The Fall (Rules of Play Book 4) Page 5

  Mav’s movements descend into mindless jerking, twisting, humping. I stay with him, building his pleasure, this experience brick by brick. With the thumb of my other hand, I rub at the crease where his thigh meets his torso. Trace down to his calf, the defined muscle there. Wrapping a hand around his ankle, I pull his leg out, baring him to me. I stare at his fluttering hole and want so badly to stuff my tongue into the pucker, but even I know that’s a step too far.

  “More,” Mav begs. Pleads. “More friction, August.”

  I return my attention to his plum-colored mushroom head. It’s so fat, salty from the dribbling precum, and gives beneath my tongue’s ministrations.

  “Please, August. I just, I need…” He whimpers, pleading with me to not stop. He needs the release, and maybe I need it too. Once this happens, I walk away. A one-time thing. Doesn’t mean anything. Maverick still grieves for his late girlfriend, and the only thing he’s looking for are those endorphins. I can give him that. Simple.

  With a harsh growl, I take all of him into my mouth, using the hot, wet suction to bring him the greatest, most acute pleasure he’s ever felt. He shouts, his hips snapping up, the crown of his dick ramming the back of my throat. I open my throat wider, breathing in through my nose. It’s been a while since I’ve deep-throated. I squeeze his ass cheeks, urging on that thick, veiny cock. Spit drips from the corners of my mouth. I lave on the underside of his mushroom head, and love the way Mav’s voice stutters. His slender legs squeeze me tighter around the neck. His stomach sinks into his spine as he holds back his release.

  I hum around him, and he chokes out a word. It’s all gibberish to me. The man is fucking beautiful, and I have him, at least for this moment. His long, girlish lashes rest against the tops of his sharp cheekbones, the raw-boned face that makes me think miracles exist.

  Using one finger, I drag it across the fragile skin of his balls, which hang heavy and full. Then I move lower. I brush across his taint, working my way to his hole.

  At the first brush to that ridged skin, Maverick blows.

  His groan shudders in my ears. He tears at my hair, causing a smarting sensation to rip across my scalp. I moan as the first spurt of hot liquid hits the back of my throat and slides down, dropping into my stomach. He pumps into me, again and again. Then he slumps into the cushions, wrung out, panting like a mad man.

  Gently, I pull his softening cock out of my mouth and lick him clean. The salty-sweet taste of his come lingers on my tongue. I’m kneeling between his legs, looking up at his lovely features. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

  “Mav.” I brush a thumb across his cheek, its smoothness.

  His head sinks against the cushions. He doesn’t stir.

  He’s asleep.

  Something softens in my face. I fight a smile, but I can’t, quite. He looks peaceful for the first time in days.

  Moving to my room, I grab the blanket off my bed and drape it over him. It’s as I’m adjusting it around his shoulders that he grasps my arm, his eyes slitting open. “Stay,” he whispers. He still sounds like he’s asleep. I’m not even sure if he’s aware of what he’s asking.

  But after what happened between us, I can’t say no to him. “Scoot over,” I say.

  He shifts to the back of the couch, leaving me room on the outside. I stretch out beside him, pull the blanket over myself. Our shared body heat warms me, and I pull Mav to my chest where he lays his head with a soft sigh. He falls asleep only minutes before I do.

  Chapter 7

  Maverick

  When I wake, weak sunlight filters through my bedroom window. It’s a pale, creamy hue, like liquid light poured through glass. It pools atop my comforter and warms my bare arms. The swath of blue stretching beyond the trees lining the side of the yard capture my attention. Pale. Robin’s egg blue with a hint of violet that lingers from the dawn. Clear. No clouds. No breeze either.

  I stretch like a cat, groan into my pillow. My body tightens deliciously, then loosens, and I sink into my mattress, the fluffy comforter, the feather pillows. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t wake up tense. I’m loose. Have been for the last few days.

  Thank God it’s Friday. One more day of classes and I’m home free for the next two days.

  Climbing from bed, I move quietly so I don’t wake August. Our bedrooms share a wall. Normally waking him wouldn’t be a problem, as our morning class begins at the same time, but I’ve been purposefully setting my alarm earlier so I can be out the door before he wakes.

