13. Jake
Chapter 13
Jake
I ’m trying to decide if I should hide my face, wipe up my floor, or pour another drink when Dylan decides for me. He grips my chin, bringing my mouth back to his. When we break apart, I no longer feel the need to run or hide. His voice is gentle even though he should be angry.
This isn’t how I meant to tell him.
Hell, I didn’t intend to tell him at all…and maybe that’s worse.
“You didn’t think to mention you’re bi-sexual when I told you I was gay this morning?”
“I’m not bi,” I answer immediately.
“I hate to break it to you, brother, but what we just did—”
“I’m gay, Dylan. Just like you.”
I feel a mix of emotions swirling in the pit of my stomach from saying it aloud after working so hard to keep that part of myself hidden. It’s like I took a shot of six different liquors and they’re throwing punches in my stomach, trying to decide who’s coming back up first.
“And Cora?”
Oh, Cora. I’m so sorry. What have I done?
“Like I said, it’s complicated.” I pull my pants back up even though I have cum all over me. “Why don’t we get cleaned up, I’ll reheat dinner, and try to explain.”
I follow Dylan back into my bathroom as we wipe ourselves off, each of us stealing glances at the other and sending small smiles when we’re caught.
“Your tattoo has had me fucked up all day,” I admit to fill the silence. “And then I looked up from the water to see Hudson damn near having a face-full of your cock—”
“So I was right. You were pissed because of your feelings about me, not his,” he confirms with a slight smirk on his face.
“Yeah. For the record, Hudson’s straighter than a fucking arrow, but I was ready to pound him for getting too close. It’s beautiful by the way.”
“Thanks. It took a long time. You’re a fan of ink, but don’t have any yourself?”
I shake my head.
“Needles and I don’t get along,” I explain.
“Yet catching a shard of glass in the neck and the smell of burnt flesh don’t bother you?”
My laugh comes out loud and carefree. It’s not a sound I make often. “I didn’t voluntarily catch that shard of glass. Besides, my adrenaline was spiked so high, I didn’t even feel it. And usually, we try to get to people before their skin starts melting off.”
We hang up our washcloths, put on fresh clothes and head back out to the kitchen. I’m popping the chicken back in the oven to heat it up while Dylan slides onto a bar stool on the opposite side of the counter behind me.
I hate the distance. Now that this thing has been acknowledged, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to go back to pretending like I’m not attracted to him. Like I don’t want him. Fuck, how am I supposed to ignore the fact that he wants me ?
I feel like our time is already running out, so taking full advantage of the opportunity in front of me, I walk around the counter, wrap my arms around his chest, press my lips to his shoulder, burying my face in his neck.
“Is this okay?” I ask, subconsciously gripping him tighter. “It’s been a while for me.”
“Mmhmm.”
His hummed consent does things to me. Opens up things inside of me I wasn’t sure I’d ever find again after tucking them away for so long. Him being comfortable with my proximity to him, my need and desire to claim him, is overwhelming.
His chest is strong and defined and I want to spend an eternity learning the contours of his pecs before moving to his biceps and tracing the veins that run down his arms with my tongue.
“You smell good.” I plant another kiss on the side of his neck, letting my tongue linger in an attempt to savor his flavor.
“It’s your body wash.”
“I like it better on you.” I’m gushing like a middle school girl and I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.
“Jake.” I hate the tone he’s using. It feels like this is already over. “We need to talk about this and I can’t concentrate while you’re inhaling me like I’m a Bath & Body Works store.”
“Bath & Body Works?” I ask, totally confused.
He smiles and pats my hands where they’re clasped together over his chest, craning his neck to kiss my cheek. It feels so natural. Like we’ve done this a thousand times before and it’s not strange or new that I’m holding him. “It’s like a Gucci or Dior fragrance store for us middle-class folks.”
“Oh.”
