Page 31 of Contingently Yours

Andrew

What the hell is that supposed to mean? And what redeeming qualities?

“I told you I heard music,” Mason declares, stepping through the door with his husbands.

Flashing them my practiced smile, I put more zeal into my playing as Mason starts singing the words.

He is a musician, after all, and I’m supposed to be here to impress him.

Plus, there is the added benefit of my song choice pissing Lucas off.

That’s what he deserves after all that personal shit he brought up.

Sulking over, he takes a seat on the piano bench next to me. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. What’s the point in moving closer to me when he looks that agitated right now? We’re not going to fool anyone.

Dario and Keenan seem to be distracted by the performance, enjoying it, so I chime in with backup vocals to accompany Mason.

Flashing Lucas a cheery smile, I can’t help but gloat that the song is basically his anthem.

Crushed dreams later in life—it is the perfect saga for a thirty-seven-year-old man with a misplaced crush.

He must know it, too, because his nostrils flare.

“Lucas, let’s hear what you’ve got,” Mason encourages.

I cackle at the request as Lucas looks up at him, wide-eyed. The piano keys are sticky under my fingers from the humidity in the unpowered room as I approach the next verse. The discomfort, however, is worth the payback value for Lucas’ tantrum earlier.

“No. He can’t carry a tune,” I assure Mason sadly.

A belted, growly timbre startles the shit out of me, making me miss a note. I whip my gaze at Lucas. Those chocolate eyes of his have murder in them with my name on it, but that’s not the cause of my surprise.

Holy shit. The grumpy bastard can sing! His voice is low and sexy as he holds my gaze and stands up to me in song form.

I know he still wants to kill me, but the eerie resolve behind the hostility in his eyes makes it seem like he’s singing about me as he enunciates each word.

The room suddenly feels overcrowded and warm.

My pulse skips a beat as I mumble the harmony and stare at the steadfast conviction in his eyes.

I feel…seen. Seen like no one else has ever seen me, nor even bothered to try.

He basically said that earlier, but I was too busy trying to brush him off. His exact words were, ‘Because I’ve seen the worst in you and know it’s all bullshit.’ They make my stomach flip hard as they sink in deeper.

I am kind of full of shit most of the time, if I’m being honest. And apparently, he knows it. And…he still thinks I’m redeeming?

Why am I staring at his mouth? It’s getting…harder to breathe, and I’m warm. All over.

Oh, God…

No…

Lucas Everette cannot be my John Stamos . Bonnie Tyler, what have you done to me?

Something in his expression changes, softening his features as his gaze canvases my face. It looks like recognition and opens a cavern in my chest, a giant, Lucas-sized cavern that feels like it can only be filled by him.

Mason starts singing again, and I realize we’ve trailed off.

Tearing my gaze away, I laugh airily and focus on the notes.

When we finish, the guys applaud. Dario leaves and returns with more beverages from the kitchen, turning this into a makeshift karaoke party.

As I field requests, I do everything I can to put on a good show and not sneak a glance at Lucas.

I’ve never been self-conscious about my playing.

Probably because I rarely ever play for anyone.

The average Joe might be intent on impressing Mason right now and getting him to put in a good word for them in the music industry, but my curiosity is focused solely on wondering if the man beside me, who’s kicking off body heat and smelling way too intoxicating, is enjoying it.

I’m thirsty for Lucas Kool-Aid. Not in a way that I wonder how many flavors of his I could taste. That’s the damnedest thing about it. I just want to drink in the fact a hair-braiding warrior with morals I’ve never known, maybe sees something good in me, like the sun shines out of my ass.

In my years of gallivanting, it was never outside my understanding that I was both using and being used by the company I’d link up with for the night.

It never bothered me or them. That was the arrangement up front.

There’s something about the idea of being appreciated instead, however, that is so shiny and new, I couldn’t make myself stop wanting it if I tried.

I was wrong. I don’t think it’s a power kink luring me to Lucas, after all. I think it might be awe.

Lucas and I finish off the bottle of wine I brought in over the course of the longest hour of my life as the Hepperlys laugh, sing, and tell stories. I can feel the tension between us, a thick blanket of heat and mutual need as the minutes drag on. Is he feeling it, too?

