Authors: Walker Cole
Ruthlessly His (9 page)
“Hey, great for you,” I walk right past her.
“I’m not giving you a key. My lawyer says I don’t have to.”
“I don’t give a shit right now, Nancy.” I storm upstairs to my bedroom and start throwing my things into a suitcase.
“Where are you going? Oh, and by the way, I just read a rumor about you. You should really get out in front of it. They must have photoshopped you or something.”
“A rumor about a parade?” I ask, without looking up.
“Yeah. Shut it down, Colt.”
“Ah, it’s not a rumor though. I went to that pride parade,” I say, zipping up my suitcase and throwing it over my shoulder.
“You. Did.
What
?” she snarls. I head downstairs.
“Oh,” I say, and turn just before reaching the front door. “And I’ve met someone.” I close the door hard, drowning out her screams.
Leo texts me >
I’m freaking out. I’m on the train to u
I get in my Range Rover and hit the gas. I text Leo back but he doesn’t reply.
I park on the side of the road and run into Cold Spring Station.
Inside, it’s pretty empty apart from a few financial guys getting home after late shifts. Someone with a briefcase grabs my arm and says, “Hey.”
“Hi,” I say, looking at Michael, one of my neighbors. “Michael.”
“Colt! How’s it going, man? Haven’t seen you out at the club in a while.”
“Yeah, the team has become my life,” I say, adding a sarcastic groan.
“I hear you, brother. Listen, me and Phillip would love to have you guys over,” he says.
Is he coming out to me? I had no idea.
Word gets out fast. Weird, how being yourself seems to change everything.
But just because we’re both gay, it doesn’t mean we’re automatic buddies. I try and look past him at the arrivals board. I’m worried that Leo’s phone has broken and he’s panicking. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll have to do that,” I say, trying to pull away from Michael.
“So, college football season is starting right now, eh?”
“Yep. That’s right,” I say, getting antsy.
“You meeting someone here?” he asks as I try to step past him.
“Yeah, a friend.” A train starts to pull in on the first platform. Some tired-looking commuters trudge through. Michael holds my arm. I’m trapped.
“It’s really great getting to chat with you, Colt. I don’t think we see enough of each other. Phillip loves you guys, you know?” he says.
Leo runs through the gate, looking around. We make eye contact. “Colt,” he calls out.
“Is this your friend?” Michael asks.
Leo runs up to us, out of breath. “My phone died right after I got a call from the police station, they found the camera.” Leo pauses, and looks from Michael to me. “The photos are still intact.”
“That’s—” I stop myself and grab Leo and kiss him.
Michael takes a few steps back and looks around, seeming uncomfortable.
“This is Leo,” I say. Leo is all smiles.
“I’m a good friend of Colt,” Leo says and shakes Michael’s hand.
“I’ll catch you guys later,” Michael says and jogs off.
“Who was that?” Leo asks.
“Some guy from my country club. He knows about me now. Everyone knows about me.” Leo just stares at me. “I leaked the university’s threats to the press. They warned me about going to ‘gay events’.”
“Jesus. Fuck. Colt.”
“I know,” I say. “But I don’t care anymore. We come first.”
We walk, hand in hand, towards the train station exits. His hand feels perfect in mine, and nothing in this world is going to make me let it go ever again.
I walk slightly behind Leo, watching his small bubble butt sway side to side. He’s so damn adorable.
“You hungry?” I ask him.
Leo smiles and winks. “Sushi?”
I smile back. “I like the way you think, you dirty dog you!”
Leo jokingly rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He turns to walk towards the exits, but I quickly snatch his hand and pull him sharply into my body. “Hey,” I whisper into his ear.
“Hey,
what
?”
“Thank you, Leo.”
His eyes glow. “No, Colt. Thank you.”
The longer we hold each other tightly, the more everything around us seems to disappear.
I love this man, and being with him is better than winning a dozen national championships.
Although I plan on doing that too.
