Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 (7 page)

Patrick couldn’t hear their hushed conversation from his vantage point on the boat, but he could tell Rich was pissed, his body clearly rife with tension. He had a very emotive face, and he talked with his hands, especially when he was upset…which was often. And those hands were flailing as he argued with the man.

Finally the stranger left Rich alone, and he started furiously stacking the cut pieces of lumber. He looked angry for sure, but Patrick also knew wide-eyed fear when he saw it—it was the same expression he wore when he was forced to spend a day on the water. In that moment, Patrick figured out exactly who the stranger had been.

Setting aside his notebook, Patrick climbed down the ladder to the dock, where he found Rich, red-faced and panting, staring out across the water.

“You okay?” he asked, approaching with caution.

Rich’s shoulders tensed even more—if that was possible—and his reply was cold and clipped. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“That was the PI, wasn’t it? Was he pressuring you about your brother?” Patrick asked, unused to the feeling of protectiveness that seized him.

Rich turned to face him slowly, pinning him in place with an icy glare. “I told you about that in a moment of…weakness, but it really is none of your fucking business.”

Oh, hell no
. He was not going to pull that rich-boy, too-cool-for-school shit with Patrick. He’d talked to Rory and Justice over drinks. He knew all about Rich blackmailing Justice, then outing him—something that was particularly unthinkable to do to another gay man. Patrick knew for damn sure that Rich had a streak of mean in him, but he was also sure there was a deeper, more upsetting reason behind his behavior. The problem with Rory had been that he just let it roll off his back. It was the mark of a good friend—but a friend, Patrick was not. And he certainly wasn’t going to be pushed around by Rich.

Patrick grabbed him by the back of his neck, roughly hauling him around the corner of one of the storage outbuildings and shoving him back against the side wall.

“The
fuck
are you doing?” Rich spat.

To shut him up, Patrick laid his forearm against Rich’s neck—not cutting off his airway, just pressing close enough to feel his Adam’s apple bob. Then he got right up in Rich’s face, pressing his entire body against the other man’s.

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” he growled. “Do I look like Rory to you? Right, I’m not, so I’m not going to take shite from you when you decide to be a dick because something hits too close to home.”

Rich’s eyes widened, then he flushed and looked away.

“I know what you did to Justice.”

Rich winced, but said nothing. He’d probably long since realized there was no defense for what he’d done.

“But I don’t think you’re that kind of guy…not really,” he said, talking over Rich when he started to protest. “You know what, though?” he asked, gesturing back toward the restoration crew. “All of these people came out to do something nice for a guy they barely know. Why? Because Rory and Justice—hell, probably even Nic—are the kind of guys people show up for.”

Rich swallowed hard, and his halting breath shuddered out of him. Patrick almost felt bad; he knew it was a low blow, but the guy really needed a wakeup call.

“But you, mate…you’re all alone right now, and it seems like it’s because you don’t let people in. I know I’m not your boyfriend, or even your friend probably. But I
am
the guy who happened to be around when all this shit with your brother started going down—and I’ve a sturdy shoulder if you need leanin'.”

Rich was breathing hard, and though he’d been easy to read so far, for once Patrick didn’t have a clue what he was thinking. He thought maybe he’d gotten through to the guy.

“You…,” Rich started, reaching out to fist a hand in Patrick’s shirt. “You unbelievable pompous asshole! Who the hell do you think you are? What right do you have to say this shit to me? You don’t even
know
me.”

Patrick blinked at the unexpected ferocity, then sighed and removed his arm from Rich’s throat, but still kept his other hand on the back of his neck. “You’d be wrong about that. I might be the only one who really
does
know you, as you are right now.”

Rich actually snarled at that, and the expression went straight to­ Patrick’s dick. With pressure on the back of Rich’s neck, Patrick dragged the man in for a fierce, devouring kiss. Rich was having none of it; he bit down hard on Patrick’s bottom lip and pulled away. Blood trickled down Patrick’s chin. He swiped it with the back of his free hand and grinned. Rich’s pupils dilated, and his mouth dropped open, before he yanked Patrick forward by his collar and crushed their mouths together.

