Tequila Mockingbird (22 page)

He would start there, Connor decided. Or maybe Forest’s throat, where a dark purple bruise was already blooming down the cords of his neck. No, he focused on the man’s pink-flushed mouth—
that
was where he’d begin his exploration and then work his way around until Forest begged him for release.

Connor liked the sound of that. He also enjoyed the growling mew Forest gave when Con hooked his thumbs into Forest’s waistband and tugged his sweats and underwear off in a single fluid pull.

“I don’t want to have to stop and do that later,” Connor rumbled. Then he eased onto the bed and covered Forest’s lanky body with his own heavy frame.

The room grew hot. Even stripped bare with nothing on the walls but flecks of old wallpaper glue and exposed woodwork, the house’s thick plaster walls normally kept the place relatively cool, holding in the city’s chill and keeping out the worst of its heated tantrums.

Connor shifted, moving to find the places he fit into Forest’s body while exploring the man’s unfamiliar planes with his hands. Their mouths were close, and Connor resisted savaging Forest’s lips. Their eyes held, and when Connor’s fingers dusted down Forest’s ribs, he gasped, puffing a breath over Con’s parted lips, and Connor knew he was lost.

He took what was his, sliding his knees between Forest’s legs to support his weight, and captured the man’s mouth, forcing Forest’s lips open so he could plunge his tongue past Forest’s sharp teeth and into the hot depths beyond. Connor suckled and pulled, drawing gasp after gasp out of the man underneath him. Unused to the sleek feel of another man’s skin, Con reveled in the newly discovered delight, his fingers roaming over his lover’s body, finding defined muscles. Then the nip of a nipple on Connor’s palm drew him in, and he played with the nub, rolling it between his thumb and finger until Forest gasped and thrust his hips up into a grinding dance along Connor’s belly.

Everything tasted different, tasted right, and felt even more glorious than Connor imagined. He didn’t know if it was the culmination of his surrender to desires he’d long held back or the sheer erotic pleasure of exploring Forest’s pale flesh. Either way, Connor knew in that moment he’d never let the man go. He’d never get enough of him—never feel or swallow enough of Forest to be satiated.

And he’d not even begun to sample the delectable flavors awaiting him beyond Forest’s mouth.

Connor moved onward—traveling down the man’s throat, then coaxing first one nipple, then the other into a hard peak he could have cut glass on if he so desired. Even there, the masculine hint of sweat and earthy skin was an explosion of sensations in Con’s mouth.

He dared his hands to go lower—to find the hard press of the man’s shaft and palm over Forest’s cock head and smear the leak he knew would be pearling at his lover’s slit. Connor wasn’t disappointed. Forest’s cock was wet and hard. Steel-firm and velvet soft at the tip, it bobbed before Con grasped it, sliding about on Connor’s palm until it too gave in—as Forest writhed and clutched at Con’s shoulders.

“Con—” Forest’s voice was tight, urgent, and begging. “I can’t—fuck, it’s been too long. I’m going to lose it on you.”

“Hold on, baby,” Con urged. “I want to taste you. My first—hell, my
only
. I want to take you in. Feel you there, okay? Can you hold on just for that? So I can feel you there? Pressed against the roof of my mouth?”

“Maybe,” came Forest’s husky whisper. “Yeah.”

His balls rolled in Connor’s palm, a curious, unique male thing only another man could understand. Connor
knew
the feelings Forest was having. Connor’s pants squeaked on the sheets, making him aware he’d wasted precious moments wearing clothes when he could have been lying naked on Forest’s hot body.

Con stripped quickly, tearing off his shirt and unzipping his pants before tossing both aside to land in a pile on the bedroom floor. The air cooled his skin, a brief, wistful chilly kiss over his skin, prickling his flesh with goose bumps, but his dick throbbed with its own coursing heat.

“Jesus, you’re fucking huge,” Forest muttered. “Lube. Better have a shit ton of lube.”

“There’s some in the nightstand.” Connor fumbled at the squat piece of furniture, digging out a couple of condoms and lubricant. “I’m not exactly sure how much a shit ton is, but there’s probably more than enough here.”

His dick left a salty trail on Forest’s arm and leg, his shaft tightening with excitement when the man grazed his fingertips over Connor’s uncircumcised head. He twitched, hissing at the touch to his sensitive tip, and Forest grinned up at him.

