Click on image to enlarge.
by L.M. Turner
Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
Description: Ryan's relationship-phobic, preferring to live his life from one anonymous hook-up to the next. He never remembers a name, and he never goes back for more. But then he meets Jayden, the one-off who won't get out of his head, his life -- or, indeed, his bed. Ryan remains in a denial, however; he has no place in his life for emotion or feelings, despite how much difficulty he finds in keeping away from the gorgeous, confident Jayden.
It's not until Jayden gets a boyfriend, bringing their non-relationship to a sudden end, that Ryan thinks he might have been feeling something all along. Feeling a lot, actually, but it's too late. Jayden's happy with his new man, and Ryan shouldn't want to get in the way of that -- but he's selfish, and he's had an epiphany, and maybe the only way to get Jayden back is to reveal more of himself than he knows how to handle. But is it enough for Jayden to take a risk on a man who, by his own admission, has no idea how to love?
eBook Publisher: Loose Id, LLC, 2010
eBookwise Release Date: October 2010
42 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [217 KB]
Reading time: 135-189 min.
Ryan has a thing about one-night stands. They're easy, anonymous, and they do the job. The wide-eyed romantics can keep their relationship bullshit, their dates and one-month anniversaries, and their shared fucking potted plants. Ryan wants to get laid, not shoot himself in the head out of sheer, mind-numbing boredom.
The best thing about one-offs? He can be himself. He's got no one to impress, nothing to worry about. Fast, slow, rough, gentle--whatever he feels like, and it's his. Walk away afterward and never think back and wonder if it was good for the other guy too.
It's not that he's selfish. He's attentive and considerate, and he's never the first one to come. But at the end of the day he's getting off, any way he wants, and they can either take whatever his mood's aiming for or tell him to fuck off.
There's always someone else in the next bar or an alley or crossing paths in the supermarket. Of all the cock he's had, he doesn't remember a single name.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
It's what he's expecting tonight, what he needs. A random hook-up, release some tension.
Frankie takes him to a gay bar, of course. "They're full of straight women with limited options," he often says, as if Ryan's not heard it a million times before. "Shootin' fish in a barrel."
The bar's heaving tonight--a two-for-one drinks offer coupled with the town's favorite camp DJ equals a dance floor full to the brim with enough leather and spandex to make Ryan's balls sweat in sympathy. "Some of 'em are actually lesbians, you know," he says over his shoulder, finishing one of a million similar conversations they've had over the years. "It's not just fag hags."
Frankie snorts, because--for him?--lesbians are merely a fun challenge. "Get the drinks in, son," he says, rubbing his hands together. "I gotta see what I'm working with here." Before Ryan can point out it's Frankie's turn to buy the first round, before he can even blink, Frankie's off, eyes peeled, flirty smirk firmly in place--every bit the horndog he pretends not to be in polite company.
Ryan grabs two beers and leans back against the bar, the rim of his bottle playing at his bottom lip as he considers. He's in no mood to stretch this one out, not all that interested in finding the best-looking guy in the bar--too tired, too frustrated. He has standards, but tonight he's not aiming for the top of the list. Someone half-decent with a willing mouth and he'll be set.
It's not long before he finds the guy he's going to take home. He's tall, kinda cute, blond, and slim. Dancing with no one in particular with sweat beaded on his tan forehead; his eyes are half-closed as if he's lost in the music, in the feeling of letting go. Ryan likes that about him. The type of guy who can kick back and go with it is the type of guy he wants on his dick tonight.
He motions for Frankie to come get his beer, puts his own near-empty bottle on the bar, and wades into the crowd. The smile he gives the blond guy is enough, the lazy upturn of his lips, the lidding of his eyes. The guy smiles back, flashing teeth, putty in Ryan's hands--and he lets out a ragged breath Ryan feels in his own chest when he slides in close and places his hands on narrow hips.
Ryan hates dancing, doesn't plan on spending much time getting this guy worked up. He figures he's in anyway, so a few rocks of his hips, hand roaming to grab a firm ass cheek, and his work's done.
But then he sees him. While peering over Blond Guy's shoulder, searching out a convenient corner to seal the deal and get this guy to say yeah, let's go, he sees him.
And it's over.
The guy across the dance floor is tall--understatement of the year--and he's so built he looks as if he could take the tiny girl by his side and crush her with nothing but unconscious thought and a flex of his fingers. Dark hair, a messy travesty, and a grin flashing dimples and enough warmth to attract half the gazes in the room.
