“I need to stop trying.” Ryan sighed. “It’s fucking exhausting.”
“Maybe you only need to stop trying the same thing.” Before Jack returned to the stove to finish up the bacon, he plugged in the waffle iron. He glanced back at Ryan. “But I’m hardly one to give advice.”
“How come?”
“I don’t really do relationships.”
“That’s a little bleak.”
“It’s just been my experience I do better on my own.” He closed a scoop of batter in the hot waffle iron and then removed the bacon to the oven to keep warm. “Other people probably do okay.”
Between finishing the eggs and baking several more waffles, ten minutes elapsed without another word. Jack searched his little-used emotion-deciphering faculties and discovered the wholesome routine felt pleasant.
He was cooking a man breakfast, and it was pleasant.
While Jack worked, he sneaked occasional glimpses of Ryan. He liked Ryan’s hesitant smile and the way he watched when he thought Jack wasn’t looking. He liked the way Ryan played with the cat.
When Jack turned, he could feel the weight of Ryan’s gaze on him like balmy air. When he shot a quick look Ryan’s way, he saw warmth suffuse Ryan’s lightly freckled cheeks.
Ryan’s resemblance to Nick brought a new awareness with it, both pleasurable and painful. Nick had been Jack’s ideal of physical perfection. Ryan—by a coincidence of genetics—shared his good looks. Nothing was dearer, nothing more physically attractive, nothing could flip Jack’s switch the way Nick, and now Ryan did.
How wrong was that? To compare the two men or, God forbid, let desire for one manifest with the other.
But oh, my. Ryan smelled so good. Uniquely good, like soap, cut grass, and limes good.
The scent was entirely Ryan’s own. He smelled of clean and spring and new things, while Jack spent most of his time with men who smelled of smoke and whiskey and sometimes fairly pungent sweat. Ryan’s scent made Jack want to press his nose into Ryan’s neck and take in a deep, deep draft of air. To hold it inside him until he was dizzy with it. Until he felt new again too.
Ryan helped Jack put plates on the table. As they moved around the small kitchen, Ryan brushed Jack’s shoulder casually with his. Jack’s whole body tightened. He looked behind him and found Ryan watching. Ryan’s gaze swept down his body and back up to his face like a physical touch. Jack’s body heated in response.
Ryan’s pupils bloomed, eclipsing his pale irises.
“Here.” Jack handed Ryan a plate of waffles. Ryan’s fingers brushed his. Lingered.
Desire crackled between them. Jack’s chest tightened, and his cock twitched. He turned away, murmuring something about pot holders and bacon.
Ryan followed him and stood a little too close. Jack had trouble breathing. He squeezed the handle of his cane with one hand and the oven door handle with the other.
“I’ll just wash my hands first.” Ryan’s breath warmed Jack’s ear.
Ryan crossed the room to the sink. He had long, powerful legs and broad shoulders. A long neck. There was a certain grace and economy to his movements that drew Jack’s eye and stole his breath. He took his time washing up, using hand soap and making a thick, foamy lather. Bubbles floated into the air.
Jack got the bacon out of the oven. When he walked it to the table, he couldn’t help but notice the way Ryan’s jeans stretched over the muscles of his fine, firm ass.
Jack went to the counter to pick up some napkins and stood there, his back to the kitchen, catching his breath.
“Jack?” The word stirred the hair on the back of Jack’s neck.
All Jack’s blood rushed south, and his knees threatened to buckle. “Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?” Ryan’s lips brushed Jack’s skin so lightly Jack wasn’t sure he felt them at all.
Ryan was standing so close. So goddamn close.
Instead of saying the first thing that came into his head—I don’t know, can you?—instead of overthinking things like always, Jack simply turned and met Ryan’s lips with his.
Ryan cupped Jack’s face to deepen the kiss, and Jack cooperated, shamelessly opening for Ryan’s tongue, allowing him inside, letting him explore teeth and gums and soft palate around Jack’s low, helpless groan.
Jack tasted orange juice between them, familiar and sweet. Beneath Jack’s hands, Ryan’s body felt like all good things, like excitement and novelty and strong man and coming home.
Jack tilted his head to make room for noses and air.
