In this excerpt from Chapter One, Tom and Kevin have hooked up for a one night stand in Houston. But Kevin didn’t go away afterward like Tom expected him to, and they have dinner together the next night. Now, after dinner, they are in the restaurant parking lot, and Kevin wants Tom to go back to the hotel room with him.
The night had taken firm hold of the city when we finally left Brennan’s close to ten o’clock. A breeze had come up that whipped our pants against our legs. We’d each parked our cars in the small lot with a crumbling concrete surface at the end of the block, so we walked down there together, where our cars were side by side, though facing opposite ways. We each pulled out our keys and clicked the driver’s doors open, the clicks sounding one after the other.
I turned around to face him, not sure what I wanted. I was a little drunk and a lot confused. I wasn’t even supposed to be here, and none of this should be happening: not the night out or the good company, not the smiles that had been sent across the table or the warm feeling he’d created in my belly, not this had-to-have that sprang up in me as I watched him watching me.
I wanted to kiss Kevin, the way he hadn’t kissed me when we’d met for the evening, and he’d so stripped me of myself that I actually stepped up to him and did it. He kissed me back, his breath catching audibly, and I discovered how his lips moved when we weren’t having sex and how dessert tasted in his mouth. It was damn good. And dangerous.
I pulled away, already asking myself why I’d done that, especially out in the open where anyone could have seen us. Shit! I didn’t want to get involved, never would let that happen, and now that we were out of the clutches of the restaurant, I should have known better. “Good night,” I said roughly, and I jerked the car door open and climbed inside.
But Kevin wouldn’t let me escape; he held the door open and leaned in to where I was stubbornly staring out the windshield.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“The Good Times bar,” I said. “A few laughs, a few beers, dance a little, find somebody who—”
“You never laugh, Tom,” Kevin said. “I don’t think you’ll do it there.”
“Yeah, well, you never know.” I fiddled with my key without putting it in the ignition.
“If you go, then I’ll go.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Sure I do. I want to get laid tonight too. I’ll play the game just like you will.”
“Fine.”
“But we don’t have to.”
Of course we didn’t. The man I wanted to have sex with was right there talking to me. Was I out of my mind to be thinking of driving away from him? I thought maybe I was.
Kevin came even closer. “Come back to my room with me,” he said quietly. “Spend the night with me. Please.”
I turned to look up at him. “I don’t… I don’t do guys over again.”
“Sure you do,” he whispered.
I had, hadn’t I?
Kevin kissed me then, his lips warm and lush against mine, and I didn’t stop him. I took what he gave me, and it seemed that the kiss, this connection between us, lasted for a very long time. Lasted through my hand coming up to rest on his shoulder and his palm coming down to cup my cheek, and lasted through the time he drew back to say Follow me, and lasted through the Miata starting and finding its way along the streets of Houston all the way back to that Marriott Courtyard, and lasted through the two of us silently walking through the lobby up to his room.
The door closed behind us and we were kissing again, or still kissing, and Kevin breathed against my lips, “Do you do it? Do you? I want to fuck you so bad. I’ve got stuff for it. Will you let me do you?”
I almost lost it right there; my knees gave way for an instant and I sagged against the entranceway wall. It’d been years, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to be fucked, that I didn’t fantasize about it and sometimes even dream about it, waking up convinced I was spurting with my legs over a man’s shoulders, his cock commanding me. I was used to denying myself the things I wanted, but here he was in the flesh, tempting me. I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t.
God help me, I was going to let him fuck me.
I launched myself at him and pushed him against the full-length mirror, where we heaved against each other as if we wanted to exchange skins right through our clothes. Then I grabbed his shoulders, spun him around, and propelled him across the room to the bed, where he fell backward, startled and laughing. He wasn’t down long but bounced back up to me. I swayed when he hit against me but caught him. My hands went up to his necktie. “Get this damn thing off,” I growled, and I started to yank the silk from its knot.
Booze helped me have sex the way I had to have it, and it was part of my ritual at the club: get hammered and get lucky. But I hadn’t gone to the club. I’d shared a few drinks and two bottles of red wine with this man who’d wanted to spend the day with me. I’d denied him then, but now he wanted what I’d always wanted and hardly ever trusted anyone to give me.
His hands were on my belt. “Let’s get naked,” he muttered, his hoarse voice sending shivers through me. “Show me your cock, come on. Show me everything.”
