Second Hand (Tucker Springs) (16 page)

The way Paul’s face closed up, all that easiness and happiness and something that sure looked like lust evaporating, made El’s heart clench. “I don’t want to go home.”

Then how about you come to my place?
“Paul, you’ve had a lot to drink.”

“So what? Everyone here has.”

He had a point. El wanted to give into it, but he didn’t let himself. “I need to get you home.”
I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.

I don’t want you to never want to see me again in the morning.

It was the right thing to do. El knew it was. But no amount of knowing that could have prepared him for the look of rejection, of disappointment, of
humiliation
on Paul’s face as he turned away from El and disappeared into the crowd.

Walking away from El on the dance floor was a mistake, not because I wanted to stand there and be told I was a baby and had to go home, but because he was right; I was drunk, incredibly so, and within thirty seconds I was lost, disoriented, and a little scared.

However, when he grabbed my arm and hauled me off the dance floor, I got mad again.

I didn’t know why I was mad, but I was. Furious, actually, and embarrassed, but mostly just mad. Confused too, I guess, but that mostly made me angry too. Something had happened. I wasn’t sure what, but something big had happened, and then I’d lost it, and now I felt like half a cantaloupe someone had hollowed out.

And El wanted to take me home and leave me there because I was drunk.

Maybe it was because of the kiss on the dance floor, I realized, as he poured me into his car and headed toward my house. I kept my eyes on the blurry streetlights so I wouldn’t have to see the truth of that in his face, if it was the case. Which it probably was. I’d kissed too hard. I’d asked for it and he was disgusted.

Except he hadn’t seemed disgusted. Except for at the end when he’d declared I had to go home.

Except I’m not gay!
The thought flared up like a dud firecracker and died an ignoble death.

How could I ask a gay man to make out with me on the dance floor of a gay bar and
not
be gay?

I was so confused. And hollow. And empty.

And sad.

I was all ready for El to drop me off at my curb, but he put his car in park, killed the engine, and came around to my door before I could figure out how to open it. He put an arm around me, too, helping me up the walk.

It made me sadder still.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, nodding at
Detroit Daisy
.

“Art.” I scowled at it. “It’s too heavy, or I’d have brought it to your shop.”

“Thank God.” He squeezed my elbow. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you inside.”

He came into the house with me, still hovering like he was my mother, which made me angry again. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, pulling free and heading for it without waiting to hear what he said. I assumed he would be gone when I came out. I did have to go to the bathroom, but when I was done I splashed water on my face, and then, figuring I was going to bed now, I brushed my teeth too. I sat down on the lid of the toilet for several minutes when I was done, wallowing in my confusion and misery and giving El adequate time to get out.

When I came out of the bathroom, El’s car was still at the curb, but El wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. I found him in my bedroom, standing beside my bed, holding up Stacey’s ring with an odd expression on his face.

“Why haven’t you ever brought this in? I could give you a lot more for it than for all those kitchen gadgets.”

I shrugged, staring at the ring in his long dark fingers. It had never occurred to me to try to sell it. Somehow, I’d assumed it would always be here waiting for her.

He let the ring fall into his palm and hefted it, as if testing its weight. He looked up at me. His eyes were guarded. “You still love her?”

“I don’t know. I thought I did, but . . .” I was trying to kick my shoes off, which was significantly more difficult than normal. I let my words die away as I concentrated on first one, then the other.

“But what?” he prompted.

“Maybe it’s been a long time since I loved her.” I had to hold onto the footboard while I pulled off my socks. “I loved the life we were supposed to live.”

“What’s that mean?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t tell him of the plans Stacey and I had made, me with a veterinary practice, her selling her art. Buying a house. Having kids. Seeing my mother’s joy when she became a grandmother. Tennis with friends in the morning and cocktails in the afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Hannon. A cookie-cutter life. That’s what Stacey had always wanted.

“Paul?”

It was too much. The hollowness threatened to swallow me, and I blinked hard. “Forget I said it.”

He didn’t answer, and I didn’t dare look at him. I wouldn’t have been able to read his expression anyway. I pulled my shirt off and dropped it on the floor, then my pants. I wanted to go to bed and have this day be over. I didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Stacey had always been the one who made the bed. It hadn’t been intact since she’d left. The covers were in a pile at the foot of the bed. Sorting them out now seemed like entirely too much work, so I lay down without them in my briefs and tried not to think about the ring in El’s hand, or what it had once represented.

“I take it you’re going to bed.”

“Yes.” Maybe when I woke up, I wouldn’t be such a failure.

He hesitated for a long time, then said, “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to hit on you?”

I closed my eyes and told myself the sting behind them was only a result of the alcohol. It had nothing to do with being rejected after making a fool of myself in public, in front of El. Of being rejected by El. By everyone in my goddamned life. “I can’t imagine you’re that desperate.”

He didn’t answer, but a second later, I felt the bed shift.

I opened my eyes to find him looming above me, straddling my legs, supporting himself above me on his left arm so he could look into my eyes. What I saw there made my breath catch in my throat.

“Is that what you think? That I’d have to be desperate to want you?”