THE END
In the meantime, turn the page to read author Caleb Stone’s best selling story, NOT JUST AN ATTRACTION (THE HART BROTHERS, BOOK 1), included here as a special bonus!
Not Just An Attraction (The Hart Brothers, Book One)
By Caleb Stone
© 2016 Caleb Stone.
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental
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Shane
Lately, I’ve been trying to keep to myself, but tonight is different. After the day I just had, I need a release in a big way or shit’s going to get ugly.
And by release, I mean I need to find just the right guy to get loose with and fuck the hell out of. I’ve waited too long as it is, and look where that got me today.
Just one good, hard fuck ought to do the trick. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Refill?” the bartender asks.
I nod my head, but my eyes are locked in on my target. I watch some guy as he bumps and grinds on the dance floor with a buddy of his. Something about the way he moves his hips, the shape of his ass, and his thick, dark curls that glisten from the sweat he’s worked up out there on the dance floor… All of that combined makes it nearly impossible for me to look away from him. Sure, he’s not alone, but that means nothing to me. Plus, his friend looks totally distracted, and way more flamboyant, to be a serious match for my clean-cut, toned down target.
The bartender hands me another scotch. I throw down a twenty. “It’s yours,” I say, sipping from my glass as I continue to stare down the guy on the dance floor.
“Thanks, Mr. Hart. Appreciate it.”
I don’t respond. My attention is elsewhere, such as on the hot fucking dude on the dance floor who’s shaking his taught, perfectly rounded ass around like he’s just asking for trouble.
And trouble he’ll get when he meets a man like me, a man capable of giving him way more than he’s ever dreamed of having.
He starts to wave his hands in the air and sway his slender hips from side to side, matching the rhythm of the music in the bar. Without even knowing it at first, I find my hands moving slightly in his direction like they have a mind of their own. I want to put my big mitts on the tops of his hipbones and own that body of his from behind.
Fuck, what I would pay to pull down those tight jeans of his and see the expression on his face when I slide my finger in his ass.
And that’s just an appetizer. I can’t even say what else I would do. Just letting myself think that far ahead would make my cock so hard it’d be impossible to hide it in my suit pants.
I look around to make sure it’s not ridiculously obvious that I can’t take my eyes off him. I’m in the clear. This is my kind of bar, a good mix of just about every type of person- straight, gay, rockers, frat boys, academics, you name it. It’s the kind of place you can get lost in.
Then again, I own the building it’s in, so it’s no coincidence that it suits my needs.
It’s the perfect hangout for a guy like me to blend in and let go of everything that just happened to me in the mediation hearing today. Fucking bitch, she went too far this time. But that’s neither here nor there.
Shit. I actually dribble a little bit of my whiskey on my chin as the guy I’m fixated on starts walking directly towards me. He walks up beside me, flashes a glance my way, then instantly looks away.
This guy looks and smells ten hundred times better now that he’s up and close to me.
And judging by how quickly he just looked away from me, he’s either not interested or he thinks I’m straight. Either way, I don’t appreciate the lack of attention I’m getting from him already.
I look him up and down again, especially now that I’ve got such a close view. My cock starts to throb in my pants at the mere sight of him. He’s tall, but not taller than me. He’s dressed simply in a pair of tight button fly jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt that accentuate his lean, toned muscles from head to toe. And without even knowing what’s under that shirt he’s wearing, I’d bet my fortune on the fact that his abs are rippled from top to bottom. “The drink’s on me,” I say.
He looks over at me and does a double take as though he thinks he’s hearing voices.
“Yeah, you,” I say, unable to hide my glare as my eyes uncontrollably glance down at the good-sized bulge in his jeans.
He smiles briefly at me, then looks away and says, “I prefer to buy my own drinks.”
Looks like I picked a fighter. I like that.
“What if I said I owned this bar? And that I insist on buying you a drink?” I say.
His smile disappears from his beautiful face. “Then I’d say you’re not exactly the most modest man I’d ever been hit on by,” he says.
