He glanced at his arm again and frowned at me for a few seconds while he turned his glass between his hands, making circular patterns of condensation on the coaster.
“It’s not a lightning bolt. It’s, ah, the second half of the band’s name. ‘Never Straight.’” He winked and took a swallow of his beer.
“So you and the bass player aren’t…?”
He laughed but not too loudly. “No. Never were. We did that thing bands do—all lived in one big house for a year, hoping to write and record our breakout album.” He shrugged and even that motion flowed like water—the muscles on his shoulder rippled, and for a second, all I could think about was what it would feel like to touch them. “Co-parenting has worked pretty well. Mackenzie is a great kid.”
“How did the album come out?”
“The—oh, it was okay. Obviously it wasn’t a worldwide hit.” He sipped his beer, regarding me over the rim of his glass. “I’m bi.”
I sagged with relief, which made me feel silly. “Me too. I haven’t actually been with a woman, but…”
“There’s just something about them, right?”
“Right.” Not sure how I was able to speak because I couldn’t breathe. His face is so intense, as though he’s trying to tell me something without saying it.
“There’s something about you, too.”
His voice lowered so I wasn’t quite sure I’d heard correctly.
“Me?”
“Why don’t we take this somewhere more…private?”
Cay upended his glass, and as he set it on the table, he licked his lips. Slowly, with the obvious intent to make the point that he wasn’t inviting me to dinner. Maybe to be dinner…
“Oh. Yeah. That would be… Yeah.”
Even though I was behaving like a flustered fool, and pretty much had been all day, a smoldering grin spread across his handsome face. That grin said so much, but I was still surprised when, on the way down the hall to the parking lot, he steered me into the men’s room with a gentle hand on the back of my neck.
We continued through the thankfully empty anteroom and into the last of four stalls. He flipped the latch on the door with one hand while pressing me against the wall with the other. His hand spread across my lavender shirt, palm over my tripping heart, and as soon as he’d secured the door, his mouth met mine. He palmed my head with his large hand, pushing it back with the force of the kiss, his embrace keeping it from grinding into the wall. The commanding gesture stole my breath and ratcheted up my heartbeat. A few moments later, though, he eased off, nibbling my lips and feathering soft kisses in between, sliding the tip of his tongue across my trembling lips—even after I opened my mouth enough to be an obvious invitation.
All in all, a damn fine display of kissing. My legs didn’t have to be sore from the race to wobble.
He came up for air, and I leaned forward to keep my lips on his for another fraction of a second. Cay leaned his chest against mine, and his muscular thigh pressed against my jeans in the perfect spot to drive me crazy as he trailed his lips across my cheek toward my ear.
“Hmmm, I’ve wanted to do that since this morning.”
He rubbed his smooth cheek lightly against my stubble and hummed, and I was glad I hadn’t shaved—two days’ growth for me wasn’t much, but he seemed to like it.
I might never shave again.
“Shall we go?” His voice held a hint of laughter when he spoke again, but not mocking—no, he seemed to be anticipating this hookup as much as I was.
“Yeah.” I could barely groan out my response. I would’ve been happy to continue things right there—although after a moment without those talented lips in contact with mine, I was glad one of us possessed a little more sense than that.
He pulled back enough to look me in the eye—his hips still pinning me to the wall—and gave me a second to focus on his face. “Did you drive?”
I nodded.
“Follow me to my place?”
“Yeah. In a second?”
He didn’t understand immediately, but the authentic confusion made him even more attractive. Maybe he wasn’t all practiced moves, confidence, and charisma—although he had enough charisma to make up for anything he may have lacked in another area.
I did what I had to do and found him in the fading light of near-dusk, leaning against an older, midsized SUV. He straightened when he saw me and watched as I got in my car and started it.
