Bankers' Hours (18 page)

I gathered my thoughts and answered Mel before he asked the same question again, as was normal. I had a habit of taking too long. “To answer the question you’re thinking, no, we didn’t have sex.”

“Bummer.”

“No, it’s fine. Well, sort of. Okay, I’m hard as hell most of the time, but I understand his reasons. Tristan pretty much described himself as a sex pig in his twenties.”

“Twenties? How old is he now?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Hmm, not bad.”

“No. It’s perfect, actually. I think he needed to mature past that stage. Now he’s looking to settle down. He wants a husband.”

“Whoa. Talk about pressure? I hope you told him this was your first relationship ever, and that marriage was way down the road.” That tinge of skepticism in his voice pained me. How could I explain I was engaged?

“Well, it’s all a part of his desire to go slow with me. He said I’m worth waiting for. Even when I spent the night in his bed, we—”

“Hold up! You what?”

“I spent the night.”

“And you didn’t have sex?” Yes, that was the shrillest shriek of disbelief I’d ever heard from Mel, and I pulled the phone away from my ear.

When my head stopped ringing, I answered him. “No. We didn’t. But gosh, waking up in his arms was… wonderful. I didn’t know it could feel like that. Last night the bed felt empty.”

“I can do the math, Grant. You just implied that you’ve slept together three nights.”

“I know. We did. Once at his place, and twice at mine. He’s so sweet, Mel. I almost fell asleep watching the movie when he was playing with my hair.”

“No shit. I know you like that. You probably haven’t had a head massage since you moved to Westminster.”

“No. You live too far away to drop by four times a week.”

Mel laughed. “Yeah, but my visits dwindled after we made those special brownies and didn’t show up for work the next day.”

“Oh, my God. You had to remind me. We are never doing that again! So…,” I broached. “Have you talked to her?”

“And now we go back to the conversation about you,” he suggested. “What else did you do? I assume there was at least some kissing.”

I laughed. Normally I wouldn’t let him off the hook like that, but he’d been super sensitive the last time I mentioned talking to Cindy. I knew he needed time, but I felt it was my job to encourage him with gentle nudges to get out of his dateless funk. I had faith that the universe would bring Mel happiness; I only wished he had the same hope. “Ok. Yes. Lots of kissing. I think my lips were numb and swollen Sunday night. I’ve got two hickeys on my neck the size of Rhode Island. Luckily my collar comes up just high enough to cover them at work.”

“Good for you. It’s been a long wait for you.”

“I dreamed about him before we started dating, and I’ve woken up at least six times with cum all over my crotch. If I don’t have sex soon, I think my balls might explode.”

This time Mel laughed. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

I sighed. I knew sex would happen soon. Tristan was the king of restraint, but I could tell by the lust in his eyes that I was winning. He’d give in shortly, hopefully by our wedding night.
He wouldn’t leave me a virgin then, would he?
The notion made me drift off somewhere in my head.

“Grant?” Mel prompted.

“Oh, sorry. I have something else to say. I don’t know how to tell you, so I’m just going to say it. We’re getting married.”

“Huh? What?”

“Tristan asked me to marry him. He bought me a ring and everything.”

“Grant, are you sure that’s wise? You barely know him. I realize that you haven’t had much luck with men, but are you really ready to marry the first one who comes along?” He didn’t sound happy. All I wanted was his happy voice. Why did he have to sound skeptical?

“It’s rash, I know. It all sort of fell together that way. I even have a marriage license sitting on my dresser reminding me every time I walk in the bedroom.” I couldn’t tell him about the ex, Teresa; it would trivialize my engagement. No. Best to stick with a more romantic feel. Best to tell the people I knew Tristan had swept me off my feet. It was mostly true.

I heard Mel breathing on the other end. “Grant, I’m… happy for you.” He sounded disappointed, but I thanked him anyway. Then he asked, “Am I invited?”

“Of course. We’re planning to get married on Saturday.”

“This Saturday? I have to work. I’ll see if I can switch with someone. Did you tell your mother?”

“Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

“She was skeptical about the timing, but I think overall she was pleased. I think my mom was worried I’d never find a man and I’d move back home.”

