8. LUCAS
LUCAS
Oh god, I was insane. I was insane and an abuser.
I’d kissed poor Max, who was dependent on me for everything from housing to the food in his belly.
Yes, he’d kissed me first, but what if he’d felt like he’d had to, to pay me back after I said I didn’t want his money?
I suppressed a shudder of disgust at myself.
So much for never putting him in that position, Luc.
I glanced surreptitiously over at him, expecting to see anger or recrimination, but he was focused on the next episode of Natural Detective as if nothing had ever happened that was out of the ordinary.
I wasn’t sure whether to be glad he was so unaffected or offended by how little effect I apparently had on him.
Glad, I told myself. Be glad, because it means he’s not going to hustle out of here to live on the streets to get away from you.
Oh god, what an awful thought. This could definitely never happen again; I was not going to risk him feeling like he needed to escape me.
Rufus had been right when he warned me upon hearing my plans that living together would be a challenge because Max would have nowhere else to go; he’d just speculated that it would be a fight that brought things to a head, not a kiss.
My head was spinning, my thoughts going from how hot the kiss had been to how bad a person I was to what a vulnerable position Max was in and then back around again.
After sitting there in silence for a few minutes, beating myself up, while Max watched the TV, my guilt got the better of me.
I couldn’t let him think I expected anything of him. “Max?” I ventured hesitantly.
“Hm?” He didn’t look at me.
“I, uh.” I twisted my hands together in my lap and bit my lip. Out with it, Lucas! “I just want you to know that you have no, um, obligation to me. I don’t expect anything from you in exchange for helping you out. You don’t have to, you know…” I gestured vaguely at my mouth.
He turned away from the TV slowly, blinking owlishly at me. “What?” He sounded utterly at sea.
The back of my neck itched, and I reached back to rub it self-consciously. “I’m not supporting you so you give me, uh...favors. I wanted to make sure you knew that so you’re not uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have kissed you and possibly made you think otherwise.”
He blinked again and then his face changed from confused to amused. “Is that what you were worried about? Damn, Lucas.”
That was not the reaction I’d been expecting. “Huh?” I managed to get out through my consternation.
“Dude.” He reached out and took my hand in a gentle grip that was uncharacteristic for his forceful personality.
“I kissed you because I wanted to. I’d hope it was the same for you.
Trust me, if I thought you expected me to exchange sexual favors for a bed, I wouldn’t be chilling here next to you on the couch watching TV. ”
I released a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and sagged where I sat. He didn’t feel like he owed me. He’d kissed me because he wanted to. “I…” I cleared my suddenly parched throat. “I wanted to, too.”
He turned himself to face me more fully, twisting at the hips, and gave my hand a squeeze where, to my surprise, he still held it. “So you’re not regretting it? When you wanted to just start the next episode, I kinda thought you were.”
I thought about that. Did I regret kissing him?
It had been a fantastic kiss with someone I’d been crushing on for weeks, and in that sense I couldn’t regret it.
On the other hand, was it wise to get involved, sexually or otherwise, with someone who lived with me?
What if we did end up having that blow-out fight?
So maybe I should regret it, or at least resolve to not do it again.
I waffled back and forth about what answer to give Max for a few seconds, during which time his grip on my hand loosened and he made to pull away.
It pulled me from my thoughts, and I clutched at him. “No!”
“‘No’, you don’t regret it?” he asked carefully. “Or ‘no’, something else?”
“Um...no to both?” I rolled my lips together and bit the inside of them. “I don’t regret kissing you, even though I probably should. And I don’t want you to let go of me.”
“Why should you regret it? I was fully on board with it the whole time, Lucas, I promise. And we’re both consenting, unattached adults.” He reached out and took my other hand in his, too, his dark eyes focused sharply on me.
I sighed. “Because the apartment is mine. There’s a chance you could feel coerced to do something you don’t want in the future, even if I didn’t coerce you today. And what about when we fight? You can’t escape me; you have nowhere to go.”
He studied my face for a long moment. “Would you kick me out with no notice, Lucas? Even if you hated me? Or abuse me because I can’t fight back effectively?”
