The Fall (Rules of Play Book 4) Page 4

  Thank God.

  The next hour passes too slow for my liking. Every thud of the drums, every beat hammering into the building, is like a screwdriver driving through the back of my skull. I have never felt more alone than I do right now, surrounded by all these people, and knowing none of them. All I see are couples. Couples kissing, couples dancing, couples whispering in each other’s ear, couples being together. My heart twinges. I used to have that. Not anymore though. Maybe not ever again.

  Fuck, and now I’m sad. I’d spent most of the day avoiding it, burying myself in schoolwork, but it rises like a wave over me and crashes down until I’m swamped. This was a mistake. I knew coming here was a bad idea, but I had hoped things might turn around. I appreciate Kellan wanting to make me feel better, but the club is only causing me more stress. I’d rather go home, take a shower, and go to sleep. Tomorrow is another day.

  Kellan, Harp, and I sit at the bar on the first floor. I’ve been forgotten though. Kellan sits in Harp’s lap and whispers things in his ear while I awkwardly pretend I don’t notice. Yes, leaving is absolutely the right choice.

  “I’m going to head out,” I say, setting down my beer. I only had three sips. My stomach isn’t up to the alcohol tonight.

  Kellan turns in surprise, puts on his pouty face. “Really?”

  “Really.” I slap him on the back, then Harp. “Later.”

  Outside, the cool air hits my overheated skin, and it feels like heaven. I’m very much looking forward to going home.

  The drive takes almost no time at all, and soon I’m unlocking the front door with my key. Only when I step into the living room, I’m not alone.

  And neither is August.

  He and another guy are going at it on the couch. They don’t notice me. Didn’t hear the door open, the keys rattle. Everything else falls away except my roommate and his hook-up.

  August is on top. He straddles the guy, just like he did to me when I caught him in the shower. His legs are powerful, strong to keep you down, I remember. Their mouths are fused. Every once in a while there’s a flash of tongue, a suction sound, a low groan, a gasp or moan. The blood drains from my head and moves south, but I hardly notice, so mesmerized by the play of my roommate’s muscles.

  He’s shirtless.

  The expanse of his back ripples with each shift. He holds the guy’s head still as he devours his mouth, as their lower bodies rut against each other. Both of their cocks swell in their pants, hard lengths straining against fabric. Then the guy starts moaning like crazy, his head thrown back. August uses the opportunity to suck and bite on his neck.

  I don’t even realize what I’m doing until my hand moves downward, almost subconsciously, and brushes my crotch.

  I can’t believe it.

  I’m hard.

  Like really hard.

  Two thoughts come to me at once.

  I’m turned on watching two guys go at it.

  One of them happens to be my roommate.

  It’s then the other guy glances over. He tears his mouth free from August’s. “Someone’s at your door.”

  My roommate’s green eyes lift to mine. They’re heavy, clouded by desire. I’m not sure he even sees me. My lips part, and my mouth goes dry. I know that look isn’t directed at me, but it feels like it is. I’m frozen. Can’t move.

  I’m not even sure if I’m still breathing.

  And then reality hits me hard enough to jar me loose. “Sorry for interrupting. Um.” I stand there like a jackass as the silence stretches… and stretches… “Please resume,” I say, waving my hands toward their bodies, which are twisted together like two pretzels.

  As I head toward my bedroom, August says, “Mav, wait.”

  I stop. He sounds upset. Why? I’m the one who walked in on him. I should have texted him, letting him know I was coming back on the chance he had a guest over. It didn’t cross my mind.

  When I gather the courage to turn, I watch him speak into the other guy’s ear. The man’s mouth tightens, but he eventually gives a curt nod, slips on his shirt, and is out the door.

  Confused, I stare at the couch where the guy was sitting a moment ago. “You didn’t have to do that. I was going to my room.”

  August, who’s still shirtless, shrugs his chiseled shoulders. “It’s cool. I should have let you know I was bringing someone over but you said you were going to be out late so…” He trails off, offering me a long, deep look. My defenses, already weakened tonight, further crumble. It shouldn’t feel as awkward as it does. I walked in on my roommate. That’s happened a million times to every person who’s ever had a roommate, I’m sure.

