Authors: K.Z. Snow
fire that crackled and smoldered at the base of his
spine and filled his pelvis with pressurized heat. “I
think I have mango or almond around here
somewhere.”
“Run and get it and come back and sit on your
haunches in front of me and wipe it over your pecs
and your dick.”
“Yes
sir
. But I don’t have to run anywhere.”
Dare leaned over Jonah, making sure the damp
head of his cock brushed Jonah’s right nipple,
which elicited a ground-out groan. The oil,
whatever kind it was, should be in the nightstand
drawer.
“I’m so glad you’re mine tonight,” Jonah said,
smoothing both hands over the small of Dare’s
back, over his butt and flanks and the backs of his
thighs. “Thank you.”
Like I’m a gift
. Immediately, Dare’s throat
knotted.
I think I’ll be yours for longer than
tonight.
“Shhh. Just let me please you.” Sentiment. Oh
Jesus. Dare didn’t want to lose his marble
monument of an erection to sentiment. Not here, not
now.
After handing over the oil, he sat back
between Jonah’s parted legs and—speaking of
monuments—marveled again at how such an
unassuming man could stand out so strikingly, front
and
rear.
Jonah sat facing him, legs angled over Dare’s
thighs. Their cocks bumped restlessly. Their chests
pumped with anticipation.
“Put it on,” Jonah said, his voice coarse and
constricted.
He watched, lips slack, while Dare drizzled
oil into his palms and slowly swiped his hands
over his chest and hard-on.
“Your body is so insanely beautiful, Dare.”
Jonah’s voice was nearly inaudible.
Without another word, Jonah all but dove
forward and fingered one slick, taut nipple while
closing his mouth over the other. He sucked at it,
flicked his tongue over it, held it between his teeth
and jerked his head back.
Too much. Glinting blades of pleasure-pain
sliced through Dare’s body. He sealed his eyes
shut and stiffened all over, trying to stifle a
response he soon wouldn’t be able to contain.
“Come for me,” Jonah murmured, sliding his
hands down Dare’s torso. The mattress bounced
slightly; Jonah was moving somewhere. “Come
in
me.”
Back. He was sliding back so he could more
easily lower his head. So he could take Dare’s
straining dick into his beautiful mouth.
If Jonah was capable of oral finesse, and
there were definite indications he was, he had
little chance to prove it. At the first hard suction
combined with the first curl and sweep of tongue,
Dare cried out, his neck arching backward and
hips thrusting forward. The fierce buildup and
break came within seconds. Jonah cinched one
hand around the root of Dare’s cock as his mouth
worked shaft and head, and Dare could do nothing
but let climax tear through him.
Within glimmering blackness he was tugged
from crest to trough, over and over again, until he
felt dizzy. Jonah finally released him. Quivering
with emptiness, Dare wilted forward as he caught
his breath. Liquid white threads and splotches
patterned his belly and thighs and cooled against
his skin.
Weakly, he smiled. Jonah must have pulled
back at the last minute, as soon as Dare had
reached critical mass. That was okay; it wasn’t as
if Dare had never come on himself before.
Jonah had been a lovely lover. Considering
this was their first time, and considering what had
brought them together, Dare couldn’t have asked
for more.
“Sorry,” Jonah said, smoothing a hand over
Dare’s sweat-dampened hair.
Dare touched Jonah’s flushed face, looked
into eyes that were greener than Dare had ever
seen them before. “Believe me, you have no reason
to apologize.” He lifted one of Jonah’s hands and
kissed it.
“I didn’t mean to come all over you, but I’ve
been ready to burst since we were in the living
room.”
Dare glanced at the flaking streaks and lifted
his brows. “That’s yours?”
“Do you see anyone else on the bed?”
Chuckling, Dare fell into him—a lazy, loving
tackle that left them curled together on the
hopelessly creased sheets.
“By the way,” Jonah murmured as they lay
nose to nose, “you taste great.”
BEFORE they fell asleep and between expressive
kisses, Dare got Jonah to talk about how
he
would
like to be satisfied. The questions, the whole
conversation, were new to Dare’s experience. He
was used to abrupt encounters without much
foreplay and even less consideration. For years
he’d simply found himself naked, or naked enough
to get the job done, with some guy who’d
temporarily struck his fancy, and they’d fall into
whatever roles whim seemed to dictate.
Soon Dare had come to the realization he
liked topping from the bottom. He couldn’t
remember when or why he’d developed that
preference, just knew somewhere along the line
that neither aggression nor passivity was for him.
He’d realized he could go all top, too, given the
right incentive.
If anybody offered the right incentive and
offered it in spades, Jonah did. He said he’d been
fantasizing about the two of them “notched
together,” Dare holding him and driving deep
inside him. He spoke of it in such graphic terms—
the rhythm he’d like, the fullness and pressure he
anticipated, the protracted periods of stillness and
“oneness”—that it was obvious his desire had as
much to do with romantic bonding as it did with
sexual gratification.
Dare couldn’t deny he wanted in. He hadn’t
seen an ass as fine as Jonah’s in ages. Hell, he
hadn’t known a man as fine in ages. Or ever.
Problem was, fucking Jonah could be a
delicate issue both literally and figuratively. Jonah
hadn’t been sexually active in a while. Much more
important, though, he could still be burdened by
hideous associations.
