Cliff's Edge (7 page)

Why was Cliff only seeing this side of Ryan now? Was it all drink? That made no sense—they’d been drunk together plenty of times. Seen each other naked a thousand times. Hell—they’d seen each other hard, too. He could recall quite clearly the apartment they’d shared fresh out of BUDs and—and the night Rhino had overlooked the lanyard hanging on Cliff’s door and stumbled in to catch sight of Cliff’s dick shoved down some guy’s throat. Ryan had teased him for weeks before Cliff finally told him guys really knew what another man wanted. The sonofabitch was using his own words against him.

The horny ass had just come off mission and probably needed to get off and didn’t care who sucked him. Or was there something more?

For fuck’s sake. I can’t just stand here all night thinking about it.

Ryan’s eyelids were heavy, almost lazy as he blinked up at him, and his mouth curved up on one side, as if he’d been following Cliff’s jumbled thoughts. He pressed down once again, and this time, Cliff followed the silent direction and dropped to his knees, ignoring the sexy as sin moan of satisfaction from Ryan when he thought he’d won.

There was nothing subtle about the way he drew the tip of Ryan’s cock into his mouth. He wrapped his lips around the fat, leaking tip and got his first salty taste as he sucked hard…almost too hard.

Ryan dragged in a breath, then grabbed Cliff’s hair, holding him in place for a long minute. Finally, he placed his palms on Cliff’s cheeks and tilted his face, a silent command to look up. When he did, Cliff inhaled sharply at the hungry, almost possessive look.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he traced his thumbs over Cliff’s mouth, his lips stretched around the heavy swollen cock. “That’s not the way this is going to go, Cliff. This isn’t a race, and nobody’s being punished. Show me you want this, baby…”

Fuck.
If Ryan called him baby one more time with that little growl in his voice, Cliff might just fucking shoot right here and now.

Closing his eyes in order to break whatever spell Ryan wove over the two of them, Cliff slowly started to move, savoring the taste and feel of Ryan’s shaft before pulling off with a wet pop. He buried his face between Ryan’s legs, forcing him to widen his stance. He pressed against the coarse hair at Ryan’s groin with his fingers, thumbs behind his balls, creating a perfect frame with his hands. Nuzzling in for a moment, he captured the unique smell of Ryan, breathing deeply, memorizing. Drawing his sac forward, Cliff dragged his tongue over the sensitive skin, following the wrinkles and ridges, using the pattern of Ryan’s ragged breathing to guide his movements. He pulled one of the orbs gently into his mouth and sucked, enjoying the way Ryan moaned for him. Cliff repeated the process then took the whole sac into his mouth, his cheeks stretched to their limits, tongue separating the fragile balls, massaging, teasing.

Ryan’s knees wobbled a little when Cliff released his sac to move back up his cock, laving, stroking.

“That’s it…good. So good,” Ryan murmured, his voice like black velvet.

A thrill of excitement swirled low in Cliff’s belly at Ryan’s tone. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this—the forbidden thrill of taking his best friend in his mouth, making him weak with need. He moved his mouth faster, licking up drops of pre-cum with his own moan of pleasure.

Ryan’s big hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him forward, encouraging him to take more, pushing his hips forward in time to Cliff’s sucking. His heart thundered uncontrollably as Ryan continued to encourage him with “Yeah, baby” and “So good.”

The dialogue would have sounded cheesy in a porn video, but the endearments seemed to go right to Cliff’s dick. He worked a hand inside his boxers, stroking himself as he continued to suck and lick Ryan. His gaze traveled up Ryan’s hard body, caressing each curve and swell of the chiseled pecs and tight abs. He knew the brutal workouts that put each of those muscles in place. For years they’d worked side by side as they sweated and pushed each other, dragged each other through sand and water. They’d held each other and cried when they’d lost their first teammate. And the second…

They’d stared into each other’s eyes, and with no need to speak their thoughts aloud, had shared both agony and exhilaration. Now, he was here, on his knees, and taking his best friend somewhere he’d never been before—and dear lord, don’t let it be something that would cost them both.

“Stay right here, Cliff—focus on me,” Ryan said. The hand in his hair tightened, then he was held in place as Ryan pushed deeper, cutting off Cliff’s breath for half a second—just long enough to let him know who was in control of this blow job.

