Anyone But Me

EpilogueFIVE YEARS LATER

FIVE YEARS LATER

It’s a couple of minutes shy of eight o’clock when I knock on Oakley’s studio door.

He doesn’t respond, which he never does when he’s in the zone, so I go in, anyway. Just like I thought he’d be, he’s bent over a half-finished canvas, pencil in hand, gaze fixed on the shading he’s just added. The door clicks shut behind me and he doesn’t even flinch, just keeps staring ahead. I swear, a bomb could go off in this room and he wouldn’t notice. He’s got a one-track mind when it comes to finishing a new project.

Bypassing the maze of easels and finished work, I creep up behind him, drinking him in with my eyes. He looks different to when we were in high school. More matured, sure of himself. He’s broader, the muscles in his arms more defined, as showcased by the baggy tank he’s wearing right now. His hair’s longer, tied into a knot on the top of his head, and there’s a decent amount of growth along his jawline. To everyone else, he’s the picture perfect hipster artist. At least, that’s what the media likes to refer to him as, anyway. But to me, he’s just my Oakley. Perfect in every way.

I edge closer, wrapping my arms around his middle and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Jesus,” he gasps, almost jumping out of his skin. “I didn’t even hear you come in. What time did you get home?”

“A couple of hours ago. Coach let us out of practice early.”

Or me, more specifically.

He turns, rubbing the tip of his nose against mine. “You should have come and got me.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? Are you almost finished? I have a surprise for you.”

He spins in my arms fully, mouth stretched into a wide grin as he leans in to kiss me. Fuck, even after all these years, the taste of his tongue still sends my body haywire. I can’t get enough of him. “What kind of surprise?” he asks, nipping at my throat. Before I have a chance to answer, he pulls back, brows pulling together as he takes me in fully. “Wait. Why’re you dressed like that?”

“Like what?”

He waves a hand down the length of my body. “All fancy, like you’re heading to one of Alistair Brooks’ dinner parties.”

I chuckle, shaking my head at his snark. “With this shirt and these pants? No way. It’s a three-piece tux or nothing for those kind of events.”

I take the pencil from his hand and place it down, wiping off my fingers before plunging them in his hair and smashing my mouth against his. Our tongues flick and dance, eliciting a filthy moan from deep within his chest. When I pull away, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes have a glazed-over sheen.

“Come on,” I urge, tugging him toward the door. “Your surprise is waiting.”

Oakley’s studio is at the top of the house, two flights of stairs up. The perfect, private spot for him to do his work in peace. When I first got signed by the Denver Broncos a year ago, it took us months to find a place we all loved. And then, we stumbled on this. A five-bed corner plot nestled in a gated community with all the room and space we could need while still keeping that cozy, homey feel. It’s exactly right for us. We only make it one floor down before Oakley’s hounding me for hints.

“Is it something I should change for?” he asks, looking down at his clothes self-consciously. “Maybe I should shower. I’ve been up there for hours.”

“You don’t need to shower or change. You’re perfect.”

I drag him the rest of the way down, stopping once we make it to the hallway. My smile’s wobbly with nerves and, of course, he notices, frowning so hard that lines appear in his forehead. I smooth them away with my thumb and peck him on the lips again.

“Are you ready?” I whisper.

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing with the movement. “Yes.”

I guide him further down the hall and into the open-plan kitchen-living-dining room where our guests are waiting. As soon as we approach, the lights come on and everyone jumps to their feet, yelling out, “Surprise!”

Oakley jumps a foot in the air for a second time tonight, his fingers gripping my arms to steady himself. His mouth is hanging open, shock radiating from him as he looks around. Everybody’s here: April, Hal, Mrs Sanderson, Sienna and her husband and both of my parents. It’s a full house, everyone who loves and cares about Oakley. The entire room is filled with decorations; banners on every wall and balloons lingering in every inch of floor space. Maybe I’ve gone a little overboard, but who cares?

I wrap my arms around him, palms cupping his ass. “Do you love it?”

“I do. But, what’s this for?”

“Maggie from the gallery called. She said you sold your first piece. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

For a split-second, he almost seems… disappointed. But then that expression morphs into one of happiness, and I guess that I must have just read him wrong. “I was going to. It must have just slipped my mind.” He darts his gaze away, taking in the streamers hanging from the ceiling, the table of food in the corner. “You didn’t have to do all of this, though. If anything, you should be the one having a party thrown for you. You were incredible in your last game.”

“I’m incredible in every game,” I tease, making him groan. I wink and tighten my hold on him. “I just wanted to do something for you, baby. You deserve to be celebrated. Every damn day. I’m so proud of you.”