“Not what I expected,” Forest said, sliding his thumb around the base of Connor’s head. “You’re not cut.”

“No. Born in Ireland. They tend to leave the boys as they find them.” Connor hissed again, drawing back. “And stop that,
a ghra
. You’re not the only one close to the edge.”

Con tossed the lubricant on the bed. It rolled, then rested near Forest’s hip, trapped in the folds of Con’s rumpled sheets. He shot a grin at Forest, then lowered his head, licking down the man’s stomach and tickling the down under Forest’s navel with the tip of his tongue. Shifting his knees, Connor guided Forest’s legs apart and skimmed his hands down the man’s lean thighs, marveling at the feel of wiry hair on his palms.

He was blown away by the exquisite sensations of Forest’s body on his hands and in his mouth. The scents of the man were so very unique, even as Con recognized the aroma of his own soaps on his lover’s skin. The familiar lemon chiffon scrub, an indulgence Connor allowed himself, perfumed Forest’s stomach and groin. While the sweet citrus hint was pleasant, it was the powdery musk undernote that drew Connor’s cock to a raging stiffness.

Everywhere he touched felt different—unique to the man he longed to delve into. Connor studied the other man’s cock, taking in its pink tip, shorn of its foreskin. The texture of it was so foreign to him, more like velvet than the sleek felt of his own cock, and Connor played with its tip, reveling in the gasping mewls he could draw from Forest’s panting mouth when he flicked his thumb over Forest’s slit.

“Con…,” Forest begged, husky and dark with promise. “Please.”

“Yeah, baby,” Connor replied. “Anything you want. Just—let me do this. Once.”

He then leaned in and took Forest’s cock into his mouth, pressing his tongue under its bulb, and sucked, drawing Forest’s hips off the bed as pleasure flooded through the blond’s body.

The hint of salt, lemon, and man flowed over Connor’s tongue in a rush, and Forest’s body bucked under Con’s hands. He spread his fingers out, digging into the man’s hip bones to hold him. He was going to take however long he had and explore Forest in depth, but the blond wasn’t having it. Forest’s hands scrambled at his shoulders, searching for purchase with frantic fingers.

It was a magical taste—that first savoring of a man—of Forest—in Connor’s mouth. It filled him, completed him, and Connor wondered how the hell he’d gone on for so long without that burst of Forest in his memory.

The lubricant nudged at Con’s fingers, rolling about with Forest’s gyrations. Connor let go of Forest’s side and popped open the bottle. He liked to slick up his own cock while getting himself off, and the condoms were probably only a year old, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex. Sending a brief apology to his faceless and forgotten lover, Connor lubed his fingertips and slid his hand down between Forest’s legs, searching for the hot muscled swirl he needed to prime.

Connor knew he’d hit the right spot when Forest gasped and his knees parted. Cock leaking hot precome down Connor’s throat, his ass clenched and gave, guiding Connor’s oiled fingers in. His body tightened, molten and sweet over Con’s fingertips. He worked two in, coating the rim as thickly as he could. Forest was tight—so tight Con wondered if he would fit, but when he drew his hand back, Forest’s hands tightened painfully on Con’s shoulders.

“Swear to fucking God, I’m going to kill you if I don’t get you in me,” Forest muttered darkly.

“Almost done,” Connor replied, kissing Forest’s cheek. “And I’ll be right there.”

Strangely enough, his hands shook as Connor tore open the foil packet, and trembled even more when he worked the sheath down over his own cock. The tight ring at its base caught on his shaft, and he struggled for a second, then unfurled it the rest of the way. With his dick covered in more lube, Con gripped his base and guided the tip of his cock down between Forest’s trim asscheeks. The blond lifted his legs, hooking them up onto Connor’s hips, and Con grabbed a pillow to shove it beneath the small of Forest’s back.

Connor savored the moment, taking in the sight of Forest’s wanton splay. Forest’s mouth was roughened to plum from Connor’s kisses, and small bruises marked his throat and chest where Con’s teeth had nipped. Forest was ivory and golden, hot with lust and run wild with need. His eyes were nearly black with desire, their mocha depths swallowed in a stygian pool. With his hips canted up and legs spread, Forest was open to him, surrendering every inch of his body to Connor’s cock—to Connor’s desire—and Connor could not wait to enjoy what the man was offering.