Probably twice as old and a little more timeworn than his vehicle, my Mercedes still had a little charm left. My only extravagance the first time the company made a little money, I’d fallen in love with the silvery-green paintjob and sturdy classic lines of the sedan and wouldn’t be swayed by the fact that convertibles weren’t practical in Portland most of the year. I didn’t drive it much anyway.
I followed him to a quiet neighborhood on the Westside not far from my own apartment and parked beside him. He raked his gaze over the car, but only briefly before turning his attention to me. Slowly, and with clear intent, he looked me over from head to toe and back again. When I thought he would speak, he inclined his head toward the building and walked toward it.
He led me up the stairs and to a corner unit on the second floor of the three-story building. Instead of looking around, my attention focused on his tight butt and the way his shoulders moved when he walked. He seemed larger than life but was just a couple of inches taller than me—probably not more than an inch over six feet, if that.
Cay held his front door open for me and then locked it and pushed me against it like he had at the brewpub. One of his hands spread across my chest, kneading gently as he leaned against me. We kissed again—hard and hot and wet, and as much as I would’ve liked to check out his place, I couldn’t open my eyes to do it. Even when he moved his mouth to my neck.
“Do—Do you have any roommates?”
“No.” His voice rumbled, his breath raising goose bumps on my skin.
He slid down my body, his hands exploring and gripping, caressing, until he reached the floor. He kneeled close, squeezing my hips in his big hands and pressing his face into the front of my jeans.
For a second I tried to find a handhold, something to keep myself upright while he—oh, God, will he?—but my eyes refused to open. All I could do was feel. And he made me feel…
I reached down and slid my fingers through his hair. Silky and long enough to grab a handful on top and nearly shaved on the sides; this man was a feast of sensation and our clothes were still on.
He popped the button and unzipped my fly like he was on a deadline. I was already leaking when he touched me—mouthing the head of my dick through the fabric of underwear that matched my shirt exactly.
Cay groaned softly as he worked on me like a porn fantasy man, his hands circling my waist and easing my pants down over my hips. After a few inches, he moved my shorts out of the way and sucked me into his mouth. I groaned with the effort not to push farther into his warmth.
Finally, I was able to look at what was happening, to open my eyes and watch as the lips Cay had used to grin at me, to seduce me out in full view of everyone at the race—closed around my cock. My poor, long-neglected cock.
Lately, I’d had a few times when I couldn’t even beat off properly—heart willing; flesh weak—so I’d been a little worried. Totally without merit. I could have knocked a CPU tower off a shelf.
Cay slipped his mouth off but kept a firm grip on my dick. He sat back on his heels and grinned at me hungrily. “Wanna see my clean sheets?”
I shivered and tried to say something—anything—but it was too much to manage between breathing and keeping my shaking legs beneath me. His grin turned into a smile, and he rose to his feet. His hands clutched greedily at my body as he stood. Cay took my wrist and led me into his bedroom, and it was so obvious he’d planned this I couldn’t help but feel good, maybe even a little calmer.
His bed took most of the floor space in the small ro
om and it was turned down, crisp lavender sheets inviting me in. I caught a whiff of a light floral fragrance, and then my shirt blocked my view as Cay pulled it off me. There went all the calm I’d had a moment before. Rationally, I knew I looked fine, but I’d never been close to the shape Cay was in. He was a ripped god, where I had the body of a 1960s-era action hero.
Nevertheless, when he gripped both waistbands at once I helped him relieve me of my pants and underwear—going so far as to smile when he sat me on the bed hard enough to bounce to get them all the way off. I’d planned too—flip flops instead of shoes. I sat up and helped him lose his pants—commando, oh my god—and when I looked, he’d tossed his tank behind him. Every inch of Cay—jeez, I don’t know his last name. Why should that bother me?—was lean and muscled, and his tan said he ran shirtless a lot. Wearing skimpy shorts. Oh, man, I’d love to see that.
