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“I’ll never beg you,” he seethes.
I smile against his skin again, shoving my fingers deeper, spreading him open. “Oh, but you are… I don’t need the words when your body is so damn desperate for me, telling me everything you don’t want to admit.”
His ass chases my fingers, and his body sucks me in like it has been craving this, starving for this. I let my fingers probe and swirl around inside him, enjoying the sight of him letting go of that control he has spent years honing. And here I am, able to unravel it with just a touch.
I let my other hand caress that smooth skin. Goddamn, his skin is so fucking beautiful. Perpetually sun-kissed, and so fucking soft and hot under my palm. My fingers find the collection of leather bracelets and one black beaded one on his wrist. I toy with them a bit. So sexy. I again feel the momentary desire to slow down and stare at him. Enjoy this proximity to him. Revel in it. But that’s not why I’m here. I sink my teeth into the muscle where his neck meets his shoulder before I pull my fingers out and stand. He glances at me over his shoulder. The heat in his eyes is close to unraveling me too. Squaring his hips, I press the swollen head of my cock against his hole and push. No hesitation. No gentle easing my way past those muscles. I want in. I want him to feel me. I want to punish him. I want him to know the man he hates more than anything, the man he blames for ruining his life, that man owns him right now and he’s going to be thinking about my cock inside of him, my body pressing against his for the rest of his fucking life.
But punishment is not what I feel.
Not even close.
His tight hole sucks me in and holds me. Each thrust brings more pleasure than the last. And those moans, the heat of his body against mine as I slump over him….
Oh fuck, this was a huge mistake.
I stand and push into him again and again. My fingers digging into his flesh to hold his hips steady.
Davey meets each thrust with a groan or a curse and I see his hand move to his cock and he pumps himself furiously. I’m so close to coming. Fuck, he feels so damn good. Too damn good. I don’t want this to end. But then he does it.
“Carter,” He moans as he comes in his hand.
“Ah fuck,” I pump twice more and unload into him, bending over his back, feeling that hot skin against my chest. My breathing is labored and falling in pants against his back, now sticky with sweat. My lips find the top of his shoulder and I kiss him. Licking his skin, tasting the salty sweat. He moans again and melts under me just a little more. We lie there, a boneless heap flung across the back of the couch. The world has gone quiet. The demons momentarily vanquished, sent, far, far away from this moment. At this moment, there is only peace.
Suddenly, he shoves me off and wriggles out from under me to stand. As if he only now realized who had been inside of him. Whose body is draped over his.
I may have been drunk when this escapade began. But I’m stone cold sober now. And I just made a huge mistake.
I had intended to give Davey an experience he would never forget. I think that might have just backfired on me.
I turn away, unable to meet his gaze, not wanting to see his face. Shit, shit, shit. I grab my pants off the floor and open the door under his sink in search of a trash can. I fling the condom in and then pull my pants on and grab my shirt off the floor, frantically buttoning it up when I hear him speak.
“You didn’t defend him… you didn’t stand up for him,” Davey says flatly.
I clench my teeth together. How dare he. I turn and invade Davey’s space again in a flash. Those lips. Those luscious lips a whisper from mine. There for the taking if I was so inclined. He can’t pull back this time. He has nowhere to go. I’d gotten to him so quickly.
“Neither did you,” I hiss. I grasp his bottom lip with my teeth and bite down ever so slightly and quickly release. “Neither did you.” His eyes widen and I step away and out into the hall, slamming the door hard behind me. I’m not sure I breathe again until the elevator gets to the bottom and I race out the door into the now-dark evening.
Chapter six
PRESENT DAY
I’ve never punched anyone before. I sure as hell didn’t expect the pain in my hand to be this excruciating. I only hope Davis’s face feels even half as bad. My face doesn’t feel that great either. Dammit. Why did he have to make such a scene?
My knuckles are flaming red and raw. Pain shoots through my hand like sparks when I flex my fingers and place them atop the piano keys. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. So much for behaving like adults. And now… now what? How the hell are we going to do this? There are so many things Davis doesn’t know. Does he need to? I stare at the keys, waiting for the answer. Does he need to know I stood up for him? Does he need to know my band of bully friends instantly set their sights on outing him when they discovered Luke’s sexuality?
I told them they were wrong. No way. An athlete of his caliber, I’d said. Athletes can’t be gay. Fortunately for me, and Davis, my friends bought into that stereotype, even though Luke didn’t fit it either. They were slow to catch onto that. Slow enough for me to transfer to a school in Boston. Slow enough for Davis to become barely a passing thought to them as he focused on hockey, hockey and more hockey. I know this because I tried to seek him out a few times after our encounter following Luke’s funeral. But he wouldn’t come near me, much less deign to speak to me. He blamed me as much as he blamed my friends. At that time, I thought I deserved that blame. Now, not so much.
I feel the bartender’s eyes on me. I’d be a little wary too. I cleaned up somewhat in the restroom before strolling in here and making a beeline for the piano like I own the place. Even after cleaning up, my shirt remains blood splattered. A black eye is forming rapidly, and I have minor cuts along my cheek and lower lip. I’m sure I am quite the sight. One not exactly looking welcoming to the hotel guests. But I don’t care.
I assure the bartender I am not drunk, furthermore have no intentions of becoming drunk and I promise to be gone before the after-work rush files in.
“I just need a moment with those keys,” I say.
He offers me an exasperated nod, deciding it’s not worth arguing over this since he has work to do.
I used to find a lot of answers at the piano. Long before I sought solace at the bottom of a bottle, I’d find it here. It’s been a long, long time though, way too long since I sought answers from music. Way too long since I’ve even played. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I sat on a piano bench. Time to test the muscle memory. I flex my fingers again, and again, feel the searing pain shoot through my right hand.
“Fuck,” I mutter. Closing my eyes, I let my fingers fall to the keys. My entire body relaxes the second my fingertips hit the keys. Wow. And out it comes. Slowly. Roughly. But the salve to my soul is instant. Why did I ever leave this? Surely this would have been a better place to get lost than in the fog of alcohol.
