6. Tennant #3
The last person I wanted to talk about was Brady. “Uh, okay.” I bent to the side to put my glass of water on the floor. “What song do you want to hear? I’m kind of rusty, which is why I got the scales and arpeggios comment from my mother.”
“And I thought only Aristocats did those.”
“Okay, now that one I get.” I chuckled as he reached for the Disney sheet music book.
“And we thought we’d never find anything in common aside from hockey,” he joked, and flipped to a random page then plunked the book back into the rack. “Play this one.”
I glanced at the title. Wow. It hardly seemed like the kind of song I should be playing with his hip keeping mine warm. Then again, it had gotten Simba some face-rubbing. I’d take a face-rub with Mads. Whiskers on whiskers… Oh man…
“Okay.” Playing seemed less dangerous than thinking about his whiskers.
“Are there words?” he asked after I played a few notes.
“Yeah, they’re just not on the sheet music. You want the words?”
“Do you know them?” He seemed really into this for some reason.
“Dude, I was brought up by Sir Elton John’s biggest fan. I could sing this in my sleep.”
That made his smile wider. Yep, I was going to melt, and all those stupid fizzy bubbles trapped inside me were going to float free.
Instead of liquefying all over the man, I took a breath in through my nose, let it out the same way, and began playing and singing “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” for him.
When the last note faded, I shook off the hold that playing had over me and chanced a peek to the side. Mads looked spellbound or something.
“I told you my finger work was a little weak.”
He needed to say something, because I was getting majorly self-conscious.
Mads blinked… then leaned in to press his lips to mine.
It was a chaste kiss, but it nearly knocked me backward off the bench.
His lips were soft but firm, like he was determined there would be no tongues.
As soon as my brain touched on tongues, he sprang up from the bench as if he’d sat on a hornet.
I heard him kick over his glass of water, but that was the last of my concerns.
“That was not supposed to happen,” he coughed as he aimed himself at my door.
I climbed over the bench.
“That was not supposed to happen,” he repeated.
“Why not?” I asked as I cut him off at the door.
The man was beyond rattled. He was freaked out, blue eyes darting all over the barren room, looking for an escape route.
“Why not?” he barked, his hands twitching like he had no clue what to do with them. I wrapped my arms around my middle to protect myself from the gutting that was going to happen. “Do you need me to recite the reasons? How about I’m your damn coach?”
“You’re not my coach. You’re the defensive coach. I’m a forward.”
He stared at me as if I had a mongoose smoking a hookah pipe seated on my head.
“You’re nitpicking. The fact is, I’m your coach. It’s totally inappropriate.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it into weird angles. It made him look freshly fucked and ten times hotter than he normally did.
“Oh, bullshit. It’s not like I’m fourteen or something. We’re both adults,” I fired back.
His jaw worked for a second. “What about Brady?”
“Fuck Brady. Who cares if we get together?”
“I care!” he shouted, then drew himself back from that place he was headed. I hugged myself a little tighter. “Your brother would kill me if he found out I was screwing around with you. And your parents would hate me. They trust me not to force myself on you.”
“You wouldn’t have to force me. I’d go to your bed willingly.”
I bit down on the inside of my mouth. There was no taking that one back. Mads’ face fell, all the anger dissipating to be replaced with shock. He looked like he’d been blindsided by Bobby Orr.
“That would be a horrible idea,” he said softly, but his eyes… those sky-blue eyes said that he thought it would be anything but horrible. I might not have years of sexual experience, but I knew desire when I saw it in a man’s eyes. Mads wanted us to be a thing, just like I did.
“I don’t think it would be. From where I’m standing, you and me hooking up would be fucking epic.”
The look he gave me opened me up from sternum to navel. Way to go, Tennant. Next tell him you want to have his baby. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“You’re too young to understand what the consequences would be. You’re not even out.”
“Sometimes, Jared, you have to be man enough to say fuck the consequences.”
Okay, that was some big talk from a closeted man who was holding his internal organs in by hugging himself like a distressed teenage girl. Watching Jared battle himself was something to see. His nostrils flared, his pupils grew wide, and his breathing hiked up a bit.
Maybe he’d just had enough arguing. Hell, maybe he was as fucked up as I was.
Probably so, now that I think about it. Whatever it was that nudged him toward me, I was thrilled for it.
Mads took one long step, his chest brushing against mine.
He shoved me against the door. I grabbed the back of his thick neck and pulled his mouth to mine.
Then there were no more arguments about hockey or brothers or closets.
There was just his tongue gliding over mine, his body pressing me to the door, and his hard cock resting snugly against my stiff dick.
Mads rocked against me. I groaned into his mouth, my fingers biting into the nape of his neck.
Lust doused my brain. All I could think of was him and me naked, right there against the door, my legs around his waist, his prick sliding in and out of me.
That had to happen. His hands slithered down my sides, his fingertips bouncing along my ribs.
Up under my shirt his hungry fingers went.
I grabbed two handfuls of short, blond hair and pulled.
His moan rumbled up from deep in his chest. He liked that.
I did it again, this time sucking on his tongue as I jerked on his hair.
His hips rotated slowly as he delved deeper into my mouth.
His cock, long and stiff, moved across my hip bone.
We both inhaled sharply, moist air mingling on our exhalations.
“Jesus Christ,” Mads panted, and broke free of my greedy hands. “Jesus Christ,” he said again, then shoved me to the side so he could get the door open.
My thoughts were sloppy and slow, lust-addled. I stumbled out into the corridor. Mads stood about five feet from my door, his elbows locked, palms flat to the wall, head between his arms. I think I called his name, or maybe coughed, who knows? His head came up and our gazes locked.
“We cannot do this, Tennant,” he stated gruffly before pushing back from the wall and slamming through the fire exit. The man was so eager to leave he couldn’t even wait for the fucking elevator.
“Fuck my life,” I whimpered as my ass hit the doorframe.
Down I went into a crouch, face buried in my palms. I stayed down there, hiding behind my hands, until my legs grew numb.
Then I stood up, using the door jamb to steady my wobbly legs, dragged my fingers under my eyes, and threw myself back into my home and draped myself over my piano.
Fuck the water soaking into the carpet. I’d clean it up later, after the ache inside went away.
Which meant the water would never get soaked up.