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I actually saw the blush on his cheeks. He dropped his head in his hands and was quiet for a bit. “I didn’t mean to look, and it wasn’t lecherous.” He raised his head and stared into my eyes. “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Chapter9
Lucas
It actually felt good to get everything off my chest. I already started off on that path anyway by kissing Tristan and telling him I wanted to be buried deep inside him. I didn’t know where that came from. After I said it, I was shocked by my own admission, then embarrassed when he didn’t say anything back. I got out of there as quickly as possible. I sat in my room and journaled like Dr. Greyson told me. That quieted my mind, both with the case and about Tristan.
He was everywhere. Since I kissed him, his scent lingered on my skin. Remembering his lips had mine tingling. I could feel the phantom heat from his hand on the back of my neck as if it were still there. God, his hands. They were graceful and strong, capable of pulling me from a nightmare with one touch and singeing my skin, imprinting himself to me when my mouth was connected to his.
“I really don’t like you,” he blurted, snapping me out of my daze and pulling a laugh from my throat.
“I figured. We got off on the wrong foot. I’m really not as bad as you think I am. I’m not going to shoot you, I’m not homophobic, and I’m not closeted. I’m not trying to use you as an experiment. All the things you thought I was. Take that away. Why wouldn’t you like me?”
“You don’t want to use me? Pity,” Tristan said with a mock pout.
Another laugh bubbled up from me, completely unexpected. When he wasn’t being mean, he was quite funny. I hadn’t laughed this much in a while.
“Tristan, I don’t want anything from you. Unless you’d like to talk. This is helping a lot. I’m not as confused or in my head about my attraction to you. I like how it makes me feel, and I know it’s not a phase. But I don’t expect you to do anything about how I feel.”
“What if I want to?” His voice was low, but his eyes were steady. It was almost like the words snuck their way past his lips. But being the person I was learning he was, he didn’t say anything he didn’t mean. Thinking about the things he might want to do had me shifting in my chair, trying to find some relief for my aching dick. I looked back at his hands and knew they would feel good wrapped around my cock. Stroking me, massaging my balls, bringing me to orgasm.
Looking back into his eyes, I challenged him with my stare. I wasn’t going to ask. I wasn’t going to put the offer out there, even though I would love to use his body and maybe get to know his mind in the process. He held my stare, meeting my challenge with the raise of his eyebrow. A smile crept across my face, and I heard his breath catch. I wondered at it but didn’t think about it too much.
I leaned forward in my chair, getting as close to him as the table between us would allow. “Tell me what you mean.” I didn’t ask. I wasn’t going to ask. He would have to tell me what he wanted. More because he had the experience and also because I had already bared my soul to him. I showed him my cards. It was his turn.
“I’ve only been with a handful of people in my life. But I know what I like. I can show you. Help you for when you decide to find a man of your own if that’s what you want.”
“You want to be my gay sherpa?” I teased him, giving him a twisted smile. His laugh started as a deep rumble in his chest that he tried to hold back, but it eventually escaped past his lips and flowed over me like cold water on a scorching summer day. His real, genuine laugh was intoxicating.
“I don’t know about gay sherpa, but I can help you figure out what you like. Think about it,” he said to me, standing up and taking our plates from the table. He rinsed them in the sink but left them there. I was about to ask if he wanted help, but he walked toward the living room. “You’re on dish duty, baby. I cook. You wash the dishes. Those are the rules,” he called over his shoulder. Him calling me baby was going to be the death of me.
I got up from the table and did as he said. If I could have more of his amazing cooking, I would gladly do the dishes after every meal. I hadn’t had pot roast that tender and flavorful in years. The cook we had before she passed away, Mrs. Etta, made a good pot roast. She’d never had competition in the cooking department, but if she were alive, Tristan would have given her a run for her money. I wondered what else he could cook. I still had three weeks left on my vacation, and even though I might not spend the whole three weeks here, that gave me plenty of time to try some of his recipes.
It was weird thinking about Tristan as anything more than the asshole I had seen him as since I got here. I gave him reason to be initially, but he dragged it on, even after I tried to apologize. I knew why. He actually thought I was homophobic, and I was sure as a gay man, it would be hard to be cordial with someone who judged you. That thought had me wondering. Am I a gay man? I wasn’t ready to look that deeply into my sexual orientation, but Dr. Greyson said not to shy away from the hard stuff.
