Page 28 of The Sunday Brothers Novellas

Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one overwhelmed with desire.

Porter grabbed my shoulders and pulled me closer until I fumbled around the table between us and ended up straddling his lap.

His hands moved down my back and up under my sweater.

As soon as the dry skin of his palms skimmed up my bare back, my entire body erupted in goose bumps.

I wanted this kid, this man , more than I’d wanted anything for as long as I could remember. With my one remaining functional brain cell, I finally ripped my mouth from his and leaned back. “Wait. Wait . Fuck. Wait.”

Porter’s pupils were blown, inky black eating up the vivid green. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were shiny from the kiss .

My kiss.

“This is—” I began, but he clamped a hand over my mouth.

“Don’t say it,” he growled. “If you fucking dare tell me it’s wrong or some other high-minded bullshit, so help me, I’ll?—”

I yanked his hand away and kissed him again, grabbing the back of his head to keep him pressed tightly against me. He groaned into the kiss and tightened his arms around me. For several hungry beats, we explored each other again until I could barely breathe. I pulled away again.

“Okay, wait. I just… give me a minute. Okay?”

Our audible panting filled the room with leftover heat and desperation.

“It’s not the forbidden thing, Theo,” Porter said firmly. “It’s more than that.”

Yes. It was definitely more than that, for both of us. But that didn’t make it right .

I moved off his lap and made it back to my own chair, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees so I could wiggle my hips to adjust my strangled dick.

“We can’t do this,” I said, holding up my hand.

“And before you argue with me, please understand I am not saying I don’t want to.

Clearly, I want to very, very much. But I am months away from becoming head of the very department you’re graduating from.

I know that I’m not your professor anymore, but I?—”

“No one needs to find out.”

A small puff of air escaped me. Christ, he really was temptation incarnate.

“Right now, we’re going to take a few deep breaths and slow down,” I said, speaking to myself more than to him. “I’m not saying no, Porter. I’m saying… wait.”

Porter inhaled a deep breath through his nose and held it before letting it out. “Okay. You’re right. I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret. ”

Once again, I was surprised by his maturity and understanding, even though I shouldn’t have been.

Porter Sunday wasn’t the typical undergrad.

He was a twenty-six-year-old man who’d worked hard to get himself into college.

A man who was so devoted to his work helping underprivileged children at the Hub, it seemed like he spent more of his hours there each week as an unpaid volunteer than as a paid employee.

It took a special person to do that. To care as much as he did.

“Dinner,” I said, pushing myself to stand and stretch and trying very hard to block out the memory of Porter’s mouth on mine, his hands on me, and the sound of his whimpers and groans in my ears. I put my glasses back on, like they were some kind of armor. “Maybe you can grab us a couple of beers.”

We moved efficiently into awkward mode, moving around the tiny kitchen space without touching each other.

I didn’t want things to be uncomfortable between us.

Despite our antagonistic semester earlier in the year, and wholly aside from this conflagration of desire between us, I found I liked Porter Sunday. More than I’d expected.

Once I’d served the stew and placed the wide bowls at each of our places on the table, I sat back down and held my beer bottle out for a toast. “To unexpected snowstorm company.”

He smiled back. “To impromptu angry sonnet performances, and the gracious unwilling hosts of those performances.”

I chuckled.

We clinked our bottles and took a sip before diving into the meal. Thankfully, the outdoor work had burned off enough calories that I was hungry for dinner despite the snack platter we’d shared a few hours earlier.

“You should know, you have a lot of friends in the English department,” I told him. “Jean Chenault thinks you’re the second coming of Alan Ginsburg, and Sally Diaz basically forced me to read that sonnet of yours that was published in the student magazine. It was… incredible, honestly.”

His cheeks flushed. “That’s nice to hear. But creative fiction hasn’t really been my problem.” He winked at me, which made my stomach tighten. “I have a very good imagination.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Seems like creative non-fiction isn’t really a problem for you anymore either,” I admitted wryly. “You were, ah… extremely convincing a minute ago.”

“Really?” His eyes sparkled, and it made my pulse speed. “No notes, Professor? No in-depth critique of my performance?”

I licked my lips, chasing the lingering taste of Porter. “Nope.” I forced myself to eat another bite of stew before getting us back on a comfortable track. “So… does your family know you like to write?”

“They know I write. I wouldn’t say I like to write necessarily.

I love to read, and I share that passion with my brother Hawk—he’s an even bigger reader than I am—but for some reason, I find it hard to sit still long enough to spend much time writing.

I prefer being outside or being active. Doing life, instead of writing about it. You know?”

“Oh yeah. I’m the same. It’s one of the reasons I moved here.

