Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE TEXT MESSAGE Tate woke to had him grinning like a satisfied fool before he even took a sip of coffee. And that’s because he spent his first fifteen minutes awake, jerking his cock until he came all over his stomach while staring at the picture from Liam.
I resisted as long as I could.
The message came after Tate had exhausted himself, beating his mattress half to death, then passed out, but the photo accompanying those words was what had him hard and sweating within seconds of waking up.
A full-body shot of the dancer standing in a complicated pose with one leg straight up by his ear and an arm stretched up, holding his foot—fully naked. The flexibility boggled Tate’s mind as he couldn’t touch his damn toes. But what sent the picture over the top was the erect cock reaching for him and the heavy sac hanging down, begging for his mouth.
Instant erection.
The fucking tease.
Tate wasted no time getting to work on his dick, and after his cum splashed up his torso, he did something he’d never imagined he’d do in his lifetime. He snapped a photo and sent it back to Liam.
Three seconds later, he’d gotten a reply.
Come over tonight. My ass misses you.
Hot damn.
Who knew flirting could be so damn fun. He’d done it with girls in the past to keep up the fa?ade of being straight, but it had always been a chore, and the banter nearly impossible to drum up. With Liam, it came naturally. He wanted the man needy and as obsessed as he was. It was easy to tease and play with such sexy inspiration.
Come early, and I’ll order dinner.
Then there was that. He should absolutely decline and keep this to fucking only, but he enjoyed spending time with Liam as much as he loved his dick in the guy’s ass. Or mouth. Or even his hand. Liam was funny and chill, and he didn’t judge anything Tate told him, which was so opposite to everyone else he knew. It was refreshing, and being in his presence felt so damn good he couldn’t stay away. After the shit he had to hear Randy and Daryl spouting last night, he could use a dose of Liam’s positivity.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he texted Liam back.
I’ll be there.
The kissy face emoji he received in return had a strange warmth expanding through his chest.
Tate dressed quickly and then went to the kitchen for some coffee and whatever the hell he could find for breakfast, which turned out to be a package of s’mores pop tarts. Randy loved them, and the asshole didn’t own a toaster, so he kept a stock in Tate’s kitchen.
His mom’s door, on the opposite end of the trailer, stood wide open, which meant she’d either stayed out all night or had come home bombed and passed out face-first on her bed without so much as removing her heels. A quick peek revealed it was the first option.
Great. Another missed shift at the diner. He’d never know why the hell they kept her on the a.m. shift. For years, he’d been expecting her to come home in tears, claiming she’d been fired, but Bertha kept her on staff for whatever reason.
Probably pity.
The door opened, and Randy popped his head in. “You ready to roll?”
He shook his head as he poured his coffee into one of the travel mugs he’d stocked up on a few days ago. “I got an estimate over on Columbus Ave in Culpepper first thing this morning. It shouldn’t take more than an hour, but then I gotta swing by the office. I’ll have to meet you and Daryl at the job on Hemlock here in town.
“The fuck, dude? You couldn’ta told me last night?”
No, last night he’d been too busy trying not to lose his shit. “Sorry, just catch a ride with Daryl.” Or maybe stop getting in so many fucking accidents so you can keep your damn license for more than a month.
“Oh, come on,” he whined. “That means I gotta wake his lazy ass up. Remember what happened last time I woke that loser up?”
Tate laughed. He hadn’t thought about that in a while. About six months ago, Randy was making himself a sandwich to bring to work for lunch. Since he couldn’t do anything right, he dropped a butcher knife straight onto his foot. It made a giant mess of blood all over the kitchen floor. Randy freaked the fuck out, only making the chaos worse.
Tate had already been at work, so Randy hobbled across the way to Daryl’s trailer and let himself in. He found Daryl passed out on the couch. When he tried to wake his best friend, he ended up with a major black eye to complement the six stitches he ended up needing in his foot.
Tate laughed his ass off.
“Just give him a warning before you touch him.”
Randy scoffed.
“Or better yet, pay him back by socking him in the eye.” Maybe it’d knock some sense into the idiot.
That suggestion had Randy’s eyes lighting up. “Shit, Tate, you’re a goddamn genius. Thanks.”
Were there two dumber men than Randy and Daryl?