  It’s been a week since I woke up tangled with him on the couch. The moment is brilliant as a crystal in my mind. I remember the moment clearly. The slow realization of waking pressed against a body hard with muscle. Hot skin. Facial stubble. Not Kaylie.

  No. It was a man. August.

  My roommate.

  I didn’t know what to do. I was pressed against the back of the couch, trapped by the soft cushions and his muscled body. He smelled good. I remembered that. Like citrus. One of August’s arms had been banded around my lower back, molding the lower halves of our bodies together. His other arm had been propped beneath my head, supporting it, fingers tangled in my hair to keep my head pressed to his chest. I remember that too—the steady beat of his heart, like a drum.

  But the thing I remembered most? That I was dreading the moment I’d have to pull away from him.

  It didn’t make any sense. Or maybe it did? Fuck. For the past six months, I couldn’t pretend like I had my life together. I no longer knew myself. It was as if I couldn’t look at a woman without thinking of Kaylie, so I’d begun looking at men differently. They were safe, right? They didn’t remind me of what I had lost so suddenly.

  So even though I had woken before August that morning, I didn’t stir. Closing my eyes, I sank back into his body, let his warmth surround me. Safe. I was safe here.

  It didn’t last.

  A few minutes after waking, I felt August shift. Heard his unmistakable, “Fuck.”

  I flinched. Kept pretending I was asleep. Slow, even breaths. Hoping he wouldn’t notice my pulse surge in my neck. He got off the couch, went into his room, and shut the door.

  The sound of finality made something crack and crumble in my chest. I couldn’t explain why. Did August regret what happened. Did I regret what happened? He made me feel something other than sadness. It was the first time in six months I had felt that. I grabbed hold of it as tightly as I could.

  Since then, we’ve both pretended nothing happened. He didn’t blow me like a champ, didn’t work me over. I didn’t moan like I was dying and then being brought back to life. Aman, when all this time I thought I was only attracted to women. There’s something different about August though. I sense vulnerability in him. Alikeness that attracts me.

  It’s Friday, which means dinner at my parents’ house. I text my mom saying I’ll be there, then text Kellan asking if he wants to ride together with Harp. My mother is kind of obsessed with Harp.

  After slipping on my clothes, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. The house is dark, quiet. I tiptoe to the kitchen, flip on the lights, and jump out of my skin with a shout.

  August sits at the table, calmly eating his plate of eggs and toast. “Morning,” he says, with a look that says he knows what I’m doing and doesn’t appreciate it.

  “August.” My palm is pressed to my thundering heart. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  He shrugs, keeps chewing.

  “Why are you eating breakfast in the dark?”

  “Why are you sneaking around?”

  Touché.

  I take the seat next to him. There’s a second plate of eggs, which he pushes toward me. “For you.”

  I stare at it.

  “It’s not poisoned,” he says, though uncertainty flashes across his face.

  Normally I’m the one cooking f
or him. No one has ever cooked for me.

  I nod, quiet. “Thanks.” I take the fork he offers me and dig in. It’s a simple meal—the eggs could use more salt—but I’m touched that he thought to make enough for two. He must have woken near an hour ago.

  We eat in silence. It’s strained. Uncomfortable, but not exactly unexpected. When I try to catch August’s eye, he looks elsewhere—at the peeling wallpaper, the magnets cluttering the front of the fridge—his, not mine.

  We cleaned this place from top to bottom. When I told him I couldn’t cook in a dirty kitchen, he got on his hands and knees and scrubbed until the floor shone.

  “I was thinking,” August says, swallowing another mouthful of eggs.

  “Oh?” My palms are sweaty. I set down my fork so he doesn’t see how I’m trembling. Thinking can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on what he wants. I’m struggling with determining if I’m ready to see where this thing between August and I leads to. Because there’s something here. I know it, and so does he.

  He still hasn’t spoken. At this point, I’m ready to burst with questions. “You were thinking,” I urge him.

  He nods, chews, swallows. Then he pushes his plate away. “There’s a party going on tonight. It’s low-key. I was wondering if you were interested in going.”

  The seconds tick by. I guess we’re not going to discuss falling asleep in each other’s arms.

  “Can’t.” I clear my throat. “I’m having dinner with my parents this evening.”

