Accidental Roots The Series Volume 1: an mm romantic suspense box set

by Elle Keaton

  He’d stopped by the address Adam gave him. After he’d spent five minutes buzzing the intercom to no avail, some guy leaving the building told him Weir could often be found on the beach this time of day. Surfing, probably. In a black wet suit, like fifty other guys along a mile stretch of beach.

  With nothing better to do, he waited in a kind of numb haze, sitting on a bench where the sand gave way to a strip of grass before the pavement began, watching the runners, skaters, skateboarders, even old-lady speed walkers, zip by. These people were religious about exercise. He stood out like a sore thumb in all black with no tan whatsoever. He’d smeared sunscreen on his exposed skin, but he was pretty sure he could feel himself starting to turn pink.

  Watching the surfers was mesmerizing. Once, when he had been very young, his parents had taken a family trip to Hawaii. They had spent one day on the North Shore watching a surfing competition. These waves didn’t seem as big, but he had been much smaller then. And, if he remembered correctly, he’d sported a horrible sunburn by the time the day was over.

  The sun was edging toward the horizon. Checking his phone, he saw it was after seven. If he didn’t find Weir before dark, he would just have to go back and lurk around the entrance to the condo.

  One of the surfers made his way out of the water. Sterling squinted into the settling dusk trying to make out features, something that would tell him it was Weir this time. All he could see was a very sexy body wrapped up in a wet suit, and a huge surfboard in his hands.

  “Did you come all this way to ogle sexy men in wet suits?” A mocking voice asked from behind him.

  Sterling almost fell off the fucking bench. He had been so intent on the guy coming out of the water, he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings.

  “What the fuck, Weir? You scared the shit out of me! How did you know I was here?”

  “Old loose-lips Riley on the second floor told me he’d sent a ‘hot guy wearing all black’ down to the beach looking for me.” He stared out at the surf, a look of intense longing on his face. “I’m not cleared for surfing yet,” he said with a pathetic pout.

  “Oh. Uh, I’m sorry?”

  Weir kept looking out at the waves, his hair, white-blond from the SoCal sun, blowing around his face. “Nah, s’okay, I’ll get back soon enough.” He turned to look at Sterling, “So, why’re you here, in LA, at my fucking beach?”

  Right. This was the part Sterling had been practicing, repeating to himself during the flight to LA and the cab ride to the address Adam had given him. With a helping of snark.

  Adam and Raven, after a long night of no sleep and a whole lot of soul-searching, convinced him the only way Weir would truly believe Sterling was serious would be if he heard it from him in person. He’d booked the flight before he could change his mind.

  Over the phone, email, any number of other (less terrifying) methods Weir could blow off as not serious. Sterling had thought a lot about why he was the one who had to travel down to the hellhole of SoCal—he was going to bake to death—when it had been Weir who left without saying goodbye.

  The conclusion he arrived at was stark: no one, not one single person in Weir’s life had ever come for him. Esther had disappeared, leaving him behind. As young as he had been, Weir must have felt abandoned and guilty, because he was safe at home. Then his mother. Sterling wondered again if Weir had ever looked for her; if he wanted to see her again. Followed by his father and even Ben Tompkins—the man had been killed in the line of duty, but still, it was a long list of people who had left and never returned.

  So, if Weir was going to believe that Sterling really wanted to build something with him, Sterling had to be the one to go and get him.

  Leaving Skagit, Sterling hoped, had been a self-protective measure. If Weir didn’t allow himself to get attached, then he wouldn’t get hurt. And, yeah, Sterling knew that because it was one of his own classic moves. But they had gotten beyond that, he hoped, even if neither of them realized it until they were stupidly, accidentally, in a relationship only Micah had identified.

  Sometimes he wanted to punch himself. In the face.

  Weir looked good. The bruises, scratches, and general pallor had been replaced with a nice tan. He was wearing board shorts and a tank top, which did absolutely nothing for Sterling’s concentration. Weir was still lean, but he didn’t lack muscle.

  “Look, uh.” Come on, man up, he reproached himself. “Can we go back to your place?” On second thought, maybe he should do this out in the open. “No, wait.” He grabbed Weir’s arm as he started to turn. “Here is fine.”

