Chapter Seventeen #2
“Have a good day, Donovan. Enjoy your work. Rest your arm. We’ll see you tonight—whenever you get here.” Tyson winked.
“I’ll text you my address,” I added. “In case—”
“Perfect. I’m going to want to go jerk off while imagining the two of you.” Donovan huffed again. Then after a moment, he continued, “It’s way too early to say that I love you. That’s like, you know, deep shit.”
“We get it.” I held Tyson’s gaze. “We really get it. Just come here soon.”
“I will.” He disconnected the call.
While still gripping my arm, Tyson used his other hand to lay my phone on the front hall table. “You want to continue here or…”
I licked my lips. “Bedroom, please.”
“My pleasure.”
And off we went.
I’d just taken in a crap-ton of information and was still processing most of it as I led Tyson to my bedroom.
As expected, the gray eiderdown comforter lay flat on the bed with two decorating plum-colored accent pillows and two regular pillows below in a soft-gray that matched the sheets.
Tyson stopped short.
He eyed me, looked back to the painting above my bed, and then pivoted his gaze to me. He cleared his throat. “Uh…okay.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I’m exhausted.”
I began to speak.
He waved me off. “Not that tired. But…that’s the most stunning painting I think I’ve ever seen either in or out of a museum. Why exactly isn’t it in your living room?”
“Oh, that.” I moved toward said painting. “It’s a Tessa Carlyle. She’s a painter who lives out in Cedar Valley.” I tilted my head. “Somehow I can’t quite picture my mother scrutinizing the painting while we’re eating dinner.”
“Your mother comes over frequently?”
“Well, given she lives in Winnipeg, the answer to that would be no, she doesn’t come frequently.
But she has visited. Twice. When she came to Vancouver for conferences.
And yes, she’s had dinner here. As progressive as my mother is—I don’t see her blithely accepting a painting of a nude man in her son’s living room.
Now, my sister thinks the painting’s a hoot and keeps threatening to move it.
Or better yet, stealing it. Something about the, uh, guy’s anatomy being more impressive than her husband’s.
” Heat raced into my cheeks. “I don’t like to think about my brother-in-law’s junk, frankly. ”
“No, I could see how that might prove awkward.” Tyson advanced on the other side of the bed.
Away from me.
Goddamn it.
I pointed to the bed. “How does this work?”
He halted, paused, and met my gaze. “We don’t have to do anything right now.”
“You’re worried about Donovan feeling left out?”
“No. Donovan spoke clearly the other night—he trusts us. I mean, he made the comment about fucking…” He shrugged.
I shifted.
Tyson made his way over to me. He grasped my left hand and brought it to his heart. “I was too blunt. Making love can be the most liberating and joyous feeling in the world. It feels good because otherwise we might not do it—”
“But gay sex doesn’t result in reproduction—in continuation of the species.” God, what are you, a biology major?
He tilted his head. “No, it doesn’t. And we can have a whole debate about whether God intended for same-sex relationships—”
I put my index finger to his lips. “I come from a long line of science-loving atheists.”
“Ah, well, I’m a good Catholic boy. Or I was until…” His face fell.
I pressed my hand to his chest—over his heart. “Maybe one day you’ll tell me.”
“Yeah, maybe one day I will.”
His words didn’t convince me—but I’d put the offer out there, and he could do with it whatever he wished.
With my other hand, I cupped his cheek. “So no fucking right now.”
He jerked—likely at the vulgarity.
Yeah, I can swear. I just…don’t…
In this moment, though, swearing felt appropriate.
Slowly, a grin spread across his face. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, frankly, a lot fewer clothes.” I drew my index finger along his jaw—coaxing him closer.
He came.
I pressed our lips together. At his insistent tongue, I opened immediately.
He released my hand so he could slide his hands down my flank, then along my back to my ass. He squeezed, then pressed against me.
Slowly, his cock nudged against me.
Predictably, I reacted. Blood rushed from my brain back down to my dick, leaving me a little light-headed. Or maybe all the amazing kisses were making me that way.
“What do you want, Hamish?”
“Clothes off.” My breathing came in harsh puffs. “And then I want my hands on you. All of you.”
He didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to grasp my meaning. No, his lascivious grin assured me he totally understood my proposal. He reached for the button of my pants.
“How about I undress myself and you strip at the same time? Seems to me that’d be faster than us trying to do each other.” Because I want to get the embarrassing part over. I didn’t have the muscles of either man.