Ryan’s kisses transmitted urgency. Jack met him with shivering desperation. Sublime, heady need ignited a fuse in Jack’s body. He moaned into Ryan’s mouth, begging for more.
Ryan shifted his weight to push Jack against the counter. Of a similar height, they fit together perfectly. Jack parted his feet for balance, and Ryan stepped between them. Jack felt Ryan’s cock against his, hard and hot and ready.
Jack’s surprise and his harsh, panting breaths mingled with Ryan’s.
For a time, Jack reveled in the rasp of Ryan’s freshly shaved cheek against his. Then Ryan found the column of Jack’s throat with hungry lips. Ryan pressed so close the quickening beat of his heart thudded against Jack’s chest.
Or was that his heart, racing in response?
Ryan slid his hips into Jack’s, not quite grinding—not yet—but pushing against Jack’s answering length. Hovering on some precipice, teetering between desire and restraint.
Will we? Won’t we…
Ryan’s cock pulsed against Jack’s as he claimed another kiss. All the breath left Jack’s lips in the form of another groan.
Ryan paused. “Sure you want to eat right now?”
Jack swallowed hard. “I—”
The half-moon of Ryan’s pale lashes lowered over his flushed cheeks. His breath ghosted against Jack’s throat as he kissed a path toward his collar. “We could take this someplace more comfortable.”
Oh, my God.
“Wait. I-I didn’t expect anything like this.” Jack took hold of Ryan’s shoulders and pushed him gently away. “I had someone over last night. My bed’s still unmade, and it’s probably… You understand? I can’t just go from—”
“I see.” Ryan stepped back, still flushed, still panting and hard.
“God, I’m sorry.” Watching Ryan’s slick tongue move over his freshly kissed mouth made Jack’s groin tighten further still. “You have no idea how sorry.”
“You’re with someone?”
“I—” Am I?
This was why he wanted to know what his boundaries were. He didn’t want to hurt Dave, but it was pretty clear Dave wasn’t interested in anything but fucking him behind closed doors.
It was also pretty clear Ryan was carrying a direct ticket to Jack’s happy place, and their attraction was mutual. Did Jack have to have scruples when Dave and he were just friends with benefits?
Had he ever?
Not until Dave had a mom who’d said, “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
Aw, fuck.
“It’s complicated,” Jack said finally.
“Not to me.” Ryan adjusted himself, ruefully acknowledging the elephant in the room. “If you’re with someone, this would be what people call cheating.”
“I don’t do that.” Jack turned away. “I guess what you have with Kevin isn’t—”
“I don’t have anything with Kevin. I don’t do that either.”
“Could we just eat?” Jack asked. “Would that be okay for right now?”
Ryan didn’t look at Jack like he’d nearly dry humped him and then shut him down before the big finish. That had to count for something, right? He appeared disappointed but not angry.
“Sure.” Ryan picked up his plate and headed for the table. “No hard feelings, okay? Nice kiss. No sale. It’s all good.”
“Thank you.” Jack was having some hard feelings, all right. An uncomfortably hard ache of the most primitive kind. He was carrying his plate to the table when the doo
rbell rang.
“Expecting someone?” asked Ryan.
“I don’t think so. It’s probably someone selling something.” Jack put his plate down and started toward the door. He didn’t get three steps before Gabe burst past him into the kitchen.
Why did I give him a key?
“Hey, coz. Smells good. You making breakfast?”
“Yeah.” Jack waited for Gabe to notice Ryan. Since he helped himself to coffee without looking around, Jack added, “I have a guest.”
“Well, why didn’t you—” Gabe turned and saw Ryan sitting at the table. “Shit. You must be Nick’s cousin. That’s an amazing resemblance you got there.”
The color faded from Ryan’s face, but he stood up and held out his hand. “I’m Ryan Halloran.”
“Gabriel Masterson, Jack’s cousin.” Gabe shook his hand. “I’m sorry. I should keep my mouth shut sometimes.”
“Most of the time,” Jack murmured.
“Am I interrupting something?” asked Gabe.
“We were just sitting down to breakfast.” Jack motioned toward the table. “You’re welcome to join us. There’s plenty.”
Ryan returned to his seat, a troubled expression on his handsome face. “Do I really look so much like Nick?”