He's dancing, or trying to, spinning and twirling the girl as though he thinks he's in a comedic ballroom competition. It's the worst thing Ryan's ever seen, but it's also the best, and he's mesmerized.
"Hey," says a breathy voice in his ear, puffing moist air against his neck. "You wanna go somewhere quiet?"
Then the beautiful disaster across the room looks up, meets Ryan's eyes; his dazzling grin falls, his motions stalling, and it's as if the world's slipping away around him. Ryan can't look away.
Yeah, you know how this goes. Come and get me.
But the guy doesn't come. He breaks eye contact and smiles down at the girl, pulls her in, and tilts her back. She's laughing, dark hair spilling out behind her, hand seeking safety around the guy's massive arm, and Ryan can't look away.
"Fuck," he says, and he doesn't even know what he's cursing at.
"Yeah. That's the idea."
Ryan comes back to himself, to his half-hard cock pressed against a guy he's no longer interested in. He peels himself away and grimaces at the excited shine in the guy's eyes.
"Look," he says, holding up his hand. "I'm just kicking back. Not looking for anything here." It's the only way he can think of to let this guy down without saying, I would, you know, but that guy over there has my name written all over him.
The guy scowls. "Cock-tease," he says, as if Ryan was halfway through giving him head before changing his mind.
Ryan shrugs it off and walks away, back to the bar, intent on forming a plan. He's fucking that giant tonight, any which way.
Frankie is waiting for him; another round bought. He holds out a bottle for Ryan to take and nods in the general direction of the dance floor. "Seen anythin'?"
"Yeah." Ryan leans beside him, takes a swig, then points the neck of his bottle in the giant's direction. "Him. The big guy."
"Huh." Frankie raises an eyebrow. "Good night to wander off the beaten track."
It's true. Ryan goes for guys shorter than him, smaller, kinda delicate, and a little twinky. He likes the power of a small body sweating and moaning and begging beneath him. But... "I dunno, man. There's something about him. And you know me."
"Sure do," says Frankie. "You ain't restin' till you try it on. You think he's gonna go for it?"
The guy's got the girl lifted up in his arms now, smiling into her face; he spins her around, makes her legs fly out behind her, and Ryan thinks he catches a hint of her delighted scream over the music. "Yeah," he says, and he doesn't elaborate. The guy doesn't even look gay, and he wouldn't be the only straight guy in the bar--Frankie, top of the list--but Ryan's not letting it faze him. "What about you? Got your eye on someone?"
"Three of 'em," says Frankie, pointing in the opposite direction. Ryan turns to see, leans sideways against the bar, props up an elbow. "The sorority sisters over there."
The trio of girls, all of them new to the land of legal, sit huddled around a table, grinning and whispering and staring stealthily at the world of gay before them. Tourists looking for a thrill of the controversial. Ryan snorts. "Good luck with the chastity belts." He squints, trying to get a closer look. "Is that a promise ring?"
"Whatever," says Frankie, discarding his empty bottle. "I'll give you the details in the mornin'."
Ryan watches him leave, sips on his beer. A smirk dances on his lips when all three girls perk up as Frankie approaches their table, drawls something in no doubt his lowest, most gravel-ridden voice.
Then Ryan freezes, breath caught in his throat, when a large wall of heat presses against his back. "Sorry," says a voice devoid of apology. "Just trying to get to the bar."
Ryan knows who it is before he turns. He takes half a step back, not too much, enough to let the guy push close to the bar. "No problem." The guy, impossibly bigger up close, shoots him an absent smile. "What's your name?"
"Jayden." He has a deep, honeyed tone, a gentle rumble Ryan's sure he can turn into a rough growl of pleasure, and he feels a flash of irritation when Jayden looks away to shout his order at the overworked bartender.
Ryan wants his eyes on him. "Jayden. I'm Ryan. Not seen you here before."
"New in town," he says, shifting to face Ryan, peering down at him with dark eyes. "My friend Molly's showing me the sights."
Friend. Not girlfriend.
"Nice of her," Ryan says, then someone jostles him from behind, shoves him forward, and it's the most movie-cliche thing in the world when he falls into Jayden, chest to chest. Jayden's massive, strong hands grab his waist to steady him, and his heart beats a warning against his ribs. "Sorry," he mutters, looking up, and Jayden's staring down at him with darkened brown eyes, brushing his bottom lip with his tongue before pulling it between his teeth. And Ryan thinks, fuck it, and says, "How about you forget the drink and we go someplace else?"
There's an eternal moment where Jayden does nothing but look at him and breathe, where Ryan's cock swells with anticipation, and he can feel hot, hot heat in the tiny space between them.
