The Backup Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Chronicles) (10 page)

But, Jesus, Dylan was a powder keg full of
want
.

“It’ll be s’good,” Alec said. Lids heavy, he looked up at Dylan. “Topping is like the Sky Rocket of roller-coasters, but bottoming is like a wild ride on the Screamin’ Demon Express. I promise, you’ll love it.”

Fire shot through Dylan’s veins, leaving behind the scorched remains of his good intentions. His legs felt like overcooked pasta. Dylan swayed, placing a hand on the wall above Alec, propping himself up. Mesmerized, he stared down at the top of Alec’s head, the waves of brown hair. That beautiful mouth…

Full. Spit-slicked. Slowly stretching wider as he slid back down Dylan’s cock.

Dylan wasn’t sure, but he might have let out a whimper. Alec was currently sucking him off as though he’d waited all his life to get his hands and mouth on Dylan.

He’d never felt so worshipped.

“You taste perfect.” Alec licked Dylan’s slit, making Dylan’s vision blur from the shock of pleasure. “Like leather and whisky and salt.”

Several seconds passed with the aching promise of more, and Dylan fought to uncross his eyes. The rasp of a zipper broke through Dylan’s dazed state. And when Alec pulled out his own cock and gave several tugs, Dylan definitely whimpered.

No. Please, just…no.

A part of him demanded he close his eyes again. That he should be picturing a woman kneeling before him. But, God help him, he wanted to watch Alec and the blissful expression on his face. That expressive blue gaze and wide mouth. The quiet
slap slap slap
of his hand as he stroked himself. Dylan let out a groan, mentally tossing in the last towel.

At this point he might have to hurt anyone who tried to end to this.

Alec’s head was bobbing in earnest now, as if he couldn’t get enough. The wet warmth of his mouth, the reverent stroke of his tongue, and that incredible, incredible suction dragged Dylan closer to the inevitable end. Alec seemed determined to suck the orgasm from Dylan, willing or not.

Panting, throat raw, Dylan fit his palm to Alec’s face and scraped his thumb across the smooth cheek, stroking closer to the mesmerizing lips stretched tight around him. Alec moved up and down along the slick skin, taking him deep. When Dylan’s finger touched where their bodies met, Dylan almost came.

“Alec,” he groaned.

He should let himself blow his load so this would be over.

But if he let himself come
this would be over
.

And then Alec released Dylan with a wet
pop
.

“No,” Dylan rasped out.

Mouth parted, Alec moaned out his orgasm, thick ropes of white shooting from Alec’s slit. Dazed and uncoordinated, he absently mouthed Dylan’s cock as he slowly recovered. Dylan wished he could say the same, because no blow job, ever, had been this good, and he hadn’t even come yet. Alec getting off on
Dylan
getting off took the experience to a whole new level. And the moment was hot as hell.

Whatever Alec wanted, he could have.

That fucking glorious mouth swallowed Dylan back down. Alec’s sticky fingers returned to stroke the base of Dylan’s dick, and something inside him broke.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph
, he needed—

He buried his fingers in Alec’s hair, shoving the brown curtain back for a better view, and clutched the side of Alec’s head for leverage. Cautious at first, Dylan began to rock his hips. When Alec hummed in encouragement, Dylan gripped Alec’s head tight and thrust deep, once, twice.

Intense heat flashed from his groin, a goddamned solar flare shooting from his dick, and Dylan let out a harsh cry. He pressed his forehead against the wall in relief as he emptied himself inside Alec’s throat for what felt like forever. Until Dylan felt heavy. Wrung out.

Bled dry.

Several seconds passed by before Dylan’s endorphin-saturated brain switched back on, and he became aware of the sound of rustling clothes.

When he regained the use of his muscles, Dylan glanced down. Alec sat on the floor at his feet, back against the wall. Eyes closed, he had a content look on his face. Somewhere along the way, Alec had made himself more presentable, his pants now zipped. Unfortunately, they still needed to get the hell out of here. And they would.

Just as soon as Dylan could breathe without making so much noise.

Someone laughed down the hallway, and Dylan tensed, fumbling to fix the front of his pants. If Noah found them here, there’d be hell to pay.

Dylan reached down and pulled Alec to his feet. The man swayed a moment, and guilt sliced Dylan deep. Alec was in no condition to be making important decisions, like whether he wanted his ex-boyfriend or the fake one. Or who to be giving blow jobs to.