Gabe and Jack exchanged a glance. Jack shrugged. “At first, yes. I don’t see it as much now that I know you. Your mannerisms are different.”
Gabe nodded. “I only really knew Nick as a kid. You’re what I imagined he’d look like as a man. I’m surprised to see you here. I expected—”
“Waffle?” Jack asked. Gabe’s mouth snapped shut. No doubt he’d been expecting to find Dave at Jack’s table. Maybe he didn’t know Dave didn’t breakfast. Or if he did, he didn’t do it with the men he fucked.
“How’re you feeling, Ryan?” Gabe asked, and thank God he did.
Now Jack wouldn’t have to make awkward small talk. They didn’t call Gabe the client whisperer for nothing. He and Ryan could talk about their feelings while Jack picked up a forkful of eggs and savored them. The bacon was crisp, exactly the way he liked it, and the waffle was superb for something he’d thrown together from a mix. One of the guys at the firehouse used to make waffles with bits of bacon or chunks of pecans in them. Those were pretty delicious too.
“What do you think, Jack?” Gabe asked.
Jack’s brain came back from food thoughts with a thud. “I’m sorry?”
“I came to ask you if you wanted to shop for cars with me.”
“You’re getting rid of your truck?”
“I’m thinking about it.” Gabe eyed Ryan again. “I’m sick of trucks. I’ve been wanting something sleek and powerful, like me. I’m thinking of getting one of those new Camaros that look like old Camaros.”
Ryan shot a questioning glance Jack’s way.
Jack said, “I’m going to Nick’s memorial with Ryan.”
“Jack.” Gabe’s fork clattered onto his plate. “That has to be the worst idea I ever heard.”
“I’d be going for Ryan, not Nick. Memorials are for the living.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong.” Gabe turned to Ryan. “But won’t Nick’s parents and the rest of his family and friends be there?”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”
“So won’t Jack’s presence at Nick’s memorial remind them of things they’d prefer to forget while they bury their son?”
Ryan pushed his chair away from the table and rose. “I don’t think—”
Gabe continued, “I mean, he offed hims—”
“Gabe.” Jack stood abruptly.
Gabe got up and stepped toward Ryan. “Nick wasn’t one of my favorite people.”
Ryan spread his hands out—a placating gesture. “Look. I know what he did.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Gabe taunted. “If you had any idea—“
“Gabe, for God’s sake.” Jack grabbed Gabe’s shoulder to hold him back. “It’s not your story to tell.”
Gabe jerked out of Jack’s hold. “Then tell it, Jack. Tell your new friend here how—”
“I said shut up, Gabe.” Jack pinned Gabe against the kitchen wall. One of the pictures—an old five-by-seven of Jack and his mother—fell to the floor. Fortunately, the glass didn’t break, but Tasha fled in terror. “Shut the fuck up, or you and me? We’re over.”
“You mean that, coz?” Gabe and Jack glared at each other, breath coming fast.
“Right now I do.”
“Dick.” Gabe pushed Jack off him, and Jack let him pass. Gabe didn’t turn until he got to the kitchen door. “You’re protecting the wrong guy, you idiot. You always did.”
“Goddamn it, get out. I’ll talk to you when you cool down.”
Gabe shot them both a last angry scowl and took off, leaving Jack stunned and alone with Ryan. Before Jack said anything about what happened, he picked up the photograph. He couldn’t look at Ryan until he hung it back up where it belonged. He was about to turn when he felt Ryan’s hands on his shoulders. Instead of gripping him hard like Jack expected, instead of forcing him to turn and spill his whole story, Ryan wound his arms around Jack’s chest. He pressed his lips against the side of Jack’s neck. Jack felt jerky huffs of breath as well—and the hot moisture of tears.
“I’m sorry, Jack.” Ryan pulled him close. “If you need someone to be sorry for what Nick did to you all those years ago, accept that. Accept my apology. I’m so sorry he hurt you. Please. Forgive us.”
Chapter 11
Jack turned with every intention of keeping his hands to himself. He truly did. But Ryan’s face was streaked with tears, his lips and eyelids swollen, and his lashes lay spiky and damp against deep shadows etched by total exhaustion.