  Weir looked at him like he had grown a second head, which Sterling would, too, if he was Weir.

  “Sit with me?”

  Weir sat, his thigh brushing Sterling’s, sending a little shiver through him.

  “You okay? You’re acting a little weird. Even for you,” Weir said.

  “Shut up, fuckhead.” It was go big or go home (did he just think that?). He had to just start talking and not stop until he said it all. “That night, when you handcuffed me—”

  Weir snorted.

  “Fuckhead,” Sterling repeated, with no heat behind it. “That night, I told you something I’ve never said to anyone before. I meant what I said, even if it may have seemed to be in the heat of the moment. I like you, Carroll Weir. I’m not smart like you, or athletic, or much of anything, but I think we have a connection, a real one. Not just incredible sex—which, by the way, I am not discounting. So, I was wondering…” He stuttered to a stop, not sure if he could get the corny words out of his mouth.

  “Are you,” the fucker was actually snickering, “are you asking me to go steady? Because I think we live in the twenty-first century, not the 1950s.” He doubled over, breathless. “I’m sorry for laughing.”

  “Asshole. You are not. How about, Carroll Weir, will you be my permanent fuckbuddy?” Sterling may, or may not, have accidentally raised his voice just as two extremely elderly ladies in hot-pink athletic gear creaked by with their little rat dogs. They glanced over at them but kept walking, seemingly unsurprised by his outburst. Dusk was falling, the neon of the neighborhood businesses gleaming brightly, outshining any stars that could have been out.

  Weir didn’t reply, although he had stopped laughing. Sterling started to get nervous. Had he made the trip in vain? Misread everything? Weir shifted next to him, Sterling started to look at him instead of focusing on the neon, and suddenly he had a whole lot of man all over him. Weir grabbed his face with both hands and started kissing him hard. His lips were hot; his tongue demanded entrance into Sterling’s mouth. Sterling opened gladly; when he got over his surprise, he wrapped his arms tightly around Weir. He moaned, it felt so good and so right.

  “Get a room!” a gruff male voice shouted, although Sterling could hear laughter, too.

  “Yeah,” Weir said. He stood, pulling Sterling up with him. Weir didn’t let go of his hand the whole three-block walk back to the condo, Sterling’s backpack stuffed with a change of clothing dangling from his other hand. They didn’t talk, either; they needed to get somewhere private before they embarrassed themselves and the entire neighborhood. What needed to be said could be said later, after.

  Weir’s condo was on the third floor. Instead of waiting for the elevator, they jogged up the stairs, giggling like idiots. Luckily, they didn’t see anyone in the lobby or in the hallway outside the condo while Weir tried to unlock the door with Sterling pressed up behind him, pressing his erection into Weir’s ass. Arms around Weir’s waist, he fumbled with the snap on his shorts. They needed to come off immediately.

  Weir groaned, leaning his head against the door. “Dude, I can’t, I can’t open the door with you doing that.”

  Sterling dropped his backpack and pressed harder into Weir’s back. He grabbed the set of keys with one hand and stuck his other hand down Weir’s shorts, stroking his erection, luxuriating in the soft steel under his fingers. Weir braced them against the door while Sterling jammed the
key into the lock and turned it.

  “We have, we have to stand back or we’re going to end up on the floor…” Weir ground out.

  “We’re gonna end up on the floor.” Sterling needed to touch Weir, to breathe him in. He wanted to be naked now.

  “As much as I—fuck, need to feel you—I don’t want to break anything. Again.”

  Fine. Sterling leaned away about an inch. Weir flicked the door handle and they were inside. Good thing, too; Sterling saw the elevator door open and “loose lips” Riley was getting off. Didn’t he live on the second floor? It didn’t matter; the door slammed behind them, and it was Sterling’s turn to be manhandled up against the wall.

  “In case you were wondering—” Weir pressed their foreheads together, “I’m in. We’ll talk, but I gotta—feel you…”

  Yeah, whatever the boy genius wanted. Sterling was putty in his hands. Also, not a boy.