His gaze was so intense, and I swore I could feel heat coming off his body. The chipmunk chattered desperately, but the alcohol made it seem very far away. A new voice, however, began to purr.

“I fail at everything,” I said, trying to put us back on more familiar ground.

He didn’t even blink. “No, you don’t.”

“I’m always second. I’m not the vet; I’m the vet’s secretary. I’m Stacey’s second choice. I’m even in second place in the damn Curb Appeal contest.”

He smiled. The gentle warmth in his eyes eased the ache in my chest, and if the chipmunk was still going, I couldn’t hear him anymore. “The only thing wrong with you is that you’re so sure there’s something wrong with you.”

I didn’t answer. I could only stare at him—his dark skin and his soft, full lips. I wondered if I dared touch him. Thinking about it made the pit of my belly ache in a gloriously sensual way. He still had his clothes on, and I suddenly wanted more than anything to change that. I thought about how it would feel to have the weight of his body on top of me, and the thought made me moan out loud.

He smiled. With his right hand, he touched my cheek. He brushed his thumb over my lips, and it woke something inside of me. Something that had been dormant for too long. It ignited the blood in my veins. It made me ache.

He touched my lips again with the ball of his thumb, and I whimpered.

“You’re pure, and sweet, and generous to a fault.”

I might have argued if I hadn’t been so focused on his caress and on the look in his eyes. He trailed his fingertips down my neck, over my collarbone, making my heart race. Slowly—so slowly—he moved his caress down the center of my chest.

“That day we had ice cream, you put that spoonful in my mouth, and all I could think was, ‘If I kissed him now, this is how he would taste.’” He kissed my jaw. “I was so close to kissing you then, but you wouldn’t have let me.” He kissed my neck. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

I didn’t understand how it could be true, but at that moment, I didn’t care. His touch felt so good. I was fully erect in my shorts. Not only that, I was already terrifyingly close to climax. I wasn’t sure how I’d gone from the verge of tears to the brink of orgasm so quickly, but I wanted nothing more than to see where he’d take me.

He stroked my stomach with his fingertips. “You have this amazing skin that’s so smooth and white. All I ever think about is touching it.” He leaned down and kissed my collarbone. “And tasting it.” With agonizing slowness, he moved his finger down my stomach. “You’re even softer than I imagined.”

I whimpered again, resisting the urge to arch my hips toward him. Somehow, the waiting was better. He circled my navel with his thumb. Trying to fight back the surge in my groin, I rode the waves until I had no choice but to give in to the overwhelming desire to push myself against him.

“You’re not second to anybody, Paul. Not in my mind. I think you’re beautiful, inside and out.”

He moved his hand lower, brushing at the waistband of my briefs, over my hipbone, tickling the sensitive spot where my thigh met my groin, and I shivered. It was the first kiss all over again, except this time it wasn’t pretend. It was real. Or at least it felt real, and I never, ever wanted it to stop. It was a fire burning inside me, each caress making me ache, each spot more sensitive than the last. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever experienced.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said hoarsely. “Not when you’re this drunk.”

No.
Not this again. My eyes snapped open to look up into his, but the expression on his face killed my anger. God, his eyes. Dark and sultry and yet with a hint of reservation in them.

I gave up. “Please,” I whispered. “Oh God, El.
Please
.”

He cupped my erection in his hand, and I gasped. El smiled and winked at me. “Who’s desperate now?”

Desperate? God yes, I was desperate for him to give me more. He touched the head of my cock through my shorts. I cried out, and as I did, he kissed me, gently touching his tongue to mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me, chest to chest, his thigh pressed between my legs, kissing him as if I could somehow give up everything to him and become what he claimed to see.

He nuzzled against my lips, breaking our kiss. “I should make you wait until you’re sober—”

“No!”

“But you have no idea how hard it’s been to wait this long. I’ve thought about doing this a hundred times.” His warm hand moved on my cock, changing from a caress to a grip. “I feel like I’ve thought about nothing at all since we met except kissing you and tasting you and touching you and fucking you, or letting you fuck me—”

I moaned, knowing I couldn’t last more than another second. “El—”

He kissed me again, cutting off my voice, breaking my control.

One hard stroke.

Two.

That was all it took.

I came, gasping for air, clutching at him as if he were life itself. I forgot about the day, my failures, everything that had brought me to this place. There was only him, so strong and lean, the exotic taste of his mouth, the rough grip of his hand as he stroked me through my orgasm, his gentle kisses on my cheek and brow and jaw as I fought to catch my breath. The hardness of his erection in his jeans, pressed firmly against my thigh.

All at once I was aware of the fact that I’d simply lain there. That I’d come before he’d even undressed.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He smiled and kissed my nose. “Don’t be.”

The afterglow of my orgasm made me shiver and sigh. I felt limp and heavy and sated and unbelievably sleepy. Even the idea of waking up stuck to my shorts wasn’t enough to make me do more than settle in comfortably against his weight. He put his arms around me and sighed against my neck. “I hope you don’t hate me for this in the morning.”

I hated somebody in the morning, but it wasn’t Emanuel. It was whoever had invented the juice of the devil more commonly known as rum.