Cole McGinnis 05 - Down and Dirty (22 page)

His sex life during his marriage was either furtive or unfulfilling—through no fault of his ex. What little he knew about sex with men was gleaned from back rooms and filthy corners, unseen faces and rough hands with little use for lube or foreplay. He’d come of age in a time of hard cocks, detached pleasures, and remote, aloof interactions.

Sex was just that. Sex. A live and learn the hard way thing he sometimes walked away from with more bruises than if he’d fallen off a tall building. He’d broken skin, rules, and trust along the way, and now, having come out the other side, Bobby wanted more than what he’d found before.

He wanted Ichiro—in every way he could.

“Make love to me, Sunshine.” It was a soft whisper, barely audible over the pound of his own heartbeat in his ears, and for a second, Bobby thought it’d been lost in the sounds of the Los Angeles night bleeding through the open windows. “I want to feel you… in me, Ichi. Will you?”

Presumed lost until Ichiro replied just as softly… as gently as the kiss he’d left on Bobby’s throat, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, babe, never been more sure in my life.” He went for honesty. Ichi deserved it. Baring every part of himself, he said, “Never been more fucking scared in my life either.”

Sliding back, Ichi lay on his side to face Bobby. “When was the last time you—did that?”

“Bottomed?” He searched his memory and gave up after tumbling back to before he’d divorced. “Years. Fucking years ago, Sunshine. It wasn’t… great, but hell, back then, we all just wanted to get our rocks off before someone saw us. Closet’s too tight of a space for foreplay and kisses. Just… go slow.”

“Like… a sleep-deprived sloth,” Ichi promised.

“Can we not bring animals into it?” Bobby cracked a smile. “Not an image I want to take with me into this.”

“Well, at least not sloths,” Ichi murmured as he slid over Bobby’s sprawled body. “Have you seen the claws they’ve got? Wicked damage there, and I like you as you are right now.”

Their fingers were slick from spit and the crowning drops on their cock heads, and as Ichi explored the heft of Bobby’s sac, he left a damp trail along the ridge beneath the churning skin. Bobby flinched when one of Ichi’s nails lightly scratched at the edge of his hole, then shivered as goose bumps ran over his shoulders and down his stomach.

“Fuck, that… tickles a bit.” Huffing in a breath, he waited for Ichi to push in, then groaned in frustration when the man merely teased at his rim. “You’re killing me here, Sunshine.”

“Did you… know you were going to do this? Want this?” Ichiro growled as he bit into one of Bobby’s nipples.

He hissed at the sudden pain, and his hips rose off the bed, knees drawing in involuntarily when the prick of pain brought his cock to full salute. For a second, Bobby wondered what Ichi was asking him, then remembered the time he’d spent in the bathroom, alternating between worrying about Ichiro plunging deep into him and preparing for it.

“Yeah, I knew,” he gasped, aroused by a rake of teeth along his ribs.

“Then a first for you… and one for me,” Ichiro whispered. “Turn over,
anata
. Onto your stomach. I want to see how you taste.”

Turning over was easy. Lifting his hips up and resting his weight on his knees and shoulders was harder, mostly because the angle splayed Bobby open, exposing him to… everything. His heart fluttered, frightened at the steps he was taking in trusting the slender Japanese man he’d taken to his bed, and his brain clenched at the thought of his body being invaded. Clamping down on his whispering thoughts, Bobby focused on the one thing—the one person—that mattered in that moment.

Ichiro.

He was sure of Ichi. More sure than he’d ever been in his entire life. Something in him
trusted
Ichiro. Bobby found greater faith in Ichiro’s steadfast presence and slightly quirky view of the world. Beaten at the seams by his own family, he’d emerged stronger than he’d expected and still sought out brothers he’d known about but never seen. It was a risk. The McGinnis boys could have spat on his existence—hell, it was close with Cole, but Ichiro kept pushing, reminding him the sins of the parents did not rest on their shoulders.

Just as the sins and pain of Bobby’s past encounters didn’t lie at Ichiro’s feet.

If anyone would take care of him, it would be Ichiro.

