6. Gil
CHAPTER 6
GIL
T he burger was good, but the adorable flush that colored Rowan’s face when he struggled his way through a sentence was better. He’d stumbled backward down my front steps, raising his hand in a sort of awkward and embarrassed save before spinning on his heel and racing down the street.
I figured he and his son must have moved into the old McAllister house at the end of the block. The house had sat empty since old man McAllister died earlier in the year because no one had been brave enough to make the purchase, considering all the work the place was going to need. Besides how overgrown the yard had become, there was no way Rowan was going to get away without getting a new roof before winter and new gutters before spring.
Licking bacon grease off my fingers, I found myself wondering what sort of situation would drive a man with an almost-teenager to move into such a rundown place, but we all had our burdens. Rowan Verne, with his pressed pants and button-up shirts, didn’t seem like the type to have any real problems besides the state of his house and his grasp of the English language, but I knew as well as anyone that looks could be deceiving.
I was halfway finished with the burger when I heard another knock at my door. I’d already had more visitors today than I liked to have, but the last thing I expected was to find Rowan Verne on my porch for a second time that night. He had a fresh six-pack in his hand, this one a generic stout from the liquor store down the road. I opened the door and leaned against the frame, unable to stop myself from smirking down at him.
He was so much smaller than me, so delicate, so proper with his blush and the nervous way he shifted his weight from foot to foot.
So flustered.
So fucking pretty .
“Rowan,” I greeted him, reaching up to scratch an itch on my right cheek.
His eyes tracked the movement, pupils dilating when my hand fell away. His stare fell at the same time, lingering on my mouth before I cleared my throat and brought him back to the present. His cheeks darkened, making the constellation of freckles across the bridge of his nose appear a deeper shade of brown than they had earlier.
“That beer was horrid,” he said, smiling in a way that looked almost painful. “So, consider this a replacement.”
“You really didn’t need to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
He thrust the six-pack against my chest, and I reacted quickly, coming up with both hands to grab the bottles before they fell. I caught his hand in the process, his wrist, the fine bones of his arm twisting beneath my grasp like he wanted to move, but didn’t dare. His skin was cool to the touch, soft.
There were more freckles.
God, I bet he had freckles everywhere.
Pushing the thought of Rowan’s potentially freckled ass and thighs out of my mind, I took a step backward, carton of beer clutched in my greasy hand.
“Well, thank you.” I lifted the beer and gave him a quick smile. “Did you want to come in and have a drink?”
Rowan looked over his shoulder and gave me a half-shrug.
“I can’t. I mean, it’s not a good idea. It’s just that Fisher’s at home, so…” He trailed off.
“Enough said.”
A deafening silence slid down between us, and Rowan looked like he wanted to jackhammer a hole into my porch so he could crawl into the earth and never emerge. He was so awkward, I had to put him out of his misery.
“Thanks again, Rowan.”
I closed the door part of the way, still able to watch him again stumble backward off my porch toward his car. He caught himself before falling on his ass, but the save was far from graceful. I kept the door halfway closed, something prickling at the back of my neck while I watched him fumble keys into the ignition and get the car into gear. He backed out of my driveway with another wave, and then everything was the kind of quiet I’d long been used to.
I closed the door the rest of the way and bolted the locks, taking the beer into the kitchen and dropping it onto the counter beside my burger. Suddenly, I was no longer hungry. At least, not for food.
I’d gone two years without sex.
Two years without wanting it and very nearly two years without thinking about it.
How had a little red-haired stranger—a single dad, no less—shown up on my porch out of nowhere and kick started a libido I sincerely thought Philip had packed up with his own things when he left me?
Jack was going to have a field day when he found out.
Wait.
What?
No.
Jack wasn’t going to find out. It wasn’t as if I was going to fuck Rowan, let alone date him. There was no reason for my best friend to even know my new neighbor’s name, let alone the fact the way he blushed sent blood rushing between my legs. Hell, Jack would probably think I got body-snatched if I started showing an interest in sex again. He’d put the lucky person onto a pedestal and worship them until his dying breath for bringing his precious best friend back from the dead.