“Just like that, Cliff. Going to do it again—”

Cliff’s throat spasmed around the thick cock as Ryan repeated the move, holding him in place longer, his prick deeper than the last time.

“So good, baby. Don’t stop,” Ryan ordered.

Wrapping one hand around Ryan’s ass, Cliff took him again, pulling Ryan forward, groaning as the fist in his hair tightened, holding him captive until his eyes stung with the need to breathe.

“One more time,” Ryan said, only giving Cliff a moment to suck in another breath. He shoved his cock deep, his legs trembling with the effort it took to remain upright, even propped against the wall.

When he released Cliff this time, he could have sworn Ryan whispered, “Good boy,” which given he was both older and bigger, made no sense. Bobbing his mouth more quickly now, a raw noise ripped from his throat as Ryan pistoned into his mouth. Cliff’s fist flew over his own cock as he dug his fingers into the fleshy globe of Ryan’s ass, encouraging him to go faster, pound harder.

The muscles beneath his fingers grew impossibly tight as Ryan lost his rhythm and his breath rushed out in a harsh grunt. Hot cum coated his tongue and spurted down his throat, the first shot all it took to trigger his own release. They finished on gasping moans of mutual pleasure.

“Fuck, yeah,” Ryan sighed. He looped his hands under Cliff’s pits and dragged him up into a quick, hard kiss. He stroked Cliff’s dick through his wet boxers, as if he’d actually intended to do anything about it. When he found evidence of Cliff’s release, he gave a light squeeze.

“Hmm…we might need to work on your control next time.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice, and Cliff was painfully reminded of just how much Ryan had to drink earlier.

There wasn’t a chance in hell his best friend would forget what they’d just done, but there was very little room for doubt how this would play out. This was the beginning of the end of a friendship that meant more than any quick blow job. No fuck was worth the price he’d just paid. Cliff twisted away, mumbled a quick good night, then retreated to his room. The lock made a satisfying click as it turned.

Given the new ranch duties Cliff had temporarily assumed here at the WSR, Ryan was unsurprised to find himself alone in the casita. What did surprise him was how good he felt despite how much he’d had to drink. Skipping the team R and R in Hawaii meant it was up to him to rebuild his tolerance for alcohol alone. It made him a cheap drunk. He snorted, then moaned as a spike of pain shot through his temples.

Okay, maybe declaring I feel good is a bit premature.

Wincing, he padded into the bathroom, rummaged in the medicine cabinet, and found some ibuprofen. After dry swallowing four, he turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature to one degree below scalding, then stepped under the pounding spray. Ryan stood unmoving for close to five minutes as the water beat against his shoulders and back, his mind filled with nothing but the pleasure of a perfect shower. Hot water was almost always in short supply on a mission.

As he soaped his body, his mind was hit with memories of the night before, of Cliff on his knees…

Those familiar lips in a completely unfamiliar and unexpected position: wrapped around his cock. As if in response to the thoughts, his dick started to fill. He owed Cliff an apology. For nearly twenty years it had been a running joke between them that a man knew how to give a better blow job than any woman. Looked like his old friend was right.

Now just where the hell am I supposed to put that knowledge?

He hurried through the rest of his shower, before he was tempted to jack off to the image of Cliff taking a pounding like he’d never even tried on another person. Did Cliff have any idea how fucking hot he was on his knees, submitting to Ryan?

Blowing out a breath and firmly banishing all thoughts of the previous evening, Ryan stepped from the shower, quickly ran a towel the size of a sheet over his body, before throwing on the uniform of the day: jeans and a T-shirt. He could seriously get used to that.

Once he dressed, he stood in the kitchen, studying the contents of the refrigerator. It was fully stocked, mostly with fruits, vegetables, and salad as far as Ryan could tell without digging.

Where the hell was the bacon? He flicked a glance at the grinder next to the coffee pot and decided he deserved to have someone else care for him in his weakened state. He might not know Ty as well as Cliff did, but the man was a damned fine cook—and there was sure to be coffee. Maybe there’d be leftover chicken wings from last night’s party, too.

Pushing his way outside, Ryan squinted in the bright sunlight. He absently reached for the sunglasses normally hanging from his collar only to remember they were clipped to the sun visor in his Jeep. Circling back around, he retrieved his dark aviator-style glasses and slipped them on. The second Jeep that had been in front of their casita yesterday was gone.
Huh. Where the hell did Cliff go that he needed to drive?
Didn’t cowboys ride horses?