And he had to own the slithering dark need inside of him—a want to be taken care of, to be desired as he desired. To be possessed as fully as he’d pleasured Ichiro even as his body rippled with the memory of how he’d been used before.

It would be different this time.

Because his lover was Ichiro.

The flick of Ichi’s tongue on his crack startled him, and he pulled his cheeks in, unable to stop himself. Ichi pressed in again, and Bobby forced himself to relax, allowing his lover to push his tongue down against his ring. Then Ichiro slid in, and Bobby lost his mind.

The sheets weren’t enough for him to get a grip on. They slid about in his hands, working out between his fingers, and he writhed, wanting Ichiro to press in farther as his body jerked away in response to the laving. When Ichiro’s hands closed over his hips, Bobby groaned and fought to keep still, but it was nearly impossible. His body was too attuned to the tingling rakes of Ichiro’s flicking jabs, and then in a moment, everything in him shifted, turning inside out when he felt Ichiro breech his ring, sliding a long finger into his depths.

It didn’t hurt. Stung more—like a light slap of a branch across his chest or a glove glancing off his cheek during a bout, but combined with the electrical pulses of his body’s nerves rolling in pleasure, the slight irritation was easily endured. A snap of a bottle echoed in the room. Then Bobby felt the cold dribble of lubricant flow down his ass crack, and Ichiro worked his ring, pulling the oil in as he stretched Bobby open. The touch of Ichiro’s tongue around his own fingers, all delving and dipping into his center, broke Bobby, and he rocked his hips forward, fucking himself on Ichi’s hand.

“Can’t, baby. God, just… damn, I want you in me,” Bobby groaned. “Please. Fuck me. I can’t—”

“Let me get—hold on.” Ichiro spent a moment playfully biting Bobby’s firm ass, then suckled at the spot, probably leaving a mark behind. The snick of a condom wrapper punched a tremor through Bobby’s belly, and he tensed, anticipating and dreading the coming stretch.

Ichiro crawled up over his hips, pressing against Bobby’s upraised ass. Sliding his hard, latex-cocooned cock along Bobby’s wet crack, Ichiro rubbed at Bobby’s spine with long, graceful strokes. Bending over, he gave Bobby’s shoulder a gentle kiss, then fit the tip of his cock into Bobby’s pulsing hole.

“You ready,
anata
? Because I’ll stop at any time.” Ichiro’s promise soothed Bobby’s fears, drowning them in a gentle warmth.

“Yeah, don’t stop until you coat the inside of that condom with your come.” He tried not to push back, but the urge to have Ichiro in his ass was too much to take. “Hell, you and I—we’re going to have to go make sure you can fill me without that thing, because, Sunshine, fuck if I don’t want to feel you get off in me.”

He’d thought he was ready. He was sure of it. Yet nothing had prepared Bobby for the long slide of Ichiro’s dick into his body or the press of hard flesh up against his ring. Shock warred with his panic, and he reached back, nearly toppling over onto his face in an effort to slow Ichi down.

“Take your time, Bobby,” Ichi murmured, running his hands over Bobby’s back. “You tell me when.”

It was forever before Bobby could get his body under control. Between the feeling of being torn open and the tingle of shock waves rocketing up his spine, he had to steady his breathing before dropping his hand back down to the bed. Sliding his hips up, he rode onto Ichi’s hard dick, taking more of its length in.

It felt… good. Too damned good for his mind to wrap itself around. When he growled for Ichiro to continue, the man pushed in until their balls slapped in unison, and Bobby unraveled, breaking apart under the bursts of hot, stinging pleasure rising from his ass.

They fought their way up, moving and slapping their bodies together. Ichiro’s fingers dug in deep, scoring furrows and welts into Bobby’s heated skin, but he didn’t care. He wanted Ichi to mark him. He wanted to carry something away from the night they spent after the hurricane they’d made together. Caught up in the swirling sensations of his body’s keening needs, Bobby wasn’t ready for the cresting white noise of his skin tightening and his balls pulling up.