Oakley kisses me then, slipping his tongue past my lips to wind around my own, eliciting an initial cheer from the group surrounding us before it quickly turns into cries of protest and pleas for us to stop. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed about us after all these years; things can go from zero to heated like that. We pull away, laughing, and he disappears from my grip to greet our guests.

Oakley gets a bone-crushing, back-slapping hug from Hal and a more gentle, but no less fierce, one from Sienna. Her husband, James, offers him a handshake, his constant warm smile firmly in place. Mrs Sanderson’s already crying before she even gets her hands on him, then refuses to let go as soon as she does. I smile watching it all unfold, then chuckle as I spot April already scoping out the food situation, before moving toward my parents. Mom reaches me first, pulling me into an embrace, quickly followed by my dad.

When I got out of the hospital after being shot, the first thing I did was visit my mom. After some persuasion, I managed to get my dad to tag along, too. And the best part? It went great. After that, he visited her every day. I mean, he really visited her, not just stalked the halls, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Then, after almost a year of taking things slow and working through their issues with a therapist, mom came home and they’ve never looked back. Of course, things aren’t perfect - they never are - but, they face their hurdles together now. Dad’s hours at work have significantly decreased and for the first time in over ten years, his priorities are exactly as they should be. Family first.

“It’s so good to see you, baby,” mom says, her palm cupping my cheek. “I’ve missed your face.”

“I missed you too, mom.”

Dad claps me on the shoulder. “Good game the other night. I was on my feet the whole time.”

“He was cheering so loud, Mrs Peters from next door came by to make sure everything was okay,” mom adds, rolling her eyes with a smile.

He kisses mom on the cheek before leaning toward me, lowering his voice so he can’t be overheard. “So, are you all ready for next week?”

I nod, double checking that Oakley’s still preoccupied. “Yeah. Everything’s ready to go.”

“And he still has no idea?”

“Not a clue.”

Dad grins, dragging me into another hug. “I’m so happy for you, Asher. For both of you.”

My heart fills with so much warmth with those words, it feels like it’s about to burst. It’s not just mom and dad’s relationship that’s gotten stronger over the years; ours has, too. He’s finally the father I always wanted, the one I dreamt of as a boy. And the way he’s taken Oakley and April in with open arms, loving them and supporting them as if they’re his own? I’ll never be able to put my gratitude into words.

The next few hours go by in a blur. We eat too much, drink too much, laugh just the right amount and shed a few tears while we reminisce on the old times. All too soon, the night’s over and everyone heads out to go back to their hotels. We say our goodbyes, hugging and kissing and promising to see each other again soon.

Right away, Oakley starts gathering dishes, his need to keep things clean kicking in. Normally, I wouldn’t mind and just let him do his thing. But, not tonight. I take the bowls out of his hands, dumping them in the sink before pushing him toward the stairs.

“What are you doing?” he asks, trying to duck out of my hold. “It’s a mess down here.”

“I’ve got it.”

His brows shoot up to his hairline. “You? Seriously?

“What, you think I can’t handle a little mess?” I slap his ass, mouthing my way down the side of his throat. “Go upstairs and run yourself a bath. Relax. I’ll be up soon.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind—”

I cut him off with a kiss. “Go.”

Finally, he does as I say, albeit grumbling the whole way up. I laugh and shake my head, moving on to collect all the empty glasses. April’s already at the sink, washing the stack of plates and cutlery that have formed on the counter. Neither of us say a word, just work together in comfortable silence to get the place fixed up. She’s washing, while I’m drying. We make a great team.

April’s thirteen now. A teenager. Part of me expected her to become a handful as she got older, but she’s not. She never has been. She’s an absolute dream, full of kindness and generosity. And she’s as smart as a damn whip, too. Always keeping me and her brother on our toes. I can’t imagine living our lives without her with us. She’s the sister I never had.

We’re almost done when she says, “You can go up, if you want. I can do the rest.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“Nope. I’ll probably hang down here for a while, anyway. Watch some TV, try to avoid the… noise.”

I snort. “Good plan. You have earplugs, right?”

She tosses the wash rag down and tips her head back with a groan. “Gross. Aren’t you two a little old to be doing… you know, that?”

“Never too old. But you, however, are way too young to even know what we’re actually talking about.”

She shrugs. “I took human biology at school. I know some stuff.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, dragging the word out. She rolls her eyes at my over dramatic shudder. “On that note, I’m going to bed. Night, April.”

“Night, Ash.”

I ruffle her hair and she elbows me in the ribs and I laugh my ass off the whole way up the stairs.

But, that laughter - along with my breathing and all rational thought - comes to a complete stop the second I open my bedroom door. Because the sight that greets me when I do… Jesus Christ. It’s been five years since I first saw Oakley Farrow naked, and even now it still blows my fucking mind. He’s lying on the bed, his top-half propped up against the pillows as one hand stretches behind his head while the other jerks his cock in long, languid strokes. His muscles flex with the movement, abs tightening deliciously. A bead of precum drips from the head and I about swallow my damn tongue.