He tugs at my hands in an effort to release himself and I feel the loss worse than when the NASDAQ fell four percent a couple months ago, costing me and my clients a combined three billion dollars.
“Where are your plates?” he asks, sliding off the stool. “Let’s dish up and talk.”
I sigh in defeat, not ready for a breakup speech while I’m still reveling in my post-orgasmic glow.
The look on my face must be flashing my emotions brighter than a neon sign in Vegas because Dylan grabs my hand and pulls me behind him even though we’re only walking twelve feet around the bar. He stops in front of my double ovens and slides his hands up the sides of my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks.
“Don’t look so sad. I didn’t say this was goodbye. I just said we need to talk about it.”
Hope springs anew in my chest and I feel the smile spread across my face.
Nodding, I point to the cabinet on the left of the stacked, double ovens. “Plates are in there.”
We dish up and both decide to forgo wine with dinner. We want clear heads for this conversation, not to mention, we drank most of the afternoon.
Feeling needier than I ever have in my life, I turn to Dylan, shocked at how much I want to tell him what I want, no beating around a bush or pretending like I’ve got all my shit together.
“Can we eat at the bar? There’s too much space between us at the table.”
Grinning he asks, “Do you just want to eat in my lap?”
I think he means do I want to sit in his lap and eat my dinner, but my sex-deprived brain goes somewhere much different.
“Hell yes, I want to eat what’s in your lap.”
The thought of having his beautiful cock fill my mouth has me wanton and desperate. If his neck tastes this good, I can’t imagine what the rest of him tastes like.
His exhale is ragged and his nostrils flair as he fights to stay in control. Unfortunately, he’s stronger than I am and he steers us back on track with a bucket of cold water. “You have a girlfriend we need to talk about.”
I slide my barstool closer to his so at least our thighs will touch as we eat. Well, as he eats. I’m no longer hungry.
“Let’s start with how long you’ve known you’re gay,” he says, cutting his chicken breast into bite sized pieces.
We spend the next thirty minutes playing a version of twenty questions where he’s the only one asking them.
“So, let me get this straight. You’ve known basically your whole life that you’d rather be with a man, but your father told you that you’d lose your place in the company if you acted on it and to make sure you didn’t, he also made a deal with his buddy, that you’d marry his daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why to which part?”
“All of it. Any of it?”
“It’s about power and money. My dad wants more rich clients, i.e. politicians and their connections, and Martin wants secured funding for his political aspirations. I’m sure it was also a move to ensure I married who my father wanted me to marry so as not to embarrass him.”
“So, he blackmailed you with the business and arranged your marriage?” Dylan asks outraged.
“Yeah, but you have to remember, this is how alliances have been struck for millennia. This is nothing new.”
“Of course it isn’t new,” he agrees. “It’s so fucking ancient that I can’t believe the practice still exists.”
“It still exists all over the world. Arranged marriages and the alliances they forge help ensure survival in a lot of parts of the world, even today,” I remind him, unsure of why I’m defending Steve Ellington.
That’s when it hits me.
I’m not defending my father. I’m trying to defend myself because honestly, I’d just accepted it with no pushback. I’d allowed it to happen. I’d been brainwashed into thinking this was the best option for everyone and that my desires were selfish.
I’ve been angry before, but I’m even more angry now because now I’ve found Dylan and it’s the first time this arrangement has kept me from something I really want.
“But this is America,” Dylan argues. “Shit’s supposed to be different here.” He catches me off guard with his next question. “Do you love her?”
I think about that a lot, actually. Do I love Cora? I tell her I do. I think about our life together and answer as honestly as I know how.
“Yes. I do love Cora, but not the way I’m supposed to. I love her like a friend. Cora is wonderful and if I have to marry a woman, I’m glad it’s her…but I don’t love her like I should. I don’t get excited to come home to her. I don’t get excited to kiss her hello or goodbye. I don’t—”
“How do you have sex with her?” Dylan blurts in the middle of my explanation.