  His eyes track down my body until, eventually, they come to rest on my erection.

  They snap to mine, widening. I say nothing. What is there to say? I’m confused enough myself.

  After a moment, I sense August changing gears. He says, “You don’t look too great. Bad night?”

  I don’t speak. I can’t. What I need is to lie down.

  Worry creases my roommate’s face. He comes over and, hesitantly, grabs my upper arm. “Maverick. Dude. You’re freaking me out.”

  “I need to sit down,” I mumble.

  August leads me to the couch and helps me sit. He settles on the opposite end, on the farthest cushion. I wish he’d move closer.

  He has no reason to so shut it.

  “What’s going on, Maverick?”

  For whatever reason, it doesn’t sound weird when August says my full name. No one but my parents call me that. It sounds almost… right.

  I sigh and scrub my hands over my face. Where to begin? If I’m to tell August about all the skeletons in my closet, all the baggage I’m carrying, I’d have to go all the way back. Years and years. I don’t think I have it in me to do that. Today was not a good day. Today kicked my ass. And… I don’t want to explain anything. I want someone to listen. That’s all.

  “Is this about your old girlfriend?”

  It’s a shot to the heart. I flinch, lift a hand as if blocking a physical blow. I can’t do this right now, and yet I don’t have a choice. My therapist encourages me to speak about my grief, saying it will lighten the load. It’s the one thing I haven’t done.

  Why is baring your soul so hard when, deep down, all we want is to be accepted?

  “It is,” I say, voice subdued. “She passed away six months ago. Car accident.”

  Something in August’s face breaks. I have to look away, otherwise I’m going to break too. “Oh, Mav. I’m so sorry.”

  I nod, bite the inside of my cheek to hold it together. The familiar pressure of sadness encloses my throat. “We were together since high school. She was everything to me. Since her passing, life’s been empty.” I run fingers through my scalp. “Fuck. I don’t mean to dump this on you.”

  “No. It’s okay. If it makes you feel better, let it out.”

  “I’m lonely.” My voice cracks. “I’m really fucking lonely and I just… I just want to feel alive again, you know?”

  There’s no pity in his gaze. There’s tenderness. Compassion. A huge, warm emotion settles over me like a blanket. I’m not sure how it happens, but one minute, August is on the other end of the couch, and the next he’s right beside me, his face filling my vision as he whispers, “I can fix that.”

  Chapter 6

  August

  I can fix that?

  Really?

  It’s too late to take the words back. Far, far too late, even as my mind whispers insidiously, Mistake. As soon as they hit the air, Maverick’s eyebrows draw inward. Then, as if each word is snatched from the void and placed in its proper spot to complete a sentence, his hazel eyes widen.

  His pupils dilate.

  The air between us tightens. The particles warm, stir faster, descend into a frenzy neither of us can see, but that I sense all the same. The
heat from his thigh envelopes mine, merges, becomes one. The tendons of his throat strain. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. It was a blessing in disguise that Mav interrupted my make-out session. I didn’t want that guy. I wanted to get laid, nothing more. Now, looking at the man in front of me, this sad, beautiful man, all I want to do is comfort him. This is the only way I know how.

  Mav opens his mouth, closes it. Licks his lips. “How can you fix it?” The words are hoarse. With longing? I don’t want to assume, even though it sounds like it.

  Unstable ground here. What Maverick needs is not what he thinks he needs. He doesn’t need emotional attachment. He needs release. He needs to feel wanted, to feel good. Alive. That means physical. No heart involved, no emotions, his or mine. A touch can be a powerful thing.

  “I know you miss your girlfriend,” I say, treading carefully, “but being physical with someone else might help.”

  He doesn’t pale as I expect him to. He swallows, clearly hesitant. Though I see the curiosity in his gaze. The irises are more brown than green in this light, with brilliant gold ringing the pupils. “With you?”