We wrestled each other out of our clothes, our fingers everywhere, and a few seconds later, we were naked on the bed. I sucked his tongue like I wasn’t going to let it go, making hungry sounds that a faraway part of me was embarrassed by, was alarmed at, but I didn’t pay attention. I so wanted Kevin to lay me.
I wrapped my fingers around his cock. It was thick but not too thick, what I’d seen and felt and tasted before. Now, with new purpose, his cock was different, better. He was gripping my waist hard as we kissed, and he gasped as I milked him. One second we were on our sides, and the next he flipped me over onto my belly and then pulled me up onto my hands and knees.
Now was the time I should have protested, should have said that I didn’t do this. But the carefully constructed person who lived in west Texas and was 2007 Teacher of the Year had been set aside somehow. I hadn’t done it; Kevin had. Besides, he was distracting me with wet kisses on the small of my back, staying there and breathing against my skin, making me tingle and shake and driving a line of sensation from his lips to my cock, lifting it. It jerked and stretched and throbbed, and when I swiped at it—only once, I couldn’t stand more than that or I’d come too soon, way too soon—my palm came away sticky wet with my weeping.
It’d been so long. How had I let it go so long between fuckings? It was as if the lid I kept so tightly capped on my desires had been blown off by some dark-haired guy talking football in the candlelight. Kevin wanting me and me wanting him back.
Nothing better than his hands all over my ass, rubbing, scratching, taking the shape of me. He reached between my legs and pushed, trying to spread me more, and I shifted on the bed, aiming to rest most of my weight on my right hand and knee, but I did it, gave him what he wanted. Up against my balls he went, not gently but so right. I hissed when he palmed me from behind.
He rubbed the side of his face against my back as he hefted my balls, and I would have screamed at him to move up to my cock and touch me!, except all I could do was heave in air, not talk.
“Okay?” he whispered, and he kissed my back again, both his hands moving to lightly rest on my hips. I froze, feeling as if they were holding me in place, and I did not want to move.
“Okay,” I breathed.
I ached, deep down inside where nobody had ever touched me. God, did I ache.
Copyright 2009 Jenna Hilary Sinclair
From the novel ADMIT ONE by Jenna Hilary Sinclair, published by Dreamspinner Press as eBook and paperback
Find information about all my published gay romance Here
The night had taken firm hold of the city when we finally left Brennan’s close to ten o’clock. A breeze had come up that whipped our pants against our legs. We’d each parked our cars in the small lot with a crumbling concrete surface at the end of the block, so we walked down there together, where our cars were side by side, though facing opposite ways. We each pulled out our keys and clicked the driver’s doors open, the clicks sounding one after the other.
I turned around to face him, not sure what I wanted. I was a little drunk and a lot confused. I wasn’t even supposed to be here, and none of this should be happening: not the night out or the good company, not the smiles that had been sent across the table or the warm feeling he’d created in my belly, not this had-to-have that sprang up in me as I watched him watching me.
I wanted to kiss Kevin, the way he hadn’t kissed me when we’d met for the evening, and he’d so stripped me of myself that I actually stepped up to him and did it. He kissed me back, his breath catching audibly, and I discovered how his lips moved when we weren’t having sex and how dessert tasted in his mouth. It was damn good. And dangerous.
I pulled away, already asking myself why I’d done that, especially out in the open where anyone could have seen us. Shit! I didn’t want to get involved, never would let that happen, and now that we were out of the clutches of the restaurant, I should have known better. “Good night,” I said roughly, and I jerked the car door open and climbed inside.
But Kevin wouldn’t let me escape; he held the door open and leaned in to where I was stubbornly staring out the windshield.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“The Good Times bar,” I said. “A few laughs, a few beers, dance a little, find somebody who—”
“You never laugh, Tom,” Kevin said. “I don’t think you’ll do it there.”
“Yeah, well, you never know.” I fiddled with my key without putting it in the ignition.
“If you go, then I’ll go.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Sure I do. I want to get laid tonight too. I’ll play the game just like you will.”
“Fine.”
“But we don’t have to.”
Of course we didn’t. The man I wanted to have sex with was right there talking to me. Was I out of my mind to be thinking of driving away from him? I thought maybe I was.
Kevin came even closer. “Come back to my room with me,” he said quietly. “Spend the night with me. Please.”