Living in the city made me feel… unmoored, a bit.

Removed from the outdoors. Walking in a park or along the river is so structured.

It’s not the same as hiking in the woods.

And I like being able to work on projects with plenty of room to spread out.

I have plans to replace the tool shed with a big workshop so I can work on some DIY projects easily in winter.

Eventually, I want to add on to the cabin and build it out a bit. ”

“You definitely need a dedicated bedroom,” Porter decided. “And what if…”

His eyes got dreamy as he started brainstorming renovations, and we even pulled out a notebook to sketch various layouts. Porter had insightful ideas and explained several of the building projects he’d helped with on his family’s orchard over the years.

“I do miss that kind of work,” he said, pushing his bowl away and leaning back in his chair.

It was the first time I’d missed having a comfortable sofa or seating area for us to move to for the evening.

He’d been right earlier when he’d commented about my place not being ideal for having company over.

Hopefully, the expansion I planned would allow me to turn this central room into a living room instead of my bedroom.

“You’re welcome to come up here and help out anytime,” I said without thinking. “There’s always plenty of work to do. Clearing scrub, chopping and hauling wood, fixing things that seem to break every time I turn around.”

“I’d like that. But I, uh… I don’t know where I’ll be after the semester is done.”

“Oh, right.” I stood to bring our bowls to the sink. “Have you started looking for a job?”

“Sort of? I got to the second round of interviews at a couple places last spring, but then I didn’t graduate.

I’m planning to follow up with some of them, but I don’t know if that’ll work.

I had to tell Parabola Media down in New York that I failed a class and they needed to remove my name from contention… ”

I turned and crossed my arms. “You’re welcome.”

Porter’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Excuse you? They were going to pay me eighty-five grand a year!”

“Parabola Media are a bunch of vampires who’d work you into the ground and steal away every shred of joy you possess,” I corrected.

“I’ve known people who worked there, and it never ended well.

Seriously, Porter, name one person you know who went to work for a big-city media or marketing company who’s happy right now. Go on, I’ll wait. ”

His nostrils flared, and his mouth opened, but then he shut it again. “I don’t happen to know any personally, but…”

“Uh-huh. And how much was your rent going to be?” I added. “For a lifeless box you’d only see in the dark of night.”

“We already talked about this, Theo. I want to make money so I can do good with it. The best place to make money is the city. And the passion will come, if I…”

“Damn it, Porter, for a guy who’s so incredibly smart, you’re being so incredibly dumb. You’ve already found your passion. You want to work with the kids at the Hub.”

“And you want me to write grants for that? Great. And assuming I write the most compelling proposals ever and donors start flinging money at me left and right, how long will it take for me to see that money? And what will I live off in the meantime? No trust fund, remember? And nobody left me an inheritance-cabin either.” He threw his arms out to encompass my little house.

“My plan is the best one I can think of.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to offer for him to stay. To live with me. But I bit it back. This place was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. And I wouldn’t be able to have him in my space like this if we were simply going to be… friends.

“I’m sorry, Porter,” I said. He glanced at me in surprise. “Not for failing you, because I stand by that decision. But I’m sorry for interfering in your future plans. I just…”

He raised both eyebrows. “Just…?”

“I just want you to be happy,” I admitted. “I want you to live your dream.”

A teasing twinkle appeared in those green eyes I knew I’d be fantasizing about for a long, long time. “Really? Then sleep with me, Professor Hot-Cock. That’s one dream you can make come true easily. And I promise you, it will for damned sure make me happy.”

His words made my heart take off running in my chest like a scared rabbit being chased by a pack of rabid wolves. It was terrifying and exciting in equal measure.

“I told you,” I said, trying one last time to do the right thing. “It would be incredibly risky for both of us if anyone found out?—”

“Theo. We’re stuck in your house in a freaking blizzard, because a tree fell down after I came out here to rage-recite poetry at you, because you failed me last semester, because I was too fucking attracted to you to actually have a conversation and figure out what I was supposed to be doing for my assignments.

It’s already the most ridiculous of circumstances, so why not add one last wild and crazy thing to the mix?

When the road is clear and I leave here, we’ll forget this ever happened. ”

I snorted. “Impossible.” Forgetting had seemed unlikely before I’d actually gotten to know Porter. Before I’d kissed him. Before I’d…

Porter stood up and moved into my personal space. Our chests brushed, and I felt one of his knees push my legs apart. He deliberately removed my glasses, folded them neatly, and set them on the table. “Give me this,” he breathed, leaning in but not quite touching his nose to my cheek. “Please.”

He was a taunting child, daring me to fling myself off a tall cliff into deep water.

And it was crystal clear I was going to jump happily and enjoy the entire blessed ride down.