Tate stuffed the pop tart in his mouth, grabbed the travel mug, keys, phone, and wallet, and then jogged to his car. As he slipped behind the wheel, shouting from Daryl’s trailer had him laughing out loud.
The estimate went well, and within an hour, he had a fresh job booked for the following week. Once he’d finished with the new client, he ran by the office to finish some outstanding paperwork and send a few invoices. Their office was a town over in Culpepper, so he didn’t make it in every day. This morning, he’d hoped to have another conversation with his boss about putting their name in the ring for the new housing development, but of course, Larkin wasn’t there. His work ethic made Daryl look like a damn workhorse.
As he drove back toward Swan, Food Haven passed by on the right. The store beat the grocery store in Swan hands down. Should he pick up something to bring to Liam’s for dinner? That’s what dates did, right? Brought each other nice shit occasionally?
As he approached the next light, he pulled into the left lane and then swung a U-turn, imagining the surprised delight on Liam’s face when he showed up with a treat of some sort. Tate knew fuck all about wine, but Liam had really liked the wine they’d had on their picnic.
It’d been white and called Sav-something. He could probably pull off finding one like that again.
Luck was on his side today. As soon as he walked into the store, he encountered a large display of some local brand of wine. They were featuring their Sauvignon Blanc. It sounded familiar enough, so Tate grabbed a bottle and got in line behind one man with a decent-size order. He seemed to know the cashier because they were chatting and laughing like old friends.
Tate resisted the urge to ask them to hurry the hell up and, with nothing better to do, tuned into their conversation.
“Is he hot?” the customer asked. He was of average height and a little on the skinny side, with pressed pants, suspenders, and a bright pink bowtie.
The cashier, a short redhead, nodded eagerly. “Smokin’. I’m telling you, I’d have dropped to my knees on the spot if we were anywhere else.”
Tate’s spine tensed. He glanced around the quiet store. No one else was around, but they had to know he was there, listening. Were they talking out in the open about this dude giving a guy a blowjob?
Laughing, the customer said, “You’re such a slut.”
“And proud of it.” The cashier fired back without an ounce of shame as he waggled his eyebrows at his friend. The banter quickly turned into a groan. “Ugh, do you know how long I’ve been waiting for someone as sexy as him to move in around here? And to think he’s a dancer. All those bendy muscles.” He shivered dramatically. “Yum-my.”
A dancer? Tate’s stomach plummeted. Holy fuck, they were talking about Liam. Who the fuck did this asshole think he was? Talking about dropping to his knees for Liam.
“Listen, bitch, what makes you think you’re gonna be the one to snag him?”
“Um, have you seen how pretty I am?” There he went, batting those stupid-fucking- eyelashes again. “And he’s coming to coffee on Friday.”
Something dark and ugly twisted inside Tate’s gut. His chest tightened, and his hands curled into fists. He glared daggers at the oblivious cashier.
This guy had a date with Liam?
The earth dropped from beneath his feet.
Over my dead body.
There was only one man who got to suck Liam’s incredible cock, and that was Tate.
His nostrils flared. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. If these two didn’t stop talking about Liam like they had a claim to him, they would regret it.
With each continued word out of their mouths, Tate grew increasingly tense. He felt like a wild animal backed into a corner—coiled and poised to attack.
“Fuck it.” He slammed the bottle of wine onto the conveyor belt, then turned and stormed toward the exit.
“Hey! Mr.! Did you want that?” The cashier yelled after him, but Tate couldn’t fucking turn back. If he did, he’d likely wrap his hands around the skinny fucker’s throat and squeeze until his eyes popped out.
Without thought or a plan, he got into his car and just fucking drove without music, air-conditioning, or awareness of his surroundings.
Fifteen minutes later, he whipped his car into the lot in front of the dance studio and screeched to a stop between two parking spots. Sweat dripped down his face as he shoved out of the car and stomped into the building.
“Luxe!” he shouted.
For fuck’s sake, he sounded like a madman. But he didn’t give a single shit. There was only room for one thought alongside the anger in his head.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
“Lu—”
“Tate?” Liam appeared at the open back door. He wore an I-Heart-NY T-shirt and shorts with streaks of blue paint on the fabric and held a dripping blue paintbrush. “You scared the crap outta me. Oh my God, what’s wrong?” His eyes were wide and wary. “You look… did something happen?”
