Sizzle

by Whitley Green

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You and Joelle have at it. Best wishes and all that. Now get out of my way.”

  “Elliot.”

  I drop my fists, standing up. His eyes are warm and worried and I want to tell him not to worry about me. I want to hug him because I’m so damn glad he’s shaking off whatever funk he’s been in the last year.

  I want to ask him what the hell happened on the phone yesterday.

  No, I don’t. I haven’t let myself think about it, not for a second. Because that’s not who I am, and I won’t risk a decade of friendship over a few minutes of complete insanity.

  There’s a light in his eyes now. The longer we stand here, the brighter it shines. I don’t know what it means, but I know that if I want things to stay the same between us, I have to shut this down fast.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I say again, and look away.

  Alex stands there another minute, then leaves the garage without another word.

  I drop down on the bench, leaning my head back against the wall, trying to catch my breath. The workout stopped fifteen minutes ago. I don’t want to think about why my pulse is still racing like I just ran a marathon.

  I hate that there’s this gigantic… thing between us we can’t talk about. But if we talk about it, I’ll have to think about it.

  And if I think about it, it’s going to make me crazy again.

  I can’t even get behind the wheel of my own car without getting hard anymore. Without remembering what he said, the way he sounded. The way that, for one single instant, I’d imagined him whispering in my ear for real, in person, and not just through the phone.

  Even sitting here not thinking about it I’m hard as a damn rock.

  Fucking crazy.

  The more he talked, the hotter it got me. I had to be reacting to Joelle, right? To the memory of the most incredible woman. Anybody would find that hot.

  Except she wasn’t there and she’s not the only person who’s tangled up in this. The other part of what made that night so goddamn good was watching Alex get her off, hearing him coax her where she needed to go, letting him have complete control over what happened and when.

  I don’t know what freaks me out the most about that—giving up control, or that I was so ready to give it up to him. That’s not me. I mean, I can be flexible. I can delegate. Just because it took me two years to hire an assistant doesn’t mean I can’t let somebody else be in charge.

  I just don’t like to.

  And I sure as hell stay in charge between the sheets.

  Not that Alex and I are going to be in bed. Together. At the same time.

  So why does my dick look like it’s trying to tear a hole in my gym shorts?

  The chill is starting to register, wracking my body with a full-on shiver. I consider staying out here in the cold to give my junk some time to calm the fuck down, but a hot shower sounds better. I put the equipment back as I found it, adjusting my dick so I don’t knock something over on the trip upstairs. I’ll take care of that once I get under the water.

  Sounds like I’m not the only one who thought a shower sounded good. Alex’s bedroom door is open and I hear the water running from the bathroom just beyond.

  I really should apologize. Just because I’m losing my shit doesn’t give me the right to be a prick. So yeah, my life is falling apart. And yeah, the woman I’m crazy about is going to be dating somebody else. I should just be grateful it’s him, right? Not some piece of shit off the street or wherever. I’ve seen the way those dirtbags in the kitchen look at her. They’d sell body parts for a chance to talk to her alone, never mind to get her into their beds.

  The thought makes me furious. It doesn’t matter that I know all of those guys, and they’re all decent human beings. None of them deserve to look at her, let alone speak to her.

  No, much better that she chose Alex.

  A vision of them in bed together stops me in my tracks. I was sick with jealousy just thinking of her talking to other guys, men who I work with, who work for me, who I like and generally respect. But the thought of Alex kissing her, taking her, pounding the ever-living fuck out of her pussy…

  I wrap my fingers around my cock and squeeze hard, needing the pressure. Any apology will have to wait until I take care of this first.

  A moan coming from down the hall stops me in my tracks so suddenly I damn near trip on the carpet.

  Was that—?

  There it is again. It’s Alex. Is he hurt?

  There’s a tiny corner of my brain that’s screaming at me to turn around, run, get upstairs now, before it’s too late. But I’m already approaching his door before I notice it and—

  Too late.

  He’s standing in the bathroom doorway. I can see steam billowing out of the running shower. He’s facing away from me, one arm braced on the door frame, the other—

  I can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but I can damn well guess.

  He’s pulled his shirt off, so I see the line and curve of every muscle as his left arm goes to work. How the hell he stays that ripped when he works so much is beyond me, but I can’t help admiring it all the same.

  His back is broad, tapering to slim hips where his pants hang on a wish and a prayer. I can see the divots on either side of his spine just above the curve of his ass.

  My dick is tangled in the fabric of my gym shorts so I shove my hand under my waistband to straighten things out. I’m so hard I’m leaking and I can’t resist running a thumb across the tip, drawing from the moisture there.

  I suck in a breath, realizing too late that he’s going to hear me.

  Alex spins around, panic all over his face. He looks so damn desperate, sweat beading at his temples, eyes unfocused until he looks at my crotch.

  Can’t deny my way out of this one. I’m so fucking hard there’s a wet spot on the front of my shorts so dark that I know the second he sees it. His nostrils flare and his eyes dart back up to my face.

  God help me—I can’t stop it. I don’t even want to try. I grasp the base of my dick through my shorts and squeeze.