“Not easily, I’m afraid.” I grimace as the words leave my mouth, too embarrassed to admit I have to take a performance enhancing drug on nights she and I will be together. I want to be so much better than this. “But honestly, we don’t have sex that much.”
“Jake, you’re young and active and sexy as all fuck. How do you not have sex that much? ”
I push the rice around on my plate and explain what my lifestyle is like. “It’s actually easier than you’d think. I work long hours. She gets involved in big projects and immerses herself in them whole-heartedly for weeks at a time. We don’t live together. Our dates are usually some forced function where we see very little of each other and our time is spent making connections with others and being seen, if you will. I drop her off afterward because typically, we both have early mornings the next day and that’s that.”
“Sounds passionless.”
“I suppose it is.”
“Do you think she’s seeing someone else?”
This makes me laugh.
“Cora? God, no. She couldn’t handle the scandal. Cora is a good girl down to her bones.” I drop my head in my hand, running my fingers across my forehead. “And she deserves so much more than what I can give her.”
Dylan’s hand lands on my back and I could weep for how comforting it is.
“Why don’t you just talk to her? She sounds pretty understanding.”
“Because it would change nothing at all except letting her know I’m not in love with her and that nothing she does will ever change that. It’s not like telling her the truth will set either of us free. We’re captives in our relationship. Even if she’s unaware of it.”
God, it feels good to say all of this to another person.
His hand falls from my back and I can’t help but push my knee further into his, still seeking a connection. Quite honestly, it’s a miracle I’m able to concentrate on this conversation at all after having his dick in my hands.
“Is keeping your position at your dad’s company worth all this?”
The question isn’t unreasonable. In fact, it’s another one I’ve asked myself a lot over the years, but the truth is, “I don’t know what else I’d do. Familial drama aside, I love my job. My grandfather built this company from the ground up, my father grew it to its current size, and it’s always been my future.”
“I understand wanting to be a part of the legacy, but don’t you think the legacy should reflect part of you too?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your family’s company is currently set up to help the rich grow richer. Look at your clients. You said yourself that your dad wanted an alliance with the governor for access to the wealthy and elite clientele. But you? You seem so much more down to earth. Relatable. Less white-collar-asshole and more for-the-people .”
I laugh as I see what he’s getting at. “Money may not buy happiness, but it sure as shit solves a lot of problems. I could branch out on my own, but a low-profit wealth management firm won’t stay in business very long and it seems crazy to reinvent the wheel when my last name already evokes trust in the same rich clients I’d need to take on in order to earn capital. Whether I like it or not, this is my world and trying to build an empire against my father just doesn’t seem smart.”
“So that’s it? You’re just stuck living a lie to make others happy and keep your bank account padded?” he asks, unable to mask his anger — not that he’s really trying.
Looking at him, my breath catches at his eyes. I’m not sure anyone could ever get used to seeing the Caribbean Sea staring back at them, but God I’d love the chance to try.
“I don’t like the way you make it sound. I’m not just trying to make everyone else happy and to hell with my bank account. Despite being born on third base, I have worked hard. I have put in the time and effort to earn my position.”
“Answer the question,” he demands, sitting up straighter. The shirt I gave him is still too small for his chest even though it’s the biggest one I have. Now is not the time for my dick to notice the straining material or the way his jaw clenches the angrier he gets.
“I don’t know.” I throw my napkin onto my plate unable to stomach any more food. “I’ve never considered an alternative because…” I trail off and mentally ask myself if I’m prepared to throw the truth out there, but as I watch the anger slowly melt from Dylan’s face and morph into a grimace that looks like he’s waiting to be hurt, I step off the ledge. “Until now, there hasn’t been anyone I’d consider imploding my entire life for.”
The heaviness of that statement hangs between us. Dylan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to hide the relief on his features. “I’m sorry I’m being harsh. I know it’s not that easy.”