  I shrug. Nonchalance. That’s what I’m going for. “A body is a body, yeah?” Except it’s really not. Intimacy with a man is far different than intimacy with a woman. Mav may look like an angel, but he’s flesh and blood. There’s strength in his arms, the corded muscles of his legs. The deep smoothness of his voice.

  Unable to stop myself, I glance at his crotch. If anything, he’s harder than before. A jutting length pushes against his pants, long, a small wet spot spreading on the fabric where he’s leaking. Mav wants this. Even if he doesn’t want to, he wants it.

  “Have you ever wondered?” I ask him. “With all your brothers in relationships with men?”

  I sense the gears turning in his head. After a few seconds, he nods. “I have,” he rasps. “Not when I was with Kaylie, but since then…” His fingertips ghost across his mouth. It takes everything in me not to lean over and take it myself.

  Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, I rest my palm against his thigh. The muscles immediately tighten under my touch. Maverick doesn’t pull away. The thread between us is so taut, I can almost see it.

  He stutters, “I… when I saw you in the shower, I couldn’t stop staring. Your body is beautiful.” Color climbs to his face, and he bites off the rest.

  Do I take pleasure in the fact that Mav liked what he saw? Of course. But I don’t use it to antagonize him. He’s experiencing enough confusion without me adding to it. “Mmm,” I say, a noncommittal sound. Though secretly, I’m smiling.

  The couch squeaks as I scoot a few inches closer. A zap of electricity jolts through me as our legs touch. The rough denim of his jeans scrapes the skin around my knee, where my exercise shorts stop. I test him and place my hand high on his thigh, just south of his bulge.

  Maverick inhales sharply.

  My hand stills. “You can stop this any time,” I tell him in utter seriousness. This will only happen if Mav wants it.

  Then the strangest thing happens. The sadness, the heaviness, disappears from his eyes, and a simmering heat appears there instead. A spark of mischief, wonder, and need all wrapped up into one heavy look. There it is. Acceptance.

  “Keep going,” he murmurs, watching my hand as I move it higher, higher.

  I stop right before I reach his straining dick.

  Maverick growls out a curse. I laugh. “More?” I say.

  “Yes. August, I—” He clears his throat. “Yes.” His hands, which rest at his sides, tremble.

  With his permission, I trace the length of him through the denim. Even with the separation of the fabric, I feel the throbbing of his flesh, the little jump when I reach the head and circle around it over and over until his hips push upward and a soft moan slips out. Maverick reaches for me. His damp palms slide over my shoulders, down my arms, and rest on my biceps, where they squeeze, testing the strength. He looks like he’s under some sort of spell.

  “Tell me how you like it,” I say in a gravelly voice. Time seems to slow for this moment, stretching out so I can savor it. And I will most definitely savor it. I’m not thinking of the consequences. I’m thinking that Maverick needs to feel alive, and he’s probably the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and kind, and I want to do this for him as I want to do this for me.

  “Slow,” he gasps out as I gently squeeze the fleshy head.

  “Ah. Enjoy the torture, huh?”

  Whatever he was planning on saying is cut off with a gasp. The sound drives into me with spearing force. My hands are at his zipper. I unbutton his jeans, demand, “Lift your hips.” He does, and I tug the denim all the way off his legs, having to stop and remove his shoes in the process. He wears boxers. The material is tented. His cock stands stiffly. My mouth waters at the sight.

  I clasp his girth and run my hand up, down, slowly, like he said. Mav’s head drops back against the cushions. Seconds later, he lifts it and looks down. The pulse in his throat trembles against his sweaty skin. I have half a mind to lick and nip at the area, but that might be moving too quickly.

  “Mm,” I say, twisting my wrist when I reach the head. He pumps into my hand. One of his hands locks onto my forearm to stabilize himself.

  “God,” he says, his voice a whine.

  “More?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Next step is to remove his boxers. I toss them into the corner. Then I stare at his cock. It’s cut beautifully, reddened skin stretched tightly. His pubic hair is dark and curly, nearly black. Mine is red, of course. The fat head drips constantly. Curious of his taste, I swipe a finger through the clear substance and bring it to my mouth and suck.