I turned to look up at him. “I don’t… I don’t do guys over again.”
“Sure you do,” he whispered.
I had, hadn’t I?
Kevin kissed me then, his lips warm and lush against mine, and I didn’t stop him. I took what he gave me, and it seemed that the kiss, this connection between us, lasted for a very long time. Lasted through my hand coming up to rest on his shoulder and his palm coming down to cup my cheek, and lasted through the time he drew back to say Follow me, and lasted through the Miata starting and finding its way along the streets of Houston all the way back to that Marriott Courtyard, and lasted through the two of us silently walking through the lobby up to his room.
The door closed behind us and we were kissing again, or still kissing, and Kevin breathed against my lips, “Do you do it? Do you? I want to fuck you so bad. I’ve got stuff for it. Will you let me do you?”
I almost lost it right there; my knees gave way for an instant and I sagged against the entranceway wall. It’d been years, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to be fucked, that I didn’t fantasize about it and sometimes even dream about it, waking up convinced I was spurting with my legs over a man’s shoulders, his cock commanding me. I was used to denying myself the things I wanted, but here he was in the flesh, tempting me. I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t.
God help me, I was going to let him fuck me.
I launched myself at him and pushed him against the full-length mirror, where we heaved against each other as if we wanted to exchange skins right through our clothes. Then I grabbed his shoulders, spun him around, and propelled him across the room to the bed, where he fell backward, startled and laughing. He wasn’t down long but bounced back up to me. I swayed when he hit against me but caught him. My hands went up to his necktie. “Get this damn thing off,” I growled, and I started to yank the silk from its knot.
Booze helped me have sex the way I had to have it, and it was part of my ritual at the club: get hammered and get lucky. But I hadn’t gone to the club. I’d shared a few drinks and two bottles of red wine with this man who’d wanted to spend the day with me. I’d denied him then, but now he wanted what I’d always wanted and hardly ever trusted anyone to give me.
His hands were on my belt. “Let’s get naked,” he muttered, his hoarse voice sending shivers through me. “Show me your cock, come on. Show me everything.”
We wrestled each other out of our clothes, our fingers everywhere, and a few seconds later, we were naked on the bed. I sucked his tongue like I wasn’t going to let it go, making hungry sounds that a faraway part of me was embarrassed by, was alarmed at, but I didn’t pay attention. I so wanted Kevin to lay me.
I wrapped my fingers around his cock. It was thick but not too thick, what I’d seen and felt and tasted before. Now, with new purpose, his cock was different, better. He was gripping my waist hard as we kissed, and he gasped as I milked him. One second we were on our sides, and the next he flipped me over onto my belly and then pulled me up onto my hands and knees.
Now was the time I should have protested, should have said that I didn’t do this. But the carefully constructed person who lived in west Texas and was 2007 Teacher of the Year had been set aside somehow. I hadn’t done it; Kevin had. Besides, he was distracting me with wet kisses on the small of my back, staying there and breathing against my skin, making me tingle and shake and driving a line of sensation from his lips to my cock, lifting it. It jerked and stretched and throbbed, and when I swiped at it—only once, I couldn’t stand more than that or I’d come too soon, way too soon—my palm came away sticky wet with my weeping.
It’d been so long. How had I let it go so long between fuckings? It was as if the lid I kept so tightly capped on my desires had been blown off by some dark-haired guy talking football in the candlelight. Kevin wanting me and me wanting him back.
Nothing better than his hands all over my ass, rubbing, scratching, taking the shape of me. He reached between my legs and pushed, trying to spread me more, and I shifted on the bed, aiming to rest most of my weight on my right hand and knee, but I did it, gave him what he wanted. Up against my balls he went, not gently but so right. I hissed when he palmed me from behind.
He rubbed the side of his face against my back as he hefted my balls, and I would have screamed at him to move up to my cock and touch me!, except all I could do was heave in air, not talk.
“Okay?” he whispered, and he kissed my back again, both his hands moving to lightly rest on my hips. I froze, feeling as if they were holding me in place, and I did not want to move.
“Okay,” I breathed.
I ached, deep down inside where nobody had ever touched me. God, did I ache.
Copyright 2009 Jenna Hilary Sinclair
From the novel ADMIT ONE by Jenna Hilary Sinclair, published by Dreamspinner Press as eBook and paperback
Find information about all my published gay romance Here
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