“I think we all were,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. So you’re getting married!”

I heard his fake excitement, but I wasn’t going to argue. “Yes. We’re going to have a formal ceremony in the spring.”

“If you were a woman, I would assume you were pregnant. I don’t understand why you have to get hitched right away if you’re planning to get married again in the spring. Why not wait until then?”

“You know how I told you he has a daughter?”

“Yes.”

At that point, I explained everything about the baby momma and how Tristan was considering filing for full custody of Claire. Tristan had hoped our marriage would look good on paper for attorneys, as it suggested a stable home environment, especially when compared to Teresa’s. Mel said it made sense but told me not to place all my bets on a gay marriage holding weight. Some judges didn’t care because they viewed marriage equality much the way Teresa had described it. The idea made me feel ill. If it was legally binding, then a marriage was a marriage in my mind. Judges should treat them all the same. It was a nationwide law!

We chatted a bit longer, but I had a headache by the time I hung up. I was frightened by all the roadblocks we had to consider.

IN THE
middle of the night—because everything happens in the middle of the night, not the end or the beginning, but the middle—after I’d switched positions twelve times and gone to get a drink twice and peed twice, I heard the floor creak. Someone was in my room at two thirty in the morning. I gripped my sheet and pulled it protectively up to my chin. “Tristan?” I asked warily, scared it wouldn’t be him and I’d just informed a burglar I was awake.

“Yeah, it’s me. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

I reached for my light and turned it on. When I rolled over, I found Tristan, shirt in hand, standing next to the bed. “What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I’ve missed you.” He set his shirt on the dresser. “I was going to slip in quietly and sleep here. I didn’t expect you to wake up.”

“I’m a light sleeper.”

He grinned. “Not the last time I was in this bed. I watched you for twenty minutes Monday morning as I touched your face and kissed your jaw. You were so deeply asleep I hated waking you up to go to the courthouse before work.”

It was true. I’d never slept as soundly as I had Saturday and Sunday night. I conceded his point with a half smile. “Are you getting in?” It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep alone.

He smiled brightly, showing me his pearly whites. For a guy whom Jessica described as nothing short of terrifyingly badass, he had the prettiest teeth. I guess I always associated smoking with badasses. Smoking, drinking, motorcycle-riding, leather jacket–wearing badasses with nicotine stains and leathery skin. His skin was tanned, but smooth and healthy looking. I guess I was judging people and stereotyping in my own ways. I was guilty too, and it made me feel bad.

Tristan sat on the bed and removed his pants. I caught a glimpse of his bare ass as he pushed his jeans down. I turned away, and Tristan chuckled deep in his throat. The bed moved as he lifted the blankets. “You can look now, Grant. I’m under the covers.”

I rolled over and blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to seeing bare asses in my room.”

“Which is a bonus for me. I’d rather you
never
see another bare ass except for mine.”

I reached out and squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. I plan on being a one-ass guy the rest of my life.”

Tristan leaned in and kissed me until I gasped, and he pulled back. “What?” he asked.

I swallowed hard. “I just felt your penis poke my leg.” I closed my eyes and struggled to keep my breathing steady. “You know I want to touch you.”

Tristan cupped the side of my face and kissed me hard. After a few seconds, he pulled back and said, “Okay. But I’m not touching you… yet. I need time. This restraint is good for me, believe it or not. I’m practicing self-control. I want to prove to myself I have the ability to
not
have sex. I’m used to fucking long and hard. When I finally make love to you, I want it to be slow. I don’t want to scare you.”

“Scare me? You said you were kidding about the whip.”

“I am. I mean scare you because of how rough I like to get. You’re green. I’m not pounding your ass like a jackhammer until I know you’re ready.” He must have seen my eyes grow wide, because he tried soothing me. “Shhh, Grant, I promise not to hurt you.” He caressed my face, and I swear I knew he wasn’t lying, even if his statement intimidated me. He was right; I was green as ever a virgin could be.

