Page 15 of The Try Line

"Uh, a shirt?" Surprised by my abrupt change of subject, Mik looks down at his soft cotton shirt and smoothes it down.

Maybe he expects the movement to make me let him go or move away, but I hold my ground. In full caveman mode, I’m using the considerable amount of bulk I have on him to crowd himinto a corner of his own damn home. He’s flustered, but trying to hide it. I want to get under his skin until I get something out of him.

His hands come together in front of his plaid pajama bottoms. My eyebrow lifts in interest. Hiding something, are we? Not the reaction I expected, but that’s very interesting…

"The heat index was one hundred and eight degrees today. Why the fuck are you wearing long sleeves all the time?" I pick at the fabric again before placing my hand on the wall next to his head, still boxing him in.

Mik's dark hazel eyes meet mine, and I marvel at the way I feel grounded to the earth the moment he locks his gaze with mine. Something flickers there, defensiveness maybe, or something darker lurking beneath, and he swallows heavily again. I watch the movement of his throat and the way he licks his lips with such intensity, it takes several moments for me to realize he's talking.

"Maybe you should take your own advice and mind your own damn business. What I wear is of no concern to you. What I do or don't do withmy wifeis of no concern to you. And while it's interesting to know that you still think about theonetime we fucked, maybe you should consider how your actions affect others. I get that you don't give a shit about what happened between us eighteen years ago, but yourfamilyhas still been living in the real world, picking up the pieces from those mistakes. You might be rich and famous wherever you've been for so long, but here, you're still just Jason Reinier."

His words are biting, but his voice stays steady and controlled the entire time. It's infuriating! I’m struggling to keep from throttling him, screaming, or throwing something. But when I look closer, I see all the evidence I need to know I still affect him.

His jaw ticks, his hands are clenched into tight fists, and his chest is rising and falling with overly measured precision. He's clinging onto control with everything he has.

I bend my arms and move into his space until my mouth is barely an inch away from his. "You're telling me you never think about it?"

"About what?"

His jaw flexes, and I smirk because if I look close enough, I can still see right through him. He never was as stoic and indifferent as he pretended to be. That was just a bullshit self-defense mechanism he learned from moving around as much as he did, and because his daddy didn’t pay enough attention to him. Well, boo-fucking-hoo. I know you, Mik Sanders, and I know how to get under your skin.

Inhaling the minty, herbal flavor of his tea that puffs against my lips, I keep my gaze focused on his eyes. My voice drops into a soft growl that used to get him going way back when.

"I see right through you, Mik. I always have. I bet you think about my cock filling you up every time you pretend to be interested in your wife. It might have only been one time, but I know I fucking rocked your world, and I know you still think about it all these years later."

His pupils dilate, and I hear the smallest intake of breath, and my eyes fall to his lips. They're slightly parted, and my tongue aches to push between them.

I step even closer, close enough that my erection bumps against his. Clenching my jaw, I bite back a groan, and he hisses.

"Do you?" My eyes are locked on his lips as he speaks, his voice strained and unsure. He’s working so hard to hold himself back. All I can do is grunt in response, my eyes nearly crossing from the flutter of hot breath over my lips when his raspy voice repeats the question. "Do you think about it?"

I can't trust myself not to open my mouth and spill the explicit truth. That I've thought about that night—abouthim—every single day for the past eighteen years. That every fucking day we've been apart, not a single one of them went by without me thinkingof him. That no matter how much I tried to fuck him out of my system, nothing ever compared to how good he felt, or how good he made me feel.

Even now, filled with anguish and anger, I'm harder than I've been in years. It doesn't matter how long it's been, or that it was only one time. My cock remembers every detail of being inside his hot, tight body.

I can't tell him all of that. Instead, I rock my hips forward, pushing him into the wall. My mouth is so close to his, I can feel the heat radiating off his lips and taste his panting breaths as I roll my hips, rubbing my hard cock against his. I press my body closer, so there isn't a sliver of space between us, and roll into him again and again. I'm huffing his exhales like they're the only oxygen in the room, so close to kissing him I can taste it, but I don't. I’ll dry hump him into oblivion, but I don't dare kiss him.

His legs widen, making more room for me, and I lean into him, pressing firmly. His body is pliant and willing, and I ache to turn him around, rip his stupid pajamas from his body, and plunge into his tight ass without mercy. I wouldn't exactly call this being in control, but I'm at least mindful enough to not lose my head entirely.

I should stop, but I can't force myself to pull away. I'm chasing my orgasm like a horny teenager humping a pillow, using his body to find release. Part of me relishes using him like an object for my pleasure, and part of me just longs to be close to him.

My cock throbs in the confines of my jeans, and my balls draw up. Then Mik's eyes screw up and he makes a familiar sound, a choked moan that he can't hold back no matter how hard he tries. It tips me over the edge. My head drops to the crook of his neck, and I lose myself, humping him against the wall like a dog in heat. I ride out my orgasm, thrusting our pelvises together.

The moment it’s over, clarity hits me like cold water poured over my head, and I step back. His eyes are looking anywhere but me, chest heaving. The front of his plaid pajama pants are dark with his release soaking into them, and I need to get far the fuck away before I drop to my knees and suck on the fabric just to taste him again.

I back away, and he clears his throat. But I'm gone before another word can be said between us.

CHAPTER 6

MIK

I’m painfully hard. Again. Even after jerking off in the shower for the second time tonight. Apparently, I'm a pubescent teenager again. I can't get to sleep. I toss and turn until I'm clearly disturbing Janel, so I leave and head to the basement.

The space down here was one of the biggest selling points of this house. It's set up like a second living space, with a full bathroom and two smaller rooms off a larger room that we filled with an oversized sectional and a huge television screen mounted on the wall. There's a pool table behind the sofa, and a kitchenette that we keep stocked with snacks and soda. Janel and I used to keep our liquor and beer down here, but being young parents doesn't mean we're dumb parents. Jase has friends over here all the time, so we started storing the good stuff upstairs where we could keep a closer eye on it. One of the smaller rooms is just used for storage, but we made the larger of the two rooms into an office. It was originally meant to be shared, but Jase prefers doing his homework in his room or at the library, and Janel basically never comes in here. Over the years, it's become my quiet space. My sanctuary. Mostly I just come in here to read, curling up in the massive overstuffed armchair Janel got me forFather's Day, just after we bought this house and things were starting to go well for us financially.

After switching on a small lamp, I pull a box out of the top of the closet and sit back in the chair. If Janel ever found this box, and I'm sure she has come across it before on one of her many organizational tirades, all she'd see is a box of childhood memories. A photo album keeps proof of a few small awards, my high school diploma, photos of some of the more interesting places I lived before we moved here. There are a bunch of photos of the rugby teams Jason and I played on in high school. I wish I'd thought to bring them to the meetup. There are some great shots of our championship season.

What I see when I look through this box is my history with Jason. Pictures of our friendship, right up until it was more, and then nothing at all. I pull out my favorite photo of us on the field. It was just after a big win, and the whole team was screaming, high-fiving, and jumping all over each other. I'd run straight up to Jason, who'd scored the final points needed to push us to victory, and jumped at him. He caught me, and we jumped around like maniacs with the rest of the team. But the photo captured us in a way that it looks like so much more. My legs are around his waist, his hands on my thighs, holding me against him. My hands are cupping his face, and we're smiling widely at each other, looking deep into each other's eyes.

---