“Dylan, if I’m totally honest, I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is that the day I saw you, I was desperate to talk to you. Did I ever, in a million years, think we’d be here after only a few weeks? Fuck no. I didn’t think we’d ever be here at all…but now that we are, I don’t know how to go back to pretending I don’t want you and trying to move on without you isn’t something I’m interested in either.”
He grabs the back of my neck roughly and pulls me to his lips with bruising force. I plant my hands on his thighs so I don’t melt right off my stool, but he flexes his quads and I damn near melt anyway.
He swallows my groan and when he pulls back, he grips my chin firmly in his hand, wearing a wolfish smirk.
“What?” I ask, afraid I’m about to wake up from this fever dream.
“Tell me the truth, Jacob Ellington. Did you purposely stop in my blind spot at the grocery store, knowing I’d back into you?”
I worry my bottom lip with my teeth, ashamed of my answer, and nod. “But I swear I wasn’t ever going to file a police report and I obviously was willing to cover all the repairs…to both cars.” My words rush out to defend me as if there’s any excuse for the way I manipulated him. “And I knew you wouldn’t get hurt because you couldn’t gain that much speed and I’m really sor—”
He cuts me off with another searing kiss. The act feels so different with him. I’m on fire everywhere. His lips aren’t pliant like Cora’s. Although still soft, they’re demanding and work in wonderful tandem with his tongue, teasing me and coaxing more from me.
Fuck, I could kiss him all night.
Without breaking contact, I plant my feet on the floor and stand between his legs, my fingers diving into his hair. I’m breathing hard and my dick is swelling, preparing for the next round…when we hear it.
The ding of the elevator doors. They open into my foyer, which is around the corner, but I still jump away from Dylan so fast I send my bar stool clattering to the floor.
“Jacob?”
Color drains from my face. What is she doing here?
“Uh, hey Cora. I’m in the kitchen.”
I look at Dylan with wide eyes as my girlfriend bounces around the corner, puts her purse on the counter and leans up to give me a kiss. I offer her my cheek because I can’t bring myself to kiss her with the same mouth that was just glued to Dylan’s.
Speaking of, her eyes find him at the bar and she pulls away. Thankfully, Cora isn’t big on PDA.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there. I’m Coraline Cosey,” she says, extending her hand.
“Dylan Ryder.”
“Oh, Dylan! Jacob’s told me so much about you! He mentioned he was inviting you out with the chaos crew on the boat today. Did you enjoy it? I know they can be a bit much, but they’re good guys.” Her laughter is so genuine, my stomach lurches.
Dylan flashes me a look before answering and I know he’s wondering what I’ve said and why I’ve mentioned him to my girlfriend at all.
“Yeah, it was nice to get away from work for a while. And it’s nice to meet you too,” he says smoothly, grasping her hand.
Turning to me, Cora says, “I wondered whose car was in your spot downstairs. I hope it’s okay I came by. I know you’re working at the station tomorrow night and then I have that thing in Nashville so I’ll be gone for a couple of days and we won’t see each other again for a while.”
“How often do you go? To the fire station, I mean,” Dylan asks. The concern in his voice causing my heart to stutter.
Cora pats my shoulder as I pick my bar stool up off the floor and offer it to her. Sliding onto it, she answers for me while I move to pour her a glass of wine.
“Jacob is like Superman. He’s a nerdy hedge fund manager by day— no offense, babe — and a thrill-seeking firefighter by night. Neither his day job, nor his father’s expectations, allow much room for the things that Jacob truly enjoys.”
I hand Cora her glass of wine over the counter and she swirls it and sniffs it like she’s been taught. “Mmm, I do love a good Malbec.”
While she savors the flavor, Dylan peppers me with questions. “Well, like, how often do you go? Do you always get called out? Do you get the same gear and stuff as the regular firefighters? The same training?”
I answer his questions trying to alleviate his concern, but it doesn’t seem to work.
