What We May be (9 page)

Fire raced through him, burning away all coherent thought.

Jared knew how to play his body as if they’d been lovers for months, years, always knowing just what to do to elicit the strongest reaction. There was no question about trusting him to do the right thing, or need to prompt him to move faster, 77

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harder, slower, softer. He anticipated Rick’s desire a moment before Rick did, and took him by surprise when new sensations coursed through him. The knowledge was a drug. It wouldn’t take long to get addicted to it.

Panting for breath, Rick stuck two fingers into his mouth to get them wet. The absence of his tongue made Jared pause.

He looked over his shoulder in time to see Rick slowly press both fingers inside his relaxed opening.

Rick met his eyes. “You about ready to ride me?”

A tremor wracked through Jared when Rick brushed over his prostate. “Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

“Maybe.” He twisted his wrist. “But we both know my cock’ll be better.”

Jared’s body disappeared as he climbed off. Grabbing the condoms, he ripped one open and tossed aside the wrapper.

“As soon as we get our second wind, I’m going to bend you over this couch and fuck you myself,” Jared promised.

His strong hands rolled the latex over Rick’s shaft, snapping it in place near the base. Rick groaned at the slight sting, only to groan some more when Jared coated him with lube.

“I’ll make sure I get that second wind fast then.” He was transfixed by the sight of Jared positioning himself over his hips, holding Rick steady as he lined the tip up with his ass.

The air in the apartment was cool compared to the heat beneath his skin, and the places where Jared brushed against him felt ready to combust. “Come on. Do it.”

A brilliant smile. A flex of a thigh muscle. Rick lost sight 78

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of his cock head as it slipped between Jared’s ass cheeks. He didn’t need to see it, though, to feel it push against the tight muscle, or feel Jared’s weight bear down on it, and especially not to feel the constriction around it as it slipped inside.

Jared didn’t stop. He sank down onto Rick’s length without a break, without a breath. When there wasn’t any more room for his hand, he let go and braced against Rick’s stomach, a constant stream of groans issuing from his mouth.

Rick grunted when Jared finally stopped. His balls were tight into his body, his nerves already sizzling with anticipation of his impending release. He smoothed a hand up Jared’s stomach, smiling when the abs twitched under his palm. The man amazed him. Though his groans had turned into words of encouragement, Rick never doubted the effect they had on each other. He could feel it in the vibrations of their flesh. He’d dream of it, long after he left Jared for the night.

Slowly, Jared rocked along his shaft. The strokes were shallow at first, like he was reluctant to let Rick go, but gradually, they lengthened, slick and tight as he slid up and down the entire length of Rick’s cock. All Rick could do was hold on. Jared had control. Rick wanted to thrust, but the first time he did so, Jared tweaked his nipple painfully and warned him not to.

“This’ll be over all that much faster if you do that,” he said. His body never stopped moving. How he found the breath to speak—or even the control to string more than two words together comprehensively—Rick had no idea.

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So he let Jared take control. He trembled with each slam against his hips, and he moaned with each squeeze around his cock. It wasn’t that hard to let go, especially when Jared thrived on the leadership. His entire world narrowed down to their bodies, to the union of his flesh to Jared’s, and to the inexorable desire not to have it all end.

There reached a point where he had no other choice but to lift to meet each of Jared’s movements. The sheath of the man’s ass was hotter than any he’d ever experienced. Only the heat within his own body rivaled it. Sweat dripped down the side of his neck, tickling where it ran over his ear, and his fingers slipped against Jared’s damp hips.

“Wanna hold on, do you?” Jared’s eyes burned where they met Rick’s. For a split second, he thought he saw something other than lust shining there, something deeper, but it was gone with, “Then let it all go.”

He wanted to—God, did he want to—but Rick didn’t want to come until Jared had. He released one hand to grasp Jared’s cock, pulling it in time with their fucking.