His gaze flicked to the three Gator ATVs lined up outside the barn, giving lie to that stereotype. Remembering at the last second to not shake his head and disturb the fragile well-being attained in the shower, Ryan headed for the main house.

As he walked across the hard-packed dirt, he slowed his steps while he debated the merits of a front door versus back door just-dropping-in visit. Since he was clearly intent on food and coffee, it seemed the kitchen was the easier target. Just as he veered in that direction, the door swung inward and Ty waved him over.

The man stood in the door in stocking feet, worn blue jeans, and a T-shirt…obviously he’d gotten the same memo about the uniforms.

“You look like shit,” he said as Ryan made his way inside.

“Yeah, thanks. Feel like it too. Any chance of some coffee? And I don’t suppose you could whip up a couple of one-eyed jacks?”

Ty laughed. “Don’t suppose, huh?” He pointed to the bench just inside the door. “Put your shoes there, then come on in. We’ll see what we can find.”

While Ryan sat to remove his boots, Ty headed into the kitchen, followed by the sound of clanging pots. Ryan sauntered inside and took a good look around the industrialized home kitchen. The counters were all business stainless steel, the appliances restaurant grade, the organization and cleanliness totally Ty’s Navy background.

“Grab yourself a cup of coffee. The urn in the dining room has standard grade, this pot here”—he pointed to a small coffee maker on the counter—“will put hair on your chest.”

Ryan stretched the collar of his shirt and peered down at his chest. “Too late,” he mumbled. He crossed to the kitchen pot and poured the thick hot brew into his cup, then blew impatiently across the surface before cautiously taking the first sip.

“Ahhhh,” he moaned. “I might just live to fight another day.”

Ty’s mouth quirked up on one side. “One of the best things about returning from a mission,” he said, his voice laced with laughter. “That and a…”

Their gazes met at the old joke. “Shower,” they finished in unison.

“Give me a couple of minutes…” Ty strode to the freezer and removed three frozen hamburger patties. They sizzled when he dropped them on the hot grill before he returned to the refrigerator for three eggs. “Cheese?”

“Oh god, yes please,” Ryan said with a little whimper for effect.

Ten minutes later, Ty put a plate in front of him with three sliders, each burger topped with a fried egg and a thick slice of cheese. Ryan squeezed some ketchup onto his plate, used it to dip the edge of the bun before taking his first bite. His eyes closed in ecstasy. “Ohmyfgdn,” he mumbled around the mouthful of food.

Ty refilled their coffee cups then leaned against the counter to watch Ryan wolf down his burgers.

When Ryan had cleaned his plate and tossed down the napkin in a show of victory over the monstrous pile of food, he looked up at Ty. “Thanks, man. That might have been the best I’ve had to eat…well, other than last night—but I can’t tell you the last time I had a one-eyed jack.”

“Haven’t made ‘em since I was in…” He took a swallow of coffee as his gaze drifted to the kitchen window. “Afghanistan,” he finished softly.

“Yeah…fucking sucks,” Ryan said. He pushed to his feet and brought his plate around to the sink, but in truth, Ty’s comments set off a chain reaction of feelings too big to hold while sitting in one place. Ty had received a medical discharge after sustaining injuries…but his reputation among the SEALs he’d served with was solid. The dude was a stone cold killer who could cook.

“Did you feel pushed out too soon?” Ryan blurted, thinking of Cliff and the lack of choice his friend felt.

Leveling his blue-eyed gaze at Ryan, Ty nodded. “Yeah, definitely.” Then following Ryan’s train of thought, he added, “It’s not the same for Cliff, though.”

“Why, because he’s older than you?”

“That might be part of it,” Ty conceded. “But honestly, this shore duty assignment was killing him—and he’s been restless for a couple of years. Just because he doesn’t exactly know what he wants to do next, doesn’t mean he isn’t ready to move on.”

The words seemed to itch inside Ryan’s brain. Maybe because he hadn’t known Cliff felt restless…then again, they hadn’t been around each other as much over the last two years due to their different duty assignments. They both were still stationed in Coronado, but serving on different teams made their regular off duty time more difficult to schedule. Or maybe the itch was because they so closely echoed his own thoughts about his current situation.