Getting Him Back (9 page)

“So, my roommate started hooking up with this girl who’s a junior and she has an off-campus apartment.”

Wyatt gave his answer to the lake. “Look, I’m fine being your rebound fuck, but like I said, there’s some stuff—”

“Excuse me?”

He faced me then, those lips even fatter as he pursed them. I wondered if he knew how fucking sexy his pout was.

“First of all,” I said, “don’t assume whatever it is you’re assuming about what’s going on between us. And second.” I took a step closer. “If we fuck, you’ll be better than fine. You’ll be fan-fucking-tastic. We both will be.”

He laughed, but it was choked, like he didn’t want to, but couldn’t help himself. “
First of all
back at you. Next time you want to go promising blow jobs or whatever, do it in my right ear. I can’t hear out of the left one.”

I drew back. “You’re deaf?”

“Not completely. I can’t hear speech clearly in that one ear, stuff comes through as static.”

I thought about the way we’d had to almost shout over the dishwasher. “You shouldn’t be working in the kitchen then. You could do damage to your good ear.”

He looked at me with that other expression, the one besides blank and smirking. The one where he couldn’t believe the shit that came out of my mouth. Though this time, I thought it had a trace of amused affection in it. Or maybe disgust. Screw the guessing game. The only way I was ever going to know what Wyatt was thinking was if he wanted me to. Or maybe if I asked.

I stepped around him so that now my mouth was close to his right ear. “So, about that blow job.”

He laughed then. Really laughed. Quick barks of it, but rough like it didn’t get used much. I looked to see what was happening to his face and thought I saw the darker eye twinkle.

He leaned so that our shoulders touched. “You’re a lot sexier-sounding in my good ear.”

“Uh, thanks. But I think
blow job
is sexy no matter who says it.”

He laughed again and bumped my shoulder.

This late on the Sunday night before midterms we pretty much had the campus to ourselves on the walk back to Fisher. Even the El was deserted. We were halfway across before Wyatt said, “Aren’t you going to ask?”

My body was humming, hot and tingling with the promise of sex—sex with Wyatt. The pulse in my balls was making me a little dizzy and I was trying to not let things get too
hard
to walk.

I realized he’d stopped, and I stared back at him under the bluish fluorescent lights. I played back what he’d said.

“Um—ask what?”

“About my eyes, my hair, my face, my ear? My tattoo?”

Was he saying those were related? His hoodie was tipped back, side bangs off his face to reveal both of his eyes. He held out his hand. There was a thin black cross on one of his knuckles, and five dots between his thumb and forefinger.

I vaguely remembered the cross and dots from when we’d had our hands wrapped around our dicks. I hadn’t been super focused on body art at the time. Not to say Wyatt’s ink was body art. It looked like the sort of stuff someone would do to themselves. A
jailhouse tat
we’d have called it in high school

“Do you want me to ask about it?”

Wyatt dragged his hair over his face again. “Fuck if I know.” He started walking.

I caught up to him in a step. “I have Dumbo ears, a nose like a knife, a billion freckles and a big red birthmark on the top of my left ass cheek.”

“Yeah, that’s tragic.”

I was getting pissed and my strides got longer, making him have to hurry to catch up.

“Ethan,” he sounded exasperated. “You know you’re fucking hot so don’t, all right?”

I was hot? Though Wyatt thinking that instead of thinking guy-not-too-hideous-who’s-willing-to-blow-me was nice.

I slowed and shot him a look over my shoulder, waiting for him to go on.

With an eye roll he said, “Blond curls, money to get it styled and those bedroom eyes.”

I had to smile. “I think the word is actually brown.” I’d always been pissed not to get blue eyes to go along with the freckles and hair and skin that always got burned in the sun. And to have blue eyes as bright and perfect as that one of Wyatt’s? Man, I could have made that work for me.

He shook his head. “And I’m a fucking freak.”

“I think your eyes are cool. Like in the X-men. Heterochromia.”

“I know what it’s called,” he snapped. “Try having it in Van, West Virginia. Population two hundred—if you add in the raccoons.” Then his dry tone was back. “I guess I am a mutant.”

We reached the end of the El. The path ahead had pools of light from occasional lampposts, but after being under the fluorescents the darkness between them looked pits to fall into.