But Jayden laughs, lets go of Ryan's waist. The spell's broken. "Dude," he says, stepping back, "I'm not that easy."
A flash of embarrassment sparks in Ryan's belly--he's not used to rejection--but he pushes it aside. He needs to do a little work here, a little sweet-talking. He's sure, without a doubt, it'll be worth his time.
"Fair enough," he says. "Let me get those drinks for you."
Jayden doesn't protest, which Ryan kinda likes, and when he's got his beer and a froofy cocktail in hand, he gives Ryan a little smile and says, "Thanks, man. So, uh. Guess I'll see you around."
Ryan thinks, hell no, and catches him by the hip before he can turn around and walk away. "What kinda guy leaves a man standing all by himself?"
"The kinda guy who doesn't leave a lady standing alone in a gay--Oh..." he says, trailing off. The girl's dancing again, caught in a group of other girls, and she's clearly having a fantastic time.
Ryan barely resists the grin of victory. "Looks to me like she's doing just fine without you. Come on. Let's grab a table."
He doesn't wait for a response, picks up his beer and weaves through the room, passes Frankie--face pressed in too-young boobs--and finds an empty table in a near-deserted corner.
Jayden joins him, looking for a moment as though he knows exactly what the fuck he's doing, before his face smoothes over to show passive pleasantry. Ryan quirks an eyebrow, a confused sort of satisfaction boiling in his gut. He takes a seat and kicks out the one next to him for Jayden to take.
It's as though they come to some unspoken agreement to face each other rather than the table. Jayden hooks his foot up on the rung of Ryan's chair, right between Ryan's legs, and presses his other foot against the opposite chair leg. Ryan's enclosed, trapped between the wall and Jayden, knees brushing Jayden's thighs, the beer in his hand too warm to quench his heated thirst.
"So. Ryan." Jayden's wearing this mischievous half smirk, eyes dancing, and for the first time, the notion rolls over Ryan that maybe he's the one being worked over here. "What d'you do for a living?"
Ryan doesn't do sharing. His hook-ups don't need to know a thing about him other than how his cock tastes and the noises he makes when he shoots. Regardless, his mouth works before his brain can catch up. "I work at a strip club."
"Female dancers," Ryan adds hastily. "I'm security. I usually work weekends, but the bar's closed tonight after a busted pipe and--"Fuck, shut up. "Yeah. Night off. You?"
Jayden shrugs. "Taking some time out. Trying to figure out what I want with my life, you know?"
"You can afford to not work?" The question's out before Ryan can stop himself. He feels the flush on the back of his neck, gives himself a mental slap around the face with an order to pull his shit together. This is what he does. This is what he's good at. Hooking up. It's his other art. Fuck this guy and the way he's making Ryan's skin itch.
"I get by," Jayden says, a guard up around his tone. He leans forward then, rests his forearm on the knee he's got propped up between Ryan's legs, and his face is right there, fuck, and Ryan counts moles and eyelashes before he even knows he's doing it. "So I got a lot of free time on my hands right now. Tell me what's good to do around here."
It's on the tip of Ryan's tongue to say me, but that's too cheesy even for his current labored state of mind. "Thought your friend was showing you around."
"She is," Jayden says with a fond grin, gaze drifting away from Ryan to search her out in the crowd. She doesn't look as though she's missing him at all. "But it's all dress shops and ice-skating rinks, and I'm starting to feel like the token stereotype." There's no anger or irritation in his tone, just stated fact.
"Well," says Ryan, "what do you like to do?"
This is usually when the guy turns to Ryan with an adopted leer and says eat ass or suck cock or a combination thereof. But Jayden doesn't. Jayden contemplates.
"I dunno, man. Any good galleries around here?"
Ryan stares. "Are you for real?" Because, really, it's just too much.
"Yeah," says Jayden, drawing the word out as though he's not sure if Ryan's normal. When Ryan gives no response other than to shake his head and take a sip of beer, Jayden quirks a half smile and asks, "You think that's weird?"
"No, it's just..." It's on the tip of his tongue; something about this guy is pulling on his honesty. What's the harm? They've already exchanged names. Ryan destroyed the anonymity without thinking, made this something personal. In for a penny... "I'm an artist--or, you know. It's my hobby. I paint."
Jayden flashes straight white teeth with his grin. "That's awesome, man. And it means you'll know all the best galleries. Wanna be my new tour guide?" he asks, eyes twinkling.
