Zipper Fall (17 page)

One hundred percent.

With Jack.

One hundred percent.

I grabbed his arms, anchored on the ridges of his triceps; he came down for a kiss and my leaking cock brushed his abs again. “Jack… please…. I’m gonna... Oh!”

He grunted, pulled out of me, and squeezed around the base of my cock with his fingers.

“Jack!” I panted. I needed to come, and he wasn’t letting me. “Please!”

“Shh.” He kissed my forehead. “Turn over.”

I did. I heard another squirt of the lube bottle, and then Jack took me from behind. He buried himself to the hilt, hard and fast, making me see lightning with almost every stroke. And when I didn’t think it could get any better, he wrapped his lubed fingers over my cock and gave it a few pumps. I bit back a scream as I fell over the precipice with my eyes rolled back in my head and the delicious stretch-and-fill of Jack’s cock up my ass reminding me that I was here, alive, and the past was only a distant memory.

He panted, then held his breath and went rigid. “Gwrrraaaahrrr!” He thrust hard as his pleasure crested and I got to hear that awesome, big cat roar once again.

He collapsed on top of me, and I was sandwiched beneath the comforting weight of Jack. We were still joined, and a puddle of jism was cooling under me. Life was good.

There was only the two of us now.

W
E
SHOWERED
separately and slipped into our black silk undies again.

“Bed?” I asked, hoping he’d stay. He looked undecided. “Please?” I knew no shame. I wanted him next to me, his heat making me too hot, his breath keeping me up with sensuous whispers behind my ear, keeping the black-haired specter of my long-gone lover away.

“You sure?” he asked. Apparently he wasn’t the type to stay the whole night. “But I have stuff to do tomorrow….”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” I pointed out.

“Yeah. The weekends are pretty much the only time I can sort through Celia’s old things.”

I thought fast. I’d give up some of my time if only he’d warm my bed—this would be the first time I let somebody sleep over since Paul married Susan. “I could help for a little bit,” I offered. “If we find her climbing gear….”

He exhaled, his shoulders slumping just a little. “Okay, Goldilocks. You get to snoop through my stuff tomorrow if you really want to.”

I blushed. It wasn’t like that… but he’d never believe me. Relieved, I saw him fix me with that devastating grin as he slipped between my sheets.

“Hey, Wyatt. You’re with me. One hundred percent. Right?” There was concern in those dark eyes, their brilliant blue dimmed by the night. I could barely see them in the midnight shadows of the room.

“I’m with you, Jack.” My voice seemed to have sealed the situation, and I felt him pull me in and spoon me from behind, his left arm under my neck, his left hand stroking up and down my body absently.

“Hey, Jack.”

“What,” he growled, almost asleep.

“If you keep toying with me like that, I’ll get hot again. So unless you’re still interested….”

His hand stilled, pulling me in even closer. “Promises, promises… Goldilocks,” he said right before his breath evened out and he fell asleep.

I took a lot longer, unable to banish the thoughts of my father’s rage every time he happened to run into me and Paul together, of Paul and Susan at their wedding, of my secret meetings with my brother, Carl, and my sister, DeeDee… I remember having heard the first cars rumble in the streets before I descended into the realm of uneasy dreams.

T
HERE
was an arm under my neck; a knee brushed my thigh, a palm caressed my belly ever so gently. It felt familiar, warm and loving.

Paul….

I felt myself smile as I turned into his chest, the cobwebs of sleep distorting reality as my eyes refused to open. I mumbled something, something sweet. The same hands ran up my back now, and I arched into their touch, sliding my own hands up the smooth chest, the throat, the jaw line—the hair was too short. Coarser, too. Bewildered, I pried my eyes open only to be met with calm eyes the color of deep, tropical seas. I was locked into that intense gaze; the straight nose, the perfect, pink lips. His hair wasn’t black, and at the sight of the auburn tones in his brown, messy mop it all rushed back at me, like a torrent.

Not Paul. Jack.

I leaned in and brushed his lips with mine, not exhaling. Morning breath was never a pretty thing. “Jack….” I leaned my forehead into his shoulder, stricken with guilt.

I was with Jack now.

One hundred percent.

“Hey, Goldilocks….” There was a faint trace of hurt in his voice. I kissed that strong, warm shoulder, hoping to make it better. “So who’s Paul?”

I felt like bolting into a run and never stopping; I felt like crawling under a rock and never coming out.

“C’mon, Goldilocks. If you’ll be confusing me with someone, at least let me know who it is.”

I looked up, sensing the tension in his shoulders, the frown mark between his brows. I wanted him to stay. I didn’t want him to be driven away like the rest, didn’t want him to be just the last in a row of sporadic one-night stands.

“I was not confusing you with anyone last night,” I said, my tone pointed and defensive. A moment passed before I broke his patient silence again. “You know how you said I needed to be reprogrammed? Sometimes it takes more than once.”

He rolled on top of me, stroking my hair to the side and nipping my ear hard enough for me to take notice. “Who. Is. Paul.” Implacable eyes gazed down at me, and behind that tough façade was a world of hurt.

“My first real romantic partner was a girl. Susan Pollack. We dated for seven months. Paul Hinge and the two of us hung out all the time. There were other friends, too, but the three of us were inseparable. So, eventually… Susan and I decided to split up, and I figured Paul would court her, but he went after me instead. It was like… it was like a fog had lifted, you know? That feeling you get when you realize something really profound about yourself?”

I saw Jack close his eyes, then open them again, and nod. “You figured out why it wasn’t going so well with Susan. You liked guys.”

“I like both…. I like guys a lot more.”

“So what happened?”

“So Paul and I dated into college. We… we were really right for one another. We drove each other crazy but managed to make it work, somehow—and there was Susan, and she loved both of us and we both loved her back. It was pretty fucked up, I guess….”