Wyatt stepped off into the first abyss. “I have Waardenburg Syndrome.”

Oh shit.
God, was he
dying
? It felt like I’d actually stepped into a hole. The jar, the shock ran up me, a sick vibration in my bones. I grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry. Is it—” I couldn’t say it.

He slipped free. “It’s not fatal.” He made a disgusted sound, but whether that was for me or the syndrome I couldn’t tell. “The mildest form is weird pigmentation. Like my eyes and my hair. And it’s why my eyes are so far apart and my lips look weird. Worst case would be totally deaf—which I guess could still happen.” He paused in the first puddle of light and pulled on the white chunk of his hair. “I’ll probably go totally white by thirty. And if I don’t shave and pluck,” he tapped between his eyes, “unibrow.”

I was so stupidly glad he wasn’t going to die, I made a lame joke. “A unibrow, huh? Well, that’s tragic.”

“Fuck you.” His lower lip pouted, and he started walking again.

“Was that the stuff you said you needed to tell me?”

He shoved his hands in his hoodie pouch. “I guess.”

“Because it’s no big. I mean, if you turned into a werewolf once a month or something, that might be a deal breaker.”

“You’re an asshole sometimes, you know that?”

I went for his good ear. “Yeah, but I’m hot and I’m going to suck your dick.”

Even Wyatt didn’t have a smart answer for that.

Chapter 10

Back in my room, though, indecision crept in. Connor had left with a wink and a “don’t wait up.” Did that mean there was a chance he’d be back?

Connor was all kinds of mellow about having a queer roommate, but how laid-back would he be if Wyatt and I were getting busy when he came back? There was the old sock on the doorknob, but everyone in this coed dorm was nosy and it felt like I would be exposing Wyatt to a Walk of Shame when he left.

I was halfway to convincing myself that I was one of those predatory gay guys the bigots are always claiming are trying to recruit innocent youth.

I was low on clean socks too, having given so many of them to Connor for defense.

After shutting the door, I stepped around Wyatt, trying to leave him enough space if he decided to leave.

“We don’t have to do anything. If you don’t want to. We could...talk.”

“Oh, hell no.” Wyatt went for the door all right, shoving my back against it and holding me there with his body. “You do not promise me a blow job and then go all therapist on me.”

His eyes were level with my chin, one bright and clear like the water in a swimming pool, the other one warm and dark. They were both intense, the feeling behind them sending the best kind of shocks to my nerves—to my dick.

“Okay then.” I leaned in and kissed him.

As hungry as his eyes had been, they had nothing on the way his mouth moved under mine. His tongue drew mine into an almost painful suction before his head tilted, and he groaned, opening wider.

I knew he’d said he hadn’t been sure about being gay, and for a second, my brain battled the hot rush of sex-now-please with sharp questions. Did he have any experience? Even with girls?

His arms wrapped around me, and I gave up thinking about it. Because this was going to be the best experience he’d ever had. I was going to blow his dick and his mind. Let’s see how cool and mysterious he could be with my mouth on his dick.

I spun us so his back was on the wall and kissed his neck, shifting from my usual angle to get at the spot under his right ear. “Hold on.”

I dropped to my knees and popped his fly, dragged his jeans and boxer briefs down to his knees and went for his cock.

He wasn’t all the way there yet. Maybe he’d been afraid to let go in case I changed my mind, but my breath on it took care of that pretty fast, the jut of red, veiny dick arcing up toward the bottom of his hoodie. I shoved the sweatshirt higher, out of the way, then stroked from his sharp-boned hips to his thighs.

I licked my lips.

His thighs trembled under my hands, but his voice was steady as he said, “You’re killing me.”

“Not yet, I’m not.” No way did I want him able to form words so easily.

I rubbed my face against his dick and breathed him in. Hot sweaty skin, salty with that dark, sticky flavor of sex that made my mouth water. On Wyatt it had a sweetness to it. He jerked, his dick leaving a wet kiss on my ear.

I leaned back to look up at him. “That’s not where it goes.”

“I really hate you right now.” His voice shook with something that wasn’t just wanting to get off. There was a sharpness behind those words.

I stared up at him, trapping his gaze. I wanted him to see me doing this to him. So that every single time a mouth went down on his cock he’d remember mine had been there first. The thought of it made my balls tingle and tighten.