Although…. “You know I’m not a kid, right, Tristan? I’ve watched porn. I know basically what to do, and I understand the mechanics. I’m not that scared to try things.” I had to make sure he understood me, because if he kept treating me like a fragile teenager, I’d be forced to buy rope, tie him to the bed, and create a little BDSM scene of my own. Although I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because I wasn’t a take-charge kind of guy, even if I was pushy and opinionated.

“Point taken. You may do whatever you wish,” he said, rolling onto his back and folding his arms behind his head.

I sat up and paused in my worry.
Oh, wow. I get to do whatever I want, and I don’t know where to start.
I took ahold of the blanket and sheet and slowly pulled them back together so I could take a gander at his naked body. Slowly I revealed his cut chest, chiseled abs, and flat stomach just to his navel. So much hair, it enticed me to rub it, which I did. I ran my hand all over his stomach and up the center of his chest. My chest hair was patchy and sparse, so touching his coarse, dark hair—over his pecs, down his chest, and across his stomach—made me grateful I was still wearing my white undershirt. He’d see my patheticness later, after it was too late to bail.

Tristan closed his eyes and breathed deeper.

I licked my lips and readied myself for what came next: revealing his cock. I was apprehensive about it because I’d seen him in his underwear, and the shaft he had under that little bit of cotton had seemed huge. What if it really
was
huge? What if I gagged on him during my first try at a blowjob and puked, or choked to death? I had a strong gag reflex; anything was possible.

I gripped the blanket again and then pulled it back carefully. I knew it wasn’t going to leap out, but I didn’t want to be the one guy who injured him because I yanked the covers back too swiftly. I knew what it was like to zip my fly too fast; this needn’t be compared to that.

I gasped again. Of course I did. I could not imagine anyone seeing something that large and not being surprised by it. Straight and long, the thing reached his navel. He could beat baby seals to death with it. I gulped air, wishing I had a drink of water to wet my throat. I was even more nervous now, looking at it. I stretched my fingers wide and held my hand above it, measuring. My long piano-player fingers measured about ten inches from the tip of my pinkie to the end of my thumb. He had to be that long!

“What are you doing?”

I snapped my face in his direction as I snatched my hand back. “Nothing.”

He chuckled. “It’s nine and a half inches long, five and a half around.”

I gaped. “That’s huge! How is that supposed to fit inside of me? Because I tried a cucumber once, and that didn’t work.”

I thought he’d have some witty comeback, especially about the cucumber, but instead he closed his eyes and groaned. I saw his dick twitch out of the corner of my eye. It pulsed on its own, precome dripping from the tip. I whispered, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Grant, if you don’t do something… soon… I’m going to need to take care of it myself.”

He got my attention. “Oh. I’m sorry.” I pulled the covers off the rest of the way and then situated myself between his legs. Tristan bent his knees and spread them wider for me to have room. Before I even touched him, I had to ask, “Um, are you clean? I could get a wet towel and wipe—”

“I took a shower at five and then again before I came over here. I knew you’d appreciate it if I smelled like soap and not sweat since your sheets are so fresh.”

I sat up, looked at him, and sighed. “Aww, thank you. I do like to have fresh sheets. I change them once a week.”

“I’m lucky if I remember once a month.”

“Eww. Remind me to wash your sheets the next time I’m there.” I crouched back down and eyed his assets. He was well groomed; I’d give him that. Big balls, drawn up tight. I ran my palm over his sac. His testicles shifted, and I grinned.

I stuck my face between his legs and sniffed his balls.
Soap
.
He wasn’t kidding.
I figured licking straight up his scrotum was the easiest way to ease into something I’d never done. I kind of liked the feel of his wrinkled skin on my tongue. It didn’t taste like anything. I wiggled my tongue over his sensitive skin, and Tristan groaned. When I opened wide and drew his sac into my mouth, gently sucking on one nut, I tingled listening to him moan my name.

I pulled my knees under me, crouching as I grabbed the base of his javelin. I snickered, thinking it could definitely skewer someone—hopefully not me. There was no way I’d get it all in my mouth, but for him I would do my best to stimulate its head. I licked across his frenulum and around the ridge of his mushroom head. The skin was surprisingly smooth. I lapped a long lick up the vein that ran up the center of his penis, and then dared to pop him into my mouth.