“For sure.” He licked his lips. “While you strip, do you mind if I get a glass of water? I’m thirsty.”
“Of course.” I mentally smacked my forehead. “Where are my manners? Let me get that for you—”
He stilled my forward momentum. “No, I want you stripped and on the bed by the time I get back. Then I’ll give you a show. Finally, I’ll join you.”
“Can you do that in thirty seconds? Because I’ll explode if you’re not—”
He placed a finger to my lips. “The more you argue—”
I pulled back, reaching for the button on my pants.
I had them shucked before he even left the room.
As I continued to undress, I caught the sounds of him making use of the facilities—another thing I should’ve offered.
Oh well, at least he knew to make himself at home. I’ll give him the ten-cent tour later.
Unbuttoning my shirt required way too much dexterity as my fingers shook. As need strummed through me, my dick swelled against the confines of my boring white underpants. Oh yeah, they had to go. Once I was completely naked, I yanked down the duvet and top sheet.
I was about to crawl onto the bed when I realized I still wore my socks.
Oh hell.
Socks had to be the least sexy thing, but feet weren’t exactly sexy either.
I hate cold feet. Suffer in silence. Do you really want him to see your cartoon socks?
I wore them as a conversation starter when I worked with children—which admittedly wasn’t often.
More than a few adult clients had commented, cementing the idea that giving anyone a starting point was a good idea.
And, again, why was I thinking of my patients?
Because you may not have them anymore?
Oh yeah, that.
Pushing that thought out of my mind, I leapt into bed, lay in the middle, and crossed my hands behind my head. The light in the room was muted from outside—clouds had rolled in while we’d been talking to Donovan.
Tyson stepped into the room and stopped short.
My dick curled upward toward my belly with a drop of precum leaking.
My appendage sat nicely in a nest of red pubic hair.
More hair lightly covered my body, with just a sparse amount on my chest. That had always made me self-conscious growing up.
Both my father and brothers had significant chest hair.
I’d wondered if I was gay because I didn’t have much chest hair or if I didn’t have much chest hair because I was gay.
Of course, both notions were ridiculous—but I’d been a young boy struggling with his sexuality and unable to talk to his parents.
Internet searches hadn’t been a thing back then.
Well, they had been, but both my parents possessed significant computer skills. What few books I’d found—
You’re at it again.
Tyson cocked an eyebrow. “I would love to know what you’re thinking.”
“Nothing good, I promise you.”
He eyed my slightly deflating appendage. “Well, we’ll just have to get you riled up again.” He put a glass of water on the bedside table. Then rounded to my side and did the same thing.
Wow, he got me a glass as well.
Such a little gesture so replete with meaning.
He yanked his Henley over his head.
His thick pelt of white hair, which I’d seen the other night but, because of my nerves back then, barely remembered. Wow, he’s gray everywhere—his muscular pecs, his tight abs, and his toned arms.
I possessed none of those things. Although I was slender, my stomach wasn’t entirely flat. I had few defined muscles except, perhaps, my thighs. From running.
He pulled his cell phone and wallet from his back pocket and laid them on the right nightstand.
“Do you need a charger?”
Inane enough?
He shook his head. “Charged overnight. I’m good for a while.” He winked. “But thanks for the offer.” He flexed his arms as he unbuttoned his jeans.
My dick re-stiffened.
Off came the jeans, leaving only gray boxer briefs. First, he removed his socks—okay, good to know you’re not the only one who’ll bear cold feet for the chance to be sexier—then he hooked his thumbs into his boxers and slowly lowered them, mindful of his impressive erection.
His thatch of white pubic hair accentuated the size of his cock in some indefinable way.
This time, I licked my lips.
He palmed his erection.
Yes, please, more of that. “May I…” I held out my hand.
He nodded.
I moved until I was on my knees before him.
He held himself still.
After a moment’s hesitation, I chose to place my hand over his heart. His dark nipple stiffened under my touch, and I tweaked it experimentally.
“Do that again—only harder.”
I gazed up at him. When he met my stare, I did as he’d bade.
A shudder ran through his body. His dick bobbed.
My insides sang. Okay, I knew one thing about how he liked pleasure. What else can I figure out?
With my other hand, I traced down his chest, past his abs and navel, then through his curls to his erection—which I grasped.
He gasped and thrust into my grip.
I squeezed.
He moaned.
Experimentally, I ran my finger along his slit to catch the bead of precum. I brought it to my mouth and sucked.
His breath caught.
Okay, good to know.
“May I taste you?”