9. Tyler
9
TYLER
Who knew a hardware store could be so much fun?
It's afternoon by the time we're done getting dressed and eating the huge servings of bacon and eggs Isaac made us. I protested at the amount of food, reminding him that I only need about half as much food as he does, but ate a lot more than I thought I'd be able to. He finished my plate for me, and then we took his truck to the hardware store. It's only a five-minute drive. Isaac said he normally walks when he needs to pick something up, but we're picking up several five-gallon pails of paint today.
When we arrived, the guy behind the counter broke out into a huge gap-toothed grin, clearly ecstatic to see Isaac. He came around the counter to greet him with a one-armed man hug, then introduced himself to me. Reggie, the owner of "Reggie's Home Improvement", not only owns the store, but runs a side business as a handyman. He's hired Isaac for a bunch of small renovation jobs, and was apparently the one to suggest the corner building because he knew Isaac would be able to handle the work that needs to be done.
I wandered off when they started chatting about something to do with drywall studs, and have managed to fill the small hand cart with all manner of things I might not even need. I started with a list of painting supplies that I turned my phone on to find, picking up random stuff as I made my way through the store.
Isaac finds me contemplating overalls.I'm not sure I can pull them off like Reggie does, but I immediately decide I want some. Besides, if I'm going to help Isaac, I'll need something more appropriate to wear than chinos and cashmere sweaters. My shoes are already ruined from the other night, so getting paint or whatever else on them won't matter.
"What's all this?"
"Supplies."He pulls out a roll of rainbow tie dye duct tape hidden amongst the rolls of painter’s tape and holds it up."What? It's pretty."
"We really don't need all this," he says, looking in the cart with a raised eyebrow. He picks up a small tool belt.
It's less heavy duty than the one he wears, with fewer compartments, but I'm sure it'll be useful. "I'm living out my handyman fantasies. Don't judge me." He laughs, but he looks hot as fuck wearing his tool belt. I’m not sure me wearing one would have the same effect, but I still want to at least look the part, damnit.
"This is cute," he says, holding the beginner's basics tool kit I found. It's bright aqua blue, which wouldn't have been my first choice, but it was either that or pink and yellow paisley. And while I don't give a fuck about gender norms, I can be a bit sensitive about being compared to a woman. It was always my father's chosen insult when I didn't fit into his idea of masculinity.
"You're built like a twelve-year-old girl…"
"Tyler?"
"Hmm?"
"I said I have extras of most of this. You don't need to buy so much stuff."
"Sometimes I like buying random shit to throw my father off," I admit. "I know he tracks what I spend and where. It's fun to keep him guessing."
I put the tool kit back, but keep the overalls. When Isaac turns his back, I put all the paint and supplies on my purchase, and rent some giant fans. He's not happy about it, and grouches all the way home. But when I come out of the bathroom to show off my new overalls, he can't hold back his smile. They're a bit big, but they're actually really comfortable. I stole one of Isaac's tank tops to wear under it, because my polo shirt looked stupid, but it's too long.
Isaac bites his lip and beckons me over, signaling for me to turn in a circle so he can see it from all angles. He notices the tank top and pulls me closer to him. Without a word, he flips open a pocket knife and cuts a slit in the shirt, reaching between the openings of the top of the overalls to tear the shirt in half. It doesn't rip completely straight, and ends up quite a bit shorter than I think he originally intended, but he doesn't mind.
"Damn," he rasps, fingering the exposed skin at the sides of my waist. "That's a good look for you."
Still a little verklempt over having him rip clothes off my body, I jump on Isaac to get my mouth on his. He lifts me easily, and I wrap my legs around him. He's careful not to grip me where my stitches are, but I don't even care. If anything, the bite of pain when the area stretches or gets bumped is keeping me present. While I don't have the same worries about moving too fast that Isaac has, I understand what he means by getting lost to it. I want to remember everything, even if parts of it might be painful.
I might be inexperienced, but I'm not an idiot. I understand the mechanics of what goes where, and that it might hurt at first. I've experimented with my finger and it mostly just felt uncomfortable, like I needed to go to the bathroom. For the longest time, I've wondered why people even bother. But here, with Isaac, I get it.Every kiss feels like it’s building up to something bigger.Even if it hurts or is weird, I want it. I want everything with him. I want to give him everything.
Isaac moans into my mouth before extricating himself. "Behave." He laughs at my frown. "Let's get a first coat up, and then we'll see what's next."
"Your self-restraint and unwillingness to be distracted are disappointing."
* * *
Several hours later, we have the first coat of black paint up. The walls and ceiling are painted, as are both of us. It's a good thing everything in this room either needs to be painted or will be covered with special flooring, because we made a mess. We probably spent half the time playing around or finding excuses to touch or kiss each other. I'm gearing up to make another play at climbing him like a tree when my phone rings.