The power flickers back on, and our trio erupts in cheers. Thank fuck that seems to make them give up on karaoke, and they gather up their empties.

We all walk back down the hallway. My hand bumps into the back of Lucas’. The rush of heat it sends across my skin has me feeling lightheaded. The Hepperlys stop in the kitchen, leaving Lucas and me both standing dumbly awaiting their next move. Why aren’t they going back to bed? It’s evening now.

“You guys hungry?” Keenan asks. “We were thinking of getting food delivered.”

“No, thanks,” Lucas and I say in unison.

I smile at them, hoping it alleviates the awkwardness of how we sound like twins. Reaching down, I take his hand in mine, silently praising Bonnie Tyler when he doesn’t pull his away.

“I think we’ll call it a night. We’ve got a house to show you tomorrow,” I joke.

My pulse flutters as Lucas moves when I do, accompanying me down the hall to our room.

He doesn’t throat punch me or drop his hand from my grasp the entire way, not even once we step inside.

It gives me hope. Maybe he’s willing to extend some of those good graces of his. I sure hope so, because I need to know…

My nerves are the equivalent of a tightly coiled spring as I drop his hand and close the door.

Although the power is back on, I’m grateful that our room lights are off, the space only illuminated by the moon. I stare at him, and he stares back, cautious and questioning. The silence is as thick as pillow filling. It’s clear he’s said all he has to say. I know I’m up, but nothing comes.

Clearing my throat, I’m sure there are more delicate ways to ask, but I don’t know how to be delicate or ask for things. “Tell me,” I blurt.

“What?”

“The redeeming shit I don’t deserve to hear.”

His posture tenses, and he looks away. His answer comes after a beat, barely audible. “No.”

Stepping closer, I watch his lips part. His tongue comes out to wet them, making me want to groan. He’d kiss me, but he’s hoarding his secret compliments like treasure. Fucking cruel. I’m only human here.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more helpless. Whispering, I hope my request sounds more humble this time. “Tell me.”

I watch him stare at my lips as he swallows. He takes a step back as though he has to fight giving in to the urge my mouth presents. Did not need to see that right now. Fortunately, the wall blocks his retreat.

Inching forward, I place my palm on the drywall next to his head. “Please,” I add, testing the foreign word out on my lips.

His gaze flicks up to mine in surprise. Yeah, yeah, let’s not make it a habit, my snarky internal voice wants to say. I hold back, though, and wait.

“You’re…good looking,” he stammers.

I’ve actually heard that before, plenty of times, so it shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve never heard it from Lucas, though. It makes me grateful for my face for the first time in my life. Bringing my hand up, I stroke his beard with my thumb, wondering if he knows how much I don’t hate his face anymore.

“And…” I press, greedy for more confessions.

“And you work for your uncle because you want to do something you weren’t forced to do…but you’d be good at anything you tried.”

It feels like time is interrupted as I gape at him. Reaching down, I grip his hip to steady myself and remember to breathe.

“Like playing the piano,” he adds, “but you can’t enjoy it because they made you.”

Something is squeezing my throat. The pressure feels a lot like it starts around my heart. I lean in and rest my forehead against his shoulder, inhaling his scent against the burning in my lungs. Can he just shut up already?

“And…you don’t even know just how good you are.”

Swallowing against the thickness, I tilt my head and taste the cord in his neck. “What else?” I rasp, a glutton for his punishment.

His head falls back into the wall with a thump, and he grips my elbow. “You know…”

“No, I don’t.” I kiss his neck. “Tell me.”

“ You know ,” he repeats, “just how to touch me. Just what to say…like you know more about me than I know about myself.”

Finally, a compliment that doesn’t gut me. Shifting my hips forward, I press them into his, smiling when his hardness meets mine. I move my mouth to his ear and whisper, “I’m listening.”

His voice comes out breathy. “You’re bossy and yet somehow…sensual in a way that…that makes it hard to breathe. And…you always know what to do or say, so I…so that I…”

“So you don’t have to?”

Turning his head, he blinks at me. The surprise on his face is the redemption my battered pride needed. I nip his lower lip. “So you don’t have to fucking take care of someone for a change?” I wager.

You’d think I just doused him with a bucket of water.

Two fists grab handfuls of my shirt and yank me forward.

