Page 19

Heart slamming against my chest.

Fingertips prickling with anticipation.

What am I doing?

“Uh … why’d you just … lock the door …?” he asks me.

I don’t have an answer. I just didn’t want him to leave, I think.

And I don’t want to leave, either.

“Anthony?”

I swallow hard. I can barely look into his eyes. “Can we … Can we just …”

“Yeah?”

“Can we start where we … where we left off the other night?”

“In here? Are you nuts? Everything’s covered in herpes.”

“Nah,” I tell his chest. “They’re actually … m-meticulous about hygiene. I think. They clean in here every hour, the staff.”

“How do you know that?”

“Trust me, this is a step up from the motel room I’m in.”

“Are you sure we’re alone?”

“Yes, there’s no one else in here. Please. Just shut up and …” I finally look him in the eyes. “Do I still got your permission?”

He swallows. Hard.

I fully expect him to reject me. To push me away. To be done with this tug-of-war I keep playing with him.

If I was him, I’d sure as hell push me away.

I’d tell me to fuck off back to my small dirt town where all I’ll ever amount to is a sob story everyone tells like juicy gossip—the latest downfall of Anthony Myers, the latest failure, the alcoholic mess who didn’t climb up much higher in life than his dad’s failing pest control business. The apple didn’t only not roll far; it rotted the second it hit the ground.

I look down, realizing his unspoken answer. “It’s … It’s okay,” I mumble. “Sorry for draggin’ you through this. Wish I wasn’t such a mess, but … that’s all I am, all I’ll ever be. Hot mess express, right here, this guy, a ticket for one. Well, it’s your lucky day, I’m lettin’ you off these tracks.”

I reach to unlock the door.

He hand clasps my wrist the next second.

I look up at him, startled.

He smirks at me. “Make that a ticket for two.”

My eyes scrunch up. “Huh?”

“All aboard,” he says, almost sweetly, then grips the back of my head and brings my face to his.

The second our lips touch, I know everything is right. There is simply no other way to describe it. I feel complete. I feel invincible . All the anguish I put myself through is behind me in an instant.

His perfect lips were the answer.

Suddenly my hands find his body. I don’t know when or how it happened, but I’m grabbing him now, somehow pulling him and pushing him away at the same time, like some kind of magnetic force is at war between our bodies.

Then we’re stumbling away from the door, lips still locked, and my back crashes against the side of one of the stalls.

Our kissing intensifies. My fingers curl into his shirt as I feel my back flatten against the rough, unforgiving wall.

I grip him, turn him like a dance, and now it’s me shoving him against the outside of the stall. I can’t get enough of his mouth. I’m fucking breaking apart inside, like a beast is being unleashed with every smack, pucker, and twist of his lips on mine.

I bite his lip.

He grunts, eyes flapping open in surprise, and after a moment of worried confusion, he appears to accept it, as his hands slide under my shirt and drag over my bare skin underneath.

I raise my arms, and off the shirt goes. That catches a urinal’s motion detector, I guess, because it flushes like an applause, and then Bridger and I are diving back into each other’s faces.

He shoves at me, and backwards I go, until I feel the small of my back hit the counter. The faucet explodes again, blasting water behind me. My elbow must have hit it. Or Bridger’s.

Our kisses are turning vocal. I can’t contain my whimpers. His lips are fire against mine as he presses me to the sink. His hands go down my bare chest now, all the way, until they lock onto my hips—then lift me onto the counter.

I grunt with delight as his mouth drags down my chin, down my neck, and starts planting kisses all over my chest. All ten of my God-given fingers weave into his hair, the only thing I can grab, as his mouth slowly descends on my body. “Oh, fuck,” I groan, all of my whimpering turning into words now. “Fuck, yes, yes, fuck , shit, yeah, fuck …” I let out this intelligent stream of words like some kinda secret coded message of permission for Bridger to keep on doing whatever the hell he wants to me.

Then his face plants into the crotch of my jeans.

My head rocks back, smacking into the mirror behind me with such force, I can’t be sure whether I just cracked it or not. I don’t feel a damned thing other than an ocean of pent-up pressure that is building down there from Bridger massaging my cock and balls with his face. It feels like it goes on forever, and goddamn it, if I only had forever to enjoy whatever the hell he’s doing.