After nearly a dozen more messages about not being home and ignoring him, I blocked Guy this morning when I turned my phone on, then deleted the thread so I didn't have to look at it. My text to my father yesterday morning about being sick was apparently inefficient, because this isn't the first time he's called. Normally he calls from the office, which I've been ignoring. But this call comes from his cell phone, which reminds me that he can track my phone. If I don't talk to him, he'll come looking for me.
Signaling to Isaac that I'm taking the call in the other room, I take a deep breath before hitting accept.
"Where the hell have you been?" My father growls. From the sounds of the background, he's in his car. Fingers crossed he's not headed to my apartment. I put the phone on speaker so I can turn off the tracking app, in case he hasn't thought of it yet.
"I told you, I'm sick. I've been sleeping all day."
"You sound fine to me. No reason to be ignoring your phone." I don't argue or say anything else. The more lies I tell, the more likely I am to get caught in those lies. What I do or where I go is none of his business. I'll just sit here on the line while he bitches at me about responsibility and respect. Sure enough, he goes through the usual spiel about me being ungrateful for the opportunities he's afforded me, and that I owe him. He's expecting me to come into the office the moment I'm no longer in any danger of contagion. Not when I'm feeling better- when I'm not likely to get anyone else sick.
"Now," he says. "We need to talk about Mr. Montague. He told me what happened."
"He did?"
"I must say, Tyler, I'm disappointed in you. I thought I'd raised you better than to–"
"What exactly did he tell you?" I say, raising my voice, not caring that I just interrupted him and I know how much he hates that.
"Tyler, how many times have we talked about respect? It's something I've drilled into you from the moment of birth. I don't understand why you behave this way."
"I'm sorry, father. I didn't mean to interrupt, but–"
"I'm talking about Guy, Tyler."
"Excuse me?"
"That young man comes from a good family. He's got the right pedigree and temperament to manage you, but even he has his limits."
Jaw clenched, and choosing to move past the way he treats me like a show dog he's selling off to the highest bidder, I focus on the indignity of having my father scold me like a child for not making another man happy. Regardless of whatever lies Guy told him, how is it that he always finds a way to make me feel unworthy of basic respect?
"I'm not interested in discussing your need to push me off on someone just so you can try to use me as some kind of bargaining chip. He doesn't want me, anyway."
"Watch who you're speaking to in such a manner, Tyler. Maybe if you remembered anything I've taught you about respect, you'd find a way to be useful."
"Don't I deserve respect?"
"Respect is earned, son. You don't get to throw a tantrum like a child because you don't like something, then expect to be treated with respect."
"Yeah, well, I don't intend to show respect to someone who shows up drunk and treats me poorly. Maybe you should consider aiming one of those lessons at the real problem here."
"Tyler–"
"I'm really not feeling well, Father. I'll let you know when I'm able to make it into the office."
I end the call, hanging up on my father for the first time in my life, then shut my phone off entirely. It might make me weak, but I'd rather hide and lick my wounds than face this head on. I've screwed this up at every turn, from the moment I didn't send him away when I smelled liquor on his breath, to thinking I could escape through a back alley to avoid him. If I'd known the incident would lead to more harassment, maybe I would have turned him in, or at least threatened to. He's right that no one would believe me. Not now, at least.
Throwing my phone to the far corner of the bedroom, I rub my hands over my face and hold my head. I've been in significantly less pain each day, but between all the physical work today, the smell of paint, and my father's bullshit, my head is starting to throb. I don't want to numb myself with painkillers all day every day, choosing to only use them to help me sleep.
Isaac knocks lightly and pushes the door open slowly. His hair is wet, a towel around his neck. Bare chest sprinkled with water, wearing only a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips to show off that mouthwatering V that I'm pretty sure leads to some version of heaven. I'm starting to think it was worth the concussion to get to spend any amount of time in his presence.
"You alright?" he asks, brow creased with concern. This guy that barely knows me is more concerned about me than my own father.
"Same shit, different day," I say with a shrug.
I'm not sure what's gotten into me, or what possesses me to act like I have any idea what I'm doing or how to seduce the sexiest man alive. But suddenly I don't want to think about anything else. I want to be distracted, to not have to think about anything other than this man who makes me feel better than I've ever felt before. More confident. More worthy.
Slipping off my shoes, I toss them on the floor, looking Isaac straight in the eye so he knows it's intentional. I do the same with my socks. Then I unhook the overalls at my chest and let them fall to my hips. I walk backwards across the small living area, unbuttoning the sides of the denim and letting the fabric fall to the floor. Then, in only a pair of black briefs and the loose tank top that's cut off at my ribs, I rake my eyes over Isaac from top to bottom, lingering on the outline of his half-hard dick.
"I'm going to take a shower," I say pointedly. "I might need some assistance. You know, for safety."
"For safety," he huffs, but he follows when I turn and walk into the bathroom.
