by E M Lindsey
“Try to give him some credit, okay?” Kat urged. She squeezed his hand, then let go. “He’s a lot stronger than you think he is.”
Miguel rubbed his hand down his face and let out a ragged sigh. “I know he is. I just don’t want to be one more thing he has to be strong about.” His eyes closed and he let his head thump back against the bricks, keeping them tight shut even when Kat touched his arm once more.
“Just don’t give up yet. I know he’s not ready to lose you, and neither are we.”
“Oh, fuck,” Amit groaned, the sounds ripping from his chest. His bare feet pressed against the window, his ass held in the palms of Miguel’s hands as the man’s tongue devoured him. Amit was unused to this kind of attention, the single-minded focus that had Miguel fixated on his pleasure, on taking him to places Amit didn’t think existed.
They hadn’t seen each other in a week, and apparently it had been too much for Miguel, who showed up just as Amit’s shift was ending. He was in Niko’s borrowed SUV, the purpose becoming very obvious when he got Amit undressed in the roomy backseat and then began to eat ass like it was the only meal he wanted for the rest of his life.
“I’m…fuck…babe,” Amit babbled, fucking back against Miguel’s tongue.
Miguel chuckled, the vibration hitting the backs of his thighs, and he slowly pulled away. “Ride me?”
Amit didn’t need asking twice. Hell, he didn’t need asking once. Miguel liked to bottom, but every so often, he wanted to be inside Amit, and Amit was so down for it. He didn’t know when he was going to find time to get away from home, and he wanted to feel the other man for as long as he could.
Miguel pulled lube and condoms out of his jacket pocket, and Amit went down to his knees between Miguel’s spread thighs, dragging his nails up through his thick leg hair. Miguel groaned, the sound echoing off the window, hitting Amit right in the sternum, and his cock leaked a steady stream of precome onto the floor.
He’d have to kick Niko a little cash to have the thing cleaned out.
Looking up at Miguel’s face, Amit ripped the condom packet open, then slid it down, following with a handful of slick. He stroked his lover a few times, his other hand reaching back to give himself a cursory fingering, but he didn’t want too much prep. He wanted to be stretched wide on Miguel’s cock.
“Please,” Miguel gasped.
Amit could tell he was getting close, so he carefully pulled his panties off his ankle, then straddled Miguel’s lap. He lifted up, letting Miguel’s hand guide his cock, and when Amit felt the pressing head against his pucker, he bore down. The slide was impossibly slow, heavy, the pressure intense, but so fucking good.
He panted a little as he got Miguel halfway in, then dropped his head to his lover’s collarbone to mouth at the skin there. “Fuck, so good,” he groaned.
Miguel twisted his hand into Amit’s hair, tugging until he lifted up, then Miguel’s mouth was on his. He fucked his tongue against Amit’s at the same pace Amit was taking his cock, and he couldn’t help but speed up. In the quiet car, with his hearing aids turned as high as they could go, he could just barely hear Miguel’s puffing breath and quiet grunts as Amit finally bottomed out.
Two palms held his ass, and Miguel’s eyes were dark and full of an emotion Amit was scared to acknowledge. “You feel so fucking good.”
Amit’s eyes drifted closed as he lifted, then sank back down. Lifted, then sank back down. He pressed hard, grinding his hips in a circle, feeling the intense zing every time Miguel’s cock hit his prostate.
“I never …this …end,” Miguel told him, half the words gone, but the tone in his voice told Amit what he was missing. His hand lifted to palm Amit’s cheek, to draw him in for another kiss. “I …you. You need…I miss…much.”
There was a strange desperation to his voice which worried Amit, but his orgasm started to build, and it eclipsed everything. Miguel’s hand curled around his cock and began to stroke him in time with his thrusts, and soon enough his entire body went hot and tingly as he shot his load all over Miguel’s chest.
Miguel didn’t last much longer than that, taking Amit by the hips and fucking him in firm thrusts. He gasped, and his head buried in the crook of Amit’s neck, biting down with a groan. Amit could feel him swell, pulsing, and a part of him wished he could feel Miguel’s seed deep inside him, marking him there where no one else ever had.
