Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 (8 page)

Rich gritted his teeth as the first flash of pain lanced through him when Patrick breached the tight ring of muscle. It had been a
really
long time since he’d bottomed, and the burn was almost enough for him to tell Patrick to stop. His eyes watered as muscles stretched and gave, and his ass was left throbbing. His body tightened all over, and Rich knew his inner muscles must have clamped down as well, because Patrick grunted and flinched.

“Wait! Gimme…second,” Rich gasped, and Patrick froze.

“
God
, so tight. You okay?”

“I just…been a while.”

“Need to stop?” Patrick’s voice sounded strained, but full of concern.

“No! No, I…I need this. Just gimme a sec.”

Patrick nodded against Rich’s neck and reached around to stroke his now-softening cock. He gave it a couple of lazy, almost fond strokes, before moving down to massage Rich’s balls. “You’re so fucking sexy,” Patrick whispered into Rich’s ear. “I love that you’re almost my size—like I might have to fight for the right to pound your ass into next week.” He punctuated it with a shallow thrust that made Rich’s skin prickle. It didn’t hurt, and it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Unggh,” Rich moaned when Patrick did it again. His cock came roaring back to life, ready to join the party. Rich slapped blindly at Patrick’s flank. “Go. Now. For chrissake. Fuck me!”

Patrick shoved Rich’s cheek against the wall again and pushed his dick in hard, finally seating himself balls-deep. “Bossy bitch,” he teased.

Rich would never have taken that from a sexual partner before, but something about Patrick’s rough, dirty words flipped his switch. Playing along, he gouged his nails into Patrick’s ass cheeks and yanked him forward.

“That all you got, Irish?” Patrick wasn’t the only one who could growl.

The other man bit down on the scruff of Rich’s neck, banded an arm tight around his chest, and began pounding in earnest, tugging on his dick in a matching rhythm. In an effort to stifle the needy cries that tumbled out of his mouth, Rich balled up a fist and bit down. Patrick immediately yanked it out.

“Scream for me, Langston.”

And Rich did. Patrick hooked an arm under Rich’s left thigh and lifted his leg, spreading him open, pummeling his ass like no one ever had. Sweat broke out all over his body, and he was losing his grip on the wall. Right when his leg began to shake from carrying his weight, Patrick dropped the leg he was holding and pulled out.

“What the—?” Rich wasn’t proud of the whine in his voice, but fuck if he could bring himself to care in that exact moment.

“Don’ worry, álainn, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As Rich shuddered over the gruff intonation, Patrick spun him around. He gripped Rich’s ass and hoisted him up, and Rich obligingly wrapped his legs around the man’s muscle-packed waist. Patrick slammed Rich’s back against the wall and thrust back inside his lubed channel. He went at Rich full force, hips snapping, driving a furious rhythm.

Using the sheer force of his thrusts to help hold Rich up, Patrick squeezed a hand between them to jerk Rich’s cock. Rich thrashed and moaned, too caught up in the most perfect sex of his life to be worried about making an uncharacteristic spectacle. Patrick pounded him so hard that a picture dropped from the wall and knocked over a kitschy vase, sending them both crashing to the floor.

Rich ignored it, because the tingle of his impending orgasm held his immediate attention. As the prickling sensation climbed up his thighs, to his balls and eventually his shaft, time seemed to slow. He took notice of the smallest things; Patrick’s auburn sideburns slick with sweat, the muscles bunching in his veiny forearm as he worked Rich’s cock, those gray-blue eyes rolling back in his head as he started to lose control.

It was that last bit that set Rich over the edge. He slapped his palms against the wall and yelled as he shot ropes of liquid heat all over Patrick’s chest. Patrick wrapped powerful arms around his back, slamming home a few more times before coming with a roar. Rich sighed when it flooded him—he could feel the heat of it even through the barrier—and Patrick’s cock twitched with aftershocks while still inside.

