by Hank Edwards
“A bit, maybe.”
Michael leaned in for a gentle kiss and gave Jazz’s crotch a squeeze. His lips only lingered a moment, but thankfully his hand stayed, warm and rubbing slowly. Michael’s eyes darted to the bandage Jazz wore and his expression softened. “My brave hero.”
“Aw, shucks, just doing what anyone else would have,” Jazz said, feeling proud but a little embarrassed by the adoration in Michael’s gaze… and all kinds of turned-on.
Michael caressed his steadily hardening dick through his jeans. He looked down at his hand, cupping and rubbing Jazz’s growing bulge. “Seems I might have hit an on switch of some kind down here. How do you turn this thing off?”
“It’s a very complicated process.” Jazz paused to moan quietly and thrust up against Michael’s hand. He shifted a little onto his side to better face Michael. “You have to blow into a small hole in the very tip.”
“That does sound very complicated.” Michael unbuttoned Jazz’s jeans and slowly lowered the zipper. “Do you think you can walk me through it?”
Jazz sighed in a put-upon manner. “You newbies are all alike. I gotta hold your hand through everything.”
Michael chuckled as he lifted the waistband of Jazz’s briefs up and pulled them down, exposing Jazz’s erection. The warmth of Michael’s breath caressed Jazz’s length and sent a shudder up his spine.
“Is it here that I need to blow?”
A long, slow exhale over Jazz’s balls.
He hissed, then shook his head at Michael. “Not quite. But try that again, just in case.”
Another exquisite exhalation onto his balls, followed by a quick swipe of his tongue. Michael dragged the tip of his tongue up to the middle of the shaft, where he paused to deliver another gentle blow.
“Here?”
“A little bit higher.”
Kisses light as feathers traveled higher. Jazz watched with wonder and desire as Michael teased the ridge of the cap with the tip of his tongue before lifting Jazz’s cock from where it rested along his belly.
“Is this the place?” Michael blew gently onto the top of Jazz’s dick.
“Oh, yes. That’s the spot.”
“Doesn’t look like it turned off yet.” Michael studied the cock in his hand thoughtfully, and Jazz tried not to laugh.
“You might need to jiggle it a bit.”
Michael gripped the base and shook Jazz’s dick wildly back and forth. “Like this?”
They both busted out laughing.
When Jazz had composed himself, he lifted his head from the pillow to look down at Michael. He liked this playful side of his serious mortician.
“Maybe a little less enthusiastically. And sometimes you need to get it wet.”
Michael screwed up his expression into adorable confusion. “Like with water?”
“Spit works just as well.”
“Oh!” Michael climbed up to straddle Jazz’s legs, opened his mouth wide, and took Jazz to the root.
“Holy fucking shit!”
Every muscle in Jazz’s body tensed. Michael held him deep in his throat for a long time, and Jazz felt every breath Michael huffed out his nose and into his bush. Then Michael slowly raised his head, lips clenched tight around Jazz’s shaft. He paused at the top to purse his lips lovingly around the head before taking him deep once more.
Jazz closed his eyes. He clutched the edges of the couch cushions as his toes curled inside his socks. Michael steadily increased the speed of his sucking and added a hand to the mix, stroking in time with his mouth.
With a stuttering gasp, Jazz tumbled over the edge into orgasm, his head and body aches forgotten. Michael swallowed every drop, moaning and grunting hungrily around Jazz’s dick. When Jazz had finished, Michael lifted his head and smiled. His lips were plump and glistening, and the last thing Jazz saw before he drifted off to sleep.
MICHAEL TUCKED Jazz’s dick back inside his briefs and zipped up his jeans. He left the button undone, then carefully climbed off Jazz. Jazz’s breathing was slow and easy, and Michael stood over him to watch for a moment. Such a handsome man, so brave and full of life. What in the name of everything good in the world had drawn him to Michael?