  Mav’s pupils dilate further. His breathing comes faster, shallower. He asks, “How does it taste?”

  I’m probably stepping over a line here, but my tastes have always leaned toward the kinkier. “Why don’t you try it for yourself.” I get more of his precum and hold it to those lovely full lips, until he leans forward and sucks my finger into his mouth.

  My stomach bottoms out. His tongue swirls around my finger, and he sucks, hard.

  “Good?” I ask, pulling my finger away.

  He looks debauched and we haven’t even kissed yet. Maverick nods.

  That’s my go-ahead to move forward. I shift him so he’s lying beneath me on the couch and I’m straddling his waist. Maverick’s body slowly relaxes beneath my touch. I brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. Trace his jaw. Linger.

  “Okay?” I ask.

  “Kiss me,” he blurts, and flushes.

  I grin like a maniac. Oh, he wants it. His mind is firmly on sex.

  Dipping my head, I bring my lips close to his. The truth is, I’ve had a few sex dreams with Mav as the starring role. I’m not telling him that, of course.

  A faint, barely-there brush of lips. His are soft, so soft. I do it again, sinking a little deeper. His mouth opens wider on a groan. His tongue darts out to taste mine, and I accept the invasion into my mouth, allowing him to probe, lick, love on my tongue. He tastes like the beer he drank earlier. He whimpers as I spear my tongue against his, taking total control. I fuck his mouth in hard, deep strokes, wanting to work him to a place of higher pleasure. His fingers dig into my upper back.

  He tears his mouth away, gasping. I use the opportunity to suck down his neck, loving the way his scruff scrapes against my cheek. The long fronds of his lashes shimmer against the glow of his skin. This man. He’s so beautiful, so responsive.

  My roommate.

  Nope. Not gonna go there right now. Tomorrow I’ll deal with whatever happens tonight, but right now my job is to make Maverick forget. Or rather, to make him remember. Life is full of death, but it’s full of happiness, too.

  My teeth make work on his lush lower lip, nipping at its plumpness, scraping across his delving tongue.
Maverick’s legs part, allowing me to sink in between his spread legs. His dick is so fucking hard.

  “August. God.”

  “You like that?” I say, working my way over to his ear. Can’t ignore those erogenous zones.

  His fingers are claws on my back, my hips. They dig in hard enough to bruise. “Your mouth feels so good.”

  I lean back, breathing hard, staring down at him. His cheeks are flushed so deep a red. “You’re still wearing your shirt. Take it off.”

  I help him remove the offensive cotton, then suckle on his nipples. He likes that, as his hips start gyrating. My palms go to his ass cheeks and clamp down, kneading them. He bumps his cock against my stomach, again, again. Asking for something he can’t voice aloud.

  “Tell me what you want,” I manage. A droplet of sweat slithers down the side of my face, temple to chin. I’m burning up inside.

  “I already told you,” he says. “To feel… alive.” A shudder consumes his body, and I hold on, afraid he’s going to fall apart.

  So I move down his body, trailing heated kisses across his skin, licking the grooves of his abdomen, tracing patterns across his chest, through the spring of hair. I bite at his hip bones, all the while ignoring the throbbing heat near my face.

  Maverick makes a soft sound and sifts his fingers through my damp hair. It feels nice. Like I could stop right now, lay my cheek against his thigh, and let him calm me.

  But that’s not my mission. My mission is to bring Maverick pleasure, to wipe his mind clean. So I latch my mouth over the head of him and suck.

  A bellow sounds from his throat, and his hips snap upward. His fingers yank my hair so hard it brings tears to my eyes. I work him in slow strokes, using one of my hands to grip him near the base where my mouth can’t reach, and use my saliva to make a smooth glide.

  “Oh,” he moans. “Oh, fuck.”

  He’s long, and his shaft curves upward slightly, hitting the roof of my mouth. I lap at the underside of his head, then trace the fat vein running down the underside of his shaft to his balls. The full, heavy sack. I play with the skin there, though gently, as I know how sensitive it can be. Then I suck a ball into my mouth, loving how firm it feels against my tongue.