Jared hissed. The bounce of his body took on a new direction, a slight roll forward in order to thrust into the circle of Rick’s fist. Something primal took him over, a raw edge added to the slap of their skin that spurred Rick to quicken his yanks. Jared fell forward, and immediately cried out in unmitigated pleasure.

“There’s the spot,” he panted. Though his strokes became erratic, he added more force, until Rick shuddered with each new entry into his ass. Jared clutched at Rick’s shoulders. The 80

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new dig into his muscles was the best invitation to enjoy another human being Rick had ever gotten.

Jared came with a scream. Come shot from his cock, splattering across their chests, and his ass clamped down around Rick’s shaft. The pressure was too much to take. So was the smell of their fucking. Rick thrust upward one final time and exploded, deep inside Jared’s body.

The weight of Jared’s collapse drove Rick to wrap his arms around the thinner man, heedless of the sticky fluid gluing their chests together. He licked along Jared’s neck, tasting the salt of his sweat and skin, and buried his nose in the damp hair curling over his ear. Jared’s mouth moved against him, too, almost tickling in spots, but the hot rush of breath erased any argument Rick might have put up to get Jared to stop.

“In case it’s not obvious,” Rick rumbled, “I love this couch.”

Jared laughed. Pressing one last kiss to Rick’s jaw, he peeled himself away, propping up on one hand to gaze down at him. “It might be my new favorite piece of furniture after tonight.”

Rick wanted to reach up and touch Jared’s face, but his muscles were liquid, his arms like lead. “Did you get these pillows someplace someone like me might be able to afford to shop at?”

“Some of them, sure. Some of them are leftovers from when I was traveling for work.”

“You’ve been to a lot of places, huh?”

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“Some.” His gaze grew thoughtful. “New York’s home, though.”

Somehow, Rick managed to gather enough strength to slide an arm around Jared. “Lucky for me.”

With a content sigh, Jared lowered himself back down, resting his cheek on Rick’s shoulder. Their heat mingled, and the effects of his orgasm started to take root in Rick’s muscles.

His eyes drifted shut. He could get used to this. The weight of Jared on top of him, added to the liquefying of his body, was enough to make him hover just this side of consciousness.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Rick struggled to pull himself back from the brink of sleep.

“Hmm? ’Bout what?”

“Meeting Tyson tonight.”

“He liked you. I could tell.”

“Good. I liked him, too. But that’s…not what I meant.”

Jared hadn’t moved from where he laid on top of him, but Rick opened his eyes anyway. “What is it then?”

“I was thinking about the AIDS dinner. About how you didn’t raise as much money as you wanted to.”

Rick snorted. “We still raised a ton. Stop worrying about it. We helped. That’s what matters.”

“We should’ve helped more.”

“How? Sold seats on the street?”

He felt Jared’s shrug. “It bugged me I couldn’t get any of the mags to come and cover it. Especially since Leo and I weren’t exactly small potatoes back when we were modeling.”

Warmth washed through him, and he tightened his arms 82

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around the other man. “But you came. That’s all anybody can ask. Leo wouldn’t have wanted you to be kicking yourself about this.”

“No, but Leo would’ve been better about getting their attention, that’s for sure.” He lifted his head, his chin sharp where it rested on Rick’s chest. “So I was thinking. I have three models for this upcoming show. What do you think of asking some of your patients to escort them down the runway?

I’ll split the proceeds with the charity, and because the mags are going to be there, we should get some national coverage.

Maybe even international if my designs are good enough.”

Rick stared at him, dumbfounded. It was clear Jared had been giving this a lot of thought. Was this what had been bugging him at the bar? He’d almost admitted as much. But Rick wasn’t sure what to say in response. He wasn’t a charity organizer. He’d only thrown the dinner because Leo had asked him to. It had been a lot of work just to sell the plates they had, time he could barely spare away from his clients.

Speaking of his clients, they weren’t models. Most of them didn’t like to leave the house at all. It took everything he had sometimes to coax them down to the grocery store to get milk.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I don’t know if anybody would actually agree to something like that. It’s not like any of them are really that interested in fashion right now.”