I had to shake my head. “No. I might ask you to look for other arrangements that could work for you, but until you could find something I’d just live with the awkwardness rather than put you on the street. And I’ve never abused anybody.”
“And that’s why I’m not afraid. I trust you.
And I trust myself to push back if I start to feel like you’re pushing me into anything I don’t want to do.
If we fight, I’m perfectly capable these days of taking myself down to a coffee shop or something until we both cool down.
” He smiled. “You’re not the type to kick me to the curb; I’m not the type to storm off and refuse to talk it out.
You may have power over me, but you wouldn’t use it like that.
You’re a good person. Way better than me, at any rate. ”
“Hey, you’re a good person,” I protested. “You just sort of have a layer of jerk on top of it.”
“That’s me, multi-layered.” He grinned and released my hands so he could hitch his stump up onto the couch and fully face me. “So, question for you.”
That could be anything from what’s for dinner to wanna rob a bank, knowing Max. I bit the bullet and asked: “Go for it.”
His smile widened into a smirk. “Want to do it again?”
Did he mean…? “Like, right now?” I asked warily.
He nodded and kept looking at me steadily.
I drew in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then let it out.
Was I brave enough to take this chance? It could change everything between us, for better or for eventual worse.
But I’d regret it if I said no. I desperately did want to kiss him again.
I wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss him, if I was being honest with myself.
Once again an image flashed in my head of a nearly-nude Max doing a pole dance. My blood rushed south.
Fuck it.
“Yes,” I told him, meeting his eyes with determination.
Gently, he reached out and tangled his fingers in my hair the way he had earlier, using it to draw me forward to him. We kept our eyes locked until we were so close that we couldn’t focus on each other, and then I let mine flutter closed. A heartbeat later, our lips met again.
Warmth. Pressure. Pleasure. His tongue slipped into my mouth easily and I moaned, already overwhelmed. I was gone for this man. Gone.
Our tongues dueled for long minutes and I savored the slip and slide of it.
He raised the hand that wasn’t in my hair to my cheek, cupping it and directing my head more toward his.
His tongue flicked against the roof of my mouth, then drew back and slicked over my lower lip.
The hand in my hair tightened, pulling me inexorably forward until I was the one off balance and had to brace myself on his shoulders to keep from falling into his lap. Not that that would be so bad a fate.
As if he’d heard my thoughts, he dropped his hand from my face to my hip, urging me toward him until the only thing I could do to keep from ending up face-down across his lap was throw my leg over his and straddle him.
Now we were chest-to-chest, still kissing with abandon.
His hand clenched in my hair and I couldn’t hold back a quiet whimper at the sting.
He immediately let go and pulled back an inch to study my face. “Too much?”
I shook my head, chasing his lips until he gave in and put them back on mine.
His hand on my hip moved up, taking my shirt with it until he was resting his hand on the bare skin of my lower back.
He used that hand to pull me forward, grinding my hard cock against his where our groins met. We both groaned.
“Can I touch you?” Max asked softly, stroking my cheek.
Speechless with arousal, I could only nod.
Giving me a pleased smile, he slowly moved his hand from my hair down to my chest, tweaking a sensitive nipple when he got there. I moaned and my hips jerked and I could feel his smile grow against my lips as he started kissing me again.
The hand on my back started moving again, pulling my shirt all the way up until it was at the nape of my neck. “Off,” he ordered.
I obliged with alacrity, yanking my shirt roughly off and dropping it next to us on the couch. Max leaned slightly back so he could look at me, then licked his lips. “Gorgeous.”
I flushed. I knew I wasn’t anything special.
I didn’t have a six-pack. I was reasonably fit—you ended up that way in my job whether you meant to or not, what with all the running and lifting and adrenaline—but there was nothing remarkable under my shirt except the layer of padding that covered my abs.
My chest was moderately hairy, but you could hardly tell because the hair was so light.
It meant that men who liked bears found me boring and men who liked smooth chests found the hair abrasive. The worst of both worlds, that’s me.