His mouth slams against mine. Whining like he’s in pain, he reaches around and grips my back until there isn’t an inch separating us.

He’s carnivorous with want. It makes me question if I’ve ever actually witnessed desire.

I give back as good as he’s giving, keeping up with each sweep of his tongue.

It’s like drowning on dry land. I don’t know the playbook for this, but I know I want him naked, so I tug at his shirt, dragging it over his head.

His fingers fumble with mine. I lift my arms to let him get the same experience.

When it passes over my head, the vision before me is too much to bear.

I grip the back of his neck and tug him to me. Tracing his reddened lips, I tremble at the feel of his chest rising and falling against mine.

“This fucking mouth. Every time you part your lips like that, I want them around my dick.”

He drops like the floor fell out from under him before I can lean in for another kiss. What the hell is he doing?

The question dies a quick death when his fingers unfasten my shorts like there’s a fire inside them he needs to extinguish. Aw, fuck. I have no problem with how literal he took that.

The soft fabric of my shorts slides down my legs. My cock twitches behind my boxers. He reaches for the waistband, but then hesitates, glancing up like he needs permission. He had my permission ten seconds ago. Maybe even two weeks ago.

“Do it,” I croak. “Pull me out.”

The way he wets his lips makes it look like he’s anticipating something delicious.

He’s fucking killing me. Lowering my waistband, his fingers wrap around my cock and draw it above the elastic.

His wet lips enclose my tip and then draw back like he’s kissing an ice cream cone.

He pauses, his hot breath ghosting my damp head, and stares at it in wonder.

Glancing up at me with his lips parted, I couldn’t dream of a more enticing sight.

His face says I’m officially his favorite flavor.

The next thing I know, he swallows half of my cock and starts bobbing his head, taking the wind out of me.

His tongue wriggles around my circumference while he attempts to take me to my base several times, as though he’s trying to test out every technique all at once.

It’s sloppy, with lots of suction noises, a few grunts, and even some gagging.

A bead of slobber dribbles down my balls.

It’s the worst blowjob I’ve ever received.

It’s also now my favorite. Fucking hell, I want to devour him.

“Get up here,” I growl, hooking my hands under his armpits.

Hoisting his heavy frame up off the floor is enticing in its own right. The feel of his weight, the hair underneath his arms, the way his cock bobs as he moves—he no longer looks like someone I have to fake it with. He just looks like a lover.

His lips are pliant underneath mine as I capture his mouth once he’s on his feet. They open and move at my every unspoken command, trying to keep up with what I give them, what I take. I don’t let him up for air until I can’t breathe myself.

I take in the sight he makes, chest and stomach heaving.

He’s like a furnace, and I’m stoking a fire he can’t keep up with.

Running my hand across his pecs, they twitch under my touch.

I snake downward, grazing my palm down his belly, through the thick trail of soft hair there.

His jeans are obscenely tented, and I almost don’t want to take them off just so I can see him like this a little longer.

Reaching down, I cup his bulge and squeeze.

He grunts, and I feel it on my lips as I murmur, “Get on the bed.”

He absorbs that and then nods, moving around me. I watch him bring a knee up to the mattress and give him a swift little swat on that bubble butt of his.

“No clothes,” I warn when he glances back at me.

Turning around slowly, he looks down at himself, but then his fingers move to the button on his jeans.

His gaze stays fixed there like it’s taking all his concentration, so I slide my boxers down over my hips and watch his face when he sees them hit the floor.

He stares at my cock for so long, I have to give myself a squeeze and clear my throat.

He does his usual de-pantsing routine, bending over and slipping them off each leg. My chuckle must be louder than I thought.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He does the same thing with his briefs. It’s a bizarre yet unintentional foreplay, and I want to know if anyone else ever took notice and appreciated that he does it.

When he straightens, I wonder for a moment if he’s going to cover himself with his hands.

His gaze takes me in again, though, and his posture straightens like his want bolstered his bravery.

Turning, he steps around the bed and sits down in front of his pillow.

His movements might be awkward, but the look on his face is a gift I’ve never been given.

I’m the only thing in Lucas’ world right now.

I don’t know why he thinks there’s anything good about me because all I can think is how he’ll be sorry if he ever stops looking at me like that.