Without answering, Tate thundered across the lobby and down the hall to the exit at the end. Liam backed up from his aggressive approach, stepping outside. When he reached the object of his obsession, Tate grabbed Liam’s shoulders and turned him so his back hit the bricks next to the door.
The paintbrush clattered to the asphalt as Liam gasped and sputtered. “What the hell, Tate?”
Liam looked stunned and annoyed but not afraid as Tate lightly wrapped one hand around his throat, anchoring him in place. He pressed his hips forward in case Liam tried to kick to get away.
Oh, fuck, was Liam hard?
The firmness against his dick had him reacting in kind.
“You’re going on a fucking date?” The words rumbled from deep in his gut.
Liam’s eyes flared even wider. “What? A date? What the fuck? No.” He shook his head so fast his hair whooshed back and forth on his forehead.
Tate tightened his hand, and the way Liam’s pupils dilated made him fully fucking erect. “Don’t fucking lie to me!”
“I’m not! Christ, Tate, you’re all I can fucking think about. You’re on my mind all freaking day. You feel this?” He thrust his hips forward, drawing a tortured groan from Tate as their cocks brushed against each other behind their pants. “You’re losing your shit on me, and I still want you. Right fucking now!”
Tate breathed through his nose, struggling to quell his anger. He’d heard what he heard at the grocery store. There’s no way they were talking about another sexy male gay dancer in Swan.
“The grocery clerk,” he said with a growl.
“Jonah?” Liam barked out a harsh laugh. “That’s what this is about?” He blew out a breath. “Tate, I’m not interested in Jonah at all. He’s not even my type. But even if he was exactly who I usually went for, you are the only one I want. I’m addicted to you,” he said as he placed his hands on Tate’s chest.
His heart went wild beneath Liam’s palm. The words and touch brought his temper down a few notches but enflamed his desire. “He was talking to another guy about how hot you are and said you were going for coffee. You telling me he was making that shit up?”
Liam watched him for a moment before a sly smile curved up one side of his mouth. “Holy crap, you’re jealous.”
He thought about denying it. He really did, but what the fuck would be the point? Jealous didn’t come close to describing the green monster clawing its way through his body. “Luxe…”
“He asked me out, and I declined but said I’d be interested in a friendship. Then he said he was meeting a group of his friends on Friday morning for coffee. Since I don’t have anyone in town to hang out with, he invited me, and I accepted. As a friend. I don’t know anyone here besides you, Tate, and…”
And we can’t even go out in public.
He didn’t need to say it.
“You don’t want to fuck him?” As the anger leached out of him, need, just as violent and intense, took its place.
“No,” Liam whispered, gripping his T-shirt and shaking him. “I want to fuck you. Just you.”
Fuck yes. Tate released Liam’s throat and coasted his hand down the man's chest, over his flat abs to the cock he couldn’t get off his mind. “Now?” he asked as he gripped Liam through his pants.
Liam hissed. “Oh God, yes. Now. Let’s go upstairs.”
The fire heating his blood wouldn’t wait that long. He ripped Liam’s pants open and shoved his hand down into his skimpy briefs, wrapping it around his hard cock.
“Oh shit, Tate… fuck.”
He loved the heat of Liam’s dick in his hand. Acting on the attraction he had to men had always been about getting off. Until he met this remarkable man, he had no idea how much he’d enjoy touching for the sake of touching. Whitney and Randy were in a real relationship. Did they do this shit? Did they want to touch each other for no reason besides it made them feel good to have their lover's skin against their hand?
After three rough strokes, he yanked his hand from Liam’s briefs to the music of the man’s groan. “The apartment is too fucking far,” he ground out as he turned Liam to face the wall. One second later, his hand was back around the dancer’s dick, this time with Liam’s shorts and briefs down below that perfect ass. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” he rumbled against Liam’s ear before attacking his neck with biting kisses and grinding his own covered dick against Liam’s bare ass. Liam leaked a stream of precum into Tate’s fist, easing the way.
“Oh God, Tate. This… I…. I’m just letting you be yourself.”
And, fuck, if that wasn’t hotter than any fantasy he could dream up.