All that sculpted man stood in front of me, his big hands resting on my shoulders as I shamelessly drank him in. I wanted to dive onto his dick, suck it deep into my throat and trace the veins with my tongue, but I couldn’t seem to move. His grip tightened, only a bit, nothing rough, and it woke me from my stupor with a shiver. I grabbed him behind both knees and pulled him forward.
As my tongue explored the length of his cock my hands snaked up the backs of his thighs to grip his muscular ass. He moaned when I buried my nose in the brown thatch of hair at the base of his dick. Not loud, but enough to let me know this was real for him—there wasn’t a punch line coming. He’d been ardent enough, but it wasn’t until then that my inner self believed it.
I’m not hideous but men who could model fitness equipment don’t usually hit on me.
No. Don’t think about how long it’s been since anyone’s caught one of your passes, let alone hit on you.
My attention returned to where it belonged and I skimmed my hands around from his ass, across his hips and that spot that drives me wild on muscular men—the crease between their abs and legs—and held his cock in my hands. His breath hitched as I squeezed gently and tasted its glistening tip.
When I took him in my mouth, I expected him to set the pace—the whole day he’d basically led and I’d followed—but he didn’t. Cay still rested his hands on my shoulders and his hips rocked as I sucked, but his hands didn’t tighten—in fact, they caressed my shoulders and tangled in my hair as he panted.
I whimpered in protest when he withdrew from my mouth and then smiled as I found myself on my back on those crisp lavender sheets. He moved me farther onto the bed like I weighed nothing and crawled over me, his cock brushing against mine in a way I hoped wasn’t random. He didn’t seem like the random type, but we’d only met a few hours earlier, so I had precious little on which to base that assumption.
The feeling of his heated skin on mine filled my head, and I cried out when he took my dick in his hand. After a few strokes he lined up our dicks together and gently lowered himself onto my body. I gripped his hips, and he held my head between his muscled forearms. His bedroom was warm and we were worked up enough so our bodies had already built a fine sheen of sweat. Cay met my eyes with his gorgeous baby-blues—unfocused and heavily lidded and ungh so handsome—and when he kissed me, he also started a slow rocking with his hips. Our cocks slid together as our tongues explored and caressed, and I didn’t remember sex feeling like that. I couldn’t remember ever being desperate not to come, hoping it would never end, that I could feel that good for hours—for the rest of the night, all the time.
Of course even a middle-aged man will get off if sufficiently stimulated, and I was nothing if not stimulated by Cay—his talented tongue and hard cock, his muscles and his tender touches. When I came, I arched my back, taking my mouth out from under his. He nipped my neck and then followed me into what felt like a thunderous orgasm that left him whimpering and shivering.
As we lay tangled in the sheets and each other, I let my hands wander over his skin and my mind wander wherever it would. It was a bad habit, thinking during and after sex, but apparently one I wasn’t up to breaking. I was feeling happy with myself, so I went with it. It didn’t feel dangerous, which should have told me I’d forgotten more than what it felt like to be swept away by lust.
In my youth, I’d had a lot of sex with a lot of different guys. Men. Guys. None of us had been men yet, not really. By the time I’d reached the age when I felt I should be an adult, I’d had my heart stomped enough times to be cautious. Sex had turned out to be a power struggle, a way to get off while giving the required amount in return but nothing more. At least that’s what it had felt like from my end. I hadn’t expected that then, but now…that’s all I expected.
Sex with Cay wasn’t like that. I didn’t feel pressured while it was happening. It was over and I didn’t feel used. Not even that vague feeling of shame that usually came racing in once all the panting and sweating ended.
Yeah, not the enlightened, freewheeling queer I’d always wanted to be. I really should make peace with that.
Has sex ever felt like this? Honestly? I don’t think so.
Even during past relationships I hadn’t been able to let go and be myself during sex. Probably because every one of them had wanted to top me. First, last, and always. Some hadn’t discussed it with me beforehand, which can be a drag at best and painful and frightening at worst. I’d known men who liked that, being topped, but I didn’t seem to be one of them—and Lord knows I’d tried. I’d also had friends who swore that doing “everything else” was amazing enough and they never missed getting fucked—even if they’d liked it. With the right man.
