32. THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-TWO
“This…is fucking rad ,” Gray shrieks, clawing at my sleeve to keep himself upright as we stand in my backyard, looking at the Giant Connect Four game I bought two years ago after getting shitfaced. “Dude! Let’s play!”
“Wait!” I rush out, fingers flying to the buttons of my shirt. “I need my battle bandana.”
He blinks up at me. “Huh?” he slurs, wobbling again.
“My battle bandana ,” I repeat slowly. How does he not know what that is?
Careful not to topple him—which is impressive considering I’m not much better—I remove his grip from my arm and peel my shirt off. Left only in my undershirt, I twist up the blue material and tie it around my head.
There .
I’m ready for fucking war.
“Holy shit,” he squeaks, a stray finger poking at my pec.
I swat his hand away and jog over to the game. The four-foot-long plastic game board is the battleground, and I will win. Mark my words. I rarely get a chance to show off my dazzling competition skills, so I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet, waiting for him to get over here.
“Hurry up!” I bark.
Steely determination hits as he eyes my bandana with envy. “I want one of those,” he points.
I gesture at his long-sleeved shirt. “You have one.”
“Fuck! I do!” he squeals, ripping his shirt off and quickly securing it to his head.
Half of me wants to ogle him, but this isn’t the time to check out his body.
No.
Total domination is now.
For the next hour, we are neck and neck.
I win one round, and then he comes in and steals the limelight.
We curse, laugh, and fall over a few times because…
wow, we drank a lot of whiskey. My eyes blur, and I can’t feel my hands, but I eyeball the damn game board.
This next win is a must. With my tongue sticking out, I think hard about my next move.
“Come onnnn,” he whines. “Stick it in the damn hole!”
“It’s a s-slot ,” I inform him, squinting when the hollowed-out spots double.
“Hole, slot, same same. Put it in!”
“ You put it in,” I say hotly, taking a step and huffing a breath.
“Oh, I’ll put it in,” he retorts, walking faster than normal. He slides his piece in without hesitating, ruining my strategy and winning.
“You cheated!” I throw my piece, taking off in a jog.
A loud, unmanly shrill explodes out of him as he tries to get away. I trip a few times on the dead grass, and fat droplets of rain start to come down. He beelines for the house, cackling and hiccupping.
“Gray!” I warn, reaching him just before he grabs the sliding door and curl my arm around his waist.
His back is flush with my front, and our bodies are overheated and damp. I’m drunk. He’s drunk, but he feels perfect pressed into me like this. “I was going to do it,” I mumble into his ear.
Fast breaths puff past his lips. “You didn’t, though.”
“But I would’ve.”
He spins in my hold, places his hands on my chest, and squeezes. “You had the opportunity,” he rasps, those gorgeous blues peeking at me.
“I was afraid to make the wrong move. It would’ve c-costed the game,” I stutter through a burp. The alcohol is fighting back.
“You don’t know because you didn’t do it.” His fingers dip under the straps of my undershirt, dancing over my collarbone. “You didn’t even try ,” he breathes, and it just now catches up to me.
We aren’t talking about the game.
“Do you want me to?” I whisper, leaning down. “I think I can…if you want me to.”
“ Please ,” he whimpers, and I crush my lips to his.
Removing his hands from my shirt, he slides them up to hold my face, urging me lower.
When his pierced tongue drags over my lips, I crack inside.
I hold him tight, not thinking about tomorrow, not caring that we said not to do this.
It feels so right — he feels right. From the moment I laid eyes on Gray, I knew I could never walk away, never forget.
As I open for him, he seeks my tongue out quickly.
There’s urgency, lust, and a coyness to his movements that force a moan from my throat.
Fingers squeeze, hips grind, and rock, all while the sky dumps over us.
Fresh rain coats our lips, mixing with our whiskey flavor, and my heart beats so fast that I’m sure I’ll pass out.
Gray’s sweet, needy noises echo in my ears, driving my frantic pulse south.
My hot hands travel up his rain-slicked back, mapping out the small muscles.
“Hunter, please .” It’s a plea, a cry out for something, but I don’t know what.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” I whisper, peppering kisses over his cheek, chin, and nose. Everything is fuzzy, shrouded in a cloud of need. “Tell me.”
“Just keep trying. Don’t—” he stops himself, raising his tiptoes to steal my lips again. Just as urgent as before but no less impactful, his soft, pillowy mouth molds to mine. “Don’t be like everyone else.”
He breaks our kiss, drops his arms to my middle, and squeezes me like I’ll float away.
Not wanting to relive earlier, I give him the hug he should’ve gotten.
Pressing my lips to the top of his battle bandana, I let him cling to me for long seconds until we’re both soaked to the bone and have no choice but to go inside.
And even when we do, I don’t let him go, keeping his hand firmly tucked in mine.
After depositing Gray in the downstairs bathroom, I stumble through the kitchen into my garage and dig out his things from my car. Water clings to every inch of me, and the wet squish in my shoes makes me shiver.
In a blur, I end up back in the bathroom, and he’s slumped on the toilet. With his shirt tied around his head, sweat pants soaked through, and one shoe off, I laugh.
