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He gave as good as he got, his tongue stroking mine expertly, causing me to become lightheaded from the sensation. His hand on the back of my neck urged me closer to him, causing me to deepen the kiss, making it frantic and wild. I pressed my hard dick to his stomach and rolled my hips so he could feel what he was doing to me.
Before I lost my mind completely, I broke the kiss and backed away, breathing heavily. “That…” I said roughly, “… is why I said what I said.” I turned and walked away on shaky legs, but not before I saw the desire in his eyes.
Chapter8
Tristan
What the fuck just happened? Did Lucas the homophobe really just kiss me like I’ve never been kissed before? So much passion, so uninhibited, so out of control. Jesus, that was an amazing kiss. I couldn’t believe I kissed him back. Again, I don’t even like him. But fuck. He looked so sexy when he prowled over to me, all hostility and anger. The way he took my face in his hands, how gently he claimed my mouth those first few seconds, you wouldn’t think he was all coiled aggression. The anger wasn’t there when he brought his lips to mine. What the fuck? I really hadn’t meant to kiss him back. When his thick tongue slid into my mouth, though, I couldn’t help it. I should have had better control of myself.
He tasted damn good, though.
I stood against the wall, trying to catch my breath. If his kisses were any indication of how he fucked, sign me up. But no. No. He was a closeted homophobic man. I’m not sure if those two things go together, but that’s the vibe. I shouldn’t have given in to his kiss. I should have pushed him away. Should have, should have, should have.
Readjusting myself through my pants, I moved to his door. I was going to knock but thought better of it. Maybe the nightmare had fucked him up so bad that he was seeking comfort, and that was the only way he knew how? I wasn’t sure how I felt about being used like that, but it was obvious he was in a lot of pain. The screams he let out. Jesus, they were hard to listen to. When I came in from my drive, I heard him yelling. I wondered what they were about. He kept telling Cass to run and screamednoover and over again. The look in his eyes when I woke him up was heartbreaking. He was an asshole, but I wouldn’t wish that type of terror on anyone. Well, maybe David, but he deserved it more. He got me fired. Shit, not even on David.
I headed up to my room and sat on the edge of my bed. I couldn’t help touching my lips and feeling them tingle when I thought back to how Lucas kissed me. I felt the raw power in him when he forced me back into the wall. How he pinned me there with his body. How he rolled his hard dick on my belly. And his dick was impressive. The feel of it through my clothes had me dripping precum. My cock hadn’t deflated since he kissed me and didn’t seem like it would without help. I was reluctant to touch myself, but the ache was becoming unbearable.
Lifting my shirt, I reached into my shorts, and the first contact with my dick had my back arching and a moan leaving my lips. I pulled it out, stroking myself in the same frantic and frenzied way we kissed. I swiped my thumb over the head of my dick, spreading precum that was leaking from me, and my legs stiffened. Thinking about Lucas’ mouth on mine had me wondering how it would feel on my dick. His mouth stretched wide, taking me to the back of his throat. Swallowing around me, tasting my cum. At that thought, I let out a deep grunt and came all over my hand.
That orgasm didn’t leave me very satisfied, but it was enough to make my dick go down. I stuffed it back in my shorts and gathered clothes for a shower. I needed to clean up before I went back down to start dinner. When I got under the warm shower spray, a thought hit me. I had just gotten out of a relationship, and I kissed another man. Granted, Devin didn’t deserve any loyalty, seeing as he was the cheater, but shouldn’t there be a cooling-off period? A time when I was disgusted by all men, excluding myself? Shouldn’t I feel guilty about kissing Lucas? I searched myself, and I didn’t. I didn’t feel bad or guilty. What I felt was intrigued. How could a man I didn’t even like kiss me senseless? A closeted man at that. I should be pissed I let him kiss me at all, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was craving more.
After getting dressed, I trotted downstairs. I probably should have started this pot roast an hour ago, but I could still have dinner ready by six thirty. I didn’t know why I wanted to make a roast. They took forever to cook, and the seasoning and cooking temperature had to be perfect so they would be flavorful and wouldn’t dry out. I couldn’t eat enough to justify buying and cooking one. Sure, there would be leftovers, but how many days could you eat a pot roast before you got sick of it? I chose to ignore the needling thought that I had taken it out for dinner so I could cook for Lucas again.
After preparing the roast and adding vegetables, I put it in the crockpot. Since I didn’t have anything else planned for the day, I figured I could get at least a chapter written down. No time like the present to get started on some writing. I left my composition book on the loft table upstairs, so I jogged up there to grab it, but at the top, I just stood there, staring at my notes. As many times as I tried to, I couldn’t think of a different description for my main character. Lucas’ face and body, his mannerisms and movements took over, and he was him.
