Chapter Nineteen
Rian
We spend a lot of time naked together over the next couple of days—in bed, out of bed—Abbott sucking me off, jerking each other off, or me jerking myself off—and every time I come, it’s on him or in his mouth.
He likes to wear it, walks around proudly smelling like me, and more than once, I’ve found myself wishing other people were here, that they would get close enough to scent me on him and know that he’s mine.
It was awkward the first time I wrapped my hand around his cock, feeling another dick that’s not my own, but I’ve gotten the hang of it now.
I savor the feel of Abbott’s thick, hot shaft against my palm and the way he arches toward me, mouth open, soft, hungry sounds and pleading falling from his lips.
I’ll remember it forever.
I’m obsessed with his freckles. I kiss them, lick them, trace them—force myself not to tell him how addicted I am to them. No good will come of it.
When we’re not touching each other, we’re spending our time like we had been before—cooking and eating together, going on walks, sitting on the back porch, playing games, listening to music, and forcing each other to dissect our favorite pieces.
I can’t remember the last time I let myself go like this—but I know that it had to have been when Cillian was a kid, and Moira was still alive.
It’s freeing in a way I need, in a way I didn’t know I missed until now, and I keep thinking about what it would be like to take time off with Cillian. To go on hikes or fishing or something like that—those things I used to sneak away and do with him when he was a child, and I was able.
I look at my phone when it rings, not surprised to see Conan’s name.
He’s been messaging daily to check in, to make sure everything is okay, and to confirm I haven’t done anything stupid.
It sucks to have a friend who is so observant.
I love Finan—the other member of our family I’m closest with—like a brother, but he doesn’t pay attention enough to notice the kind of things Conan does.
It would be a lot easier for me to pretend with him.
“Tomorrow?” Abbott asks. We’re lying on the couch, me on my back, him between my legs, with his head on my chest.
My heart squeezes.
Yes. Tomorrow. If I don’t make my way back to Boston, then I know Conan will come here looking for me, and he’ll have backup with him. I can’t hide out here forever, and the longer this goes on, the harder it will be.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Abbott I don’t want to talk about this.
It’s the first time either of us has brought it up since we talked at dinner right after the first time we were together, but if he can be here, kissing me, touching me, knowing what I’m going to do to him, then the least I can do is be man enough to answer his question. “Yes.”
He sits up, fingers playing with my chest hair. “I told myself I was going to get close to you…pretend to accept my fate, but that I would always be looking for a way out…and that I would escape. I’d get away and turn you in and would never have to see you again—that I would win.”
“And now?” I ask, cupping his face, thumb drifting back and forth over his cheekbone.
“Now, I’m just tired. I’ve had too many realizations while I’ve been here, and I don’t have the energy to try and change something I know I can’t.”
God, what the fuck is wrong with me? How can I even consider hurting this beautiful, perfect man?
Maybe I can let him go. Tell Conan it’s done, and Abbott can go off and live his life, but I know that won’t work.
Not with who his father is. It’s not as if he can fade away and live his life without anyone ever figuring out who he is.
Plus, what if I’m wrong about him? What if all of this is nothing more than a game he’s playing, and I put my family at risk?
Even if he’s serious now, it doesn’t mean that with time away, he wouldn’t come to his senses.
He might hurt me, but he wouldn’t hurt Cillian.
“It’ll be quick,” I say. “And I won’t forget you. It might not matter, but you reminded me what it’s like to feel…to want. I never thought I would after Moira, but I do…and I don’t hate myself for it. Not for that. Just for coming into your life only to ruin it.”
Abbott doesn’t reply with words—not right away. Instead, he pushes higher up my body, taking my mouth with his own. I let him lead the kiss, let him take what he wants from me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give—not this way.
He pushes his tongue past my lips, rutting against me, making hungry sounds that I devour with a kiss of my own.
And then he pulls away. I reach for him, clutch him, need coursing through me, wanting his skin against mine, not ready to lose this yet—this thing I thought I would hate myself for feeling, but I don’t.
“Dance with me,” he says, the soft sound of the adagietto from Mahler’s Symphony No. 5 playing in the background.
Dance with him? That feels as though it would be the most intimate thing we’ve done.
We’ve talked…I’ve shared with him, and Abbott with me.
We’ve made each other come, but dancing to such a romantic piece of music, stitched together with a melancholic tone, feels like showing him even more of myself.