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Cora chimes in. She pats Dylan’s forearm which tells me she can hear the panic in his voice as well. “Jacob is an overachiever. He’s good at everything he does, so rest assured, if he gets called to a fire, he’s going to be the best man on the job. And the safest.”
She flashes me an apologetic smile from across the bar. I stayed on this side so there was a barrier between Dylan and I, afraid I’d slip up and touch him if I were any closer.
“Well, I’d better get going and let you guys get to your evening,” Dylan says, slipping from his stool. “Jake, can I help you clean this up real fast?”
“I’ve got it!” Cora sings, grabbing her wine in one hand and Dylan’s plate in the other as she comes into the kitchen.
“Cora, you don’t have to—”
“Don’t be silly, walk your guest out. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Dylan looks down at his outfit. “Thanks for the loaners. I’ll get them back to you.”
“Keep them,” I whisper under my breath as we head for the elevators after he grabs his bag. “I want to think about you in them tonight.” Raising my voice, I yell toward the kitchen. “Be right back, Cor!”
“Ok. Nice meeting you, Dylan!” she yells back.
“You too!”
As soon as the elevator doors close, I back Dylan against the wall and push my hips into his, devouring his mouth, my cock seeking that delicious friction against his.
“When can I see you again?” I pant between kisses.
“Jake, we can’t do this to her.”
Tears of frustration spring to my eyes. “ Fuck . I know. But I can’t…this can’t be it.” Suddenly, another plan springs to mind. “I have tickets to the Beautiful Deceit tour kickoff in Virginia. Come with me. At least give me that to look forward to.”
Am I begging? You bet your sweet ass I am . Do I care? Not even a little.
Dylan snorts. “You got tickets to the opening show?” The disbelief in his voice is loud and clear.
Technically, I don’t have them yet. But I will.
“Yes. Will you go with me?”
“Hell yeah, man. My moral code ends as soon as Beautiful Deceit concert tickets are involved.” His laugh jolts through me like electricity.
“Good,” I sigh in relief, knowing I’ve staved off the end for just a little longer.
The elevator doors open and the empty parking garage comes into focus. I pull Dylan behind the concrete pylon, immediately putting my hands on him because jerking him off wasn’t enough. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I need more. And I need it now .
I drop to my knees right on the dirty concrete floor.
“ Jake, ” he hisses. “What are you doing?”
“Losing my fucking mind,” I admit, as I curl my fingers in the waistband of his second pair of sweats.
“Jake, this isn’t a good id… fuuuuck .”
Oh, I’m well aware this isn’t a good idea. In fact, this might actually be the worst idea I’ve ever had, but I need Dylan in a way that’s foreign to me. Need him in a way I’ve never needed anything before him.
I let my fingertips trail down the divots at his hips as I pull the sweatpants down. As soon as my mouth wraps around his cock he goes from trying to pull his hips away from me to thrusting forward, making me choke on his dick.
More.
I grip his ass in my hands and pull him into me, taking him as deeply as he can go and wanting him deeper still.
“Goddamn, that mouth,” he pants above me, his hands in my hair.
He’s not leaving this parking garage until he gives me what I want even though I know my time is limited because Cora is waiting for me upstairs.
I bob my head on his shaft hard and fast, using my hand at his base for added pressure. His pre-cum lands on my tongue, signaling that his body is gearing up to deliver what I’m after. A feral growl resonates in the back of my throat as his fingers dig into my scalp.
I leave my right hand on his shaft, pumping in time with my mouth, while I skate my left hand up his thigh to his abs, needing as much of him under my hands as I can get. It isn’t just about how hot he is, or how fucking good this feels. I need him.
Even after such a short amount of time, I crave his calm, his strength, his confidence.
He tugs on my hair, forcing me to angle my head so I look up at him. I want to tell him all the dirty things I’m thinking, but that would mean taking his cock out of my mouth and I’m not willing to do that. Instead, I let my eyes do the talking.