  Sterling had no idea what the inside of Weir’s condo looked like. He could have been a serial killer displaying creepy maps with red pins marking very specific places and human skin taped to the walls for all he knew. Didn’t care. He pressed himself back against Weir; they needed to have less clothing on. Grabbing Weir’s shorts again, he pushed them down as far as he could. Sterling whimpered when Weir stepped back, but then Weir kicked his shorts off all the way, tossing them aside. His tank top followed.

  Naked.

  The small entryway echoed with their pants and whimpers. Weir struggled with Sterling’s jeans.

  “Jesus Christ, dude, these things are too fucking tight. Off now,” he demanded.

  Crap, his boots were still on. This was a clusterfuck. As quickly as possible, Sterling divested himself of his Doc Martens, jeans, boxers, and T-shirt. Weir was impatiently running his hands across Sterling’s head, ruffling his hair, stroking the sensitive skin of his neck.

  Finally, his clothes were off and he was able to press his naked self against Weir. Time slowed. Sterling shut his eyes so he could just feel. Feel the pulse of Weir’s heartbeat, the silk of his skin, the scent of him. This he had missed. Missed so much.

  “We could do this here, against the wall, but I have a really big bed,” Weir whispered into his neck, before gently biting his earlobe. Sterling’s cock throbbed.

  “Bed.”

  They fell into bed with reckless abandon, touching hands, kissing, rubbing, both needing to feel the other. To remember. Weir rolled Sterling onto his back, straddling his hips, before leaning down to attack his mouth while rubbing their erections together. The heat was building so quickly. Sterling didn’t want this to be a fast fuck, not anymore. He wanted to take his time, to feel everything.

  “Stop, stop a sec,” he managed to gasp. “I’m going to come already, it’s been too long.”

  Weir whimpered again, pressing their groins together, before he shoved a hand between them, searching for Sterling’s sensitive nipples. “You leaving soon?”

  “Nahg, no.”

  “Then give it up for me, please.”

  Fine, fuck.

  Grabbing Weir’s slender hips, he used gravity and the upward motion of his body to create the friction he needed. It wasn’t much. Weir slipped down so he was between Sterling’s legs, sucking one nipple while playing with the other. Giving up, Sterling threw his arms over his head and wrapped his legs around Weir’s, allowing their sensuous motion to take over. It was all friction, sucking, and the scent of the man he had let into his heart.

  Leaving his nipple, Weir slipped a hand between them, around their dripping cocks. A little pressure was all it took, a few tugs, though Sterling’s orgasm still almost took him by surprise. He arched into Weir, letting himself go, feeling come pulsing from his balls.

  Weir came a moment after him, his body seizing while he kept grinding against Sterling until there was nothing left but the sound of their breathing, heavy and sated.

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah. Dude.”

  Weir was still lying on top of Sterling, his head tucked against his chest. Sterling didn’t know if he had ever felt this content.

  “I should probably tell you that I love you,” he said. “I hope that doesn’t scare you. When I said ‘like’ before, I meant love.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Those words.

  Weir couldn’t remember when he had heard them last. From anyone. Probably before Esther disappeared. Ben loved him, he’d understood that, but those words had never been uttered between them. Ben had been a police officer and his foster dad, not his real parent, and certainly not a poster child for how to communicate. He had shown Weir in other ways, like supporting his crazy athletic dreams, getting him into college, and making sure he wasn’t put in juvie by the feds.

  He assumed his parents had loved him at some point. The loss of Esther had overshadowed their own abilities to function as parents or normal humans. Who knew, maybe they had been having troubles before Esther disappeared. Weir would never know. His father had died in prison.

  Sterling said he loved him.

  Weir continued to half lie on his lover, the shadows in the bedroom blanketing them. He didn’t want to move from the safe space they had created. He didn’t want to speak and ruin the moment. Sterling’s breathing evened out, indicating he had drifted off.

  “I think I love you, too,” he whispered.

  “I know,” Sterling murmured back. Weir smiled into his chest, and Sterling tightened his grip around him.

  Eventually, Weir rolled off, going in search of a warm washcloth and supplies for later. When he returned, Sterling had pulled the covers aside and nestled into the sheets. After wiping him off and tossing the cloth aside, Weir crawled in next to him, pulling the covers over them both.