“You just gonna stand there?” he murmurs, cocking a brow.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip, a grin fighting to break free. The heat in his eyes, the smugness in his tone… it sets my blood on fire. I shuffle inside, kicking the door shut behind me. But, that’s as far as I get. My feet refuse to move, my mind too focused on watching his hand move over his dick, the way his wrist flicks on the upstroke. As if sensing my predicament, Oakley starts talking, giving me orders. And if there’s one thing I’ve never been able to do, it’s not follow through with his commands.

“Take your clothes off.”

His voice is a deep, throaty rasp, the sound of it sending pleasure straight to my groin. And immediately snapping me into motion. I rip off my shirt, sending buttons flying halfway across the room, before moving onto my pants. My shoes go next, one skidding under the bed and the other landing on top of the dresser. Within seconds, I’m completely bare, already panting and hard enough to pound nails without him even laying a finger on me.

“Come here.”

I go, almost tripping over my feet in my haste. I climb onto the bed, hands landing on his ankles before slowly moving upwards. When I reach his inner thighs, Oakley slaps them away and shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he tells me. “First, I need you to get yourself ready for me. Stretched open, nice and loose, okay? And then, I need you to sit on my cock.”

Holy fucking shit.

A tremor runs through the length of my body as I feel his words all over my skin like a physical caress. I love this, the dynamic we have. Right from the start, I knew I wanted it to be this way, for Oakley to dominate me and be the one in control. Maybe it’s because I’m sick of playing the alpha-male leader all the time or maybe it’s because I’m just a needy little bottom. Who knows? Whatever the reason, it turns me on like nothing else being at Oakley’s mercy.

Plus, it’s pretty funny that everyone, especially the media, just assumes that I’m the one in charge in this relationship, but they couldn’t be any more wrong. Just thinking about the headlines makes me want to cackle. NFL Superstar Asher Brooks Treats His Twink Boyfriend To Dinner. Oakley pouted for a whole week after that one.

He tosses me the bottle of lube and I douse three of my fingers in it, already bending over and breaching my rim before I can even catch my breath. He watches me the entire time, eyes flaring every time my expression changes from the pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxes, his hand still moving up and down his shaft. “Keep going. Add another finger.”

I do as he says, thrusting and pushing and twisting my fingers until I’m a writhing, moaning mess, begging for him to fill me up the way only he can. “Please,” I cry, whimpering when my fingertips brush over my prostate. “Please, Oakley. Give me your cock.”

He groans, a steady stream of precum leaking from his tip and pooling on his stomach. “Fuck. Come here, Ash. Ride me.”

I’d probably laugh at the desperate way I scramble toward him, almost falling right on top of him, if I wasn’t so fucking lost. He grips my arms, keeping me steady, allowing me to crawl into his lap. His dick’s already slick, but I drizzle a little more lube on, just in case. Then, I’m positioning him at my hole, our eyes locking before I lower myself onto him.

“Oh, shit,” he moans, both of us gasping at the intrusion. His hands fly to my hips, fingers gripping the skin so tight I’m sure he’ll leave bruises. “Jesus, you feel so good. You always feel good.”

I shudder, rocking my hips as he slides further inside, inch by mind-blowing inch, relishing in the burn, until he’s fully seated. And fuck, I swear each time is better than the last. How is that possible? How can I, after all this time, still not get enough of him? It’s crazy. The passion, the intensity… it never fizzles out, never goes away. Within seconds, we’re fucking frantically. Our mouths collide, tongues dueling, while our hands grapple for purchase, nails biting into skin. Oakley’s teeth dig into my bottom lip and I moan, bouncing on his dick like my life depends on it. He cups my ass, squeezes it, spurring me on to move faster, grind harder. Each thrust hits my prostate, sending lightning bolts of pleasure zinging through my entire body.

“Come on, baby,” he urges, reaching a hand down to jerk me. “I’m so close. Squeeze my cock with that tight ass and make me come.”

And if his words and the way he’s touching me aren’t enough to have me plummeting toward the edge, the way he bites my neck until it stings certainly does the trick. I throw my head back, crying out his name and gasping as my release coats his chest. Oakley’s grip tightens on me as he plants his feet on the bed, lifting his hips to pound into me once, twice. Then he stiffens, his length throbbing inside of me before he shoots, a garbled moan flying out of him.