A gentle nuzzle tickled my neck; a kiss followed right after. “So what went wrong?”

“Ahh… my dad. He walked in on me and Paul the summer after our freshman year. We were… you know. And I was under him, and dad…. My dad, he just… he totally freaked out. Paul’s dad is a doctor and so is mine—there had been some kind of an issue since my mother died that nobody’s allowed to talk about. My dad had always blamed Paul’s dad for my mother’s death, and Paul wasn’t welcome at our house at all. I lost my family that day. Two days later, I moved in with Paul. The family feud didn’t go well… Susan cried, thinking she’s losing both of us, so we… we invited her to move in with us, and it was good until we graduated. Then Susan got pregnant and Paul proposed, so….”

“So you moved out,” Jack said.

“Yeah.”

“And you lost your family… again.”

Tears threatened my eyes and I fought hard to push them back.

“Have you dated much, since?” He prompted me.

“I tried….”

“And?”

I rolled to my side and raised myself on my shoulder, meeting Jack’s searching gaze as squarely as I could bear it. “You’re the first one to… to make me feel like that.” I paused, watching my words soak in and make their impact. “The first guy I asked to stay overnight.”

The serious look from his eyes didn’t dissipate. “You’re a mess, Wyatt,” he said, rolling onto his back again.

“I know.” I stayed where I was. “Is that…. Is that a big problem?”

“I dunno,” he said. He fidgeted with his fingers, searching for something to do, and as soon as I put my hand over them, he forced himself to still and took several deep breaths. “I used to smoke,” he said in a wry voice. “This is just one of those times when I wish for the distraction of a cigarette, you know?”

“No… I’ve never smoked,” I said. “That’s not how I release stress anyhow.”

“You break into people’s houses instead of smoking,” he said, frowning. “How does that tie to your stress, anyway?” He turned to his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “What are you looking for, when you do that?”

The question was fair. He’d let me learn that he had been a smoker; I felt I owed him at least some information, so I forced my thoughts to still and think for a bit. “I love finding out how others live. I get a real kick out of finding out that the couple has kids, or is divorced and living together, or that they had roast beef the night before…. There are family pictures around, usually, and when they are not around, that’s indicative of something, too. Like, this person doesn’t have anyone—why is that?”

“And you take their stuff?”

“Not always,” I said, defensive. “Only if they have a lot and won’t miss it, or if they’re mean, or something like that.”

“And then you give it to the poor,” Jack said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Sometimes I do,” I said. “Not enough, I guess, and I don’t pretend that it justifies what I’m doing. It’s just like… I’m looking for something and I can’t stop.” I turned toward him and our eyes met. “This is a problem, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

I sighed and forced myself to meet his eyes, unwavering. “Is it a deal breaker?”

He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “I don’t like thinking in absolute terms like that. I like you—otherwise I wouldn’t be here, but, yeah. You need to stop doing that. We can work on that together, you know. After all, reprogramming often takes many, many tries.”

I released the breath I didn’t know I held as a wave of relief washed over me. “So… so you’ll… you won’t…?”

“You may have to pursue me some more, convince me that you really, truly want me, Wyatt,” he said, his voice teasing. “Now I’m hungry, though. What are our options?”

“Cereal. Grapefruit. Coffee.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve a hankering for pancakes. My treat?”

I nodded, burrowing my face into his shoulder. Pancakes would be swell.

O
UR
appetites were sated, both carnal and gustatory. Now we sat on the black leather sofa at Jack’s place, eyeing the looming pile of cardboard boxes. They all held Celia’s stuff. She had inherited the estates of two of their aunties, who were big-time collectors.

“They were crazy old bats, those two,” Jack said of his aunts with a certain trace of fondness. “They’d give us the craziest shit for gifts. One year, Celia got a little cigar box full of buttons for Christmas. Just old buttons, you know? They were kind of interesting, in a quaint sort of way, and she just let them sit around, not knowing what to do with them, until she found out they were a trendy collectible. She sold that box of antique buttons for almost two grand.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, so I didn’t want to call one of those junk dealers—I don’t even know what’s in here. I don’t know anything about this kind of stuff.”

“I do.”

“You do? Really?”

“Sure. I have a fence….” We both froze for a second, and then I tried again. “I know of a reputable antiques dealer who’ll give you a good price. My question is, where do you want to start?”

Jack thought about that for a bit. He slid his hand up my shoulder and to the nape of my neck, twirling my hair in absent play. “I’d love to empty that second bedroom.”

“Even if it takes over your living room?”

He nodded. “The climbing gear’s likely to be buried in there somewhere, you know.”

I
SNEEZED
again. It’s amazing how much dust can accumulate on the top of boxes in a period of only nine months, and I said as much.

“This dust’s older than that,” Jack said, pressing his finger under his nose, bringing his own reaction under control. “These boxes sat at Auntie Xenia’s house.”

“How long has it been?” The room was now halfway empty.

“Oh, I dunno. Years? Decades?” Jack straightened his back, holding another box in his arms.

I got out of his way and grabbed the next one, then followed him to the living room. It looked like a disaster area.

“Shit, Gaudens. However are we gonna sort this out?”

Gaudens, huh?

“Jack, unless you want me to come up with some offensive, inane nickname for you, you’ll refrain from calling me Gaudens.”

There. That was direct, yet nonconfrontational. Just stating a fact.

He turned to look at me. “Just ’cause you and your dad aren’t on speaking terms doesn’t make the name bad.”

“Says you.”

“Says I.”

We stood there, staring at one another like two stubborn mules. Two hours of sweaty work had made me grumpy, and my nose itched and my rear still reminded me of last night’s fun and games—as well as of the frolicking this morning—and dammit, I was in a foul mood all of a sudden.