Page 49 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

Eventually he relents, unable to look me in the face when he commands very softly, “Kiss me.”

I start on his neck, licking at the little scars I can see even in the dim room and travel from one to the other across his neck and face. He breathes in his slow meditative way, eyes closed, trembling from the slight touch of my lips on his skin. When I suck at the cut on his lip, he opens his mouth and invites me to kiss him this time.

We both melt into that kiss, his arms folding around my shoulders, my hand lifting to cup his face. I’m surprised when we part that he’s looking at me with grief.

“Why did you come back?”

I don’t answer but lean in to kiss him again.

He digs his hands into my hair and pulls me away from his body. “Seriously, Jeremy. Why?”

I run my fingers over his face. “Maybe I love you.”

“Maybe?” His brow arches sarcastically.

“I have trouble committing to statements.” I shrug and nod. “But you’re right. I love you. Full stop.”

He sighs as if that answer is the worst thing he’d ever heard. Then adds in a truly exhausted tone, “Well, I guess you can keep going then. Since you’re insatiable and I’m inexhaustible. I’ll fuck you again.”

I smirk and reach for his cock, but as soon as I move forward, he flinches away.

“Actually, um … do you mind…” He looks toward the door, then taps the lamp on his nightstand, bathing the room in warm light. “Getting the lights in the other room first? And, um … maybe bringing me the cane by the chair out there?”

“Oh, shit!” I jump up. “Sure. No problem.”

I come back with his whiskey and his cane, walking slowly in the darkness toward the soft light of his bedroom. I’m not surprised to see a beige patch over his missing eye. Like those bandages they made us kids wear when we had pink eye.

I slot the cane in the umbrella cage by the nightstand and hand him the whiskey. “For the record, I think you should go full Nick Fury and embrace a black leather eye patch.”

He smirks, sips the whiskey, and strokes his cock. The full hot-asshole energy is back and in force. “I think you should either be stripping or sucking my cock.”

“You gonna give me the beat or should I sing to myself?” I scoff, but immediately fall into the pelvic thrust of a little striptease.

“Just normal, Chard. I like it when you take them off normally.”

“I don’t understand that at all.” I bend over to pull my shirt up and over my head in that hunched way that does nothing for a man’s figure.

“You don’t really?” he asks into the whiskey tumbler.

I drop out of my pants and kick off my sneakers without so much as a shimmy. “No, I don’t. People literally pay money to see—”

Then I get it. Everyone in the city and their gay cousin could see me dance my clothes off. He’s one of the few who’s ever seen me just take them off.

“Good, you got it.” He uncrosses his legs, giving me room to come between and take over servicing his cock. He finishes his whiskey and sets it down on the nightstand, then his eye slides shut and he murmurs, “Christ, that’s good.”

I’ve hardly done anything, but I know what he means. Having another person is infinitely better than being alone, definitely when it comes to a hand on your cock, but also…

I kiss him below his ear. “I got this crazy idea.”

“Happens to mentally disordered people like us.” He rubs his hand over my neck and back but does not stop me from kissing.

Or from talking. “When Jude said we were a match made in Hell, I realized we made a good couple.”

He leans back to look at me. “Really? That’s how you take that advice?”

“I’ve never been any match before!” I refuse to budge. If I withdrew this low-burning pleasure, Laur wouldn’t allow me to speak. “Look, I know this is probably a disaster and will hurt us both in the long run and I just ... I’d like to ... try it anyway.”

His brow arches sarcastically. “You wanna be my boyfriend?”

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