Intense—that was really the only way Patrick could describe it. Rich’s fingers were digging into his collarbone, then his shoulders, then his back. He tasted blood, along with the heady taste of Rich himself. Rich wrapped his body around Patrick, grinding his stiffening cock against his hip as if he were trying to crawl inside. It was such a sudden change in demeanor, it left Patrick feeling dizzy and off kilter.

So fighting turned the guy on?
Patrick filed that away for the future, because he could totally get down with some angry sex. He broke the kiss to feast on Rich’s neck, all open-mouthed kisses and scraping teeth. It was a spot—and a taste—he was quickly becoming addicted to.

“It was the PI,” Rich confirmed between gasps, while Patrick went about his work. “He came to pressure me to make a decision…says John-Michael is getting anxious to meet with me.”

Patrick stopped kissing and nuzzled behind Rich’s ear, savoring the spicy scent. “You’ve the right to take as much time as you need.”

“Mmm,” was all Rich said.

Patrick straightened up to his full height and looked Rich in the eyes. “Want to come back to mine after work?”

Rich shrugged, but he also smiled just a little.
Score one for Ireland
, Patrick thought.

“I’m already down the rabbit hole, so I might as well,” Rich answered.

Patrick let out a full-on belly laugh and slapped Rich on the back. “That’s my boy!”

* * * *

The rest of the workday on the boat was cut short due to massive thunderstorms pummeling the entire Pacific Northwest. Rich wasn’t sure how he felt about the time off; his aching muscles were celebrating, but without the distraction, he couldn’t avoid thinking about John-Michael.

He wasn’t ready. Instead, he forced his thoughts to a more immediate issue—the Irishman. Patrick pushed all of his buttons, good and bad. Rich knew the man thought he was some sort of rich, spoiled, self-centered asshole. If he only knew how wrong that was—only the self-centered asshole part was accurate. But for some reason, despite those feelings, Patrick kept coming back for more.

Rich felt that getting involved with Patrick was kind of like watching a storm; getting so caught up in the beauty and power of it all that you don’t realize it’s getting closer until it’s all around you. But Rich refused to let it consume him. He’d take a good hard fucking—or several—to take his mind off his problems, but nothing more. He told himself that was all he needed anyway.

Pushing aside his treacherous thoughts, Rich put away his tools and ran for the parking lot, holding his jacket over his head to shield himself from the pelting rain. His Camaro was still in the shop, so through some tacit agreement both he and Patrick headed straight for Patrick’s truck.

The ride was silent, intense, and the cab was thrumming with pent-up sexual energy. Rich could feel his cock hardening just from the atmosphere; from all the pheromones buzzing in the air.

Finally, Rich noticed that Patrick was headed towards Rich’s house just on the outskirts of Ballard—probably because it was closer than his own townhouse in trendy Blue Ridge. Rich glanced at him, eyebrows raised. Patrick shrugged without looking, and an adorable blush tinged his freckled cheekbones.

“Guess I didn’t want to drive all the way out to Blue Ridge then, did I? Don’t really want to wait that long to have at you.” He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel, and his jaw clicked.

Rich didn’t really know what to say to that, and he didn’t think it required an answer. All he knew was that it was fucking hot. He breathed a sigh of relief when they pulled up in front of his house; the silence and the tension were starting to get to him. He realized there’d been a break in the storms; the sky was still heavy and threatening, but the rain had stopped and a few rays of sun poked through here and there.

Patrick still hadn’t said another word as Rich led him up the walk and onto the porch, but he could feel the man’s eyes on him the entire time. He struggled to control his breathing as his heart knocked against his chest. Something was definitely going to happen.

Rich unlocked the door and went inside, leaving it open, trusting Patrick to close it behind him. “So, do you want anything—
oomphf!
”

Patrick had slammed the door and swung Rich around until his chest collided with the wall. “No, I don’t want a bloody drink. I want you.” He pushed Rich harder against the wall with a hand between his shoulder blades. “Stay.”