Ever the observant bastard that he is, he cocks a grin. “Oh, so now you’ll look me in the eye?”
I smile around his cock and shoot him a wink from my knees...which apparently, he likes.
“Oh, fucking hell.” His head falls back and his eyes fall closed, but only for a second before he’s looking down at me again. “You’re really fucking good at this.” I hum my satisfaction at this words and bob faster, pulling him to the back of my throat once more before circling his tip. “Oh shit. Jake. I’m gonna come. Oh…shit…yes…yes…”
His cock jerks in my mouth as he shoots his release. I drink him down greedily. Careful not to spill a drop. I give his sensitive dick one more long, languid lick before standing.
“How’re you going to explain that?” he asks, pointing at the obvious bulge against my thigh.
A sad smile accompanies my response. “Don’t worry, all traces of it will be gone by the time I get upstairs.”
Dylan grips my chin and his tongue sweeps across my bottom lip.
“Will you text me when you get to the fire station tomorrow? I have more questions…and concerns.”
I nod and he turns toward his Challenger, leaving me breathless and questioning my whole life.
Back in my apartment, I find Cora sitting on my couch, typing on her phone with a topped-off glass of wine in her hand.
“Hey, I hope he didn’t leave on my account.”
“It wasn’t you. He needed to get back. He feels guilty being away from work too long.”
“Sounds like the two of you have that in common,” she teases.
“Maybe the three of us,” I jest back, nodding at her phone.
She clicks the screen off and places it on the coffee table. “Done working.”
I sit on the cushion next to her and cross my right ankle over my left knee. “If I were to see if Tim could get me tickets to the Beautiful Deceit show in Virginia in a few weeks, would you want to go?”
She scrunches up her nose. “You know that’s not really my scene.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Thought I’d ask.”
“You’ve never called Tim for that favor,” she points out, taking a sip of wine, keeping her eyes on me the whole time. I can see her brilliant mind working out the details that I need to work harder to hide.
I’m sure the guilt of what I just did will crawl into bed next to me tonight when I’m all alone and prevent me from getting the sleep I need, but right now, I’m riding the high and decide to go with the truth.
“I know. I, uh, I found out Dylan’s a huge fan.” Feeling far too transparent for my own comfort, I justify it by adding, “I feel bad that his shop keeps getting messed up. Insurance has started to deny their claims because they’ve hit the limit for filing or some dumb shit. He tried to get tickets when they went on sale months ago, but he couldn’t get them and now they’re all ridiculously expensive.”
“You like him.” There’s no accusation in her voice, but her words are enough to make me tread carefully.
“He’s nice and he’s down on his luck. I just wanted to help him out. If you don’t want to go though, I won’t. We barely get time together as it is.”
That’s not me playing games. That’s me realizing that maybe I’m getting too comfortable saying Dylan’s name. Maybe I’m allowing too many fantasies to play on repeat, tricking myself into thinking this will all work out.
“What’s the date of the concert?” she asks, picking her phone back up, presumably to open her calendar.
“September twenty-seventh.” Beautiful Deceit hails from Virginia so their first few shows of every tour are down the east coast.
“I’m flying to the U.K. on the twenty-fifth for an expo on philanthropic leadership at Cambridge. I won’t be back until after the concert. You should take Dylan.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I lean over and kiss her forehead. A second later, we both grab our phones. Mine is pressed to my ear and my big brother’s voice comes over the line.
“Jacob. How are you?”
“Hey, Tim. I’m doing well. How are Emma and the baby?”
“They’re fine, but I think Ry’s gonna have an aneurysm when this tour starts.”
“About that…I need a favor.”
Cora ends up spending the night, but thankfully, she’s doesn’t cash in on the raincheck I’d promised her. Content to cuddle, I hold her as my mind tries to process the events of my day until I fall into a dreamless sleep with my arms wrapped around the biggest lie I’ve ever told.