Then his fingers fumble for the button of my jeans, undoes it, unzips me, and down to my ankles they go. Bridger’s face is back in my crotch, now mouthing the bulge of my tight briefs.

Yeah, removing the jeans made all the difference. This is a whole other level of sexual pleasure I never thought possible. A thousand times more than my right hand can do on a lonely night in bed. A thousand times better than any fantasy.

Bridger’s fingers hook into my underwear and give it a tug.

My cock, raging hard, throbbing, smacks him right in the face.

He looks up at me. His fierce blue eyes, usually commanding and detached, now look sensitive and connected to mine. I swear, he could ask anything on this planet of me and I’d say yes, hell yes. I would give him whatever he asked just to keep those irresistible eyes on me.

Then he frowns. “I, uh …”

“Yeah?”

“I … I don’t know how I feel about …” He hesitates.

“What?” I almost bark at him, not meaning to, my impatience mounting. I’m so horny and excited, and to be fair, he just let my dick fly out of my underwear like he had a plan with it—a plan he just paused. “What is it? Don’t know how you feel about what?”

“Sucking you off on a public bathroom sink,” he finishes. “Am I taking your … your gay blowjob virginity right now?”

I don’t know which part of that sentence to react to first.

Suddenly there’s a noise at the door. Then it becomes a bang of a fist. “Hey!” comes a muffled voice. “Who locked the door?? I gotta take a dump!”

I make a face at the door. “Gimme a minute! Someone’s gettin’ laid in here!”

Bridger covers my mouth halfway through that—which I find kinda fucking hot, not gonna lie—and he replies, “Sorry! There’s a problem with the, uh … toilet! Out of order for another minute!”

“Are you serious??” shouts the muffled voice back.

Bridger turns back to me. “We can’t do this. Not like this.”

“What?” He’s already off the ground and fetching my shirt, which causes a hand dryer to scream in protest for half a second before falling back asleep. “What’re you—?? We’re not through! Hey, don’t give me my clothes back!” I shout when he shoves my shirt into my chest.

“Suit yourself, be half-dressed when I unlock that door, but … no,” he insists. “This isn’t how I want your first time to happen. Not in a bathroom. You and I, we’ve shown we don’t have great luck in public bathrooms.”

I hop off the counter and yank my jeans back up. “Bridger, I’m hard as fuck. What am I supposed to do with this?”

He comes up to me and, before answering, gently works my shirt back over my head. Once my arms are through, he runs a hand down the front, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I think we … we need to slow down a bit.”

“Uh, shit no,” I spit right back. “I’m happy with the pace we were at ten seconds ago before numbnuts knocked on the door, thanks for asking my opinion.”

Speaking of, he knocks again. “What’s taking so long?? About to shit my pants out here!”

Just then, one of the stall doors opens.

Bridger and I both turn to it, eyes wide.

The meek face of a skinny, freckly redhead smiles back at us. “I was enjoying it, too,” he quietly tells us, flushes his toilet, then goes to calmly wash his hands. We’re still staring at him when he flicks them dry in the sink, then smiles at us again and adds, “You two make such a cute couple. And I hope someday I can find my own ticket to your, um, hot mess train. It sounds like a lot of fun. Excuse me.” He slips by with a meek nod, unlocks the restroom door himself, and heads out. The guy who was waiting barges in with a huff, then barely acknowledges us as he waddles by, clenching his ass, before bursting noisily into one of the stalls.

Bridger and I stare at each other.

“I have a room,” I state quietly. The man in the stall lets out a groan that goes on for days as what sounds like a whole damned cantaloupe performs a cannonball splash into a dainty pool.

The key sticks in the lock.

Yeah, a physical key, not a key card or magnetic thing. Hell, even Spruce’s own Spur Inn has key cards. This motel Juni’s got us set up in is such a hole in the wall, I wonder if she even paid past double digits for both rooms combined.

“Want a drink?” I offer Bridger as I enter ahead of him and flick the light switch—which only turns on two wimpy lamps by the bed and a small recessed bulb near the door. “There’s a beer or two in the mini fridge.”

“I’m good,” says Bridger, closing the door behind him.

The look on his face as he takes in the room says it all. “Yeah, I wouldn’t touch anything.”