Yes. I wanted to be there, every fucking time.

He hissed when my mouth closed around the tip, but he didn’t close his eyes. His pointy jaw jutted, lips drawn tight.

I kept watching as I swiped the slit with my tongue, all bitter salt in his precome no matter how sweet he smelled. His lashes dipped for an instant before he got his eyes open again, like he wanted to watch as much as I wanted him to see it.

I filled my mouth with spit, lips curled in over my teeth as I drew him in, savoring the weight, the way the ridge and vein bumped over my tongue as it cradled him.

I went down pretty far, letting him feel the heat and texture and pressure from my throat.

His hands landed on my head. “Eth-an.”

My name, long and soft like a prayer. Not one of Blake’s casual Ethes or babes. So much weight in it, like the weight of his hands, the weight of his cock on my tongue.

I drew off wet and slow and tight, then Frenched the head. So good. Silky and hard on my lips. I looked up again. His eyes were closed now, pretty mouth in an open pout. I went down again, right to the back of my throat, reaching underneath to see how he liked his balls touched, see how he’d take some pressure on his hole.

My fingertips had barely grazed the wrinkly satin of his sac when he jerked with a sharp, “Don’t.”

The motion made him fuck deeper into my mouth, in and out. I swallowed, caught some more precome as he stroked.

“Ethan.” This time it was hoarse, broken, like the word had cracked through his chest.

I know the sound went right through me, but like a sparkler. My jeans got tighter.

His hips bucked. His fingers twisted in my curls. His cock stabbed my throat. “Sorry. Shit. I—”

I read his body before his words made it to my ears and held on, letting him pump jizz into my throat, coating it for the next rough jab of his dick.

Wyatt was anything but cool indifference now. He was desperate, curled in on me, body shaking. One groan, then he was silent except for his sharp breaths. I cradled the shaft in my hand as I lapped the head clean. His grip on my hair stretched my scalp.

I felt like I was up on a podium with six gold medals on my neck from the same race. And there were more events to come. I wanted him on my bed, naked so I could explore every inch. Find every spot on him that would get him to make that sweet broken sound.

The tension flew back into Wyatt’s muscles as quickly as I’d sucked it out.

“Sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry.” He rubbed the come off the corner of my mouth.

I turned to suck on his thumb for an instant, then let it go to say, “For what? Coming? It’s kind of the point to a blow job.”

“I shouldn’t have—I—”

I loved hearing the fucked-out rasp in his voice, but I could see the freak-out coming. If I didn’t talk him down, he’d bolt again, and I didn’t want that. And not just because my dick was a hot throb of need getting pinched by my jeans. He had nothing to be embarrassed or apologetic about. His first time—okay second time—should be more than something hard and fast up against a wall.

Trying not to wince, I climbed to my feet and made a very necessary adjustment.

“Stop. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I smiled. “I consider it a compliment.”

He looked off to the side but reached for my fly. “Should I...what should I do?”

“I’m really glad you asked.”

He looked at me then, eyes widening.

I stepped backward and tugged my shirt off over my head. “Get naked and get in bed with me.”

He stood there, watching, still stuck to the door.

I groaned with relief as I got my fly open. Holding his gaze, I peeled my jeans down, then carefully eased the boxers over my dick, giving it a little tug so it was back to showing at the best angle.

The moment stretched out. He didn’t bolt, but he didn’t move toward me either. I licked my hand, then stroked myself, keeping a gasp behind my teeth.

He stared.

“You don’t have to do anything. But if you want to watch me jerk off, it would be awesome if you were kissing me.” I sat on my bed, legs spread, hand gliding up and down on my dick.

He started toward me like a sleepwalker, remembered his pants bunched around his knees and then fumbled out of them. His legs were long, thighs dusted with dark hair, less on his calves.

He gripped the hem of his sweatshirt, then hesitated. “I have some—because of the Waardenburg—there’s a weird patch over my ribs, on the right side.”

I nodded, since I didn’t know what to say. Okay? Of course it was okay. I don’t know how people had reacted before but I figured they hadn’t been too nice about it. I already liked his looks. Liked him. He was funny and cute and getting naked in my room. There was absolutely nothing to complain about.