Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-three
TOM
Tom hadn’t eaten all day, but it wasn’t until halfway through the pad Thai that he realized how hungry he was.
He glanced over to where Bryce was sitting cross-legged on the other end of the couch, slurping noodles like it was a competitive sport. This wasn’t glamorous—no black tie, no candlelight. But it felt right, like the way things were supposed to be.
“Damn it,” Bryce complained, eyeing a spreading sauce stain on his shirt with mild frustration. “Well, that’s never coming out.”
Tom snorted into his beer. “It’s borrowed. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“That’s not how shirts work, Tom.”
“That’s exactly how shirts work.”
Bryce laughed, and Tom watched the last few tight lines around his eyes ease. For a moment, nothing else registered. Just them, safe and together. The news played silently on the TV in the background, but neither of them paid attention.
Bryce set down his plate. “I was going to suggest I take you somewhere fancy,” he said. “But honestly, I think this beats it.”
Tom arched an eyebrow. “You’re trying to seduce me by complimenting my noodles?”
“Is it working?”
A smile tugged Tom’s lips unbidden. “Unfortunately, yeah.”
Bryce’s eyes stayed on his, the corner of his mouth curving just slightly. “You look better like this,” he said quietly.
“Like what?”
“Like yourself. Like you’ve stopped carrying the weight of the world for a second.” He hesitated. “Like you’re home.”
The words hit something deep in Tom. He set down his beer, pulse beating faster. The couch suddenly felt too narrow, the space between them too wide.
“Come here,” he said softly.
Bryce didn’t ask questions. He crossed the small distance and met Tom in the middle. Their mouths brushed, slow and sure, and it was exactly what Tom needed—a center of gravity.
And then Bryce kissed him properly. His hand came up to cup Tom’s jaw, his fingers warm against skin that had felt cold for hours. Bryce’s hand slid under Tom’s shirt, and he made a sound that went straight to Tom’s gut.
“First date,” Tom said against his mouth. “You’re supposed to keep your hands to yourself.”
“Wasn’t me. You started it.”
“Pretty sure I said come here. Not molest me on the couch.”
Bryce’s laugh was a puff of air. “Too late now.”
“Yeah,” Tom said, pulling him in again.
It was perfect and exactly what Tom wanted, but as they continued, he found it wasn’t everything he wanted.
He was pressing tighter against Bryce, one hand wound in his messy hair to hold him in place as he explored his mouth more deeply, the other roaming over the strong muscles of his back.
They were flexing as he pulled Tom closer, his hands unerringly going to Tom’s ass.
Tom shuddered, remembering just how it had felt to be with Bryce and how much he wanted that again.
Tom was desperately tugging his shirt up to get to the skin beneath, when Bryce pulled back. He was breathing deeply, his eyes dark, but there was a wicked smile on his face.
“So this is the part where we kiss chastely and say goodnight, then?” he asked. “Being our first date and all.”
“You got it,” Tom agreed, realizing how far gone he must be to find Bryce’s sense of humor attractive. “Now get the fuck back here and kiss me chastely some more.”
So he did. And then there was some not-quite-so-chaste kissing, involving hands down one another’s pants, and oh, God, Bryce was everything he’d remembered—so hard and smooth and perfect in a way that was only Bryce, and Tom went to his knees between Bryce’s thighs, splayed open on the couch.
Bryce groaned helplessly as Tom took him into his mouth. The low, needing sound went straight to Tom’s heart. He wanted to wring those sounds out of Bryce, again and again, and he concentrated on giving him the best blow job he’d ever had.
Seemed like he might just have managed it too, from the way Bryce’s hands tangled in his hair and his whole body tensed, shuddering apart as he came, hot and fast, deep in Tom’s mouth.
Tom wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and leaned in, dizzy with it—dizzy with him—only to be yanked into Bryce’s lap, straddling his thighs.
Bryce kissed him like he couldn’t get enough, like the air in his lungs would only work if it came from Tom. “Fuck, Tom,” he muttered, voice still raw. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”
“Worse ways to go,” Tom murmured back, his own cock hard and aching between them.
Bryce slid down, guiding Tom back until he was stretched along the couch cushions, legs spread, chest heaving. Tom’s breath hitched as Bryce leaned over him, placing a kiss just below his navel, then another, lower still, until his mouth was exactly where Tom needed it.
The first hot slide of Bryce’s tongue nearly undid him.
Tom swore, one hand flying to Bryce’s hair, anchoring him in place.
He didn’t bother trying to keep quiet. There was no one to overhear, and even if there had been, he wouldn’t have cared.
All he could think about was the heat and suction, the maddening flick of Bryce’s tongue, the way he groaned like he was the one getting off.
Tom bucked, breath ragged, completely undone. “Bryce—fuck, I’m—”
Bryce just gripped his hips harder, holding him there until Tom spilled with a desperate cry, pleasure crashing over him, rolling and tumbling him in its wake.
When he came back to himself, Bryce was still stretched between his legs, lazily placing little kisses against Tom’s thigh, his stomach, like he had nowhere else to be.
He looked at the softness and delight in Bryce’s face, and the difference between him and Zack had never been more stark.
“I have to get rid of this apartment,” he said, before reaching down and drawing Bryce up to kiss him. Banishing Zack’s ghost forever.
When he finally pulled away, he could see the amused confusion in Bryce’s face. “Blow jobs are how you make real estate decisions?”
Tom smiled, happier than he could ever remember being. “Oh, yeah. Lucky for you, I have a few to make.”
brYCE
Bryce was somewhat bemused by Tom’s sudden declaration, but the only thing that really mattered was the happiness in his eyes.
“I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to those lips, loving how they were slightly swollen from his attentions. A physical mark of the thing that lay between them, so that anyone seeing Tom from now on would know he was loved and cherished.
Tom’s eyes were suspiciously bright as he pulled away briefly. “Love you too,” he said, and then they were kissing again, and Bryce had the feeling they’d never stop.
Well, that was fine. He could really get behind this whole chaste-kissing thing if it involved blow jobs. And maybe, from the way Tom was circling his hand around Bryce’s wrist and tugging him toward the bedroom, it might involve even more than that in his immediate future.
God, yes. As Tom efficiently stripped him of every item of borrowed clothing, covering him instead with teasing kisses, Bryce decided he was now officially a fan of chastity.