He is completely irresistible.
At least, that was what Jack told himself when he gave in and pressed a fresh kiss to Ryan’s salty lips. That was what he told himself when Ryan pushed him back and stepped between his legs. When he felt the heat that flared instantly between them.
Ryan wrapped his hand around the back of Jack’s neck and took his surprise-parted lips in a kiss so dirty and determined, Jack gripped Ryan’s shirt with both hands to keep from falling when his knees buckled. Their earlier kiss—the one that made him almost speechless with desire—seemed tepid compared to the roiling, boiling need that bubbled up inside him now.
“Yes,” Jack whispered. “God, yes.”
Ryan hauled Jack’s hips against his, and Jack winced. “Careful. I’m fragile.”
“Sorry.” Ryan loosened his grip.
“Rough is good,” Jack grated out. “Just be careful what you’re rough with.”
“I’ll take care of you.” Ryan pulled Jack forward again, this time with more care, and their hard lengths met and brushed lightly, straining under their clothes.
Ryan’s smile was slow to bloom but warmer for the wait. He tasted like bacon and maple syrup, salty and sweet, and he kissed like he had all the time in the world. He clasped Jack’s hand and, taking some of Jack’s weight on his firm forearm, drew him to the couch in the living room.
“This okay?”
“Yeah.” Jack breathed a sigh as he allowed Ryan to push him down onto the ancient vinyl sofa in his parents’ living room. If Ryan was comfortable taking the lead, Jack planned to enjoy every minute of it. His usual frantic couplings held very little in the way of tenderness. This promised to be different, and Jack wanted what Ryan offered him. Every languid, unhurried kiss.
Jack’s vinyl couch blew out a flatulent gust of air when Ryan knelt between his legs. Jack cringed with shame. Maybe it was time to get better furniture. “Sorry.”
“That was hilarious.” Ryan grinned and took Jack’s mind off things by nuzzling him, lips and tongue searching out all the places Jack hadn’t been kissed in so goddamn long—the hollow of his throat, the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the ticklish shell of his ear, his temples, his eyes. Jack pulled Ryan’s attention back to his mouth for another taste and then another.
Brief kisses were interspersed with quick catches of Jack’s breath, until Jack wasn’t sure he was breathing, wasn’t sure he could breathe unless Ryan gave him breath—like life, like CPR, like he planned to resuscitate all the sensual longing Jack had forgotten he possessed.
Ryan smoothed his palms over Jack’s chest and then undid the buttons of his shirt one by one, kissing each new inch of Jack’s skin as he uncovered it. He lapped at the sensitive nub of Jack’s nipple, curving the flat of his tongue over and around it, and then he blew on it to make it pucker.
“Ryan.” Jack arched beneath him with a soft moan. He lifted himself to help when Ryan made an impatient noise and gripped the hem of Jack’s shirt to pull it off over his head. With a light laugh, Ryan trapped him for a minute inside the warm cocoon of fabric while he blew a raspberry on his stomach.
Oh, my God.
Jack remembered how playful sex could be with the right partner.
Midmorning sun gilded Ryan’s blond hair as he explored every scar, every freckle, every crisp, furry bit of Jack’s bare chest with his fingers and lips. Jack carded his fingers through its silken softness. Ryan’s hair was slightly springy, somewhat wavy, and as they ground against each other, it plastered the damp skin of his forehead.
Jack chased Ryan’s lips for kisses even as he pushed his hands between their bodies to unbuckle Ryan’s belt. Ryan slipped off him to make things easier. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and undid his belt and zipper, impatiently shoving both jeans and shorts to his thighs. He urged Jack to lift so he could rid him of his clothes. When they managed to free their cocks, Ryan lowered himself onto Jack’s body with a satisfied sigh.
God, the fit was just right—a sweat-slicked glide of skin on skin with just enough hair to make things interesting. Jack put his mouth on anything he could reach. Ryan’s meaty shoulder was his favorite target, strong and well muscled; it smelled like soap and fresh cotton but tasted of sweat and salt. Ryan’s whole body tightened when Jack gave the freckled flesh a gentle bite. He arched his back, his cock digging into Jack’s with more friction. More force.
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