The come down was slow, Amit’s breathing stuttered a little before it returned to normal, and he grimaced as Miguel pulled out and deposited the condom in an old gas station bag.
“So, Niko’s not going to love what we just did to his seats,” Amit said.
Miguel laughed, pulling Amit back into his lap for a long kiss. “He knows,” he muttered against his lover’s mouth, then he pulled back. “I told him I’d have it back to him tomorrow afternoon after a professional cleaning.”
Amit chuckled and nipped at Miguel’s chin. His front tooth snagged on a particularly knotted bit of scar tissue, so he laved his tongue over it by way of apology. “This was a nice surprise, by the way. Is there a reason for it? I mean, besides the fact that you missed me so much you couldn’t stand it.”
“That’s not a lie,” Miguel told him. He dragged his knuckle over Amit’s jawline. “I have to head back to Texas, though.”
Amit’s stomach tensed, twisting a little because he had a feeling he knew what that meant. “So, they got the results?”
“Yes,” Miguel said. He swallowed thickly. “She’s uh. She’s mine.”
Amit felt like his world had just crashed to a sudden halt. Miguel had a kid—one he didn’t know about. He’d fucked a person once and that…that changed things. He’d seen the way Miguel was with Maisy, Jasmine, and Molly. He saw the longing in his eyes, knew deep-down that was something he was hoping for.
Amit couldn’t give him that, couldn’t make him promises like that. His life was such a shit-show, and he wanted to be able to provide more than just a bartender’s salary. He wanted enough to own a house, to have a future, a retirement. Hell, a college fund was just a pipe dream at this point. His mother was working through her rehab, but she wasn’t really going to get better, or stronger. She wasn’t getting younger—but there was also no telling when she’d be gone. With her around, Amit couldn’t start a family, and he also knew doing it with Miguel would mean losing what family he did have left.
“Hey,” Miguel said, touching his chin. “You okay?”
“No, yeah,” Amit said, waving him off. “Sorry just…what happens when you get there? You get to meet her or something? Weekend visits?”
Miguel laughed, but the sound was more disbelieving than it was amused. “God, no. I mean, I’m a stranger, and frankly I don’t know what this kid’s situation even is. I fucked one woman during that time period—once. And I used a fucking condom. I didn’t even know her name.” Miguel rubbed at his left eye. “But she’s already four, I think, and I’m a stranger. They’re not just gonna hand her over. And anyway, you know…she’ll probably freak when she sees this.”
When Miguel waved his hand at his scars, Amit winced, but he couldn’t bring himself to offer any assurances. Kids could be surprising with their acceptance and tolerance, but they could also be huge assholes. Amit had seen it go both ways.
“I think this is about paperwork, probably child support or something. The woman on the phone wouldn’t tell me anything.” Miguel let out a sigh and his head fell back against the seat. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone though. I didn’t want to just take off this time.”
Not that it would have mattered, considering how much Amit was working to help pay off his mom’s medical bills, but he warmed with affection and love at knowing Miguel worried about him. “I’ll miss you, but I’ll still be here when you get back.” If you get back, he added to himself, because what if Miguel did meet his daughter? What if he met her and loved her, and decided to stay?
Amit sure as hell wasn’t going to get in the way of that. He opened h
is mouth to say something, but Miguel leaned over him, bending him almost in half, then hooked the waistband of Amit’s panties between his curled fingers and held them up with an almost feral look.
“Can I?”
“Can you what?” Amit asked. Keep them? Jerk off with them? Literally anything would have been fine, but he wanted to be on the receiving end of that look.
“Can I dress you?” Miguel asked.
That was…somewhat disappointing, but Amit wasn’t going to say no if Miguel wanted to put his hands on him a bit more. “Yes,” he said, and then let Miguel shift their positions. It was an awkward shuffle, and in spite of the roomy back seat, Miguel’s bulk barely fit in the space between the seats, but eventually he had Amit half sprawled out with both legs up on Miguel’s shoulders.