But…
I hadn’t been dead. Grieving, maybe. Readjusting, sure.
I wasn’t unhappy with the course my life had taken since separating from Philip, but I knew myself better than I ever had, and I knew a man like Rowan was not a match for me. He had a kid for one, and I was not a kid person. It didn’t matter that I’d helped Fisher with his bike. I’d just been waiting for mine to cool down so there hadn’t been anything better to do. It was a courtesy, not a change of heart.
And Rowan?
As nice as he was to look at, there was no way we’d be compatible in bed. He turned the color of strawberries after bringing me a beer; what would happen to him when I got my mouth right up against his ear and wanted to talk him through it? How hot would his skin burn with my fingers against it?
No.
Stop.
Another knock on the door. I knew without looking it was Rowan.
I knew he was back, either with or without his son, with a change of heart and a desire to share a drink with me after all.
I knew I couldn’t let him in.
I popped the top off one of the bottles and went back to the front door, making sure my dick was in line before undoing the deadbolt and opening up for a third time that night.
“Rowan,” I greeted him again.
He was still red, still stammering, still looking like something I wanted to take apart with my teeth.
“Fisher was…I got home…he was playing video games.”
Rowan paused like I was meant to commiserate with him over that, but I had no idea why.
“Okay,” I drawled, raising the bottle to my mouth and taking a long pull.
It was a good beer.
“So, if you wanted to still have a drink…” He pulled his lips between his teeth, stare locked on my mouth. His nostrils flared when he exhaled.
“You were probably right about it not being a good idea,” I said.
Rowan was an open book, his expression falling as soon as the words left my mouth. His dejected frown had me feeling beyond cruel, but there wasn’t any good to come from sharing a drink with a man like Rowan Verne.
“Oh.”
“Oh,” I repeated.
“Uhm.” Rowan tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed. “Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why isn’t it a good idea?” he asked.
“Your son’s at home,” I offered, even though it was a flimsy reason.
“He’s fine.” Rowan’s voice cracked. “He’s practically a teenager and he’s wrapped up in his game.”
“It’s just…not, Rowan.”
He swallowed and angled his chin up, trying to make himself taller than he was, which was honestly a shame because I liked him short. Liked the idea of him beneath me in more ways than one.
“Do you…”
The unanswered question hung between us.
“Do I what?” I prompted.
The beer was slippery and cold in my hand, so I set it down on the side table near the door so I didn’t drop it. I wiped the wetness off on the front of my thigh, and Rowan’s stare tracked my hand down there as well.
“Do you…are you seeing someone? Did I read you wrong?”
I huffed, shaking my head and looking down at my feet. My hair fell into my face, the shock of white giving Rowan a halo effect if I peered up through my lashes.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” I said.
“I’m not either. I mean, Fisher’s mom, she…”
I raised my hand to stop him. “We don’t need to do all that.”
“Right. Sorry. I haven’t…”
Another sentence lost to the abyss of his mind.
“I’m not looking to make friends, Rowan,” I warned, taking a step to the side to expose more of the doorway. “If you come in, it’s for one thing and one thing only.”
“And that thing’s not a beer.”
“You can have one, but…no. It’s not for a beer.”
Rowan gave a quick and jerky nod, blinking up at me like he’d just had a conversation and made a decision I wasn’t quite privy to.
“That’s fine,” he said, stepping off the porch and into my house.
I moved to make more room for him, then pushed the door closed behind him. My arm stretched above his head, and he walked backward, pressing his back against the door, all while staring up at me with blue eyes so blown they were almost entirely black. He was so close I could hear the way his exhales trembled. I could see his pulse battering against the side of his neck. I leaned down and kissed him there, sucking him into my mouth like I could somehow steady his heartbeat by kissing him hard enough.