Damn.

“We need to get you home before you pass out,” Dylan said.

“Not gonna pass out,” Alec said, eyes still closed. “Just enjoying the post-orgasmic buzz, you know?”

Heck, yeah. Dylan knew.

“I think you’re buzzed enough,” Dylan said drily.

Hand on Alec’s elbow, Dylan opened the door and steered him down the hallway, hoping against hope they wouldn’t run into anyone along the way. But when the two of them rounded the corner, Tyler, Logan, and Noah were still standing in the foyer by the front door, talking. All three turned to look at Alec and Dylan.

Busted
.

Tyler’s face looked totally blank, Logan looked amused, and Noah…

Noah looked ready to kill them both. Cuz, yeah. The tangle of Alec’s hair, his rough, reddened lips, and the dazed expression on his face gave them away.

“That was the best party
ever
,” Alec said in a lilting voice.

Inside, Dylan winced, but he kept his expression bland. “He’s had a little too much to drink.”

Logan laughed. “And we can guess what he’s been drinking.”

Dylan pretended like crazy his face wasn’t heating up into one hell of a blush, maintaining an even tone. “Thanks for the hospitality, Noah.” Dylan refused to meet his friend’s gaze. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”

“Good night, everybody.” Alec waved, a smile on his face as Dylan practically dragged him toward the front door. “Dylan, promise me we’ll do that again when we get home.”

