Nothing Between Us (20 page)

Ignite the truths I fear.

Burn me down, baby.

Burn me down.

Colby closed his eyes and knocked back his whiskey, the burning in his throat matching the heat Keats’s song was fueling in his gut. Keats hadn’t looked his way once, but he’d made it clear who he was singing to. Colby didn’t know how he was going to walk away this time.

“Goddamn,” Jace muttered. “This is getting me hot under the collar, and I’m not even into the kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” Colby snapped.

Jace lifted a hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. Honestly.”

Colby felt like an asshole. He wasn’t one to let his temper leak into things, especially when it was unfounded. Jace was just being Jace. But everything felt on edge at the moment, like even a breath on his skin would be too much.

“The guy can sing, though, Wilkes. He’s really fucking good.”

“Always has been,” Colby said gruffly. “Just never had a chance to catch a break.”

“That sucks. Want me to talk to Foster’s friend, Pike?”

“For what?”

“Pike’s doing some producing now. He could help him put together a demo. Robyn’s going to do one.”

Colby adjusted his cap, only half able to stay engaged in the conversation. “Yeah, do that. I’m sure Keats has some stuff ready to go.”

Jace said he would do just that. But Colby’s attention stayed on Keats, and he was rewarded when on the final line of “Burn Me Down,” Keats’s eyes locked on his, and he sang the words right to him.

That was all it took for Colby’s good intentions to go up in flames. Burn me down, indeed. He shoved his chair back. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Jace grinned. “Happy trails, Wilkes.”

Keats managed to return Robyn’s guitar and say his good-byes, but his hands shook when he tucked them in the pockets of his jacket. He didn’t regret what he’d done onstage. Like Georgia had said earlier today, the back-and-forth wasn’t fair to anyone. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to settle inside until he faced up to whatever this was with Colby. But now that the moment was over, his thoughts were unraveling in every direction and knotting into new worries. Colby had walked out, and Keats had no idea what that meant.

Maybe he’d fucked it all up again.

But when he headed out of the bar to get on his bike, he found himself standing in front of an empty parking spot. No bike. “What the hell?”

He spun around to scan the lot and saw Colby’s truck across the way. Keats’s motorcycle was in the back. Colby slammed the tailgate shut and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest and not saying a word.

If an outsider had been watching them, it might have looked like Colby was about to challenge Keats to a fight. Or maybe that Colby was about to star in a country music video. He pulled off the broad-shouldered, boot-wearing, worn jeans look to ridiculous perfection. All he needed was a damn dog sitting at his feet.

Keats’s throat tightened. No, that wasn’t what Colby was expecting to be at his feet.

Colby cocked his head toward the truck. “You gonna get in, Keats? Or do I need to roll your bike back out?”

Keats barely heard him over the blood roaring through his ears. He cleared his throat, searching for his voice. “The bike can stay there.”

“The song was good,” he said, pushing his back off the truck and taking one step forward. Keats internally flinched. The gravel crunching beneath Colby’s boot sounded loud even with the crowd noise and music filtering out from the bar. Everything was amplified in his mind right now, his senses dialed up to eleven. “You’re a natural up there.”

Keats breathed in the cold night air, trying to calm himself. He didn’t need to act like some scared virgin. He hadn’t played this game with another man, but he could hold his own with flirting. The gender shouldn’t matter. “I had a good teacher.”

Colby hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keats was the one to take steps this time. He crossed the parking lot and stopped just short of arm’s length. “I was hoping he could show me a few more things, though.”

The temperature had dropped in the last two hours, and Keats watched as their frosted breath mingled in the air between them. Colby’s eyes were darker than normal in the shine of the orange streetlight, and what Keats saw there had his heart thumping faster.

Colby gave him a long, evaluating look, then a barely-there nod. “Get in the truck, Keats.”

Keats’s fists clenched at his side, fear trying to take hold again, but he forced his fingers open. “Okay.”

“
Yes, sir
would be the proper response,” Colby corrected. “I expect your full respect from this point onward tonight.”

Keats wet his lips. “Yes, sir.”

It should’ve felt strange on his lips. But, then again, it wasn’t the first time he’d called Colby
sir
.

When Keats attempted to move past him, Colby turned and stepped fully into Keats’s personal space. Keats leaned back against the side of the truck, both of them now covered in the shadows of the parking lot, shielded from the bar’s entrance. Colby braced a hand on the truck, half-caging Keats in. “You know, I had decided this was a bad idea.”

Keats couldn’t look away from the hard gaze. “I know.”