Jared remained there, unmoving, unblinking. He finally expelled a long breath and set his head back down. “Maybe you’re right. It was just an idea, is all.”

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His tone hinted otherwise, but Rick didn’t know what else to say on the matter. No matter how long he held Jared, though, the feeling that he’d somehow let him down never quite disappeared.

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Nothing was going right. Not the designs, not the alterations, not the fact that he’d fitted Kelly and then the girl had turned around and twisted her ankle on the subway and so now he had wasted a day’s worth of work and was scrambling to make it up. Jared had less than twenty-four hours until the show, and at this point, he wasn’t even sure he had enough models, let alone a date to go with him.

Rick had said yes, but that had been five days ago. Five days since Jared had opened his big mouth and made the suggestion about raising some more awareness for the charity.

Five days since Rick had gently let him down by reminding him that his patients were more interested in figuring out how 85

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to stay alive than showing off some narcissist’s fashion designs. Rick had been diplomatic about it, of course. Rick was always diplomatic. Rick never said anything wrong, which only made Jared feel like even more of a shit for not paying attention to what the others might be feeling and focusing on his own guilt.

It had also been five days since he’d had even a phone call from Rick. That told Jared all he needed to know.

His needle slipped where he was basting in a new dart. It embedded in his thumb, but he didn’t make a sound as he pulled it out and sucked away the droplet of blood.

Theresa watched him sympathetically from across the table. “It’s going to be fine,” she said. “Please stop worrying about the show.”

Jared caught the end of the thread and ripped out his last few stitches. “I’m not.”

“You are. When was the last time you put something in your mouth besides coffee?”

He clamped his jaw shut at the unexpected memories her question evoked. He’d relived that night in his apartment too many times to count. He’d honestly thought they had the start of something, but of course, he’d managed to find a way to fuck it up. Him and his big mouth. The charity dinner was done and over. Rick didn’t even think about it. Why had he ever believed he could do something more, something that should’ve been done in the first place?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Theresa said carefully.

“This isn’t about the show anymore, is it?”

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With a sigh, Jared tossed the dress onto the table and leaned back in his chair. His body ached. He hadn’t been sleeping for all his work and worrying. He spent all his time at the studio, because every time he walked into his apartment, he saw his damn couch and remembered what it felt like falling asleep on Rick’s solid body. Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he rolled his neck, wincing as it cracked more than once.

“I fucked up with Rick,” he said simply. “Again. And since it seems that karma really does have a schedule even when she’s running late, he hasn’t called me since our last date.”

Sympathy pulled her mouth down, but at least she didn’t get up from her chair to come over and pat him on the back or some mundane shit like that. “Have you called him?”

“I’m not really interested in hearing the ‘sorry, Charlie’

speech, no.”

“So maybe he’s busy. You know he’s got an insane work schedule.”

He’d already considered that. “Except even when it was insane before, he always managed to sneak in a five-minute call here or there.”

“Because you two were trying to arrange a date.”

“And he hasn’t called to try and arrange another one. This math isn’t that hard.”

“What could you have done that was so bad? I thought you two were really hitting it off.”

“We were.” He reconsidered. “I thought we were.”

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“So what was it?”

“Does it matter? He hasn’t called. Rehashing it isn’t going to make it happen, and it sure as hell isn’t going to make me feel better about it.”

She didn’t follow him as he stood to go pour himself another cup of coffee. No snide comment about his shitty eating habits, either. He knew Theresa just wanted to help, but nothing could fix this. He couldn’t go back in time and change what he’d said. He couldn’t erase all the wrong assumptions he’d made. He couldn’t even get the smell of Rick out of his damn couch, which made it even harder to spend any time in his apartment.

Theresa held her tongue until he’d returned, but she fiddled with her pencil rather than working on the design specs. “You should call him. If you really think you messed up, maybe he’s just waiting for an apology.”