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“Do you know how fucking good you are?” asked Scotland, moving his hands along Clint’s skin. His sides, pecs, ass—he didn’t miss a single spot, even sliding between his cheeks and playing with the slickness there that belonged to him.
“Yes,” said Clint, tears prickling against his eyelids. He let them fall, too far gone to hold back. He never wanted to hold back again. The truth of it hit him straight in the chest.
Scotland was perfect and sweet, giving him everything he needed even when Clint had denied him over and over. “I’m good. Please.”
“That’s my boy,” said Scotland, moving one hand to Clint’s cock.
The reaction was almost instantaneous. One sweep from base to tip and Clint curled his toes, aching against the tile. The second jerk of Scotland’s hand had a moan pushing through his lips as heat burst at the base of his cock, flowing from his balls all the way to the tip. By the third he was shooting against the wall, his breath gone as his heart pounded.
“My sweet boy. Let it all out. Your cum, your tears—I want it all.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Scotland
Scotland rolled over, pressing his body against Clint’s as Clint murmured into his phone. It was dark out, and far past the time they should have both been sleeping. The crickets were chirping outside the cracked window as they had been most of the late summer, starting to get softer as cooler air swept in.
But in the club not too far away, the night hadn’t ended, people probably packing the walls until bursting and getting their kink on in every which way. Maddy had called ten minutes ago as Scotland held Clint in his arms, drawing circles on his naked arms as they dozed.
The sound of the cell phone had jolted them both awake. It was the first time Scotland had heard anything more than text notifications from it. It was one of the rare nights that Clint had kept it on, usually turning it off as soon as he skimmed over his texts.
“I’ll be right there, Maddy,” said Clint, shifting until he could sit up. Scotland let out a groan, wrapping his arms around Clint’s waist and refusing to let him go any farther.
It had been three weeks since he’d dragged Clint into his bed with every intention of not letting him go. Twenty-one days since he’d fucked Clint in the gym showers with their breaths echoing against the walls. After they’d come home together, Scotland hadn’t been that rough again, making love to Clint on every surface in and outside of the house.
The front porch had been a great spot, with Clint laid out beneath him and the sun shimmering low in the sky. Halfway through a walk in the bush hadn’t been quite as nice, the bugs leaving bites on both of their asses with how long Scotland had teased Clint.
But reality was a bitch.
Scotland would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes to find Clint staring back at him, his eyes red but sleepless. Other nights Scotland woke to whimpering, and he would pull Clint close. Clint would flinch when he woke, grabbing the nearest shirt and dragging it on, putting his hand against his scars as he trembled.
The only time he truly seemed to rest was when Scotland fucked him sweet and slow, letting him come, then fucking him through it. Clint would get a few hours of rest then before he pulled away to pace the bedroom, only coming back to rest under the sheets when Scotland pretended to be asleep.
“Wake up, baby,” said Clint, tapping his cold fingers against Scotland’s arm. “I know it’s late, but you’ve got to let me go.”
Scotland jolted, rubbing his face into Clint’s back. He hadn’t realized he’d started to drift back to sleep again while clinging to Cling like a giant monkey.
“No.” Scotland tightened his grip, pulling Clint back to the bed so he could shove his face into Clint’s belly. It was his favorite part. Every time he looked at Clint, he would find something he hadn’t noticed before—something that begged him to never forget.
His scent had changed during his time in Scotland’s bed, some of the cleaners from the club finally fading until there was fresh air and home with the sweat of someone who was a quick study at learning to chop wood.
He couldn’t imagine the warmth of Clint’s skin gone, nor the end of their morning coffees together. His fridge was bursting at the moment with so much more to cook for Clint—enough that he would never go hungry.
“I’m not letting go,” said Scotland, shaking his head and breathing deep through his nose. Letting out a hum, he kissed Clint’s belly, his lips lingering on the swirled skin. “If you go, you won’t come back.”
It was the thought that had been plaguing him since the first day when he’d spotted Clint on the porch of the little cottage and his heart had refused to listen to reasoning. It was temporary—Clint in his arms, his partner in kink and in his home. His heart hadn’t listened.
It was almost painful to look at Clint most days and watch that beautiful smile that had gone from forced to genuine in a matter of days. When he’d successfully chopped wood for the first time, that grin had lit up his world.
“I…I’ll be back,” said Clint as he touched Scotland’s arm.
Scotland blinked in the darkness, all hints of sleep gone in an instant. In the few times he’d caught Clint lying, it had never been over something so real. Clint had lied about being okay so many times he’d lost count, but something like this… It could break him.
“Maddy called with an issue at the club, that’s all,” said Clint, running his fingers through Scotland’s hair even as he slipped away and stood from the bed. “Derreck will be here to pick me up in a few minutes.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” said Scotland, releasing Clint and grabbing the edge of the blankets to throw them back.
“Okay.”