As Jazz slept on the couch downstairs, Michael took the opportunity to clean his bedroom and the master bathroom. Mr. Pickles sprawled across the foot of the bed and watched until he too fell asleep. With both men in his life snoozing away, Michael decided to tackle the stack of mail on the desk of his office in one of the upstairs bedrooms. The task absorbed all of his attention, and before he realized it, he had to turn on the desk lamp to see.
“Michael?”
Jazz’s voice floated up the steps.
“In the office up here,” Michael called back.
Jazz appeared in the doorway, eyes squinting and hair dangling from the usually neatly wound bun on the back of his head. “How long did I sleep?”
“Several hours,” Michael said. “You were really out of it.”
“I guess.” Jazz came up behind his chair and leaned down to put his arms around him. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
Michael kissed Jazz’s forearm. “My pleasure.”
“How about I return the favor?”
“What?”
Jazz spun the chair around so Michael faced him. He smiled and got on his knees, spreading Michael’s legs apart. Seeing Jazz like this, feeling his strong hands rubbing up his thighs made Michael’s dick ache.
Those warm eyes gazed up at him. “Thought I might continue your lessons.”
“Hold on,” Michael said, voice husky. He leaned back to shut off the desk lamp. The room went dark and he turned back. “So no one can see us from the street.”
Jazz glanced toward the half-open window that looked out over the sidewalk and street. “How very considerate of you, Mr. Fleishman.”
“I do hold a very prominent position in this community.”
“I know something else that’s prominent about you.”
A swell of pride whipped through Michael, knowing he was more endowed than Jazz’s ex-husband. Not that he should be thinking about Russell at a time like this, but—
Jazz pressed his mouth against Michael’s bulge and blew, ceasing all thoughts. His warm breath soaked through the denim and seemed to push a low moan up from someplace deep inside Michael.
“You like?”
Michael nodded, stroking the back of Jazz’s head.
Jazz did it again and Michael shivered.
Giving himself over to his lover’s touch, Michael leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes as Jazz opened his jeans and carefully lowered his briefs. The breeze brought the smell of the lake and the sounds of people and cars from the town below.
“Oh my, so hard and needy.” Jazz gently stroked him and leaned in to run the flat of his tongue from root to tip.
“Yes. Just like that.” Michael had to focus to keep his voice low. Jazz made him want to shout every obscene fantasy he’d compiled over his lifetime and then act them out together. He had to keep reminding himself that they hadn’t been seeing each other for very long, and he needed to tread lightly to keep from scaring Jazz away.
But, boy fucking howdy, Jazz’s mouth was a miracle in and of itself.
One hand cupped and teased Michael’s balls, while the other chased Jazz’s lips up and down Michael’s shaft. When Jazz took him deep into his throat, Michael hissed, “Yes.”
Jazz moved up and down a few more times, and Michael was already close. He cupped the back of Jazz’s head the next time he took him all the way down. He lingered, swallowing a few times and making Michael gasp and sit up higher in the chair.
His tight mouth rode Michael to the tip, and Michael knew he would come when Jazz did it again. But instead, Jazz pulled off and sat back on his haunches, smiling up at him.
Panting and aching to come, Michael was about to protest until Jazz reached behind his head and pulled his hair free.
He shook it loose, smiling devilishly. �
��You can hold on to my hair and fuck my throat if you want.”
A full-body shudder wracked Michael, and he almost came just from Jazz’s words. He thought he nodded, but he wasn’t sure. And then Jazz was sucking him again.
Michael wound his fingers in that cool, silky hair and gripped him tight. Jazz worked his cock up and down a few times, then buried his face in Michael’s bush. Michael squeezed his hair and gave a few tentative thrusts. But the vibration of Jazz’s moans of pleasure and encouragement spurred Michael to push himself deeper, a little faster.
He wanted to savor the moment, relish the tight heat of Jazz’s throat, but the moment had been stolen right out of his fantasies and he was too close to the edge. With one more deep thrust, Michael’s climax rushed through him. Jazz eagerly swallowed it down, and when he’d finished, sat back on his heels and smiled. His lips were swollen and red.
