what I imagined this massive nerd to be driving. But still the type of vehicle a responsible man would own. Sexy. Appealing. Hella confusing…as is everything about this man!

  I exhale then shake my head, needing to clear of it everything that had just happened.

  It’s early in the evening and I’m already over three hours late to my next destination. Now, I’m floating in a post-orgasmic sea, smell of cedarwood—an aroma which will undoubtedly stay with me—and my previously stiff back is seemingly now relaxed.

  Rupert pulls out of the valet parking space.

  And I’m left standing here as he drives away, feeling fucking forlorn.

  I’m jerked out of my thoughts when my phone buzzes. A groan leaves me at the number which appears on the faceplate.

  It’s Harper, my boyfriend.

  Did I tell you have a boyfriend?

  Well, yeah, I do.

/>   Ohhhhhhhhhh, don’t get upset…

  Gosh, I’m getting pretty tired of saying that!

  I told you I fuck whoever I want. So what Harper doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  Clearing my throat, I swipe right. “Hey, I’m sorry—”

  “My god, why can you never be on time, Channing? We’ve been waiting for you for hours…”

  “I’m sorry.” I jog toward my car where it remains in the staff parking lot. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

  “What was keeping you up?”

  A fabulous piece of ass…

  “Um, nothing, just ended up lost for time while I was working on my backstroke.”

  “Oh, well then, we’re here, waiting on you, Channing.”

  After pressing the key fob and unlocking it, I clamber into my yellow Ferrari 458—a gift from Bartholomew—and pull the door shut. “Yeah, I’ll be there in just a bit.”

  “Okay then, Gray is already shitfaced. He wants you to know that the whole-fucking-world doesn’t revolve around you, Channing, so we’ve started drinking already.” Harper chuckles. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Yeah.” I laugh, absorbing those words. “And no, I don’t mind.”

  “We’re at The Polo Lounge on Sunset.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  “Looking forward to it, babe. I love you.” He sends kisses through the phone.

  “I love you too.” I hang up and press the phone to my chest. Twisting the key in the ignition, the engine kicks over. My foot falls on the gas pedal and the car pulls out of the parking bay.

  I know what you’re thinking…

  You’re probably wondering if you should go on.

  I suppose it’s completely up to you.

  A smile sits on my lips as the vehicle pulls out on Wilshire Boulevard and I punch the gas.

  So, yeah, I’m an asshole.

  But, hey…

  I never denied it.

  set two

  rupert

  THE PHONE CALL I’VE just made goes straight to voicemail.

  I’ve been dismissed.

  Ghosted…I believe is what the youthful population call it nowadays.

  I try again and press the phone to my ear. There’s nothing but trilling on the line then it clicks. Excitement bubbles up in my chest and it dies just as quickly when I realize my call has gone to voicemail yet again. “Hey, you know what to do. Leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”