Patrick pressed a panting, open-mouthed kiss to the back of Rich’s neck, making his cock jump. “God, I’ve wanted to do that all fecking day,” he said in that lyrical accent of his, and Rich could do nothing but moan in answer. Patrick ground his denim-covered erection against Rich’s ass, leaving nothing to the imagination about what he wanted.
Oh, god.

Rich’s legs threatened to give out when Patrick rucked up his shirt and pinched his nipples. Shock and arousal whipped through his body, and all he really did was kind of squeak. Patrick’s chuckle puffed gusts of hot breath over his ear.

“Not this time, mate,” Patrick said. “Too easy. I’ve plans for you yet.”

Before Rich could decide if he should be offended by being called ‘easy’, Patrick reached his big hand around and started unfastening his pants. Down they went, along with the briefs, and Patrick nudged Rich’s legs with his own to encourage him to step out of the pile of clothing.

Rich felt so exposed, standing there naked from the waist down, supersensitive dick grazing his sunny yellow accent wall and making him shiver. Meanwhile, Patrick was fully clothed behind him, slowly humping Rich’s ass through the denim between them. The whole thing was absurd and unbelievably erotic at the same time; Rich felt both shy and a little dirty in the best possible way. He arched his back and thrust his ass against Patrick’s caged erection.

He heard a whispered ‘
fuuuck’
behind him and felt Patrick grappling with his own pants. He must have gotten the job done, because suddenly his cock sprang loose and smacked against Rich’s crack. Jesus, the man was hung like a fricking horse—at least within the small subset to which Rich had to compare him. As Patrick slid his cock between Rich’s cheeks, Rich began to get nervous. He wasn’t a virgin by any means, but penetrative sex didn’t seem to be something one should necessarily do with a stranger too often—in his opinion—so he was still fairly unpracticed when it came to getting fucked. And the man just seemed so
big
.

Patrick flexed his hips, and Rich thought the guy might try to do him dry.

“I…um,” he gulped. “It’s kinda been a while.” He didn’t like how small and scared he sounded, even to his own ears—too much like who he used to be.

Patrick shoved Rich’s face against the wall with one of those heavy paws. “You’ll take me,” he said firmly, and Rich even mostly believed him. But when he braced himself for that first burning thrust, it never came. Instead, Patrick sank to his knees, warm breath wafting across the sensitized skin of Rich’s ass.

Abruptly Patrick took two bruising handfuls of Rich’s hipbones and pulled, forcing Rich’s back into an exaggerated arch, positioning Rich’s ass close to his face. Rich felt like ten times the slut, with his ass in the air, moaning for Patrick’s mouth on him, but he couldn’t make himself care—not when Patrick’s hot tongue was busy teasing his crease.

Those rough hands released his pelvis and began kneading and spreading his glutes. Rich jerked when Patrick’s tongue attacked his hole, swirling around the rim before stabbing inside. He shouted, and his hands curled into claws—he was pretty sure he left scratches in the paint. He’d never been rimmed before, as it was another thing he didn’t care to do with a stranger. He was amazed by how sensitive he was to it.

Rich shuddered uncontrollably as Patrick tongue-fucked him with abandon, and when he felt a hand snake around to grab his dick, he made that embarrassing squeaking sound again.

“Please…gonna,” he grunted.

Patrick dropped what he was doing and stood up, plastering himself to Rich’s backside. “No’ wid’out me, you aren’t,” he growled. Rich could tell how turned on he was getting by how unintelligible his accent became.

He shifted his hips, and his cockhead nudged Rich’s hole. “Lube!” Rich managed to choke out at the last minute.

“Relax, baby, I got you.” Patrick fumbled around behind him—maybe he didn’t notice the little term of endearment, or he just didn’t care. Finally he found the bottle of lotion that Rich kept next to the hand sanitizer on the foyer table. Rich heard the crinkling of foil from a condom Patrick pulled from god knew where, and the wet, squelching sound of him slicking himself up. Still, he jumped when a cold finger pressed lotion into his channel entrance.