Patrick seemed to lose the strength to stand and slid to the floor with Rich landing in his lap. “Jesus bleedin’ Christ,” he said breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Rich whispered. But he could already feel the ever-present tension starting to creep back into his body; the thoughts that plagued him starting to whirl. He’d fucked the goddamn boat guy. What if people found out? What would Rory say? Justice would surely hate him even more if he managed to fuck up the restoration. What was he supposed to say to Patrick in the morning? Or now?

“Jaysus, mate, you’re thinkin’ so loud I can hear your brain crunching from here. It was just a bloody shag, yeah?”

Rich took a deep breath to calm himself, trying to clear his mind of all his constant fears. Patrick was right. Who was to say he shouldn’t get laid now and again? It was nobody’s business. Rich allowed Patrick to pull him against his chest, and he tried to pretend like he didn’t want to be exactly there.

“What does ‘owling’ mean?” Rich asked, remembering what Patrick had called him.

“Say wha’?”

“You called me ‘owling’ or something…during.”

“Ah, álainn.”

Rich thought it sounded more like ‘awling’ that time.

Patrick blushed to the roots of his hair, and he couldn’t seem to meet Rich’s eyes when he muttered “beautiful.”

“What? I didn’t hear you?” Rich said with a smirk.

“It means ‘beautiful’ in Irish,” he said, sounding rather annoyed.

Rich laughed, inexplicably touched. He shifted so that he was leaning against the wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with Patrick, while they attempted to catch their breath. There’d be bruises and scratches come the morning, and Rich had an ache in his ass that he knew he’d be feeling for days, but it was worth it. Those were the good kind of aches and pains, much preferable to the ones he was avoiding.

They both jumped when there was a loud knock on the door. “What the fuck?” Rich muttered.

“Expecting company?” Patrick asked with laughter in his voice.

“God, no.” Rich stood up, snagged his pants from the floor, and hastily yanked them on. Once he’d righted himself as best he could, he opened the door with caution and peeked out.
Oh, fuck me
. It was Mrs. Hubert, the busybody from next door.

She was a plump widow of indeterminate age who lived alone with her two cats and made it her business to know the business of everyone else on the block. She was especially interested in Rich because he was so private and had no desire to socialize with any of the neighbors.

Now she stood on his front stoop, not-so-discreetly craning her neck to see past him inside his house. Rich made sure to fill the gap in the doorway with his body so she couldn’t.

“Hello, Richard,” she said in that prissy voice she used when she thought he was up to no good.

Oh, how the sound set his teeth on edge. He refrained from rolling his eyes, but it was a near thing. “Mrs. Hubert,” he said with a nod. “What can I do for you?”

She seemed to miss the condescension he couldn’t keep from his tone, but she narrowed her beady eyes at him as if she suspected his politeness was false. She’d be right. “I heard some loud banging a moment ago while I was out watering my roses. Naturally I was concerned for you so I came right over.”

Because she so needed to water the roses after a storm.
“Naturally,” Rich agreed sarcastically. Then he had to cough to cover the choked laugh that came from behind him.

“So, is everything all right?” she pressed.

“Um, yes. That was just hammering.”—another snort from the peanut gallery—“I was hanging pictures.”

“Yes, you see, that’s what I thought it could be,” she continued, “but then I heard a crash.”

Rich scratched his head and hazarded a helpless glance at Patrick…mistake. He was standing bare-assed naked, leaning against the adjacent wall and lazily stroking his cock. When he caught Rich’s look, he winked, then bit his lip and closed this eyes.

Oh, fuck
. Rich looked back at Mrs. Hubert and hoped she didn’t notice his blush, or the other evidence that there was a sexy, naked man just behind the door. God, he had to get rid of her.

“No worries, Mrs. Hubert. I accidentally knocked over a silly vase. I hated the thing anyway. All’s well, but thanks ever so for checking.” He gave her a big phony smile and slammed the door in her face when she opened her mouth to speak again.

Rich watched her through the peephole as she stood there for a moment; he was sure she was considering the risk of trying to peek in his window. Finally she shook her head, obviously thinking better of it, and turned to leave.