“I thought you weren’t ready. And I thought I’d never be able to see past the kid I used to know, that it’d feel wrong to me.”

“I’m not that kid anymore,” he said, his voice barely loud enough for his own ears to hear it.

“No, you’re not,” Colby said, moving closer and bringing their belt buckles together. Denim against denim.

Keats’s dick, already half awake for the party, went hard in an instant.

“My body had already figured that much out,” Colby said, his lips a breath away from Keats’s. “But when I saw you onstage, my head finally caught up. I saw the man. A talented, artistic, hot-as-fuck man who I’d be damn lucky to have in my bed.” He slid his hand to boldly cup Keats’s erection. “And under my command.”

Keats’s head fell back against the window of the truck as Colby gave him a stroke through his jeans. “Fuck.”

Colby’s lips touched his ear and whispered words full of promise. “Soon. I’m looking forward to breaking you in, boy.”

The words sent electricity through his system, and Keats worried he’d shoot off in his pants like a teenager if Colby stroked him again. So he was grateful when Colby backed away and swung open the truck door. He gave a little nod, indicating that Keats needed to get in. They didn’t speak the entire drive home. And though fear of the unknown was ever present, Keats stayed rock hard and aching the entire way home.

When Keats tried to adjust the front of his suddenly too-tight jeans without success, Colby noticed. And smiled. Evilly.

He really was a sadistic bastard.

They pulled into Colby’s driveway a few minutes later, and Keats glanced over at Georgia’s place. He wondered what she’d think if she knew what was happening right now. Knowing her, she’d probably be cheering them on.

“What’re you smiling about?” Colby asked, cutting off the ignition.

Keats hadn’t even realized he was doing it. “Nothing.”

Colby sniffed. “She’s hard not to think about, huh?”

“She was the one who encouraged me to go watch you play tonight. I don’t think she bought either of our bullshit excuses.”

Colby huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m guessing you’re right. Plus, that gorgeous woman has a serious boy-on-boy fetish. Maybe she’s hoping we’ll let her watch.”

“Would you do that?”

He shifted on his seat and met Keats’s gaze. “Not tonight. Tonight, you’re mine and mine alone.”

Somehow the words settled the jumpy feeling in his stomach. There was safety in knowing that this first time would be private and that Colby would take the lead completely. Keats had come to terms with the knowledge that he wanted this—God, how he wanted it. But if it had been up to him to make the moves or decisions, he probably would never manage to go through with it. He’d psych himself out like he had when Colby had left him standing in the hallway.

“Before we go in, we need to get a few necessary things out of the way,” Colby said, all business but his gaze no less heated in the chilly cab of the truck. “I’m tested monthly as an employee of The Ranch, and I always use condoms.”

Keats licked his lips quickly. “I have to get a physical and blood work every six months for the temporary agency I get the construction work through. I’ve always used condoms, too. And I got tested last month after I found out my ex-girlfriend was using. I haven’t been with anyone since.”

Colby nodded. “Do you have any things you’re absolutely not okay with? Hard limits.”

Keats didn’t know what to do with his hands. He tucked them in his jacket pockets. “I’m not sure I know enough to even know where those limits would be yet. But I’m okay with . . . trying stuff to see how it goes.”

Colby seemed to approve of that answer. “We’re going to use a stoplight system.
Red
is your safe word. That stops everything immediately, no questions asked. Use
yellow
if you need me to check in with you, if something might be too much. And if I ask you how you’re doing and you’re completely on board, you can give me a
green
. We can find your limits together.”

Keats smirked but couldn’t look up. “Is it bad that you slipping into teacher mode is getting me even harder?”

Colby made some sound in the back of his throat. “Are you
trying
to fuck with my head?”

“Come on,” Keats said, feeling braver now that he’d made the decision to do this. “You never had a fantasy about a teacher? I know you’re not panting after your students, but what about back when you were in school?”

“I did have an English professor in college who had that hot librarian thing going on. She was so damn prim and pretentious, but I had a feeling it was all for show. I wanted to tie her to her desk and spank her with the awful book she was making us read just to see what she’d be like when she dropped the façade.”

Keats shifted in the seat, the image of Colby doing that making his blood heat. He chewed his lip for a moment. “I remember I used to focus on your hands when you were teaching me guitar because anything more than that was too scary. I would wonder what you did to guys with those big hands, how they would feel.”

Colby let out a gruff sound, proving that Keats wasn’t the only one getting hot and bothered. “Well, at least now I know why it took you so long to get the hang of your F chord.”

Keats smiled, still focusing on his lap.