“I like the subtle undertones of coffee and cherry,” Jazz said. “Do you age it in oak barrels?”
Michael put a hand beneath his balls, lifting them a bit and giving them an assessing look. “They’ve been called a few things throughout my life, but nothing as grand as oak barrels.”
“I’m about to change that.” Jazz leaned in and lightly kissed each ball. Then he stood and extended a hand. “Let’s go make dinner.”
Michael got himself presentable then took Jazz’s hand to be pulled up from the chair. Still holding hands, he followed Jazz down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Chapter Thirty-One
“KITTY, WHERE are those invoices from last month?”
“Where I showed you forty-five minutes ago,” Kitty called from her desk in the outer office. “On the top left corner of your desk.”
Michael nodded to himself and reached over the stacks of papers to pick up the correct pile. “Thank you.”
“You’re amazing, Kitty. Don’t know what I’d do without you, Kitty. How about an extra week’s vacation to show my appreciation, Kitty?” She spoke in a low voice, just loud enough for her words to carry to Michael at his desk.
He shook his head and smiled as he leafed through the invoices. Even though he was days behind with paperwork, Michael couldn’t stop smiling. In the short time since they’d gotten Mr. Pickles back and stopped Russell from murdering Dylan’s uncle, he and Jazz had spent nearly every night together. Michael had even spent the night at Jazz’s apartment, after leaving plenty of food out for Mr. Pickles first, of course.
A quick flip through the invoices made him go searching for another bit of paperwork. As he lifted papers, Michael came across a hardcover book he’d brought from the house to read during his lunch breaks, and he picked it up to look at the dust jacket.
The Bitter Winds of Death, by Russell Withingham.
Michael shook his head, then turned in his chair to place the book on his credenza. It had been written by Dylan Roberts. Maybe now the truth was known, the publisher would reprint it with the correct author name.
He turned around and jumped slightly when he found Ezra standing on the other side of his desk.
“Hello, Michael.”
“You startled me. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Ezra smiled. “So sorry.”
“It’s all right. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to remind you that I have a study session with a group of colleagues this afternoon, so I’m leaving a bit early. I’ll make sure the Serenity Room is all set up for Mrs. Atwood’s viewing this evening, though.”
Michael managed to keep his smirk small at Ezra’s use of the word “colleagues.” He looked up at Ezra’s open and hopeful expression and nodded. “I remember. Thank you for reminding me. Kitty and I will be able to handle the viewing.”
“You’re welcome. Jazz is downstairs working on Mrs. Atwood.”
Michael liked how efficient Ezra was. They’d interred Mrs. Goldfarb almost immediately after her arrival, and Ezra had been indispensable during the process. “Yes, I spoke to Jazz when he arrived. Have a good study session if I don’t see you before you leave.”
Ezra gave a single nod before he left Michael’s office. Once he’d passed by Kitty’s door, Michael heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “Don’t let the door hit you where the good Lord split you” at Ezra’s exit.
Michael tried to focus on his paperwork, but Ezra’s mention of Jazz being downstairs had him distracted. They’d spent a lot of time together, but Michael still felt the urge to go down and see him. He wasn’t ready to call it love, not yet anyway, but he was interested to see where this relationship went. And spend as much time as possible with Jazz.
Paperwork wasn’t going anywhere. He got up and left his office. As he passed the usually open adjoining office door, she gave an elaborate sigh—she’d been tormenting him for days to get the invoices taken care of so she could do the books—and he gave her an apologetic look over his shoulder. It elicited a parental head shake in response, as expected.
Michael felt a giddy little jolt of excitement as he opened the door to the service entrance and then started down the steps. Like a kid getting ready to set out trick-or-treating, or the start of his bar mitzvah. When he reached the second-to-last step, he paused at the sound of Jazz’s voice. Who was he talking with down here? Had Ezra stopped down before leaving?
“You’re going to be the most beautiful woman in attendance tonight, Rachel,” Jazz said, his voice soft and kind. “All the other ladies are gonna talk so much smack about you once they get a look at you.”