The mirrors and tile are still steamed up from Isaac's shower when I walk in, pulling the tank top over my head and tossing it towards the laundry basket. When I know he's walked in and can see me, I push my underwear down my thighs and step out of them. Feigning a confidence I most definitely do not have, I walk towards the showers casually, overly aware of his eyes on me. I've never exposed myself fully to someone like this, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit it’s daunting, but when I turn on the water and step beneath the spray, I turn around to find Isaac's eyes locked on mine. There's a brief moment of worry that he’s not looking down at my body because he doesn't like what he sees, but when I zero in on his expression, there's definitely heat in his dark gaze. Heat and worry.
I glance down at myself, at my shaft that's erect and pointed directly at Isaac, then back at him. Pouring body wash onto a washcloth, I keep my eyes on him as I soap my body.
"I'm not an invalid anymore, you know. It's okay to look. I want you to."
His gaze holds mine for another long moment before flicking down, then back up, then down again. His lips part, eyes glued to my hand that's wrapped around my cock, slowly working the soap up and down my shaft. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips, one hand moving to press against his own erection. I want him to pull it out, to show me something I've only seen on a screen before. I also desperately want him to touch me, but I know he won't. I can tell by the way he's leaning back on the counter, feet planted, one hand gripping the edge like it will keep him tethered.
Pathetically, I want him to lose control because it feels like proof he might actually want me for real. That all of this isn't something he's doing out of pity.
"Really? That guy?" Scoff. "I doubt you'd be his type, anyway."
"The body of a twelve-year-old-girl."
"You're pathetic."
"Even he has limits."
I drop my cock and press my palms into my eyes, turning around to hide any evidence that I'm this close to losing my shit.Keeping my face turned towards the showerhead, I put one hand on the wall and lean into the spray. Who am I kidding? I'm not this guy. I know what I look like. And I’m sure I'm coming off as ridiculous and pathetic, trying so hard to get his attention.
For all my false bravado, I just want to feel in control of this one moment, right here, right now.
His touch makes me flinch, but only for a second. When his strong hands wrap around my waist and pull me into him, I turn and go willingly. He hugs me close, not saying a word, just letting me soak in his support and comfort. Water cascades over both of us, soaking his sweatpants until they're so heavy they start to slip down his hips. The base of his cock, and the wiry dark hair there, peek above the waistband. There's too much water in my eyes and the fabric is too soaked for me to tell if he's still hard. Probably not.
My lips move over his shoulder, light caresses that I hope he feels the way I do. Bone deep, raw want radiates through me, my fledging erection coming back to life. Maybe he does pity me. Maybe this is another example of him being a good Samaritan. And maybe when he's done with me, I'll be alone again. But for now…
"I need–" I say breathily, not sure how to complete that statement. There's so much that I want. That I need. Most of all I need to get out of my head and just feel something.
He nods, kissing along my jawline. “I know, baby. I know.” Wet fabric plops on the floor.
I don't look. I can't. My lips are glued to his.
When he lifts me and wraps my legs around his body, I feel him. Hot and heavy, pressing against my aching cock, both of us trapped between our stomachs. I want to move, to rub my cock up and down his shaft. I squirm as he leans me back, his hips and the wall holding me up. I look down between us as he wraps one big hand around both of us. I shudder in his hold as a rush of pure sensation overtakes me, a dizzying heat that starts at the base of my spine and explodes outward.
No one has ever touched my cock before, aside from me, of course. But now it looks like it belongs to him, pressed against his like they're meant to be a pair. I'm transfixed by the sight of the heads of our cocks emerging from his hand, then disappearing as he strokes us together. My breaths grow shallow, and my head reels back as that intangible heat engulfs me. My vision blurs.
I come pathetically fast with a choked whine that echoes off the tile. Isaac's hand doesn't stop, jerking me through every spurt of my orgasm. It coats his hand and his cock, his strokes speeding up, hips rocking into his grip. I'm panting with each pass of his palm over my oversensitive head, my cum dripping down our shafts, lubricating his grip while he pumps himself to climax. Wanting to be an active participant, wanting to give as much as I take, and wanting to know what he feels like, I reach to wrap my hand around us. He releases his grip, one hand hitting the tile to prop us up. My hand isn't as big as his, but I focus on his cock, trying to mimic the strokes that brought me to my end, moaning at the way my slick hand glides over his shaft.
Isaac grunts, head falling onto my shoulder. Hot cum erupts from his tip, splashing on my chest and stomach. Making him come is just as heady as my own orgasm. My mouth is parted, soft gasps falling from my lips as I continue to stroke him. He lifts his head and takes my mouth, kissing me through his pleasure. We kiss until the heat of the showers is too stifling and I think I might collapse.
After rinsing the mess away, Isaac carries me to his bedroom. The moment my head hits the pillows, I'm out.