Xylophone (18 page)

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