I collapse on top of him, my face landing in the crook of his neck, ragged pants hitting his skin. His softening cock slips out of me, his cum drizzling out after and dripping down my leg. I can’t even find it in myself to care. Fuck cleaning up. I’m too damn tired, and if anything, it’s hot as sin feeling the way he’s marked me, claimed me as his own. Almost makes me ready for round two. My dick gives a halfhearted twitch against Oakley’s stomach and he lets out a choked laugh.

“Are you kidding me? You’re such a horndog.”

“Can’t help it,” I tease, pressing a kiss against the side of his throat. “You’re just impossible to resist.”

He chuckles, gripping me around the waist to roll me off of him, settling me into his side. We’re quiet for a few minutes, catching our breath. I melt into Oakley’s touch, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of him trailing his fingertips up and down my arm. He’s the one that breaks the silence first.

“You know, sometimes…” He stops, swallows. “Sometimes, I find it hard to believe that any of this is real.”

I frown. “Any of what?”

“This. Our life together. Being here, free. Some mornings, I wake up and expect to still be in that shitty little bedroom, my whole body locked up in fear, trying to work out a way to escape, to get April out of there.”

“But, you’re not there anymore,” I remind him gently. “You’re safe now.”

“I know that, I do. It’s just… it’s like there’s this small part of me that won’t accept it, that’s convinced I need to spend the rest of my life constantly looking over my shoulder.”

“Hey,” I murmur, leaning up on my elbows so I can face him. “Listen to me. I promise you, ‘Kley, nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again. Do you hear me? I’ll always keep you safe.”

He nods jerkily, throat bobbing. A silent tear streams down his cheek and I swipe it away with my thumb, before raining kissing down all over his face. His cheeks, his chin, his eyelids. Everywhere. And I don’t stop until he finally cracks a smile, gets that sparkle of happiness in his eyes again.

Something occurs to me then, a memory from before, and I nudge his jaw with the tip of my nose. “Question. When we surprised you earlier, you looked… disappointed, kind of.”

“That’s not a question, it’s a statement.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine. Why did you look disappointed? Was it not what you were expecting?”

He hesitates for so long that I start to worry, unease making my stomach churn. Finally, he blows out a long breath and talks. “I thought that…” He shakes his head, an uncomfortable laugh bubbling up his throat. “You know what? Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Come on. Just tell me.”

He averts his gaze, the tips of his cheeks turning pink. “I just thought that, maybe, you were going to… propose.” My mouth drops open, eyes bulging to twice their size and the color on his face turns to a flaming-red. “See? I told you it was—”

“No,” I blurt, cutting him off. “It’s not stupid. Not at all. Just…” I laugh nervously, rubbing a hand along the back of my neck as my lips lift in a sheepish smile. “Damn it, Oakley. You sure know how to ruin a surprise, huh?”

His brows pull together. “What are you talking about?”

“I was gonna wait to do this, had it all planned out. I let Maggie know you’d be taking some time off, sorted out April staying with my parents, made all the travel arrangements. I even pulled out all the bells and whistles. It was gonna be perfect. But then…” I sigh, reaching over to the nightstand and pulling out the little black box I’ve got stashed in the back of the drawer. “I guess rose petals and a shit-ton of candles don’t make it perfect, do they? All that matters is that it’s me and you.”

His eyes take on a wet sheen, mouth hanging open in shock. “Holy shit.”

I have no idea what I’m supposed to say or how to really do this. A spur of the moment thing like this wasn’t what I’d planned at all. But, here we are. It looks like I’m winging it.

“Oakley,” I start, voice cracking on the word, the sudden level of emotion I feel damn near overwhelming. “When I met you, I was just a dumb, naive kid, who didn’t know what I wanted or what the hell I was doing. I was lost, with no idea how to find my way. But, there was one thing I knew for certain: that I loved you. From the second I first saw you, I knew. And every day since then, it’s only—”

He launches himself at me, cutting me off as he crushes his mouth to mine, tongue spearing between my parted lips. I kiss him back, meeting every frantic pass of his tongue and swallowing his moans before forcing myself to pull back.

“What are you doing?” I ask, voice breathy. “I was—”

“I don’t need a big speech,” he tells me, the wetness in his eyes spilling over. “Or rose petals or candles or a surprise trip away. I don’t need any of that stuff. I just need you.” He swallows hard, hand coming up to cup the side of my face as his forehead lands on mine. “Yes. The answer is yes. I’ll marry you, Asher Brooks. I’ll marry the shit out of you.”

I grin, heart squeezing so hard I’m sure it’s about to burst. We throw our arms around each other, mouths joining again, only coming up for air long enough to slide the simple, silver band onto Oakley’s finger. I feel his smile against my lips, feel the weight and force of his love in every touch and caress as he buries himself deep inside of me again.

Like always, we lose ourselves in each other, this time with a promise that it’s going to last forever.

Jesus, I’m so fucking glad I pushed that kid over on his first day of school.