Page 15 of Coming Clean

Connor

I looked through the peephole in my apartment door. Jeremy. Shit. I couldn’t open the door.

Are you really going to pretend you’re not home?

Um…

Are you afraid of a poet? You’re a Marine.

I’m afraid of losing myself.

By being who you are?

No. Jeremy’s not like other men.

True.

He knocked again.

Open the damn door.

I stood there, hand on the knob, frozen.

Something thunked against the wood. I looked through the peephole again and saw him walking away.

Jesus Christ—skintight black jeans and boots that were doing something strange to me.

Was he going out? Dressed like that, he had to be. Was he planning to get laid?

I imagined him lying back, another man above him. Hell no. I yanked the door open, shoving aside the bag of cleaning supplies he must’ve tossed on the mat. “Jeremy!”

He stopped, turned. “Yes?”

“You got plans tonight?”

“N-yes.”

Oh God. I’d hoped I was wrong.

He shook his head. “They’re not really important.”

Thank God. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes.” The word was barely audible, but he walked into my apartment and I picked up the supplies he’d returned.

I closed the door behind him, and for a long moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. “Thanks,” I finally managed, setting the bag by the coat closet.

“You left those,” he said.

I was glad he didn’t add “when you ran away.”

“I was going to call about it.” I wasn’t. I was going to send Sabrina.

“That’s okay. I was… out, so I… um… thought I’d drop it by. Sabrina told me where you lived.”

Of course he’d called her instead of me. He probably figured I wouldn’t answer. He wasn’t wrong.

“You didn’t have to open the door,” he said. “It’s okay if you don’t want me here.”

“I do want you here. That’s the problem.” I ran a hand through my hair. What the hell was I doing?

“Is it? A problem, I mean?”

“It shouldn’t be.” I wanted to explain why I was such a freak, but the words didn’t come. Then I really looked at him—those jeans, those boots—and my brain just… stopped.

“Um… should I go?” he asked.

“No!” My voice came out too loud. I winced, rubbed at my brow. “I’m sorry. Please stay.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I get that you don’t like what happened at my house.”

I wanted to tell him I’d liked it too much, but the words stuck. “You look… different.”

He laughed softly. "Yes, that’s David’s fault.”

“Your friend who lives next to Rita?” The one I saw with his arm around you at that damn bar.

He nodded. “He wanted me to go out with him tonight. Talked me into this outfit.”

I let myself look again, longer this time. “I like it.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

How could he not know how hot he was? “Yes. It’s way hot.”

He took a step closer. “I feel ridiculous, but if you say so…”

“Are you going out with David?” I kept my tone casual. Too casual.

“Not with him with him. He’s straight but likes to drag me to stuff like eighties night.”

I tried to process that. “He uses you to help him pick up girls?”

Jeremy laughed. “Actually, I’ve occasionally used him to pick up boys. David is… unique, to say the least. I guess I am too.”

I shook my head. “You’re very easy to like.”

“Not everyone thinks so.”

“Then they’re idiots.” This time I was the one who stepped closer.

He was watching me—desire and something wary in his eyes.

Say something. Be a man, not a coward. “So you wouldn’t mind missing the chance to go out tonight?”

He shook his head. “I’d rather stay right here.”

“I’d rather you did that too.”

One more step, and we were close enough to touch.

I gave in.

I had to know. Had to feel it.

When our lips touched, something inside me snapped. Hunger took over. I wasn’t gentle—I couldn’t be. I felt like I’d been starving, and Jeremy was the only thing that could save me.

He didn’t pull away. He opened for me, let my tongue slide against his, then his hands gripped my hips, yanking us together. The hard ridge of his cock pressed against my hip. He was just as desperate as I was.

God, I needed this. Not just the contact—but him . The realness of him. My head spun from the intensity. I didn’t want to stop, even when I needed to breathe.

Finally, he pushed at me gently. We both needed air. I sucked on his tongue once more, then let him go.

He smiled—hungry, promising. I backed up like a skittish colt. Why the hell was I so nervous? I’d never felt like this before. Not even when I thought I might get caught.

Get it together, Marine. You’re in charge here.

Except I wasn’t. Not even close. Jeremy could’ve done anything he wanted to me, and I would’ve let him. He came closer. I stepped back—and hit the wall.

Panic surged.

“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was gentle. No pity. Just care.

I nodded. I was bigger. Stronger. I had nothing to be afraid of—physically. Emotionally? He was breaking through all my defenses.

I grabbed his shoulders, ready to spin him around, push him to the wall instead. I couldn’t lose control again.

Then he dropped to his knees.

I froze. Holy God. Was he really going to…?

His fingers brushed over my cock, barely restrained behind my thin running shorts. I closed my eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. His touch was tentative, teasing. It was too much. I was going to explode before I even felt his mouth around me.

Open your eyes and watch him.

I can’t.

Yes, you can.

I did.

He looked up at me, unsure. Whatever he saw in my eyes must’ve convinced him, because he tugged at my waistband, pulling down my shorts and jock strap. My cock sprang free, and he licked his lips as his fingers curled around it.

I almost came right then, just from that. His fingers were long, slim, perfect. He was tender and hot at the same time. I’d been touched by plenty of men. Good ones. Skilled ones. But I’d never felt anything like Jeremy.

He ran his thumb over the head, collecting a drop of precum, then spreading it around. I swayed, dizzy from the sensation. This was too much. Too intense. Too real.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered.

Had I imagined those words?

No—he was real.

His hands on me were so fucking real.

“Please,” I whispered back, hating how desperate I sounded.