His panties were halfway up, and Miguel took his time wriggling them all the way until the lace stretched over his ass, straining at his cock which had gone half-hard again. Amit’s sex-drive had never been so high in his life, and he wondered how he was going to deal with it once Miguel was gone for good.
“God. I want…can I suck …off while … wearing these?” Miguel asked, so breathless, Amit had to read his lips to catch most of it. “Can you get off again?”
“I don’t…uh. Probably,” he said, because with Miguel’s hand drawing lines up his thigh, he was getting harder and harder. “You really do have a fetish, don’t you?” Amit teased.
Miguel’s eyebrows rose, but his expression didn’t fall. “Yeah, I do.” He leaned in, nipping at his inner thigh. “You.”
Amit felt the head rush like he was being spun on a carousel, and he came back to himself as Miguel hiked his legs up higher, then leaned in to run his tongue along Amit’s length. He was already sensitive from the orgasm, and Miguel’s mouth was so hot, the sucking pressure so intense, he was pushed right to the edge. Miguel curled his fingers around Amit’s hip while his other hand traveled lower, gathering up some of the spilled lube that was half-dry and a little sticky, but just enough for what he needed. He gripped the panties, bunching them in his fist so it exposed Amit’s ass, and he tugged them to the side. The knuckle of his thumb pushed against his hole, and Amit gave a punched-out groan as it breeched him.
“Fuck, oh fuck!”
Miguel smiled as he opened his mouth wider, leaving sucking, almost painful kisses against Amit’s throbbing dick. His thumb was short and didn’t have a lot of dexterity, but he pushed with his arm, shoving it as deep as he could go. It wasn’t long enough to stretch to his prostate, but he didn’t need it. The combination of being filled, of Miguel’s mouth on him through the lace was enough. It was the most erotic fucking thing he had ever experienced, and his balls immediately tightened.
“Babe, I’m…I’m gonna come, I’m gonna,” he gasped. And then he was. Small spurts, his nearly empty balls giving what they had left, making the light purple fabric spread dark where it soaked in.
Miguel’s mouth moved upward toward the head of Amit’s cock, sucking at the stain and drinking him in. Amit’s face was white-hot with desire, and he wished to god he had more to give. Eventually, Miguel released him and surged up, pushing his tongue into Amit’s mouth.
“Thank you,” Miguel murmured.
Amit couldn’t help his half-hysterical laugh. “Are you serious right now. Thank me?”
Miguel pulled back as his hand pressed to the top of Amit’s thigh. He gave him a look—dark and serious, full of emotion Amit had been holding back against. “Yes. Thank you. I’ve never…” He rubbed at the back of his head and laughed, shrugging. “I didn’t think I’d ever find someone like you. I’m not sure I deserve it, but I’m going to try.”
Amit gathered him close, holding on, terrified in that moment it would be for the last time.
Chapter Seventeen
Miguel had been gone exactly forty-eight hours, and Amit had driven himself completely insane with dark fantasies of Miguel in bed with the lost love of his life. He knew that wasn’t the case—that Miguel was gay, and whatever happened with the woman, this wasn’t some fairytale ending, but it felt like a loss. He didn’t want to deprive Miguel of a chance to have a family—even one as unlikely as a child he only just learned about—so he resolutely didn’t text him, and he didn’t try to reach out. He wouldn’t be that guy.
Amit had a couple of unexpected days off when a leak in the roof forced the bar to shut down, and he was surprised to find his mother awake and in the kitchen the second morning. She was at the table drinking coffee—decaf since he’d purged the house of anything else apart from his secret stash—and he leaned down to press a kiss to her sagging left cheek. “Good morning, mom.”
She smiled at him, and it gutted him a little to see one side of her face not quite respond to the expression. “Raaje,” she said, giving his hand a pat. “I need you to help me out today.”
He grabbed his own coffee, throwing a hazelnut pod into the machine, and punched the button. “Of course. What do you need?”
“Your auntie and I are meeting some friends for lunch.”
Amit gave her a stern look. “Are you sure you’re up for that.”
Her stare back at him was flat—a spark of the woman he’d grown up with who wouldn’t be told what to do. “Some very nice friends we met, okay? And the day I’m not up to entertain people is the day they put me in the ground.”