“Oh, God.” He was already breathless, his hands came up to my waist and grabbed me for balance.
I kissed my way around to the front of his throat, up the underside of his jaw, his chin, and finally his mouth. Rowan tasted like that shitty beer from Top Hops and stolen french fries from the takeout bag. He parted his lips for me instantly, kissing me back with far more skill and talent than I’d expected from him.
“Bedroom,” I muttered against his mouth, reaching down and grabbing him by the backs of his thighs. He got the message quickly, wrapping both legs around my waist and his arms around my neck.
I didn’t need to see where I was going; I knew my house like the back of my hand, and I kissed Rowan out of the living room and down the hallway, straight into my bedroom and onto my bed.
“Take your clothes off, Row. Show me what we’re working with here.”
Rowan hummed, tearing open his brown leather belt. “Not much.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
I reached back and rucked up my shirt, pulling it up and over my head before dropping it on the floor. I made quick work of my pants, my underwear, stare focused at the naked man on my bed and the thick, hard cock between his legs.
He had freckles everywhere .
Rowan tugged his cock with one hand, covering his face with the other, scooting up the bed until his head was nestled in my pillows.
“You’re gorgeous,” I assured him, taking lube from the nightstand.
He slid his hand down to cover his mouth, giving me a slow and appreciative onceover. “So are you.”
“I want to fuck you so badly, Rowan, but I don’t have any condoms.”
“That’s fine. I…it’s been awhile and it’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He stroked his shaft, a pearl of precum beading against the perfect slit of his dick.
“It’s fine,” he said again.
I climbed onto the bed and dropped the lube by his feet, taking his knees into my hands and spreading his legs wide. Not only did he have freckles everywhere, but he flushed pink everywhere too. He looked like a dessert, and I was going to eat him until I’d had my fill.
“Can I rim you?” I dragged my hand down the inside of his thigh, teasing my fingertips over his pucker. His skin was soft, burning hot.
“You don’t have to, I’m not…not prepared really.”
“Can I rim you?” I asked again, my own cock aching to be buried inside of his hot hole, coated in lube and spit.
“Yes.” He covered his face again, and I didn’t know what he was so embarrassed about, but I had his consent and that was more than enough for me.
Rowan smelled like peppermint soap and sweat, and when I sealed my lips around his hole and sucked, the sound that left his throat had my dick leaking into my sheets. Digging my fingers into his thighs, I spread his legs apart, licking and fucking his asshole until there was a wet spot on his stomach and a puddle beneath him on the sheets. He thrashed around, moaning and jerking his cock while I sloppily used my mouth to get him ready, and when I added a lube-slick finger to the mix, he grabbed my hair and pulled up hard .
“I’ll come,” he warned.
“That’s the point,” I reminded him, deciding to ease off him a little so he didn’t finish before I even got started.
One finger and then two, then three. The sheets were so far gone by the time I covered my cock with lube and pushed into him, but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the impossibly tight grip of his body as I fed my erection into his ass, inch by inch, and the way his chin quivered silently when I seated myself fully inside of him.
“Look at you,” I whispered, brushing his sweat-damp hair back off his forehead. “Look how good you take my cock up your ass.”
“Your mouth,” he muttered, one hand still in my hair, the other half covering his face again.
I swatted it away, needing to see every micro-expression he made, especially the ones leading up to the orgasm I was about to fuck right out of him.
“What about my mouth?”
“It’s filthy.”
I hummed, dragging my nose across his cheek and hovering less than an inch away from his mouth. “It tastes like you.”
I kissed him again, starting to fuck him with short and slow thrusts so we could both get used to the feel of each other’s bodies. Rowan was so flustered still, so tense, forgetting to kiss me back for how lost he was in the rest of what we were doing.
“Come on, Rowan,” I coaxed, adjusting my hips to find the angle that would drive him mad. “Open up and let me get in there. There you go. Oh, fuck. I wish you could see yourself. Wish you could feel how tight and slippery your ass is.”