Behind them, Logan laughed. Dylan barely suppressed the groan as he hustled Alec out of the condo, closing the door on the accusing look on Noah’s face.

~~~***~~~

The next morning awareness rose in layers. The faint throb in Alec’s head had him cautiously cracking an eyelid open, light not the most welcome of sensory inputs right now. His hand flexed against a rock-hard thigh, and his morning wood pressed low on Tyler’s back. He opened the single eye wider, taking in the striped comforter on his king-sized bed and the cobalt blue walls and mahogany dresser beyond. But something felt off.

Alec frowned at the shoulder blade with a line of puckered skin, a purple scar that had healed ages ago. But…Tyler didn’t have a scar on his back. And that wasn’t the only thing that didn’t compute. The hair seemed too light and the shoulders too broad and the skin too tanned and—

And Sweet Jesus, Tyler didn’t live here anymore. Neither was he as large as the man in his bed.

Dylan
.

Alec’s chest contracted, squeezing the air from his lungs as the previous night came back to him in a rush. Dylan looking good enough to eat in his dress clothes. His arm around Alec, the hard muscles, and his fabulous smell. Being trapped between Dylan and the wall.

The kiss.

Sucking him off
.

Heat pricked Alec’s neck. And then there’d been the ride home. He had vague memories of his hands being all over Dylan. Honestly, how had the man managed to drive his truck? And when they’d entered Alec’s house, he…

Shit.

Alec had practically dragged Dylan into his bedroom and pushed him down on the bed, pouncing on the guy like the zombie apocalypse loomed close and Alec was determined to wring as many orgasms from Dylan as possible beforehand.

Granted, Dylan Booth was bigger and stronger than Alec. He had at least two inches and a good thirty pounds on him, all muscle. At any point during Alec’s mortifying actions, if Dylan had wanted to overpower Alec and push him away, he could have. But, still, Alec remembered enough to realize that he’d been attacking Dylan’s clothes as if they were an affront to nature. All the while listing out the ways he was going to make Dylan come. How good being fucked felt. How much Dylan would love being a bottom.

Explaining in great detail exactly
how
he’d top Dylan.

But after getting sidetracked by a moment of frottage—and coming,
again
—Alec had slumped to the bed, exhausted. He had fuzzy memories of Dylan cleaning him up and wondering how such a rough-and-tough guy could be so gentle, just before he had proceeded to pass out.

Why Dylan hadn’t up and left him was a mystery. At three a.m., Alec’s pounding headache had interrupted his sleep, so he’d gone for a bottle of water and three ibuprofen. Fortunately, his middle of the night prowling now meant his headache was reduced to a dull thud, but the remaining dregs of his hangover were the least of his problems.

Now he had to figure out what to do about Dylan.

Alec’s cellphone buzzed on the nightstand, and he peered over Dylan’s shoulder. Noah’s number flashed on the screen before going to voice mail, and Alec realized he now had twenty-five unread messages. No need to wonder who had sent them.

Alec’s gaze dropped to Dylan, the thick lashes out of place on the rugged face. One hand under his pillow, the other resting beside his head, Dylan looked relaxed in sleep. Alec’s palm on the man’s thigh was a problem, and Alec wasn’t even going to touch on how his cock was deliriously happy pressed along the top of Dylan’s ass.

Alec ignored the scent of sweat and semen and man, because he needed to get out of this bed. But when he went to withdraw his hand, he paused. Before he could stop himself, his finger lightly traced the scar lining Dylan’s shoulder blade.

“Morning,” Dylan said.

Alec swallowed hard and mimicked Dylan’s easy, we-didn’t-just-sleep-together tone. “How did you get the scar?” The question felt infinitely easier than asking what would happen when they left this bedroom behind.

“Stab wound from a broken bottle,” Dylan said.

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

Fifteen. Alec stared down at the linear scar. The answer opened up a whole new line of questioning he’d been dying to pursue. At that age Dylan had been homeless.

“What happened?” Alec said.

The pause that followed was long, and Alec wondered if Dylan would answer.

“I’d been on the streets for six months when one night I came across a kid about my age,” Dylan said. “The guy he was with was getting really rough, so I stopped to help.”

The final piece of the puzzle slid into place. “Rick.”

So that was how the two men had become friends.

“Yeah. I got the scar in the scuffle, but I managed to give the abusive prick a run for his money,” Dylan said.

Alec knew the answer before he even asked. “Was Rick turning tricks?”

As Alec waited for an answer, somewhere down the street a neighbor honked a car horn. A dog began to bark in answer. Another lazy Sunday morning in Alec’s neighborhood. But nothing about today felt ordinary.

“He was doing what he had to do to survive,” Dylan answered, a defensive thread in his tone. “He showed me a better place to sleep, and I showed him the best places to find food.”

After a brief moment of internal debate, Alec decided he had to ask.

“Did you love him?” Alec said.

The tone of Dylan’s voice changed every time he talked about his dead friend. And a part of Alec hoped there
had
been some romantic feeling on Dylan’s part, because if he’d loved a man before, that meant there was hope that he and Alec could have more.

And he should not be entertaining such stupid,
stupid
thoughts.

“No, not like you’re thinking,” Dylan said.

Alec tried not to let his disappointment show. “But you still miss him.”

“Every goddamn day.”

Seconds passed into minutes, until the reality got too much for Alec. He was in bed with a man, had had sex with a man who could never really be more than a fake boyfriend. Escaping suddenly seemed like a necessity.

He went to pull his hand from Dylan’s thigh, but Dylan reached back and trapped Alec’s palm beneath his, accelerating the pulse in his wrist.

“You promised you’d show me how it felt,” Dylan said.

For the first time since they’d started talking, Dylan rolled his head to look up at Alec. The man had a seriously sexy case of bed-head hair, his eyelids still heavy with sleep. But his gaze smoldered with awareness.

“But you passed out before you could follow through,” Dylan went on.

Alec blinked, forcing his mouth to work. “How what felt?”

Dylan arched his back, the base of Alec’s hard cock now pressed tight against the top of Dylan’s naked ass, sending a thrilling jolt up Alec’s spine.

“Christ, Dylan.” The rough words rushed out, unchecked. “Last night was crazy. The tension at the party was epic. You were totally trying to prove Tyler wrong.” Alec rubbed his face. “Not to mention that really awkward moment in the kitchen, and then I had too much to drink. I practically forced you—”

“Screw that,” Dylan said with a scowl, ending Alec’s string of words. “You didn’t force me. And if I wanted to be gone, I would have left.”

“You shouldn’t be sleeping with me.” Alec amended the statement. “I shouldn’t be sleeping with
you
.”

A lazy eyebrow rose. “Little late to be deciding that now.”

Shouldn’t the man be more disturbed by the events? And did that mean something more? The hope had Alec dropping his forehead to Dylan’s shoulder.

“Shit,” Alec whispered.

Too late summed the situation up perfectly. Too late to take back all he’d done with Dylan—well, perhaps
to
Dylan was a more appropriate description. Too late to return to a time when Alec thought of Dylan as just a smart-mouthed mechanic instead of a man who’d not only survived the streets but gone on to start a successful business. A man who’d risked his life to defend a complete stranger.