They had to work their way up to
that
aspect
of sex, but there was no point in thinking about it
as they drifted toward sleep. Dare knew they were
more than sated. They were fulfilled.
SOME hours later, in the dark hollow at the middle
of night, Jonah broke.
At first Dare thought he’d startled himself
awake by reacting to a dream he couldn’t
remember. It had happened before. Within
seconds, he realized the noises he heard came from
elsewhere… and kept coming.
Dare slipped out of bed and found Jonah
hunched in a corner of the room, arms wrapped
around his bent legs and face pressed into his
knees. His sobs twisted out as muffled growls and
groans. His inhalations were abrupt, harsh gasps.
The sounds alone were painful. The feel of them
must have been agonizing. His folded body
tightened and shuddered with repeated spasms,
tightened and shuddered.
Jonah’s break was worse than Dare’s,
because he’d been broken even more thoroughly,
more cruelly. Although he’d patched his
pulverized
self
together
with
pride
and
determination, with GG’s love and AA’s help, the
glue hadn’t been strong enough to last. Its
disintegration was long overdue.
“Keep letting go,” Dare whispered, holding
him snugly and petting his hair. “Let it all out.”
After that, neither of them said another word.
No words were necessary.
Loosely entwined, they both slept soundly
after they went back to bed.
THE next morning, Jonah made a request.
“I don’t want to rush into this,” Dare replied
with concern.
“Then don’t rush. Just believe it’s what I
want, what I need. With you.”
So Dare took another step toward fusing their
separate dreams into a single reality. After they
shared breakfast and a bath, Dare made slow love
to Jonah with his hands and mouth—an inspired
act of worship, deft and meticulous. He didn’t
enter Jonah with his cock. In Dare’s mind it
seemed appropriate that this be about cherishing,
not about fucking. Not just yet.
They had time to work up to that. Plenty of
time. Dare was sure of it, because he was sure
their intimacy would grow. What mattered most
now was laying the foundation… and getting it
right.
Dare was also sure Pepper Jack would never
again allow himself to be touched by a Sugar Bowl
customer or employee. Not as long as Jonah Day
was willing to touch him.
Chapter Seventeen
TWO months of progress. It wasn’t a lot, yet it
was, because it came bundled with Jonah Day and
GG Martinsek, with Bouncin’ Bob’s Polka
Doodles, and even with three girls—well, boys—
at the Sugar Bowl who’d been emboldened to talk
about their own abuse experiences when they
heard about Dare’s.
Pankin and Wallace occasionally came up,
which meant a haunting sting occasionally crawled
through Dare’s and Jonah’s scars. The pain wasn’t
nearly as bad as it used to be. Remembering would
never be easy, but at least it would never again be
as hard.
“So how come you’re not going with Jonah?”
Carver asked on the morning of GG’s wedding
reception. He leaned against the bathroom
doorjamb, his arms and legs crossed.
“It’s easier this way.” Standing before the
mirror, Dare finger-arranged his hair. “Jonah’s
acting as a coordinator, making sure everything
runs smoothly—with the hotel staff, florist, caterer,
photographer. Whoever’s involved. And I have to
set up with the band.” He took a step back and
studied himself.
Bob had let the guys dress in simple black
pants and white shirts for the reception. Dare was
wildly grateful. He took particular pleasure in
leaving the top button of his shirt open and setting
its collar just right around his neck. The looseness
felt liberating, might even keep him from
perspiring. He didn’t mind sweating during sex
and workouts and Pepper Jack’s performances, but
perspiring—which, in Dare’s mind, meant
sweating while you had too many clothes on—was
distinctly unpleasant.
“Crazy time for a wedding,” Carver said.
“Between Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
“She’s a crazy woman.”
Even Carver had shed some of his calluses.
He’d met (and eyed up) Jonah, whom he decided
he liked, and he’d also been talking more with
Mom and Dad. They’d surely clued him in about a
few things. Not that Carver had become or would
ever become the quintessential gay advocate—the
fucker was still snooty and judgmental and
wouldn’t be caught dead at a Pride parade—but at
least he saw his brother as more worthy of respect
and less deserving of condemnation as a swishy
slut.
Not all progress was earthshaking.
“You’re really hung up on that guy, aren’t
you.”
“Guess I am.” Dare leaned toward the mirror
to examine a shaving nick just beneath his jaw. He
decided it made him look roguish, nestled as it
was within his carefully manscaped hint of scruff.
Carver sighed. “Well, I suppose there are
worse things in the world than commitment.”
Dare turned toward the bathroom door.
“There sure are.” Smiling, he gave his brother
three pats on the clavicle and impulsively leaned
forward to kiss him on the cheek.
For once, Carver was struck speechless.
Dare
sidled
past
him
and
galloped
downstairs. No ill-fitting red pants hugged his
legs; no doodle tie flapped on his shirtfront. Ah, so
many blessings had recently come his way! He
pulled up short at the hall table and tilted to glance
through one of the door’s sidelights. Good, the sky
was clearing. Only a thin layer of snow dusted the
ground, glittering demurely in the frost-hazed
sunshine.
He turned back to the console table, lifted the
folder that lay there, and flipped through the sheet
music tucked inside.
Determined to please Bob, Dare had done a