  14

  Alex

  I manage not to slam the door behind me. Stubborn sonovabitch. Elliot’s obviously freaking out about that damned phone call. I knew it was a mistake. I fucking knew it. I shouldn’t have pushed.

  But he was so goddamn ripe for it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was curious.

  But I fucking know better, don’t I? I know better than to fuck around with straight guys. And I damn well ought to know better than to fuck around with my friends, especially since I don’t have all that many anymore. And there’s only one Elliot.

  I can’t lose him—I can’t. A stupid crush that won’t go away is not worth throwing away so many years of friendship. He matters too much.

  Which means the whole thing with Joelle is a bad idea. It was dumb to think it could go anywhere. Relationships don’t work that way in real life. Hell, I’m walking proof relationships don’t always work the normal way. Trying for more was a bad idea, and now it’s hurting somebody I care about.

  I’m a damn fool. I know it, and even as the thought snakes its way through my brain, I can’t stop picturing Elliot just now, steam coiling off that insane brick-shithouse body. I knew he was built—the guy spends too much time working out to be anything else. Knowing that and seeing it up close, though, are two goddamn different things. Not that I’ve never seen him without a shirt before, but this is the first time I’ve been that close to him with all this shit up close to the surface.

  I look down at the tent building up just below my belt. I’ve jerked it so much this week I’m getting brand new calluses. Pissed as I am that Elliot won’t even talk to me, I can’t help the way my body responds to his. The way he looked at me, right before I left…

  I yank my shirt over my head and start the shower. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. One last time to get it out of my system. I snort at the thought, yanking my belt open, because who am I kiddi
ng? I’ve been getting it out of my system for years. It’s not going anywhere.

  I pull the zipper down carefully, as quickly as I can manage. I’m going to be thinking of Elliot, shirtless, sweating, steaming, breathing hard in that garage every day for the rest of my life.

  The first touch of my hand on my cock has me reaching out for the door frame. Christ, if Joelle were here…

  Would I send her out to watch him? So I could see the heat in her eyes, building to match mine as we watch him wear himself out. The idea makes me moan before I can stifle the sound. There’s no way he can hear me outside anyway.

  The fantasy is clear as a damn bell in my mind. Joelle walking over to Elliot, getting on her knees before him. I’d tell her to pull his shorts down, freeing that long dick I’ve only seen in the showers a couple of times years ago.

  I’d tell Joelle to start sucking him off, spelling out exactly how I want to see it done. Because it’s my fantasy, Elliot keeps his eyes on me as I slowly work my cock, watching them together. He licks his lips like he wants to taste me, and I moan again at the thought.

  I’d tell Joelle to push him down on the bench, to straddle him just like she did for me the night of the storm so he could feel what I felt—

  A gasp behind me has me whirling around, my heart stuttering in my chest.

  Elliot’s standing there, eyes wide, hand at his waist. For a long, shocked moment, I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. I sure as hell can’t let go of the business at hand. His gym shorts are tented something fierce. There’s a dark spot growing where the tip of his cock strains against the fabric. The sight damn near brings me to my knees.

  Elliot fists a hand around the base of his cock and strokes.

  “Elliot.” It’s barely a whisper. I’m right on the edge of a precipice so steep that I think I may not survive the fall.

  He nods, his chin jerking sharply. My hand moves again, my cock so hard it hurts. I swipe a thumb over the tip, slicking up the head. The slight friction is too good, my hips buck up into the stroke.

  Elliot’s jerking his dick under his shorts, his hand moving fast. He hasn’t taken his eyes off my cock since I turned around and it’s burning me from the inside out.

  “I was just thinking,” I gasp. I’ve got no business talking in this state but the words come out without any help from my brain. “About the three of us. About telling Joelle to ride you like she did the other night, so you can see what it felt like.”

  He jerks, breaths ragged and shallow. I think he’s going to come.

  “Would you like that, Elliot? Would you like me to watch you next time?”

  He closes his eyes at that, fist moving fast under the band of his shorts.

  “Because I know she would,” I say. It’s enough. He’s groaning hard, hunching over, his hand flying. I can just see the head of his cock poking out against his belly, spurting so much come it pools on the floor.

  That’s enough to set me off. I force myself to stay standing, letting him watch, compelling him to watch, keeping my eyes on him the whole time, and Christ. It wipes me out.

  I’m still catching my breath as Elliot yanks at the shirt draped over his shoulder, mopping at the come on his chest. When he bends down to swipe at the floor, I inhale sharply enough that he glances up at me.

  He looks so lost. I remember that feeling, that sheer bafflement, like sitting on a tiny raft in the ocean while watching the only ground you’ve ever known drift farther away until it’s gone and you’re still trying to work out where the raft came from in the first place.

  “It’s okay, Elliot,” I say. I tuck myself back into my pants, leaving them unbuttoned. I grab my own shirt, making quick work of the cleanup like he’d done and sit down on the floor next to him, tugging on his arm until he’s sitting next to me. He still hasn’t spoken.