  Later came a few hours after midnight. Weir awoke to a hot mouth on his cock. He let himself lie there and revel in the feeling of Sterling giving him everything, until he was too close. He tugged at Sterling’s hair, demanding his attention.

  “Hey, uh, I, can I—” Sterling chose that moment to stick his tongue into the slit of Weir’s steel-hard cock before sucking only the head, making Weir lose his train of thought and moan loudly. Sterling chuckled before popping his mouth off with a lewd smacking sound.

  “You want something?”

  “I really want to be inside you. If that’s okay?”

  Sterling sat up, straddling Weir’s hips, his own erection dripping only inches from Weir’s face.

  “You’d be the first in a very long time. But yeah, let’s do that.”

  A minor comedy of errors ensued as they changed positions. Weir’s foot got caught in the sheets, but soon enough Sterling was on his back underneath him. Weir lay on top of him for a moment before slipping to the side, lost again in a passionate kiss Sterling initiated. Fuck, Sterling could kiss. It turned Weir on even more, having his tongue in his mouth, caressing him from inside. He bolted up.

  “Jesus, you are distracting. Your mouth...” He trailed off, leaning to grab a condom and lube from the nightstand.

  Sterling laughed, his eyes dark, full of passion.

  Weir tossed the condom onto Sterling’s chest. “Put it on me.”

  “You think you can handle that?”

  “Fuck, shit, no.” He snatched it back, fumbling with the slick packaging before finally getting it open. Sterling tried reaching for it, but Weir backed away, grabbing his own cock and rolling the condom on carefully.

  Scooting up between Sterling’s legs, he pulled Sterling’s hips over his thighs so he could stretch him. He traced Sterling’s hole with his thumb, teasing, suggesting, massaging the lube into him, promising. Sterling clenched around his thumb and Weir muttered whatever carnal words came into his mind, telling Sterling how fucking beautiful he was, how his ass made Weir want to come, how he wanted to fuck him.

  He wasn’t normally one for a lot of dirty talk, but something about Sterling, how vulnerable and trusting he was in the moment, how he responded, kept Weir’s mouth moving. He poured more lube into h
is hand—they would be lucky if they didn’t slide off the bed—before slowly pushing one finger inside.

  Sterling kept his eyes locked onto Weir’s. Weir pushed slowly past the initial ring of muscle… ah, he was hot inside. Felt amazing. He almost couldn’t wait to get his cock in there.

  “Hurry up, you’re killing me,” Sterling panted, reading his mind.

  “In a sec.” He wanted to find the G-spot first. He inserted a second finger.

  “Relax,” he crooned. Sterling flipped him the bird. “Oh, don’t you worry.” Finally he found the little bundle of nerves, sliding his fingertips across it, pushing delicately, circling.

  Sterling shouted something unintelligible, which Weir was going take as “Don’t fucking stop.” Sterling’s erection, which had flagged when Weir started to open him up, returned in full force. Leaning over, Weir licked the tip of his shaft, savoring the taste of Sterling’s precome.

  “Weir, please.”

  Begging was good.

  Giving Sterling one last lick and the gentlest suck, he pulled his fingers out. One hand on Sterling and the other on his own wrapped cock, he slowly began pushing inside. Like a champ, Sterling bore down, opening up for Weir’s needy cock.

  “Oh, fuck.” Weir was panting, too, because he really wanted to push all the way inside. All the way. It felt like hours, his forehead beaded with sweat, before he was fully seated. Waiting another moment for Sterling to get used to him took the absolute last of his self-control.

  When his lover nodded, Weir pulled out a little before pushing back in. Setting a rhythm met by Sterling. The hot, gratifying pleasure of Sterling’s hole clenching around his cock was intense and heady. Made him lose focus, his sac tapping against Sterling’s ass, sensation everywhere. On his tongue, against his skin, the scent of them together, sweat, come, whatever it was that made Sterling smell so good. It was too much—Weir was going to come—everything was exponential, and he had wanted to be inside Sterling for months.

  He grimaced, trying to hold back, but Sterling grabbed his dick and began jerking himself. The sight of him together with the press of Sterling’s hips against him sent Weir over the edge, tumbling fast and hard, filling the condom. Sterling shook beneath him, and the warmth of Sterling’s come spread across their bellies.