Chapter 28 Promise #2
His brows crash down, and the next thing I know, he’s shoving back from the table and coming around to straddle my lap and wrap his arms around me.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, my hands snaking up his spine to grip his bare shoulders as the chaotic morning breaks against the shoals of grief.
“I promise,” he whispers, fingers tightening in my hair. “I promise not to leave you like that.”
My tears are hot on his skin as I tremble and cling to the raw nearness of him. His lips drift in my hair, whispering comfort with each impossible vow: “I’m not him. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
When my sobs subside, he takes my face in his hands and kisses my temples, my eyelids, and finally my lips. His tongue brushes mine, an offering without hunger or expectation, and I’m wrung clean as a tidepool, each touch another shy creature unfurling in the wake of the storm.
This and this and this.
It’s me who grows urgent, deepening the kiss, sliding my hands down the planes of his back to slip beneath his briefs and clutch his ass. He doesn’t question or protest, only bares his throat to my teeth and grinds against my stiffening cock.
The need to touch him everywhere, to crawl inside him and make him a part of my bones, pushes me to frenzy. I don’t have enough hands or teeth or bare skin to quench my craving. I want to swallow his breath and suck his blood to the surface of his salt skin.
“Tell me again,” I beg, shoving one hand into the front of his briefs to grip his cock and using the fingers of the other to spread his ass and stroke my middle finger over his entrance.
I could be asking for anything.
“I promise,” he groans as I suck the firm flesh of his pec between my teeth.
“I promise, I promise, I’m here. Oh fuck, I’m right fucking here.
” The words end on a harsh cry as I shuttle my hand over his length, and his peak hits him sharp and sudden.
Before he can catch his breath, I hoist him onto the table and spread his legs, knocking my coffee mug to the floor.
Diving down, I catch the last of his release on my tongue and take him into my mouth.
“Jesus. Rocket. Shit, Josha.” His thighs quake under my stroking palms as I roll my tongue and suckle his softening cock. “Enough. Fuck. I can’t—” He tugs at my hair, and I reluctantly release him, slumping back into my chair and breathing hard.
Not enough.
Propped on his hands and eyeing me through lids gone lazy, he nudges my crotch with a foot and curls his toes when he finds me still hard. Catching his ankle, I rut into his arch a few times, considering, then stand and rake my gaze over his messily sprawled form.
“Please don’t touch my dick. It might fall off if you get me hard again.”
“Your dick is mine now,” I tell him. And in that moment, I mean it. His head falls back with a moan, and I fist my cock, peeling back the foreskin to swipe my thumb over the swollen head. I’m slick and aching and desperate to claim him with my unrelenting need.
Fisting his briefs, I yank them clear of his ass and use the bunched fabric to pin his thighs to his abs.
He gasps at the sudden exposure, his hole clenching as his elbows hit the table with a thud.
Pinching his barbell between his teeth, he watches, rapt, as I jerk myself to a swift, brutal climax.
Thick ropes of cum spatter over his crease and balls, marking him, and the guttural sound that rips from my throat is closer to a growl than a groan.
A promise of my own—or maybe a prayer…
Mine.
Please.
Stay.
“What are you planning to do with yourself today?” I ask, trying not to sound suspicious—or too needy. I’m sitting on the bed, watching him dress after his shower, unable to make myself leave, even though I should have been at Big Top an hour ago. “Jeremy took the Xbox when he left.”
“Coming with you.” He says it like it’s obvious, throwing me a surprised look as he zips himself into a pair of tight black jeans.
“To the lot? I thought the whole point of wanting to stay with me was to avoid that place for as long as possible.”
“The whole point of staying here was to get in your pants. Since I’ve already done that…” He flashes a cocky grin and tugs a plain V-neck tee over his head. When his head pops free, I arch an eyebrow, pretending not to ogle the way the white cotton hugs his chest and biceps.
“You really want to come? Cheyenne will be there. And Ellis and probably Oscar.”
Snagging his boots—five states worth of road dust worn into the creased leather—he plops himself down beside me on the edge of the bed.
“I want to be where you are.”
Or you’re telling me what you think I want to hear.
When I tilt my head at him, he sighs. “And I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t trust my brain. I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave me here alone all day with nothing to do.”
“You could work on your bike.” I have no idea why I’m trying to talk him out of joining me when I want nothing more than to glue him to my side.
But I also don’t know how he’ll react to being home again, and if he gets triggered by something, or if Cheyenne sets him off, I’m afraid I’ll be too busy to stop it in time.
“You left the vodka on the porch,” he says, and though it’s not an accusation, I can read the warning when he meets my gaze.
“I’ll dump it on the way out. Sorry.”
Shaking his head, he stands to stomp his heels into his boots.
“Don’t apologize. I’m…admitting I’ve been thinking about it.
You told me to stop leaving you behind. Now I’m asking for the same.
I can handle the lot and the crew, I swear.
” Backing toward the door, he spreads his arms, exposing a tantalizing strip of inked abdomen where the T-shirt doesn’t quite meet the low-slung waistband of his jeans. “So let’s fucking go.”
His armor is back, and fuck if it doesn’t look good on him when it’s not me he’s trying to keep out.
Despite his bold claims, he sucks nervously on his dab pen the whole five-minute drive to the tent.
When I cut my eyes at him, he lifts one shoulder and mutters “California sober,” and I let it go.
I grew up in Cannabis country, where almost everyone over the age of twelve is some type of stoner, and it’s not the hill I’m willing to die on.
“How do you want to play this?” he asks as we climb out of the truck beside the barn-sized shop. “Am I still your dirty little secret?”
“Am I still yours?”
He blinks at me, confused, and I bite back a sigh, wishing I hadn’t brought it up.
“Ignore me,” I say. “We can play it however you want.”
“My choice, huh? Then I’ll tell you how I want to play.” Closing his fingers around my wrist, he tugs me back, then cages me against the hood. I catch the slow smile on his lips before he brings them to my ear and whispers: “I’ve decided to let you fuck me first.”
Satisfied by my startled intake of breath, he turns with an exaggerated wiggle of his ass and leaves me reeling in the dust.
Wait.
First?