“Good call, old woman,” Rich muttered. He turned around and leaned against the door, breathing hard. Then he glared at Patrick. “You, sir, are a total nutcase.”

Patrick just grinned and kept up his lazy strokes. “Aye, maybe, but a nutcase might be just the thing for your dreary ass, yeah?”

Rich rolled his eyes, but his hands were already grappling with the fly of his jeans. He was unprepared for the flash of lust and unbridled longing that swept through his body. But as he approached Patrick and dropped to his knees in front of him, he decided to just stop thinking…for once.

Chapter Eight

After the most spectacular sex of his life and then a mind-numbing blowjob to top it off, Patrick had offered to buy Rich dinner—it was the least he could do, right? The man had eyed him warily and replied that he didn’t feel like going out, so Patrick ordered a pizza.

Rich turned his nose up at the idea at first, but then he’d eagerly scarfed down three slices of meat-lovers—gluten-free, he’d insisted. Patrick thought for sure that Rich would’ve asked him to stay the night, but he hadn’t. That was probably getting too close to ‘dating’ territory for Rich’s peace of mind. Patrick wasn’t offended. He hadn’t really decided if he wanted anything more with Rich than a casual fling anyway, so he’d still readily agreed to pick Rich up again the next day.

The man was positively melancholy when he hopped into Patrick’s truck that morning. There was an awkwardness between them; the kind that only a brilliant fuck and a polite ‘see ya later, bro’ could create. Rich squirmed in his seat for a few minutes before attempting a conversation starter.

“The mechanic called last night after you left,” he said. Patrick might have imagined the blush, but he didn’t think so. “He was working late. Anyway, my car will be ready tomorrow evening or Friday morning. If you could drop me off there whenever he calls, you can get your life back,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.

Patrick shrugged. “Who says I want it back the way it was?”

That time the blush was extremely evident. Rich swallowed hard and looked away. He was quiet for a few more moments, so much that Patrick thought he might have let it go…but it was Rich, so no such luck.

“Look, man, I like you, but—”

“Oh, relax, mate,” Patrick interrupted with an exaggerated eye roll. “It’s not like I want to get married and go adopt a gaggle of Cambodian babies with you. For chrissake, calm down, Angelina.”

Rich snapped his mouth shut with a click of his teeth and turned even redder—surprising that it was even possible over his deep tan—but his mouth quirked up in a small smile.

Score another for Ireland.
“All I’m saying is last night was…”

“Incredible,” Rich supplied.

“Indeed. And I’m thinking maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a repeat performance every now and then—no pressure, no strings. And maybe it wouldn’t kill us to try and be…I don’t know, friends or something, when we’re not fucking, yeah?”

Rich breathed out a chuckle, which was as much as he ever laughed, really. “I guess anything’s possible.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Rich’s phone rang into the quiet that followed, and when Patrick caught the expression on his face out of the corner of his eye, he knew it wasn’t a good call. Rich closed his eyes for a few seconds before giving Patrick an apologetic look.

“I have to take this.”

“No worries,” Patrick said, turning his full attention to the road and trying not to let his curiosity run away with him. It was hard, since he could only hear Rich’s side of the conversation.

“Langston.” There was a pause and some garbled speech on the other end that Patrick couldn’t make out.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I just haven’t had time…uh-huh.” The other caller had obviously interrupted. Rich continued, trying to talk over him. “I understand, but I’m just not ready to…yes. Yes, I agree. You can send me the information via email.”

He rattled off his email address and thanked the other caller. Then he pressed the end button rather violently and shoved the phone back into his jacket pocket.

From Rich’s stormy expression, Patrick knew he shouldn’t ask about the call. Despite his itch to find out the story, if he pushed, Rich would clam up for sure. So he waited him out. He ignored the tension building in the silence, fighting the urge to whistle and settling for tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Finally,
finally
, Rich turned in his seat to face the driver’s side. “That was the PI.”