  “Hey,” I say, lowering my head to catch his eye. I want to reassure him, tell him it’s not a big deal, but I can’t bring myself to utter the lie. I’ve wanted him too long and even the smallest possibility that he might feel the same is overwhelming. My heart pounding, I rest my hand on his arm.

  I have to make him understand that this is okay, that there’s nothing wrong with what we did, what we both wanted. And maybe it’s time I told him the truth. I can’t have everything—I can live with that—but maybe I don’t have to hide it from him any longer.

  If I’m wrong…

  If I’m wrong, then I’ll accept the consequences. But I can’t let him leave with that look in his eyes, not when I know it’s within my power to throw him a line back to shore.

  He jerks again when I touch him, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stares down at my hand for a long moment.

  “So that was new,” he says finally, looking back at the wall.

  Moment of truth. I take a deep breath and pull my hand back.

  “Not so new for me.”

  He looks up at me, clearly startled. I nod, letting him work it out on his own.

  “You’re bisexual,” he says a long minute later. I nod again. Another beat passes. “Is that why Diana—?”

  “I never cheated on her,” I tell him. “I wasn’t even tempted. We were pretty happy, or so I thought. But I didn’t want to marry her without telling her the truth.”

  “The truth,” he echoes. “Meaning that you’ve…”

  “Been with men before. Yes.”

  He goes quiet again. My stomach is wound so tightly I’m afraid to move for fear of rupturing something.

  “Wait, you said you didn’t cheat. You mean she left you because you told her… because you—”

  “Because I came out to her, yes,” I say. The sheer outrage on his face makes me want to kiss him. A tiny spark of hope flickers in the back of my mind.

  Maybe I won’t lose my friend after all.

  “That’s some serious sack of bullshit,” he says.

  I laugh, glad to let go some of the tension in my gut.

  “I agree.”

  Quiet descends again. I can feel him sneaking glances at me but I wait for him to ask. I know he needs to work this out for himself.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I sigh.

  “We were eighteen years old,” I say. “Everything at school was so new, you know? And I’d only just told my parents that summer.” They’d been amazing about it, too. Mom had yelled at me for thinking they’d be anything other than supportive.

  “Back then I didn’t exactly have a lot of experience, either with girls or guys. So it didn’t seem like a real thing, like it was something I needed to tell people about.”

  “Even me,” he says flatly.

  “Not back then,” I say, finally meeting his gaze. “By the time I’d dated enough to know things weren’t going to change, I told myself it didn’t matter if you knew. Or didn’t know.”

  “What if you’d fallen for some guy and decided to get married? You don’t think I would have noticed then?” He grabs his soiled shirt off the floor and stands, so I follow suit.

  “I’m sorry.” Elliot spins around and pushes me.

  “Fuck you, Alex. You throw this at me after that—after I—and you’re fucking sorry?” He shoves at my shoulders again.

  A muscle in my cheek tics as I grind my teeth together, but before I can form a reply, I see it—that sheen of moisture in his eyes.

  “Elliot.” He moves to shove me out of the way again. I circle his wrists, bringing his arms down and around, holding them tight behind his back, our bodies close but not quite touching.

  “Elliot, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  He’s pulling air in through his nose hard, head bowed so I can’t see his face, his forehead on my shoulder.

  It occurs to me that his response isn’t just that of an old friend who thinks he’s been betrayed.

  No, he’s acting like a jealous lover.

  * * *

  That spark of hope explodes in my chest, so intense that I might burst.

 
; He’s not struggling against me but I’m not yet sure he won’t take a swing at me if I let him go. I shift my grip on his wrists to one hand and bring the other up to touch his cheek.

  His entire body is trembling.

  “I’m not into guys,” he says, his voice thick.

  “I know.”

  Sometimes an orgasm is just an orgasm. God knows I had my share of encounters like that. I won’t pressure him one way or another.

  Though standing together as close as we are, I can’t help but feel evidence to the contrary brushing up against my hip.

  I won’t push. Instead, I let go of his hands.

  Elliot doesn’t step away. He looks up at me, all signs of tears gone.

  “What about Joelle?”

  “What about her?”

  “What are your intentions with her?”

  At that, I smile so wide I think my cheeks might split.

  “Are you defending her honor, Elliot?”

  “Yes,” he says. And he’s not laughing. “I’m serious. I want to know what your intentions are with her. She’s too special to be just another diversion while you wait for your perfect guy to come along.”

  “I should beat the hell out of you for even suggesting it,” I murmur, no longer amused. “But since I understand where you’re coming from, I’ll let it slide.”

  We’re still standing too close. Elliot’s so wound up he’s practically churning the air around us.

  “I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want Joelle,” I tell him, meeting his eyes. “My intention is to spend as much time with her as I can.”

  “And the perfect guy? What happens when he comes along?”

  I can’t tell him that. I can’t. It’s the only thing holding me together right now, sharing air with him like this.

  “You think I should tell her, you mean,” I say flatly. “After everything I just told you about Diana, you think I should just come out and say it.”

  “Joelle’s made of stronger stuff than that—other woman.” Whatever he was about to say about my ex-fiancée appears to have damn near choked him. “I think you aren’t giving her enough credit if you don’t trust her that much.”