I knew I liked women. Being with them, being inside them, turned me on. I got hard for women. Men did it for me too. But I had never been as turned on after a kiss with a woman as I was when I kissed Tristan. I didn’t know if it was because of him individually or if I was more partial to men than women, but I could say without a doubt that I was bisexual.
I released the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. I figured something out about myself. I dug deep and didn’t avoid the hard answers like I initially wanted to. It felt good.
I finished up the dishes and went to my room. When I heard the television on—something I hadn’t heard since I got here—I figured Tristan was lounging in front of it. Since we had a tentative truce, I resolved to try to hang around him as much as possible. To try to get to know him so he wouldn’t dislike me anymore. I usually didn’t care if someone disliked me. That was their problem, not mine. But I wanted Tristan to like me. He’d been rude, but he had reason to be. I was letting my dick dictate how I interacted with him, wanting to keep him at arm’s length because of my confused feelings, and I wanted it to stop. I didn’t want to stay away from him just because he turned me on. I could control myself. I could talk to him about other things. Things that didn’t involve sex or him being my gay sherpa. I chuckled at that thought. I couldn’t believe I called him that. He didn’t seem offended, so I guessed it was okay.
I grabbed some clothes from one of the drawers and my shaving kit and took them to the bathroom. While I waited for the water to heat in the shower, I shaved my face. It was weird for me to go so many days between a shave. The Army had instilled that in me. Even when I wanted to grow a beard, it got so itchy that I always ended up shaving it.
When the mirror was fogged and the room filled with steam, I stripped off my clothes, kind of disgusted with myself that I wore my sweaty shirt to dinner, and stepped under the spray. Immediately, I felt my muscles relax, and my head rolled forward, soaking up the feeling of the shower spray beating on my back. I stepped back a bit further, and the spray hit my neck, which reminded me of how Tristan had held on to me when I had him pressed against the wall. It didn’t take much in that line of thinking to get me hard.
I ran my hand down my abs to my heavy cock. I palmed it, stroking myself from base to tip. I stroked up again, squeezing the head, eliciting a small gasp from my throat. I imagined it was Tristan’s strong, elegant hand working me. Tugging on me, driving me crazy. I moaned deep in my chest, loving the feel of my hand working me to orgasm. I imagined him putting his tongue in my mouth while he played with my balls, rolling them around in his hand. “Fuck…”
The imagery was so good, I almost didn’t want to stop. But my balls were tightening up to my body, and I didn’t know how much longer I would last. I imagined him getting on his knees for me, taking the head of my dick into his mouth and sucking on me. With that visual, I was ready to erupt. My hand sped up, sloppy and graceless, and I came on a loud curse, shooting heavy white ropes into the shower.
Panting, I leaned against the shower wall. I didn’t think I ever came like that before. His hand hadn’t even been close to my dick, but Tristan made me come harder than I ever had in my life. I washed up, finally doing what I came in the shower to do, and hoped the television was too loud for Tristan to have heard me. I could be quite loud when I came. When I was finished, I stepped out of the shower and dried myself. Rubbing the towel across my cock had me hissing, still sensitive from my orgasm. After dressing and tossing my clothes in the hamper in the bedroom, I made my way to the living room, still hearing the television.
When I rounded the corner, I was met with a mouthwatering sight. Tristan was on his back, pants pulled down under his beautiful cock and heavy balls. His eyes were closed, and he was writhing on the couch. His hand dragged up the length of him, his thumb rolling over the crown of his dick. Seeing the precum that leaked from him had a low groan leaving my lips. It must not have been too low because his eyes popped open, and he moved to cover himself.
“Please,” I rasped out. “Don’t stop. Let me watch you.” Bold of me to ask, seeing as how I had never done this before, but I had to. I had to know what it was like to see him come.
He deliberately got back into the position he was in, keeping his eyes on me. I made my way into the room, sitting on the end of the couch near his feet. God, he was beautiful. His face was flushed, the color high in his chestnut-brown cheeks. He pulled his bottom lip through his teeth, his eyes a haze of lust. When he moved his hand over his stomach and down to the base of his dick, my eyes followed the movement. With one hand, he palmed his cock and gently stroked it. With the other, he reached under and fondled his balls. My mouth went dry, and I found myself wanting. Wondering what he tasted like. How he sounded when his dick was in my mouth. Where his hands would touch me while he slammed to the back of my throat. I had never wanted anything like that in my life, but Tristan made me want it. All of him.
“I heard you in the shower,” he drawled out, lazily stroking himself. “You’re not very quiet.”