I pulled back, breaking the kiss so I could look down to the place our bodies were joined. He was a wet mess, spit and lube streaked across his balls and his thighs. I traced the mixture around his pink and stretched rim, groaning when he shivered and clenched down on my shaft.
“I fucked so much spit into your ass with my tongue, Row. You’re so fucking sloppy and wet for me. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
It wasn’t a lie.
Rowan, spread out beneath me with my dick disappearing up his ass was one for the books. I’d jerk off thinking about it for the rest of my life, even if I never saw him naked again after tonight.
“Jesus, Gil.”
“Is it too much?” I asked, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Did you want to stop?”
I didn’t want to be too much, but I didn’t want to stop either. For some reason, I needed him to know exactly what he did to me.
“No one has said things like that to me before.”
“Have they done things like that to you?” I asked, nipping at his jaw.
“No,” he rasped.
I went still, wanting him, but not wanting to push him beyond what he would enjoy. “I can stop if you don’t like it.”
“I don’t want you to stop any of it,” he whispered. “I want to come.”
“I can make you come, darling. Don’t you worry about that.”
The endearment left my mouth before I could stop it, a long-forgotten sentiment that had no place in a bed meant purely for fucking. I didn’t bother trying to take it back, and Rowan didn’t ask me to. Instead, I shifted my weight to balance over him, thrusting long, hard, and deep into his spit- and lube-slicked body.
“Gil. Oh, fuck. Gil. Gil.” He recited my name over and over, sometimes sounding like a prayer and sometimes like a plea.
“You take it like you were made for it,” I murmured, covering his hand with my own and bringing it between our bodies. I curled his fingers around his cock and mine around his fist. “Show me how you like to come, Rowan.”
He screwed his eyes closed, looking like he was in pain, but the long and tight pulls up the length of his cock led me to believe it was anything but pain. It was hard to keep pace fucking him when all I wanted to do was watch him get himself off all over our hands, but every time my tip dragged across his prostate, his muscles tensed and squeezed, pulling me closer to my own end.
“I’m close,” he whimpered.
“Good.” I licked his jaw and sank my teeth into his earlobe. “Come on my hand, Rowan. That’s it. There you go. Oh, fuck.”
His entire body tensed, and then Rowan’s eyes flew open.
Two seconds later, hot cum spurted across my fingers. I crashed our mouths back together, hips snapping once, twice more. I wanted more than anything to come inside of him, but he was too blissed out to have that conversation and I was barely hanging on to the last threads of sanity.
“Look how hard you make me come, Rowan. You’re making me fucking come.” I said, words tumbling out of my mouth as I pulled out of him at the very last moment. Our hands were still wrapped around his cock and I shot my load across his cum-slick dick, our tangled fingers, the smattering of freckles on his stomach. Rowan shivered as he watched me spill onto his skin, another burst of cum leaking from his dick before he tore both of our hands away from his shaft with a strangled cry.
I milked out the end of my release, then collapsed beside him on the bed, chest heaving. Closing my eyes, I puffed a breath out of my mouth in an attempt to dislodge the sweaty hair from my forehead, but it was no use. Those strands weren’t going anywhere, and neither was I. My legs no longer worked, and it was none other than awkwardly unassuming Rowan Verne who’d given me one of the fiercest orgasms of my entire life.
“Jesus,” he said after some time had passed. I turned to the side and watched him wipe our cum off his fingers and onto my sheets, which should have offended me but honestly…I was too tired to care. I’d had my face halfway up his ass before we’d gotten down to business, but he couldn’t be bothered to use his tongue to taste the mess we’d left behind?
It was just one more reason that Rowan was no good for me, or more likely, I was no good for him. Forcing myself to school my expression, I sat on the edge of the bed, giving him my back while I regained my composure and my breath.
“So,” he said from behind me, still breathless himself. “What about that beer?”