A rush of warmth went through Michael as he realized Jazz was talking with Rachel Atwood.
Jazz talked to the dead as if they were alive and listening.
Just like I do.
“I am going to miss seeing you every other week, lady. Who’s gonna keep me up-to-date on all the gossip at the Bluffs?” Jazz huffed a quiet laugh. “I know Agnes and Josephine are in the know, but I always felt a special bond with you. If we’d been closer in age, I know you and I would’ve hung out together. And probably gotten arrested more than once.”
Jazz chuckled and the sound of it made Michael smile.
Maybe this is love?
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve found myself a fella.”
Michael held his breath and leaned a little farther out over the final riser.
“He’s a good one too. Hell of a lot better than my soon-to-be ex-husband. I know you know what I’m talking about. If I was to compare him to one of your many suitors—do not even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, girlfriend—then I would say he’s a bit of Leonard with a dash of Percy, and a whole lotta Wallace. Maybe even more than Wallace, if you get my drift, which I know you do.” Jazz chuckled again and Michael blushed a little. “But he’s not a bit like that good-for-nothing Homer, who took you to the Bluff’s Spring Formal last year. No, Michael is charming and shy and sweet and brave and courageous. And sexy too. I’ve never met a man like him, and you know I’ve met a lot of men.”
There was the sound of something being sprayed, followed by the unmistakable scent of hairspray.
“The EPA sure won’t miss all the hairspray you talked me into applying each time. But you gotta look good for those catty old bitches, right? And when St. Peter gets a gander at you, he’s gonna ask for a dance before he swings those pearly gates open for you to skip through.”
Jazz fell silent, giving Mrs. Atwood a shot of hairspray now and then. Michael could perfectly visualize him moving back and forth around her head, using the comb to tease her hair into a perfectly coiffed cloud. He felt a little guilty about eavesdropping for so long and was about to finish descending the steps, but then Jazz spoke again.
“Sad that your other two friends died so recently. But I know you three will be whooping it up among the angels. And now those knees of yours won’t keep you from dancing as long as you want. Just keep Beatrice away from any men you might fancy. You know how her hands wander.” Another few spritzes of hairspray, and then Jazz sighed
. “There. You’re a vision.”
The door at the other end of the basement area opened, and Michael heard someone enter.
“Hey, Jazz.”
It was Steve, arriving to help Michael place Mrs. Atwood in her casket and then take her upstairs to the reposing room for the viewing that evening. Michael’s sense of guilt at eavesdropping quadrupled, and he left the steps and moved out into the preparation room. Jazz’s smile at the sight of him lit all the dark corners in Michael’s heart.
“Hello there, sweetie,” Jazz said.
“Hello yourself,” Michael said, not minding Steve’s smirk at the endearment. “How are things going down here?”
“Rachel is ready for her big show.” Jazz gazed with true affection at the beautifully coiffed and made-up woman lying on the steel table.
Steve approached the table to see for himself. He smiled and put a hand on Jazz’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“She looks lovely, Jazz. Just lovely.” Steve turned to Michael. “Don’t you think so, Captain?”
Michael nodded but couldn’t take his gaze off Jazz. “Lovely, indeed.”
HANK EDWARDS has been reading books from an early age. Now that he’s an adult—or at least older than he used to be—he likes to write stories that revolve around gay characters. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romance, rom-com, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy.
When he’s not writing, Hank loves to read, go to movies, watch some TV, and because of Paul Hollywood’s influence, has recently been trying his hand at baking. He visits his mother once a week, not just for the free cookies, and enjoys spending time with close friends drinking wine and making up ridiculous things that sometimes show up in his books. Although he hates the process of travel, he does enjoy experiencing new places. His dream trip is to one day visit the country of Greece, and he is currently saving his nickels and dimes to make that a reality.
Back in the ’90s, he met a man who understood and encouraged his strange, creative mind, and who made him laugh more often and more freely than anyone else. Today they are legally married and still laugh often as they live in a suburb just north of Detroit with their two cats who act as both muse and distraction to him while he writes.