Colby’s fingers closed around the back of Keats’s neck with firm pressure. “You ready to feel those hands, Keats? I’ll gladly show you exactly what I like to do with them.”

Keats inhaled a long, shuddering breath. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Good. Then go inside and to my room. Shut the curtains, take off your shirt, boots, and socks. All I want you wearing are these jeans. Lace your hands behind your head and put your back to the door. I’ll come in when I’m ready.”

Keats might have been shaking, but he refused to acknowledge the weakness. “Yes, sir.”

Colby’s fingers pressed harder into his neck. “You have ten minutes. Don’t make me wait longer than that.”

Keats nodded in Colby’s grip and reached for the handle on the door. He didn’t want to hesitate or overthink things this time. So he focused on simply moving forward and following the instructions. He was in the house, stripped, and in position in probably less than four minutes. The curtains were closed and only the lamps had been left on, so he tried to steady his nerves by counting the stripes on the curtains. He’d gotten to thirty-seven when he heard footsteps behind him.

And for the first time, Keats had no desire to run.

—

Colby stood in the doorway for a long minute, staring at the man in the center of his bedroom. Keats had followed the instructions to a
T
, so Colby was graced with an unparalleled view of Keats’s muscular back and arms, those tattoos flexing beneath Keats’s subtle, nervous shifting. Even the wicked bruising from the fight seemed to add to the beauty of the man—a sign of his bravery, a toughness that had allowed him to survive on the streets. And those worn blue jeans that had molded so nicely over Keats’s erection hung low on his hips, giving Colby the tempting sight of the dimpled indentations at Keats’s tailbone and the top curve of his ass. The man was finely built. Strong and masculine and proud.

The urge to conquer and bring forth that submission filtered through Colby’s bloodstream like a drug. But he would be gentle tonight. Keats was injured and he was new to all this. Colby would make it good for him.

He crossed the room with slow steps, his boots clomping against the wood floor, then silencing when he stepped onto the area rug that filled the space in front of his bed. He placed his hands on Keats’s hips. Keats startled but quickly reeled himself in, stilling.

“You still hard for me, Adam?” he asked, using his given name to help Keats understand things were different when they were in this mode, that he was vulnerable.

The muscles in Keats’s neck worked. “Yes, sir.”

Colby fitted his erection against Keats’s ass. “Makes two of us.”

Keats’s whole-body shudder made Colby smile with satisfaction.

“You’re going to learn to be still and how to be touched. You own nothing right now. Every part of you is mine. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Close your eyes and focus on my hands. You wanted to know what they feel like. Now you get your wish.”

Keats’s lids fell shut, and Colby stepped in front of him. Starting at the top, he mapped the contours of Keats’s brow, his cheekbones, his jawline, then traced the edge of his shiner with a gentle fingertip, trying to get Keats used to being touched. Keats was already breathing fast, but when Colby ran a thumb over Keats’s lips, the guy’s chest stopped moving.

Colby didn’t kiss trainees, and he rarely kissed a partner during a play session. It felt too sweet and intimate for his tastes. But he’d kissed Georgia, and now he found himself unable to pull his attention away from Keats’s mouth. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Keats’s and gave his bottom lip a nipping bite.

Keats rewarded him with a sharp intake of breath, and Colby went back for a second taste before moving his hands down to Keats’s shoulders. “Lower your arms to your sides.”

Keats obeyed and Colby indulged in running his hands over Keats’s biceps and then his chest. He avoided the bruised areas on his side but paid extra attention to the flat, brown nipples. He gave a hard pinch to one, and Keats muttered an oath. But from the way he clenched his fists at his sides, Colby could tell it had been a positive response.

“These would look good pierced. Would make them easier to torture.” Colby flicked the other one.

Colby let his gaze travel down Keats’s abdomen and then lower. Keats’s erection hadn’t diminished even if he was still harboring some nerves. If anything, the jeans looked to be straining even more in the front.

“Unbutton these, pull the zipper down.”

Keats complied, his fingers fumbling for only a second. When he spread open the fly, visible relief crossed his face. Colby took his fill, tracing the faint trail of hair that tracked below Keats’s navel with a fingertip. Then he dipped his hand inside, palming Keats through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs.

Keats groaned when Colby gripped him, but Colby was the one whose dick flexed. The guy was long and heavy in his hand. “Fuck, Keats. Now I know why those guys used to give you shit in the locker room. Goddamned jealousy.”

Keats tipped his head back as Colby gave him a stroke. “Yeah, well I’m kind of terrified of you. I’ve seen your shoe size.”

Colby laughed low and menacing against his ear as he moved his hand away. “You should be.”