Jeremy

Connor’s eyes locked with mine, dark and intense, his jaw rigid and his bottom lip caught between his teeth so tightly the color drained away.

God, he looked ready to explode. I stroked his cock slowly and blew across the tip, hoping it would help him relax, let go.

His thighs tensed beneath my hands like coiled steel.

When I tongued the slit, he let out this tortured sound and clawed at the wall behind him, like he was trying to hold on to something—anything.

“Hold on to me,” I told him, voice low and firm.

“Fuck!” he groaned, grabbing the sides of my head.

There. That was better. I loved the way his strong hands tugged at my hair.

I might have been on my knees, but I was in control.

I could reduce this tough-as-nails Marine to nothing but breath and desperation.

I could suck him off, make him tremble, make him beg.

I could toy with him until he came undone and surrendered everything to me. And I would—slowly, relentlessly.

When I took his cock into my mouth, he shuddered hard, but stayed quiet, fighting himself. Typical Connor. I pushed deeper, swirling my tongue around his shaft, and slid one hand between his legs, silently asking him to open up.

He widened his stance. Still tense but trusting me. That was progress.

I experimented—pressure here, a flick of my tongue there.

My fingers traced a line along his perineum while my other hand gently rolled his balls.

He gasped and pushed into my mouth. Oh yes, that was the spot.

I let my fingertips brush his hole—nothing forceful, just enough to make him wonder. Teasing, promising.

“More. God, I need more.” His voice was ragged and rough, full of need he didn’t want to admit.

I smiled around his cock. That was what I wanted—Connor giving in, letting himself need this.

I nuzzled into his palm, letting him know I liked it, that I liked him . I sucked harder, working him faster, edging him closer to the brink. I wanted to ruin him in the best way possible.

My conscience tried to whisper a warning, but I didn’t listen. Right now, I was invincible. I was Supergay, capable of making even a closeted Marine forget the world with a single blowjob.

He gasped when I took him deep. I circled his hole again with a fingertip, pressing just enough to make him groan. Choked sounds spilled from his lips as he rocked into my mouth.

He was so close. I could feel it in the way his body moved, in the tremble of his thigh muscles. I cradled his balls and took him even deeper, lips brushing against his pubes.

“Holy fuck!” he cried. “Gonna?—”

I pulled off, but kept working him with my hand, fast and tight. His eyes locked with mine, wide and panicked with pleasure. He was gasping, chest heaving, barely able to breathe. I loved it. I wanted to see him lose it completely.

“I want to see you come,” I said, my voice thick with need.

He cried out, half-words lost in the sound of his orgasm. Watching him shoot was enough to push me over the edge. I barely got my jeans open in time. I jerked myself off, matching the rhythm of his release.

I kept touching him too, working him through it, until he whimpered—an honest-to-God whimper from a man like him undid me. I came hard and fast. When Connor finally sagged against the wall, I pulled back, sat on my heels, breathless and amazed. I looked up, expecting some trace of satisfaction.

Instead, I saw terror in his eyes.

Shit.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and stood up, trying to act like everything was normal.

He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. His cock still out, his body still trembling, and his face blank with fear.

I pulled up his shorts for him, trying to help. Maybe it would make this less awkward. “You have done this before, right?”

He nodded.

“Did it freak you out then?”

He shook his head.

Of course not. It wasn’t the act . It was me . “Was it easier to pretend when you were in the military? Did it seem less… gay?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Bullshit. He knew. But guys like him? They didn’t reflect, didn’t process. They reacted. Like now. Afraid, confused, probably halfway to convincing himself this never happened.

“I’ll get going, okay?” I said.

He bit his lip hard, looking like he wanted to stop me.

“I…” he started.

I put a finger to his lips. “I get it, but I can’t stay.”

If I stayed, I might kiss him again. I might hope that another round would change something. And that would be so stupid.

I walked to the door and didn’t look back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. But it didn’t matter. I had to leave.

I walked to my car like a ghost and sat in the driver’s seat, staring at nothing.

What now?

Tears burned my eyes.

No. No crying. Not over him.

So he freaked out. He wasn’t ready to admit who he was. Big deal. We had fun. Now I would move on. No way I was messing with that kind of chaos again.

David warned me. He told me not to go.

I made it home before the tears started. Silent at first. Then hot and messy and humiliating.

I was such a fucking fool.

“You need me to pick you up?” David asked when I called.

He always knew. Always. No teasing, no lectures, just solid, steady friendship. When I’d kicked Silas out, David didn’t say I told you so —and he could’ve, so I knew he wouldn’t now, either.

I’d thought, more than once, that life would be easier if David and I were a couple.

But even if he were gay, it’d never work.

We were too much, too alike in all the wrong ways.

We’d kill each other living together. Hell, we’d tried it once and I moved out after a few weeks so we wouldn't destroy our friendship.

Besides, the idea of actually fucking David? Ew. No thank you. He was family, and I’d take that over any fleeting romance.

Who needed love anyway? Relationships just hurt. Over and over. Maybe I should finally learn to enjoy sex for what it was—fun, uncomplicated, disposable. Like David did.

“I want you to take me somewhere I can get drunk—stinking, fall-down, wasted-off-my-ass drunk.”

“You got it. Are you at home?”

"Yes.”

“Give me about twenty minutes.”

“Am I fucking up your evening?”

“No. Yes, but you can owe me.”

“You’re with a woman, aren’t you?”

“Not for long.”

He ended the call before I could say more. God, I hoped he hadn’t answered in the middle of sex. But the mental image—David, naked and scrambling for his phone while some girl stared in disbelief—made me laugh. A little. And I needed that.

I really, really needed that.