He looks at me across the room. “Huh? Oh, I wasn’t—”

“You’ll probably get—what was it?— herpes or whatever.”

He stops by the tiny table near the front window and smirks. “It was the first thing that flew outta my mouth in that restroom. I didn’t mean—”

“Thank you, by the way.” I turn when he doesn’t respond. “I mean … for not fucking off. For giving me a chance. Being patient with my stupid ass. Just … thanks.”

After a minute to take that in, I watch his eyes soften. Then he slowly crosses the room, very slowly, with his eyes still on me and looking full of concern. Or something that seems like concern. It’s anyone’s guess what’s actually on his mind right now. I hope he isn’t regretting following me to this sketchy place.

He stops in front of me, then lifts a hand to brush some hair off my forehead. His hand stays by my ear, cradling the side of my face. I resist an urge to knead my cheek softly into his palm like a cat surrendering to a petting.

He seems to notice, a smile crawling over his lips. “Can I … say something crazy?”

I look at him. “Uh, sure.”

“I like that we’re finally alone.”

My eyes drop to his chest again.

He puts a finger under my chin and lifts my gaze back to him. “You don’t have to be nervous, Anthony. Nothing’s gonna happen in this room that you don’t want to happen. We can just kick back and do nothing if you want.”

“Do I look like I wanna kick back and do nothing?” I swipe his finger out from under my chin. “Did that guy on the bathroom counter back at the club look like he wanted to kick back and do nothing? Why do you think I …” I step back from him with a laugh. “Why d’you think I brought us back here? To this cheap-ass room? To watch late-night talk shows and file our nails?”

He chuckles. “You got quite a lip on you.”

I swallow. “Is it too much? Sorry.” I step back and shake out my hands like they’re wet. “I’m a little worked up. Antsy. Ants in my pants. Ants everywhere.”

“It’s alright.”

“You don’t gotta coddle me, though.” I move away from him over to the edge of the bed where I’d thrown my backpack before leaving for the club with Juni. So much random shit I stuffed into it before we left the apartment. I even brought condoms. Why did I bring condoms? Did I actually believe this might happen?

Staring down at that backpack, I realize I’m out of thoughts—and words too, apparently, seeing as I’ve gone totally quiet. I listen as Bridger takes a breath, then slowly draws up behind me. When I feel his cool, soft lips touch the back of my neck, my eyes roll up, and I fucking melt. He kisses me a few times, then places his hands on my shoulders. He starts to gently massage me.

I notice I’m breathing funny. “Bridger …”

His reply is a whisper in my ear. “Yeah?”

“I … I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’ve never … I don’t know. I just …”

He kisses my neck again. I keep wanting to just collapse into a puddle in his arms every time he does that.

“I just … want to feel good,” I finish. “That’s all.”

“Feel good?” Another kiss. “That’s all?” Another.

“Y-Yeah.”

His fingers graze down my sides to the bottom of my shirt, where they slide underneath again. His cool fingertips brush along my bare skin, sending shivers racing all over me.

“You’re smoother than I expected,” he whispers.

Each of his words in my ear makes me fucking crazy. “What’d you expect?”

“No idea. Do you trim?”

“My body hair? Who has time for that?”

“I trim.” He kisses me again. “Down there. Regularly. No one’s seen it in a long time, but I like to keep it neat for my own sanity.” His fingers climb high under my shirt, reaching my chest. I choke on air as his fingertips graze over my nipples. “You’re sensitive.”

“Huh?” I grunt, swimming in the dream of his hands.

He chuckles breathily in my ear. “Me, too. Nipples are a weak spot for me.” After another brush of his soft fingertips over them, which causes me to sigh, he runs his fingers even higher until my shirt slips off over my head. With care, he folds my shirt in half and sets it on the bed before his lips are on my neck again. Now his fingers slowly glide down my back. “You just tell me to stop if I go too far or you need—”

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.”

He’s slow and careful with me. Or maybe it’s something about his anal personality that makes him focus on and enjoy every inch of my body. Either way, it’s turning me on way too fucking much.

His fingers stop at the waistline of my jeans. “Want me to take these off for you?”

“Uh-huh.”