Wyatt was a hard-as-nails CIA agent working a covert mission in England when he got intelligence of a planned bombing of the London Underground. I saw it in my head like I was there. And when I imagined the scenes in my head, it was Lucas I saw—him moving, running, talking, planning. All of it was Lucas. The thought should have irritated me, but it didn’t. I still didn’t like him, but he didn’t have to know I was using him as my inspiration for this book.
I headed into my room to grab my laptop. The outline wasn’t complete, but I had so many thoughts in my head about how the first two chapters should go. The light coming through from the large kitchen windows had me setting up shop there, laptop on the island. Forgoing my outline for a bit, I started typing. The words flowed effortlessly, and I quickly had more than the two chapters I planned to write. I got up to take one bathroom break, but other than that, my ass was planted on the stool, fingers flying across the keyboard. I was so in the zone, I didn’t know Lucas was behind me until he spoke.
“What are you cooking?” he asked, scaring the shit out of me. I whirled around with my hand over my heart, trying to stop it from beating out of my chest. I didn’t hear him walk up. At all. A man his size shouldn’t be able to move with that kind of grace and silence, but I should have known he was there. The goose bumps that popped up on my arm should have been the indicator. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m known to be… quiet when I walk.”
I gave him a head-to-toe once-over. He was gorgeous—dark, even skin, those bright eyes, that chiseled jaw. But regardless of how good he looked and how amazing his mouth felt on mine, it wasn’t going to make me like him. I did not like him. I tilted my head to the side and told him, “You apologize a lot.”
“Not normally,” he said, leaning against the wall at the entrance of the kitchen. “I’m not wrong often enough to elicit an apology.” The small smile ghosting his lips let me know he was trying to make a joke. I decided to let him off the hook and give him a small smile in return.
“I’m making a pot roast,” I answered his original question. Looking at the time on my laptop, I saw that it was 5:58 p.m. Shit, I was running behind. I had to get the rice and rolls on before the meat dried out. “I’ll put the sides on shortly. Everything should be ready in about thirty minutes.” I turned my back to him and looked over what I had written. Fifteen pages. I sat and wrote fifteen pages without referencing my outline once. I couldn’t believe it. The romance novel I was writing didn’t even have this many pages, and I had been working on it for almost two months. Was it because of Lucas or because this new genre was easier to immerse myself in?
I thought Lucas had left, but he asked, “Need some help?” His gentle voice, the way he asked it in such a timid way, washed over me. It tugged something in me that almost made me want to be nice to him and accept his offer. Almost. It didn’t sit well with me that he was closeted. And I wanted to fuck with him a little bit. I liked seeing him riled up.
“Are you closeted?” I glanced at him over my shoulder. His eyes widened like he couldn’t believe I had asked him that question. “What? You say some homophobic shit, and then you kiss me. I don’t like to be toyed with, nor do I like to feel unbalanced. It’s just you and me here. No one will know your dirty little secret if you tell me. So again. Are. You. Closeted?” I punctuated the last three words, saying them slowly to get a rise out of him. I told him the first day we met I didn’t think he was very smart, and he didn’t seem to like that. And me saying the last three words as I did had the same effect. His jaw clenched, and he narrowed his eyes at me.
“No, I’m not closeted,” he punched out. “I’m…” he paused and ran a hand over his hair, brushing it to the front, not messing up his waves, “… confused.”
“That makes me feel better. Experiment with me, the only gay guy in a twenty-mile radius so you can see if you’re really gay. Since your dick got hard for me, it’s safe to say you’re at least bi.” I closed my laptop and spun around on the bar stool, looking at him intently.
“Jesus. Is everything a fight with you all the time?”
“Nope. Just with you, baby. You bring out the best in me. You should feel special,” I said sarcastically.
“Don’t call me baby,” he told me through clenched teeth.
“Why? Makes you feel all weird because a gay man is saying it to you?” I walked over to the cabinets to pull out pots and pans for my sides.
“No, it’s making me think of you saying it while I’m buried deep inside you.” I snapped my head up and turned to look at him. A look of surprise, then frustration crossed his face. He rubbed one big hand over his face and growled, “Fuck,” and with that, he stalked off.
I didn’t know what to say. This man baffled me. From his body language, what he said about being confused, and his erratic admission, it seemed to me that he was telling the truth. He wasn’t closeted. He’d never been with a man before. As I was finishing dinner, I thought about it. How could that be possible? The way he kissed me, the way he was hard for me, the honesty in his last comment. I couldn’t reconcile it with confusion, but that wasn’t my place. I was always a straight-shooter, so I resolved to ask over dinner what was going on in that mind of his. Maybe I could help. I’d hate to see a baby gay floundering in the world, even if he was older than me. If that’s what he was.
When dinner was ready, I fixed our plates and put them on the table. I padded down the hall and knocked on his door, letting him know his food was in the kitchen. When he came into the kitchen, he saw me sitting at the table and went to grab his plate from the table to take it to his room. “Wait,” I said, stopping him.