“But I’m not wearing my sling,” I try to joke. He was upset I wasn’t wearing it earlier, afraid I could hurt myself.
“You’re making excuses. Dance with me,” he says again, and there’s not a chance in hell I’m turning him down. I think I might want it as much as Abbott does.
I stand, then take his hand, pulling him with me across the room. We wrap each other up in our arms—swaying, clutching, breathing the same air.
My hands run up and down his back. It doesn’t matter that it hurts, that the area around my injury is throbbing. All that matters is him—us.
“I don’t understand,” Abbott says, breath against my throat.
I know what he’s saying again—that he doesn’t understand what this is between us, why and how it could be happening, and I don’t either.
“Shh,” I say, kissing his temple, down his cheek, and grabbing his ass to pull him closer. I haven’t been inside of him yet, but I need it—my dick hard and aching between us.
“I want you,” Abbott says. “I want to feel you all night. I want nothing but pleasure, Rian. You owe me that.”
I do, and I’ll gladly give it to him.
“Let’s go to bed.”
We walk toward the bedroom, Abbott pulling off clothes as we go. I lick at his freckles, nibble them, can’t stop touching him as we go. The second we’re in the room, I pull him to me, hands on his tight ass again, Abbott looking at me with naked want that he doesn’t even try to hide.
“Christ, the things I want to do to you, pretty thing,” I tell him, ghosting my lips along his cheek.
“Pretty thing?” he asks.
“You are. I noticed it from the start—couldn’t fucking stop looking at you because of it.”
“Do them,” he rasps out. “Do them all. But first, let’s get your arm—”
“Fuck that. I want free rein of your body tonight, and I’m damn sure not letting that fucking sling get in the way.”
He gives me a half-smirk when what I expected was a fight. “Okay. I’m not even going to argue about it tonight.”
I chuckle, then kiss him again, easing him backward, our mouths never parting. When his legs hit the bed, Abbott collapses onto it, completely naked, cock hard and tall between his muscular thighs.
“Fuck,” I say, and without giving myself time to overthink it—just wanting to taste him, please him, show him how much I crave him—I kneel on the floor.
“Rian?” It’s impossible to miss the question in his voice.
While I have jerked him off, that’s as far as I’ve gone, but looking at him, at how hard he is for me, how beautiful this man is—both inside and out—his willingness to give me so much fucking more than I deserve, all I want to do is give some of that back to him.
To make this the best fucking night of his life, so he won’t have any doubts about how much I crave him.
“I want to have this with you,” I say, reaching out and stroking his hot length. “I want to give this to you…something no one else has had from me, something no one else will.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes.” I hold his gaze with my own. “I can.”
My own dick is hard behind the sleep pants I’m wearing, but I don’t set myself free. This moment is just about Abbott.
Leaning down, I lash my tongue against the tip of his cock.
The taste of his salty skin, of the drop of precum there, is fucking delicious.
It—no—he immediately goes to my head, and I do it again, before wrapping my lips around him.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve never done this before, that I never thought I would.
I hunger for it, and I’m going to be the best damn cocksucker I can be because if anyone deserves it, it’s him.
“Jesus,” he rasps out, voice deeper and huskier than it usually is.
I can’t take him as deep as he does me. I’m still adjusting to the feel of my lips around his cock, at the heavy weight of his shaft against my tongue, at the musky, heady, fucking incredible scent of being between his legs.
It’s like a drug I didn’t know I yearned for until I had it, and now that I have, I know I’ll be addicted to the memory of it forever.
I push him backward so Abbott is lying on his back. He bends his knees, placing his feet flat on the mattress.
I stroke him while dipping lower to taste his nut sac. I love the feel of his mouth on mine and want to see if his body reacts the same way.
“Oh fuck yes,” he says, making me smile while I suck on his balls for a moment, before going back to his cock.
“I never knew how much I would love this,” I say, sliding my tongue up the length of him. “Just you,” I say. “Only you will have my mouth this way. Tell me you know it.”
“I know it,” he says breathlessly.
“Again.”
“Fuck, I know it, Rian. I believe you.”
How he can believe a man like me, I’ll never know, but I’m thankful that he can. I swallow his dick as far as I can again, bob on it, try to take him deeper when I can, as I learn how to pleasure him this way.