His arms wrap around me at the waist, and I feel him working the button open, then the zipper down. I’m already throbbing in my underwear, rock-hard, desperate to be freed. He’s sure taking his sweet time, which makes me insane with both impatience and excitement. I want him to hurry up. I want him to slow down even more. I want him to throw me onto this bed like an animal, and I want him to treat me like I’m glass.

His hands slip inside my underwear at the hips, and down the both of them go together, briefs and jeans, until they’re not even a thought, forgotten somewhere on the floor with my shoes. Bridger is caressing my naked body now, running his fingers everywhere. I’m leaning back against him, barely able to stand on my own feet anymore, the way he’s melting me.

His mouth comes to my ear again. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume this is your first time with a guy.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble again.

“How are you feeling about it?”

“Fine,” I blurt, throwing out the first word I can find.

“Just fine?”

“F-Fuckin’ fine.”

A little breath in my neck tells me he just laughed. “Can I ask another question?”

“You already are.”

“Have you been thinking about me?”

My eyes open to the ceiling. I guess I’m resting my head back on his shoulder or something. He’s practically holding me as I lean against him, but with his strength, it’s like leaning against a brick wall, how he doesn’t even move, bearing my weight with ease.

“Well?” he prompts me. “Can I take your silence for a yes?”

“Thinkin’ in … in what way?”

“Dreaming about me? Imagining me doing things to do?” His lips touch my ear, kissing it. “What am I doing to you, Anthony?”

I can’t even answer. I’m feeling too many things. He’s doing too many things to me.

“You wanted me to pick up where we left off, right?”

“Uh-huh, please.”

He chuckles again. “Please?” His hands run up my chest to my nipples again. “You’re so polite all of a sudden. Like your manners snapped back into you from out of nowhere. Maybe I should’ve done this to you sooner to get you to treat me better.” He turns me around to face him. “You smell good, by the way.”

I fight back an instinct to make fun of him, call him a weirdo for sniffing me, whatever—then remember how I buried my face in his denim jacket just a few days ago. “Well, yeah, obviously I do. I always smell good.” After a second, I add, “You smell good, too.”

He steps back and kicks off his shoes, then sets them neatly by the bed. When he takes off his shirt, it’s like watching a show, the way his every movement is calculated and controlled. I instantly picture the meticulous way he must do his workouts at the gym, with perfect form, patience, and immense care to ensure he never injures himself or misuses equipment. Then his shirt’s off, and he’s folding it the same way he folded mine. What’s with this guy?

“You can just throw the clothes on the floor, y’know.”

He meets my eyes, then chuckles. He unbuttons his pants, but leaves them on as he comes over to me. I don’t know why, but I step back, my heel hits the bed, and I fall back. I prop myself up by the elbows as he slowly crawls over me, his face above mine.

“You’re already hard,” he points out.

“Good job, Captain Obvious. It’s pokin’ your stomach.”

He cracks another smile. “I’m getting used to your sass. It’s cute, how you always give me this attitude, but you’re really just craving my mouth on your cock right now.”

That shuts me right up.

He slowly descends into my neck to kiss it, which makes my eyes roll back and shut. His lips are something else. They cherish everything they touch like it’s the first and last time they’ll ever touch it. Then he’s on my chest. His lips graze my right nipple, and I let out a groan before I can stop it. He’s working me up so fuckin’ much, I can’t stand it . My heart beats faster the lower he goes, down my stomach, down my abs, slowly, teasingly, to my crotch.

Then his mouth engulfs my entire cock, down to the base.

I didn’t expect him to take the whole thing at once.

Just like in the restroom, my hands fly to his hair by instinct, grabbing on as if I’ll fall somehow if I don’t. My hands go up and down slowly with his head as he sucks me off with such strength, I can’t help but groan with uncontrolled delight every time he goes down. My insides are spinning. I could cry I’m so fucking happy.

The commitment he gives to sucking me off. The unwavering attention, like I’m the only person in the fucking universe. The rush of chemicals and tingles and excitement down below, causing my breaths to come quicker and quicker.

I realize too late how fast I’m climbing with every bob of his head, closer and closer. “G-Go slow, slow— fuck —slower—” I beg.

He lifts his mouth off my cock and glances up at me, a smart look in his eyes. “Need me to slow down?” he asks almost sweetly.

Right before I shoot my load all over his face.