He glances at me, and the sound dies in my throat. With a trembling bottom lip, he heaves a breath before holding his face and cries. The duffle bag drops by my feet with a soft thud. I hurry over to him, landing on my knees before him, and push his hands away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I did it again .”
The urge to slap some sobriety into myself almost has me acting on it. I take a breath, rub my eyes, and cup his cheeks. “What? What did you do?”
“Don’t you get it!” he shouts, ripping his face away.
Angry fingers tear at the shirt on his head, tossing it on the tile.
“I am this,” he gestures at himself, “this p-person. I’m homeless, and you—” A growl of frustration explodes out of him.
“You can’t even be seen with me. We are drunk.
I’m drunk. And I’m sad. You’re sad now, too, fuck my fucking life.
” He hides in his palms again while I stare wide-eyed.
I can’t think straight, and maybe I’m selfish, but we had a good time earlier. A day fucking off. “No, no, we aren’t doing this.” I push his hands away again , determined to get us back to that goodness. “We aren’t feeling sorry for ourselves, alright? Not today.”
“Feeling sorry ? Hunter, I’m fucking scared shitless right now!”
“Why? What have I done to make you so afraid of me!” I yell right back.
“Because you make me think I’ve got a chance. You make me think this is more. And damn it, I want it to be more,” he growls, grabs the back of my head, and kisses me hard.
My hands find his hips, inching closer on my knees until I bump porcelain.
With his legs bracketing my sides and a hot hand in my hair, I can’t digest what he’s saying to me.
I can only feel what he’s giving. Fingers card through my scalp, tugging on the strands.
I pull him to the edge of the closed toilet until his crotch is flush with my stomach.
Soft moans transfer from his mouth to mine, the world around me spinning too fast.
The only thing I know for sure is that I want this, too. I want it with the same intensity as his messy kiss. It’s as uncoordinated as his life, with no rhyme or reason, simply fueled by instinct and emotion.
God, it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
Running my hands up his back, I savor the feel of his flexing muscles as his whole body joins in on the passion. His hips rut into me, an unmistakable hardness digging into my abs.
“Gray,” I pant against him. “Fuck, sweetheart, slow down for me, yeah?”
“Why?” His lips drag from my mouth to my throat, gently sucking the sensitive skin under my jaw. “I never get to have what I want. Let me have it.”
How the hell am I supposed to say no? With one hand splayed over his upper back, I guide the other down to his hip, urging him on. He whimpers, grinding into me faster. “You can have me,” I rasp.
A shiver runs through his body when I nudge his face, insisting he get his lips back on my mouth. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I know what we are doing isn’t right. Telling him things I can’t make good on is even worse.
The truth is, in this moment, it feels honest—doable.
Right now, Gray needs this. He needs to feel something good.
The slick barbell glides over my top lip before he sucks the bottom one between his teeth.
Emboldened, I sink my hand lower. Pressing against the curve of his ass, I help him get more friction.
His cock stabs at me, the heat from him seeping through his sweats and through my undershirt.
Any other time, I’d offer to do more—would insist on it.
This whole time, I’ve ignored my body’s reaction and focused on letting Gray find whatever he’s looking for.
I want to worship him, but with the way he’s kissing me, humping my stomach, and clinging to me so tightly, I know that’s not what he wants. It might be drunken arrogance talking, but it’s intimacy he’s craving so badly, not sex.
When his movements turn to rough jerks, and his lips rest against mine, I know he’s close.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Take what you need from me.”
An almost painful moan rips from his throat as he throws his arms around my neck, grinding as hard as he can.
I hold him tight, guiding his hips through each powerful thrust until he gasps, trembling and shaking.
Hot wetness seeps through his pants, smearing over my undershirt.
I kiss his lips and nuzzle his cheek while he works through his orgasm.
My heart pounds mercilessly while my cock throbs in my slacks.
As his body relaxes in my arms, I close my eyes and hope he knows that he's safe here.
My hands caress his back while he calms down, breaths evening out in my ear. “Better?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Good.” I kiss the side of his mouth. “Gray?”
“Hmm?” he hums, eyes glossy and hooded.
“I can’t feel my knees.”
He laughs, glancing down between us to find the sticky mess he made. “Sorry,” he says with a wince. “I just lost my whole ass mind for a minute.”
“No,” I say firmly, pushing my numb legs off the ground so I can stand. “You took what you needed. And I'm happy you did.”
His eyes drag slowly up my body before settling at the top of my head. “Oh my god,” he laughs again and points. “You still have your battle bandana on.”
Horror and embarrassment wash over my face. “What?” I dart over to the mirror, and sure enough, I’ve got a fucking shirt tied over my head. “When the hell did I do that?”
“It’s funny, but I’m oddly into it.”
My face flames.
Jesus, I haven’t done that in years—since goddamn college!
I pull it off, toss it next to his, and snatch the duffle. Offering it to him, I rake a hand through my hair afterward. “Well, I’ll let you shower.”
Nodding, he flicks his gaze at my crotch. “Are you going to shower upstairs?”
There’s no way to adjust my erection subtly, so I just do it. “Yeah.”
“Reconvene in ten?”
“You can count on it.” I smile, bend, and press a chaste kiss to the top of his head.