“All of it,” Forest whispered. “No teasing me. Just… all of you, Con.”

Leaning forward, balancing his weight on one hand and his knees, Connor gently kissed Forest’s lips, inhaling the puffs of strained breath and little kitten cries coming from Forest’s mouth. Whispering softly, Connor said, “Thank you for this,
a ghra
. Thank you for giving me this—for giving me you. You are a treasure to me, and one I will cherish my entire life.”

With that, Connor pushed, and his mouth clamped down, swallowing Forest’s scream as he slid the length of his heavy cock into the tight of Forest’s body.

T
HE
MAN
was enormous. From his broad shoulders to his trim hips, Connor Morgan was a rippling mass of muscle and sinew, and Forest tried to touch every single inch of him that he could reach. There was
so
much to reach for.

So much so Forest wondered if he could even take the man in.

When he’d first felt the prickling of want, Forest had been horrified to discover he liked men. Unable to comprehend
why
his mind drifted into sexually charged thoughts at the idea of a man’s hands on him—a man’s cock inside of him—he’d driven himself down into his drumming, needing to pound out his fears and aggressions. Men were—they hurt. Even as his mother dragged him through her partying—even as she handed him over to rough-mouthed, drunken men who seemed to crawl out of the woodwork whenever she needed money—he’d done it because his mother needed him to—wanted him to.

There’d been too many times when he’d woken up sore, his voice hoarse from taking a man’s cock down his throat and his lips cracked from being stretched too wide—stretched too hard—and all the while, as Franklin waited for Forest to come to his senses and not trail after his mother like an oblivious duckling—Forest’d wished Frank would have just told him to stop.

Because his mother was the only person who’d ever told him he was needed, wanted, and the brutal fucking he got every time her friends passed him around was merely the price to pay to hear her say
You did good, Forest. Real good
.

By the time he’d thrown off her influence, Forest told himself he wanted something normal; a sweet-faced girl who’d giggle when he told a bad joke or even sit to listen in on a session. Quite a few of the musicians he played for had those kinds of girlfriends, smiling bits of sugar and candy who’d clap when they were finished playing and give fierce hugs of appreciation when the set was done.

Then he’d found himself looking more at the musicians than their girlfriends and wondered how truly fucked up he was, longing for something that’d only brought him pain.

Frank—God love Frank—for noticing and talking to him. They’d worked it out, small tidbits of conversations and reassurances of Forest’s sexuality, until Forest understood—realized—the men he’d gone with before weren’t partners, weren’t lovers; they were men interested in satiating their need for power or maybe even trying to exorcise their own demons. None of the pain, none of the trauma, had to do with love or want. If Forest wanted a man in his bed, it wasn’t because of something his mother or any of the countless, faceless nobodies who’d used him before had done. It was because that’s what his heart wanted.

And God, did his heart want Connor Morgan.

Especially now, because even as the man tenderly stroked and played with Forest’s body, he ached to have Connor in him.

He
wanted
Connor to erase every touch that’d come before him. He needed to believe the man when he whispered how much he wanted Forest. Most of all, he wanted to be held, to know Connor wasn’t going to let him go, wasn’t going to toss him out like he’d been tossed away so many damned times before. Forest needed
that
most of all, and in the murmuring Irish he heard those things.

His heart beat rapidly—urging his mind to fall into the man’s promises, but the slithering doubts—the evil, dark shadows lurking in the recesses of his mind, whispered of Connor’s disinterest once he’d gotten his fill of Forest’s body.

No, he told himself. He’d seen the look on Con’s face—that precious moment when he’d spied Forest through the glass and turned Forest’s world on its side. There’d been something tangibly magical in that glance—that smile—and it’d burned away every cobweb and flick of ice on Forest’s soul, baring him to the sun and stars. He’d die happy knowing he’d gotten that look just once.

He’d do anything Connor wanted of him just to have the man look at him like that for the rest of his life.

“God, I love you,” Forest muttered softly, too low for Connor to hear, and hot tears stung Forest’s eyes. “When the fuck did
that
happen?”

His mind burned and roiled with the knowledge, tearing at his thoughts and flinging back sharp darts of denial. They didn’t get very far. His heart caught every whisper of doubt and crushed them into a silvery ashen nothing, leaving only a smear of awareness behind.