Chapter 9
In his previous sex life, Ian would have left after that first time, especially when the kid just passed out on him like that.
But this was his new sex life, where he should probably hang out after, so instead he fell asleep too.
He woke up when it was barely light out, and the first thing he saw was Sam’s pale, tight ass peeking out from under the sheet in front of him.
He liked that ass—fully intended to fuck that ass, putting his hands all over it and waking Sam up by caressing it.
But for some reason, when things got to the point where he should have been easing himself inside Sam, he lubed up and pushed his dick between Sam’s thighs instead, bumping into Sam’s balls with each thrust between his legs.
The noises Sam made were real, not porn-star fake.
He whimpered and caught his breath over and over because he couldn’t help it, not because they were hooking up and he had a part to play.
And where did that come from? Because Ian’d never thought that about the guys he’d been with before, but right now he was certain Sam was the only genuinely grateful fuck he’d ever had.
Even though they weren’t actually fucking.
It didn’t matter because it was hot, and before Ian knew it the noises Sam made had become groans from his gut, rattling around in his throat, and Ian realized he wanted to kiss Sam. Just lay his lips right where Sam’s neck met his shoulder, on that stringy trapezius.
Or force Sam’s head back and take his mouth.
He wasn’t about to do that. He kissed guys, sure, but not guys who might read more into it than just sex, and even if this was more than simply sex, it wasn’t the beginning of a relationship.
That would be cruel, to let Sam think there might be more to this.
Ian couldn’t kiss him. It didn’t matter that Sam sounded hoarse from moaning so much so deeply, or that Ian could feel those moans strumming in his dick. Ian couldn’t kiss him again.
But if Sam didn’t stop it, he wouldn’t be able to not kiss him. Trying to muffle the noise, he covered Sam’s mouth with his hand. He was rewarded with a startled cry that leaked out around his fingers and stuck in his ears, making the urge to kiss Sam that much stronger.
And fuck, he could taste Sam. Breathe in his heat and sweat and the scent of his hair and Jesus Christ he couldn’t do this.
So he bit the kid instead.
Sam came in his hand, pushing his ass back and stroking Ian with downy, smooth skin over wiry muscles.
To his shock, Ian came too—just popped. Really, really fucking hard, pushing Sam over onto his stomach and grinding into him, fingers digging into his pelvis.
For a while, Ian couldn’t move. Maybe thirty seconds of panting against Sam’s neck, teeth still on his skin.
It was when he started grazing them along the muscle that ran behind Sam’s ear to his clavicle that Ian forced himself off the kid.
He shoved himself away, so they weren’t touching anywhere, and listened to Sam’s breathing slowly change from post-coital panting to sleep.
Then Ian lay there, thinking so fast it was like thinking nothing, but less relaxing. He’d come hard enough that he should be out cold for hours, but between that crazy-strong orgasm and Sam just passing out after? Ian couldn’t sleep.
Maybe he’d eaten something funny.
Sam was clearly having no issues sleeping.
He hadn’t eaten the same things, probably.
Ian rolled onto his side. He meant to roll away from Sam, but his body somehow got the wrong message and he rolled to face Sam instead.
The kid was stomach-down, hugging the sheets like a lover, head turned away from Ian.
Aw, fuck. Ian forced himself onto his back again, and watched the room grow lighter as the sun came up. East-facing window. He’d never fall asleep here with an east-facing window.
Hell, he might as well get up and leave. His work here was done, he knew the kid well enough, right? It’d be at least an hour until he could get it up again. He was thirty-three; he just couldn’t fuck forever the way he’d used to.
He should leave before anyone in the house woke up.
Fuck. Jurgen.
There was no way he could explain why he’d ignored Jurgen’s request to leave Sam alone. And he had an inkling that Jurgen wouldn’t quite see the “getting to know him first” thing the same way Ian had.
Why had he done that? He’d never just ignored a request from Jurgen like that.
It was totally out of character. Things had just .
. . gotten out of hand. Sam had been in that hot tub, looking nervous and, well, cute, and then he’d reacted so perfectly when Ian dropped his towel.
As if he could’ve come just by looking at him.
Ian turned his head, looking one more time at Sam. He snuffled, rubbing his nose in his sleep, then sighed and rolled over.
Hell.
Okay, he probably needed to think about this.
Come up with an explanation for Jurgen. Staying here, waiting for Jurgen to get up and plan out an ambush, was probably a bad idea, though.
Best course of action was to get out of bed before anyone was up, get out of here, and head back to the city until he came up with a reasonable explanation.
That was why he needed to leave. To think.
He refused to listen to the little voice inside spouting off opinions about running away and bad decisions.
Of course, Jurgen was in the kitchen reading the paper and drinking coffee. When Ian walked in, pack over his shoulder and carrying his shoes, Jurgen pointed at an empty cup waiting for him on the counter next to the coffee pot.
Ian winced, accepted the inevitability of having a conversation with his cousin, and filled his mug. He probably deserved whatever was about to happen.
“So,” Jurgen said once Ian sat down next to him.
“So,” Ian returned. He sipped his coffee. Jurgen smiled. Ian cleared his throat. “Sorry. I mean, what can I say?”
Jurgen shrugged. “Nothing.” He turned back to his paper. “Have a good time last night?”
Aw, fuck. “Yeah,” Ian said. “Thanks for inviting me.” He sipped again.
“Sounded like you had a good time.”
Ian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just say it.”
“You fucked Sam.”
“Sort of.” Not that Jurgen would care about the gray areas.
“I told you to leave Sam alone.”
“Yes.” He met Jurgen’s eyes. Jurgen didn’t just look angry, he looked disappointed. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
Jurgen threw down the paper and stood up. “Don’t apologize to me.” Ian thought he wanted more coffee, but Jurgen headed toward the hallway instead. “You should probably get the hell out of here. You start that new job on Monday,” he added before he hit the door.
Aw, fuck. They’d never talked about Sherri—Ian’s single failure at a relationship in the past, the one that had pissed Jurgen off so totally—but for the first time Ian felt like he wanted to try. He had a good relationship with his cousin most of the time, except when it came to this.
“Listen, I get that you’re still pissed about Sherri.” Jurgen stopped in the doorway, so Ian kept talking. “But it was seven years ago. I was a fucked-up kid. I wasn’t trying to use her, I really thought . . .”
“Thought you could be straight?”
“I thought it might be a mistake. Maybe I was straight. I liked her, I even loved her, but not—you know—like that.”
Jurgen sighed and turned around, folding his arms across his chest. “You haven’t been serious about anyone since then.”
“You’ve never been serious about anyone until Nik.”
Jurgen stared at him a long time. “So what are you trying to say?”
He wished he knew. “Just, maybe I’m trying to figure some shit out.”
“This is how you figure shit out? Take advantage of a guy like Sam and sneak out before he wakes up?”
“It’s not like he didn’t want it. He wanted to be with me too.”
“So did Sherri.”
Hell. Ian closed his eyes and listened to Jurgen walk out. Seemed like a good idea, so he left too.