Another subject I’d rather not discuss.
Cay saved me from traipsing farther down that dangerous path. He slid off me and pulled me into an embrace. The sweaty and sticky parts of me prickled with goose bumps until he flipped a sheet over us both and held me tighter.
“Hmmm, that was nice.” Cay sounded halfway to sleep, happily sated. Before I could think of a response, he continued, “Should do it again sometime.”
“Um, sure. That sounds…good.” How did I get from basking in his glow to my usual awkward self so fast? I sounded more like someone who’d been asked if I wanted to listen to some music or go to dinner than one who’d been given an open invitation for more of the best sex ever. “I mean, I’d like to.”
He wrapped himself around me and sighed, nuzzling my hair in a way nobody had ever done before. For no reason—or at least none I wanted to examine—that made me feel happy and scared and sad, all at the same time. Would he still feel the same once he knew me better? Or would it be the same old story, and once he discovered how boring my life was—how boring I am—he’d move on to more exciting pastures. I had ridiculously high hopes for how long Cay might find me interesting.
“I have to get up early tomorrow, but you’re welcome to stay.”
Did he tighten his grip on me?
“Um, maybe I should let you get some sleep. You have a day with your daughter planned tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
Was that disappointment I heard? No stranger to overthinking every-damned-little-thing, I vacillated between leaving him wanting more and not wanting the evening to end, not wanting to disappoint him. Or myself.
“Leave me your number before you go?”
There it is, you did it. Talked yourself right out of his bed. Smooth move.
No graceful way to stay now, so I said “sure” and retrieved my clothes, pulling them onto my sore body. I looked for a way to leave my number, and he sat up in bed and held his phone out. He wasn’t quite smiling but was probably tired.
Not too tired to walk me to the front door, or to give me a blistering goodnight kiss that definitely left me wanting more, though. As I quietly descended the stairs, lips tingling, I thought about how to make that happen.
Chapter Two
Cay
I stopped the Buick in front of Val’s place—too early, could easily have slept another half-dozen hours—
and stared through the dirty windshield. Not to look at the flowering plum trees lining the street or to check on whether Mac was on her way out of the building. Nope. I was reliving last night.
The more I thought about it—about him, Bryan—the harder it got to pretend I wasn’t sitting in my truck getting all worked up like some horny teenager. Before I could relax against the headrest, though, a horrible thought sat me up straight.
Whoa. Now that I have a fifteen-year-old daughter it’s probably not a great idea to think about what teenaged guys are like.
But that thought wasn’t what was making my heart race.
Okay, maybe a little.
Bryan, though…so sweetly awkward. And cute. And funny. My eyes started to fall closed, picturing his warm brown eyes and the way sunlight lit his hair with red highlights.
Nope. Stand up and go get Mac.
I checked the road and pushed the door open. It’s not often I stay up past midnight with a hottie after running a half marathon. Probably would have fallen asleep if I stayed in there with my eyes closed too long. A groan forced its way out at the thought of what Mac and Val would say if they caught me like that—I’d never live it down. At least they didn’t have one of those drones I help my boss sell, the glorified remote-control toys that fly around taking pictures of anything that moves. Then I’d be in real trouble.
The front door to their apartment stood open a crack, inviting me in. I closed it behind me and was about to call out for Mac when her mother appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“She’s in the shower.” Valerie offered her cheek, and I pecked it automatically.
My standard greeting felt a little different that morning, after having wrapped my lips around Bryan’s cock the night before. “Late night?”
“Yeah. We rewatched Sense8 after the party.”
“Season one or season two?”
“Why does that make you blush?” She leaned over the narrow bar separating the kitchen from the living room, spatula in hand, and her expression said she was trying to read my mind. “You look tired. Don’t tell me you went home with that guy from the race?”
Always Forward- Never Straight Page 2