His stomach twisted with the thought. “Please don’t joke about that right now.”
She gave him a somewhat apologetic look, which was a surprise, but he would take it. “It’s not far from here. Kabab Castle.”
He pulled a face. “That’s white people kebabs. You seriously want to eat there?”
“They’re white people,” she said with a laugh. “You have to ease them in, raaje.”
He sighed, but he wasn’t going to turn down lunch, either. Especially if his mom was in a good mood. “Are the girls coming?”
“Aminah has work, and Farhia is doing some wedding errands. It’ll be good to have an afternoon with you.” The sincerity in her voice almost gutted him. How long had it been since she wanted this? Since she wanted to keep him close? He hated how far apart they’d grown, how deep his fear had gone. He knew he was starving, and this was little more than scraps, but he wasn’t going to turn it down.
Amit hopped in the shower with enough time to wash up and shave, and he stood in front of his dresser with a towel around his waist, staring at the drawer he didn’t dare open. He hadn’t slipped into lace since Miguel left the city, and he wondered if he’d ever be brave enough to do it on his own.
The boxers felt like sandpaper against his skin—wrong and ill fitting—but he slid his jeans up over them anyway and threw product in his hair. His nails looked naked, his eyes half-lidded and dull. He felt like he was carving away pieces of himself and locking them away like he’d done too often before now. The taste of freedom was addicting, and the thought of giving it all up made him want to curl up under his covers and spend the rest of the day there, locked away from the world that wanted him to fit in a box that was never made for him.
With a final sigh, he turned away from his mirror and went into the front room where his mom waited. She was dressed in a pale blue kurti and a matching hijab with flowers that he was pretty sure belonged to Aminah—and there was something playful about the fact that she was stealing her hair coverings from his sister. It was strange, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but he felt a little better about going out with her.
“You look beautiful today, mom,” he told her as she gripped his arm with her stronger hand.
She looked at him with a laugh. “I look like an old woman who had a stroke, but thank you.”
He wanted to argue—something in him felt compelled to make her feel beautiful, but she’d also never cared much about that. She’d brushed off his boyish compliments when he was a kid, and she didn’t seem inclined to accept them now.
She smiled though, the entire way to the restaurant,
and he saw his auntie standing outside waiting. He dropped her off at the curb, then drove down the block to find parking. The place wasn’t the worst—the sort of kitschy restaurant that some white couple put together after a trip to Morocco. You had to take your shoes off at the door and eat with your fingers, and people in the city were convinced it was an authentic, home-like experience.
It made him laugh, the thought of any of them having sat in on a family dinner when they were little. Yes, there were more fingers than forks, but there was screaming, and kids misbehaving, his sisters bickering, his dad and mom ignoring it in favor of trying to find conversation that didn’t involve the PTA or work hours. He had home-cooked, Punjabi food, but he also had a lot of pizza and microwaved burritos—and a hot pocket phase which lasted from when he was fourteen to sixteen.
Inside, his mom was already at one of the taller tables, sitting in a chair next to his auntie across from a very pale, very blonde couple. There was something about them that set off warning bells, the way the dad eyed Amit like he was sizing up a cut of lamb at the butcher. He looked hungry—not for sex, but for something else.
In between them, Amit’s gaze fell on a young girl who couldn’t have been more than eighteen—though he doubted she’d even gotten that far. She was dark skinned, long hair in a braid down her back, her heritage clear, but her posture definitely All-American. She had her arms crossed, expression bored and annoyed, but there was something in her eyes when she looked up that told Amit more was going on than he realized.
“Raaje,” his auntie called, and he walked over to the empty chair between her and his mom.
“This is my son, Amit,” his mom said, motioning for him to sit. “These are the Randals, Arlene and Peter. Their daughter Elizabeth.”
Amit nodded, not offering his hand mostly because the thought of touching the guy made his skin crawl. “Nice to meet you.” He was glad the place was quiet enough, he didn’t have to struggle to understand the man, though something about him made him wish he could just disappear into his own silence.