Ryan leans away from him, swallows against the uncomfortable flutter in his chest. He's not looking for a friend, and this is heading into dangerous ground. Jayden must read it in his face, because his smile vanishes, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. He lowers his voice, makes it less playful, and he says, "Look, man, I know why you're in this place tonight. Want me to leave you alone so you can go do your thing?"
It's the best plan, Ryan thinks, because he really needs to get laid, and he's not entirely convinced Jayden's a sure thing. But. There's a big but. He can't put his finger on why, has no idea why, he doesn't get up and leave. Every instinct bellows at him to walk away, to cut his losses. Jayden's pretty much the hottest guy he's ever seen, sure, but he's not the only guy in the bar and Ryan's standards aren't sky-high. If he walks away now, he'll still have time to find someone sober enough to fuck, maybe two. But Jayden's got dark brown eyes, a body molded from a Greek god, and the kind of voice that makes Ryan's skin tingle. This guy has something, and Ryan's not giving up on it yet. "No, it's cool. I like it right here."
Jayden blinks. "You'd sit here talking to me all night, even if you knew you weren't gonna get anything out of it?"
"Um." It's warmer all of a sudden, and Ryan's throat's burning. "Yes? I mean, I'd kinda hope you'd let me ride you by the end of the night, or at least blow you, but whatever. It's not like I'm dying tonight."
And Jayden says, "Fuck," and then, "Okay, let's go." Just like that.
It takes Ryan a second or two to realize what the fuck just happened. He's been played, he thinks--and he couldn't care less.
There's a snapshot of mild panic when Jayden goes to find his girl to let her know he's taking off, and Ryan's not sure if he's coming back. He gets just enough time to tell Frankie what's what, when Jayden's there again, closing a hand around his wrist, tugging him away and out into the night. They pause in the street, standing close. "I've only had one," Jayden says, "so I can drive. But--"
Ryan pulls him in the direction of the parking lot. "My place. Roommate's out for the night."
They find Jayden's car in the darkness, and half a second later Jayden's got him pressed against the passenger door, leaning in, and Ryan doesn't kiss on the mouth--it's very Pretty Woman of him, and he knows it, he really does, but he's never allowed it, never wanted it from his random one-offs.
But he forgets to tell Jayden about this rule, and then Jayden's right there, in his face, and Ryan's allowed a moment to say no, but he doesn't. He closes the distance himself and takes Jayden's tongue into his mouth.
It's been so long since Ryan's been kissed that he wonders, fleetingly, why the fuck he's always refused it. But he knows in the back of his lust-addled mind that this is Jayden's doing, this oh fuck yes, that he wouldn't get it like this from Blond Guy or the accountant last week or whoever's going to be in his bed tomorrow night.
It's rough and nasty, teeth and tongue and bites and groans. Jayden pushes up Ryan's shirt to dig his fingers into his hips while Ryan's reaching down to palm the--fuck--huge bulge in Jayden's jeans. When Jayden breaks away, panting against Ryan's cheek, Ryan releases a quiet rumble of protest. Then Jayden reaches down to cover Ryan's hand with his own and pushes, grinds up, a broken, bitten-off moan in Ryan's ear. And then cold when Jayden pulls his whole body away.
"Christ," says Ryan, dick straining against his zipper, Jayden's gaze on him so hot he feels it all the way through his skin. He turns and opens the door, listens to Jayden jog around to the opposite side with the jangling of keys, marvels at his own restraint when he doesn't touch Jayden at all the whole way home.
They don't speak beyond Ryan's giving directions, don't even look, but the electricity crackling the air between them is loud enough, and Ryan's never been so pleased to see his front door.
"Nice neighborhood," Jayden says on the walk to the front door, because now is obviously the time for small talk. "Little-old-lady street."
"Yeah." Ryan tries to find the right key, fucks around with the lock, and Jayden comes up behind him, presses close, reaches around to dip his hand right under Ryan's dick and push up against his balls. "Which is why you shouldn't be doing that--fuck--out in the open."
"Can't help it," Jayden murmurs, swiping his tongue down the side of Ryan's neck. "Things I'mma do to you..."
Thank God for doors that don't want to cockblock. The key turns, the door opens, and Ryan stumbles over the threshold with Jayden coming in behind him.
"You, uh..." he tries to say, but Jayden's got his hand beneath Ryan's chin, tipping his head up to have more neck to lick and bite, fingers playing at his zipper in a way that drives Ryan crazy with the fucking teasing. "You want a drink or something?"
"Fuck, Ryan, just show me the damn bed."