It was so different than when he was inside Ichiro. The
now
of their sex settled in over him, a blanket of shifting vibrations and emotions shielding him from time. His release hit him hard, drowning Bobby in its intensity.

He could feel Ichi’s hand around his cock, but the pull of his lover’s fingers down his shaft and over his head was nearly too much for him to handle. Caught between the plunge of Ichiro’s dick and the clench of his hand, Bobby’s climax churned, frothing up out of his balls to splatter the cramped space beneath him.

If anything, he was falling. A tumble down a long, dark hole following a White Rabbit who teased out of him more than he had to give. His spine jacked and arched, bending under the spasms in his groin, and Bobby had enough of a split second to wonder if he’d ever stop coming before another roil took him over.

His ass felt hot from the inside out, and he gasped, realizing the heat was coming from Ichiro’s cock gushing down into its latex sheath, trapped and kept from painting the inside of Bobby’s body.

God, he wanted that too. Gasping for air and trying to survive the tremors taking over his skin and nerves, Bobby found he wanted more—anything—everything Ichiro could give him. And in the reluctant slide of Ichi’s waning cock from his ass, Bobby mourned more than the pull and emptiness.

“Love you,” he murmured, catching up Ichiro’s face and kissing his lover’s slightly swollen lips. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I do.”

Ichiro’s eyes were dark, his pupils blown out and swallowing up the color around them. Smiling, he pressed his mouth against Bobby’s and whispered, “I—”

“Dad?”

Bobby froze, captured in the sliver of ice crawling up from his belly and into his brain. The clatter of keys hitting his kitchen counter was a distinct warning, as was the deep, rolling voice—so much like his own—calling out for him, getting louder as footsteps crossed over the loft’s hardwood floor.

“Hey, Dad, I saw your car when I pulled in so I came on up—”

Jamie’s face would have been comical if he hadn’t looked so damned much like his mother—especially on the day when Marsha flung a packet of incriminating photos at his head and swore he’d never see his son again because she
knew
he’d touched Jamie when she wasn’t looking. His son’s mouth dragged open, impossibly gaped in shock as Jamie stared through the bookshelves at Bobby and Ichi, naked and entwined on a sex-drenched bed.

“Jamie—” Bobby gathered up the bedsheets he’d crumpled in his hands a few moments before. “Hold up—”

“Hold up?” Jamie’s voice broke as his chest worked hard to catch up with its breathing. “What the fuck is this? This why you and Mom… holy shit. Uncle James was right. You’re a goddamned faggot.”

Chapter 14

“S
HIT
, J
AMIE
,
wait.” Bobby was up out of the bed before Jamie could turn around. His son blocked out most of the ambient light coming from the living room, and the flicker of neon orange street lights, and whatever else blinked outside of his loft’s windows wasn’t enough for him to find a pair of pants.

The dark shape that was Jamie moved off, quickly lost behind the bookshelves and screens around his sleeping area. His son’s response was short and quick, thrown out as he disappeared. “Fuck. You.”

“What do you want me to do?” Ichi scrambled off the bed. His lover sounded… calm. Maybe with an edge of panic but nothing like the thin razors slicing through Bobby’s belly.

Bobby found a pair of cutoff sweats on the floor, then jammed his legs through the holes as Ichiro tugged his jeans on. Glancing at his lover silhouetted against the bank of windows, Bobby hopped into the cutoffs and broke into a run, catching a glimpse of Jamie’s shoulder as he slammed the front door behind him.

After sprinting to the front door, Bobby turned the handle and flung the door open. Jamie glanced once over his shoulder, his face sour with disgust, then ducked into the elevator as the doors opened. Calling back to Ichi, Bobby shouted, “Grab my keys!”

The elevator dinged, closing the doors behind Jamie before Bobby could reach them. Swearing under his breath, he weighed his options and only found one rational thing to do. A small glass case next to the elevator protected alarm and stop buttons from a casual touch. As slow as the elevator was, it would hit the first floor before Ichiro could get to the foyer. Gritting his teeth, Bobby knuckled down for the pain he knew was coming and smashed his elbow into the glass door, then punched the elevator’s emergency stop button.