Chapter 26 Sirens
None of the jobs I’ve applied for in the last few weeks have gotten back to me.
Great.
I’m completely screwed—a reject of society, an untouchable fuckup who no one’s going to hire ever again.
My probation officer is hounding me about all sorts of jobs that I have no qualifications for, and he keeps calling me at ungodly hours, like ten in the morning.
I’m always grumbly and annoyed when he calls me, hoping he’ll stop hassling me.
Can’t he just take the hint? I’m screwed; there’s no hope for me; no one will hire me.
Maybe I’ll just become a drug dealer or something. Worth some consideration, though a non-taxable income makes it a little hard to get an apartment. Living at Mom’s house is fine for now, but once Mom and her boyfriend get back from their trip… no thanks.
Barely two weeks left now. Oliver will be gone, Mom and Fabio will be back home, and Lane… Lane will be gone, too.
An uncomfortable feeling courses through my chest at the thought.
I don’t want him to be gone, but after Oliver’s left for college, what reason will he have to come over? I suppose he could sneak into my room at night like some secret fuck buddy, but I don’t know… That’s not what I want.
I want him here, in the house, where I can touch him and speak to him and suck him off and have him in my room at night. I don’t want him out doing other shit; I want him here with me.
I feel like a belligerent toddler who’s losing their favorite toy. Lane isn’t a toy, but… he’s my puppy. He’s mine. He was never supposed to be mine for longer than the summer, and now that summer’s almost gone, I don’t know what to do.
I never planned for this. I never plan much at all, but I never planned on wanting him for longer than I’m supposed to. I thought I’d get sick of him; I thought he’d just be another fuck, but now he’s not just a nightly routine—he’s a need. I want him all the time, even during the day.
I catch him in the living room one afternoon. He’s alone on the couch while Oliver’s upstairs talking loudly to Mom about college shit. Lane’s curled up in a ball, face buried between his knees, and he doesn’t notice me until I’m right in front of him.
“Let’s go somewhere,” I say.
He jolts and looks up at me, eyes wide. “Where?”
“Somewhere we can be alone.” I go to the kitchen and start stuffing my backpack full of snacks. Lane’s favorite sour candy, my own preferred protein bars, some fruit, a couple of sodas. Even a blanket for us to sit on. And of course, I’ve got some lube stashed in my wallet.
“What about your probation?” Lane asks.
“It’s fine.” I’m supposed to report to my parole officer whenever I leave the house, but fuck that. Just for once, I want to be free. “Are you coming or not?”
Lane bites his lower lip, no doubt worried about what Oliver’s gonna think when he finds out we’re both out of the house.
“Leave him a note or something,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Lane scribbles a note and leaves it on the kitchen island. To the store. Back in a bit. Nice.
We’re both being kind of reckless, but that’s the point. I’m feeling like I’ll crawl out of my own skin if I don’t get out of the house right now. I need something that makes me feel good and not like I’m about to combust with frustration. And I want to be with Lane.
This time, I drive us to Forest Park. It’s about a thirty-minute ride from suburban Woodstock, and the road will take us over the river, through downtown. Lane looks out the window the whole way, and he points out little landmarks in an excited voice.
“That’s where I went to elementary school.”
“That’s where my dad used to work.”
“Oh! Oh! I love that diner! They have these huge waffles.”
I smile as I listen to him; his sweet voice makes me feel at peace.
I almost want to take a detour into the side streets of Old Town or down to the Waterfront Park just to hear more of his enthusiasm.
It would be a beautiful day for it. It’s sunny but not too warm, and the water is glittering as we drive over the bridge into downtown.
Soon enough, the urban view mixes with nature the closer we get to Forest Park. I park the car on the outskirts and lead us to a secluded spot surrounded by trees.
Here, I lay out the picnic blanket. There’s a hiking trail further down the hill, but no one’s likely to see or hear us unless we’re loud. We sit on the picnic blanket, and I pull out the things I brought in my backpack one by one.
Lane’s eyes light up at the sight of the candy. “For me?”
“Of course it’s for you, puppy. You deserve a treat.”
“Oh.” He averts his gaze to hide the flush creeping up his neck.
Fuck, when did simply looking at him become so addictive?
I open the candy bag and hold up a gummy between my thumb and index finger. “Let me.”
He looks at me in question, so I pat my thighs, coaxing him closer, and his cheeks flush deeper in understanding. He sits on his haunches, scoots closer, and opens his mouth.