Blood drains from my cheeks. But the more he pushes back, the more I want to put my dick all the way up his tight ass.
“Since when does buying another man a drink equate to hitting on him?” I ask.
He smiles and shakes his head. The light from the bar reflects off his full, pink lips and his straight, white teeth. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe since the beginning of time?”
“You a history buff or something?”
He chuckles but still refuses to look my way. “Nightlife 101, that’s all. That and the fact that you’ve been stalking me for the past ten minutes. Can’t a man dance with a friend in peace around here?”
I ignore all but the last part of his statement. “Are you always that dirty with your friends?”
He smirks and bites down on his lower lip. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say his body just reacted to me, even though his eyes are still pointed forward. “Not always, but I’m in one of those moods I guess.”
My cock twitches in my pants. I shift slightly to hide my near-full erection. This guy, whoever he is, suddenly looks down at my crotch as I shift. “Who’s staring at who now?” I ask as I catch him looking at my package.
He nods his head once, admitting defeat, then looks away again.
The bartender interrupts my trance. “What are you thirsty for?” he asks him.
My target reaches in his jeans and pulls out a five-dollar bill. He throws it down on the glossy wooden countertop. “I’ll take a Sam’s. Any Sam’s.”
I clench a fist as the bartender collects the bill.
“I told you I was buying,” I say.
“And I told you what my preferences are.” He brushes a bead of sweat off his forehead at the same time he reaches for the bottle of beer that was just put in front of him.
“And I told you I own this place,” I add.
He turns to look at me head on. We’re now only inches apart. I don’t even know how he got this close, but I’m glad he did. There are tiny speckles of stubble peppering his otherwise smooth skin. His sweat smells fucking delicious, and I swear I can practically taste his salty skin on my tongue.
“Not tonight, boss man,” he says. Then he reaches forward and grabs a handful of my cock that’s been busting at the seams in my boxer briefs. Fuck, I’m so totally caught off guard that I take in a short gasp of air.
Nobody, guy or girl, has ever stolen my breath like this in my entire life.
I stand there, speechless, with my mouth gaped slightly open, as he walks back over to the dance floor. Maybe I underestimated him.
What the fuck just happened?
* * *
Chris
Holy fuck.
I fight back the unbearable urge to look back at the bar.
My heart is screaming in my fucking chest over whatever the hell just went down.
What was I thinking?
I’m pretty sure that so-called owner guy was hitting on me, but not sure enough to do what I just did.
I never should have done that.
I look down at my hand and curl my fingers into my palm as I try to relive the sensation of his dick pressed up against my skin.
I’m lucky he didn’t bash my head in. I’m not the smallest guy in this place, but he has at least a few inches on me, and a good twenty pounds. And he had an edgy, blue-collar demeanor, even beneath his expensive looking suit, that told me he wasn’t afraid to use his fists as lethal weapons if he had to.
Whatever you do Chris, don’t fucking look back.
Milo, my roommate who just so happens to have a real knack for flaunting the fact that he’s gay every chance he gets, starts grinding up on my face again. It’s as though he didn’t even notice I was gone.
Good. That’s exactly the way I want things to be right now. Because the last person I want to know what just happened would be Milo, a damn near icon in this city’s social media world. And Milo won’t spare a single detail if he feels it’s in the name of telling a good story.
“I think I’m going to take off,” I yell out over the loud club music.
Milo snaps his fingers and gyrates his hips to the beat of the music. “WHAT?” he says, putting his hand up to his ear as though he can’t hear me through the PA system that’s only a foot or two from our ears.
“I said I should go!” I yell even louder.
Milo snorts and pretends to spit on my sneakers. He doubles the speed of his dance moves. “Silly boy. I told you we’re not going to have to work tomorrow. Snow day for sure.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know that, Milo. And besides, I still don’t want to be up late.” Milo and I work at the same school. I’m a fourth-grade teacher, and he’s the art teacher at my school. And nobody loves snow days more than Milo.