My breath quickens as much as his when I put the piece of candy between his lips and push it into his mouth with my thumb.
He moans sweetly as the candy rolls onto his tongue, and he starts to chew.
Fuck, I could watch him forever. The way his bangs frame his face so perfectly, the way he’s so eager to sit in that submissive pose.
I hold up another gummy. “One more?”
Lane opens his eyes and nods excitedly.
“Come here.” I open my thighs. Lane scoots into the middle of them until my legs bracket his hips.
“Good puppy,” I murmur as I feed him another treat.
I scratch him behind the ear with my other hand, and a surge of heat rushes to my groin at the sight of his response—his quiet little whine, the sweet parting of his lips as he leans even closer.
I inhale a steadying breath. Patience, Mason. This is the first time we’re alone since the day with the ice cream, and I want to savor him some more before we get to the main event.
I open the lid of a Tupperware container. “Want some fruit?”
He nods, and I feed him a piece of melon. This time, I hold the piece in front of him and wait for him to come to me. He leans forward and eats from my hand, little teeth tugging at the sweet piece of fruit.
I groan under my breath. By this point, I’m painfully hard, which wasn’t my intention. This was just supposed to be a fun game between us. One I’d be in control of, but I suppose it’s not much of a surprise that my dick’s in control whenever Lane’s within a two-mile radius.
“Come here.” I lie on my back, nudging Lane to lie by my side.
The trees and bushes shield us from the worst of the sun, but it’s still a bit too hot to be comfortable. Even so, we should savor it. A few weeks from now, there won’t be much left of the summer heat, and there’s not supposed to be anything left of Lane and me, either.
I glance over at him, frowning. I don’t want him to go.
He scoots closer until he’s lying on my shoulder, his messy hair tickling my nose.
I stiffen at the casual, mundane intimacy that isn’t purely based on sex or control, but I initiated this, so I can’t very well back out.
When he reaches for my arm and slings it around his shoulders, I relax and pull him close with a sigh.
It’s nice—I can’t deny that.
His warm, soft body nestled against mine, the faint beat of my pulse against his skin. It feels… safe. Almost too safe. As if there’s no trouble in the world as long as I have Lane snuggled up at my side, a little sigh escaping his lips as he relaxes further, putting his full weight on my arm.
He burrows his face into my armpit, inhaling deeply, eyelids sliding shut in bliss.
“That smell nice?” I ask, amused.
“Yes, but… you’re wearing deodorant.”
I chuckle. “Want me to stop using it?”
He looks up. “You’d do that?”
“Of course. Anything for my puppy.”
He’s quiet for a while as he chews on his lower lip, arching away from me. I pull him back in, and he surrenders to my embrace, but his body is stiffer than before. When he finally speaks, his voice is distant, lost in thought, and tinged with a nuance of emotion I can’t seem to grasp.
“Anything?”
At first I don’t even understand the question, but then I remember what preceded it.
“Anything for my puppy.”
I say a lot of shit I don’t mean, and when push comes to shove, I can’t own up to it. Lane’s doubts aren’t unfounded; I can’t give him everything. Even my flirtatious jokes are a sick lie.
This is just supposed to be some fun—it’s not supposed to feel like this. Uneasy. Dangerous. I should’ve put some boundaries between us long ago, but I don’t know what to say that won’t split my chest wide open and let him see inside.
No words. Only action. He’ll get the picture soon enough.
I grab the back of his neck, tilt his face up, and capture his lips in a kiss. He tastes like candy and melon—sweet, like he always does. I roll toward him, deepening the kiss and guiding my hand down his back, sneaking it into the seam of his shorts.
He gasps, pulling away a little, but then relaxes as I only pull him in by the small of his back, nudging our crotches closer.
I have something different in mind than just some kissing and clothes-on frotting, though, so I run the hand deeper, gripping his ass cheek and sliding a finger down his crack.
He stiffens and breaks the kiss, breathless. “People could see.”
He’s right—the joggers running by in the valley below can glimpse us through the trees if they look up, but what does it matter?
It’s not like we’re in a park with children or something.
Granted, I don’t think my parole officer would approve of semi-public sex, but what’s a little fun without a little danger?
I turn Lane over onto his stomach and straddle him, sliding my hands up the seam of his shirt. He shudders, stiffening at my weight on him, but he doesn’t protest beyond a little wriggle.
I lean in and whisper into his ear, “Want to have some fun, puppy?”
There. Back to our regular program: just sex. No attachments.