  “Right. No problem. Just thought I’d ask.” He gets up and puts his plate in the sink. “You done?” He points to my empty plate, which I stare at unseeingly.

  “Yeah.” I pass it over to him. “Thanks.”

  It’s as August leaves the kitchen, presumably to return to his room, that I call out, “August.”

  His back stiffens. He stops in the doorway, turns. His eyes are the purest, brightest green. Strands of red hair stick up in various directions. Bed head. It looked like that last week when he was breathing against my shoulder, our noses near enough to brush.

  “About last week…”

  He holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Forget it ever happened, okay?” He pauses. “I feel like it’s partially my fault. I goaded you. It was for purely selfish reasons. I… You’re beautiful, Mav, but I know you don’t swing my way. It happened, and now we can move past it. I’m not going to come onto you again.”

  He moves, again, toward the hall when I say, “Wait.”

  My chair scrapes against the floor as I push away from the table, wanting to get a look at his expression. Only when his eyes meet mine do I feel brave enough to speak. “I wanted what you offered me, August.”

  “It could have been lingering emotion. The high.”

  “I don’t think it was.” My brow creases in puzzlement. “I’m attracted to you. That much is true. But I don’t… I’m not sure of the next step,” I finish lamely.

  August looks torn, which in turn sends panic skittering its claws up my back. I want him to response a certain way, but it’s not the response I get. “Let’s forget it, Mav, okay? Delving into that will only complicate things.”

  “But—”

  “Have a nice dinner with your family.”

  He goes into his bedroom and shuts the door.

  It’s a twenty-minute drive to my parents’ house. I’m in a pensive mood. Have been since breakfast. I don’t blame August for what he said. Everything is jumbled inside my head, and he’s probably trying to simplify things by taking himself out of the equation. He thinks he knows what I want, but in truth, he doesn’t.

  I couldn’t concentrate in lecture. I thought about August, the freckles panting his skin. I thought a lot about Kaylie too. The good times, and the bad. When we first started dating back in high school, I thought I had won the lottery. The girl was too good for me. Beautiful. Kind to everyone. Driven. Passionate. Her dream was to become a movie director. She would spend most of her free time filming or reading screenplays. On occasion, she’d ask me to stand in for a short film.

  She always kept me in the right mind. Kaylie was inherently good, and I wanted to be too. She didn’t come from money. She helped keep me grounded, reminded me what was important in life: people, not things. That was never more evident than when she was no longer here.

  Shaking my head, I let those thoughts scatter. I hold them tight, then release them to the wind. Normally, thinking about her makes me sad, but not today. When I release those thoughts, I feel lighter. I feel… free.

  After punching in the code to the entrance gate, I make my way up the long driveway and pull in behind Kellan, who—shockingly—arrived before me. My parents bought their house last year after we moved back to the States from the UK. It’s huge and beautiful—too much space, but they love to make a statement. My favorite part of the property is how secluded it is.

  Climbing the stairs to the front door, I knock. The door opens. Henry, their butler, dips his chin to me. “Sir. It’s good to see you. Everyone is in the kitchen.”

  I step inside the vast foyer. My footsteps ring against the marble flooring, the crystal chandelier above, the teardrop-shaped pieces arranged in a cascading pattern, a fall of glittering water above. The scent of garlic lures me to the kitchen, where I find my parents, Kellan, and Harp seated around the island, the chef cooking at the stove.

  Mom comes over to give me a hug. And if she hugs me a little more tightly since the accident, I can’t complain. She loves me. Wants the best for me. “My sweet boy. How was your day?”

  “Can’t complain.” I pull away and grab one of the carrot sticks from the vegetable platter set out. Dad types emails into his phone despite the glare Mom sends his way. It saddens me to see how he’s given up his life for the sake of money. Before his company got really big, I remember him being home a lot more. He would even come to our school events, like plays and soccer games. That stopped around middle school, and since then, he’s drifted further and further away.

  “I’m pretty sure I got a new client,” I say, taking one of the empty stools at the island. “It’s for a publishing house, one of their marketing campaigns for an upcoming release.” I’ll be responsible for making all the posters they’ll place in the metro stops around the country.

  “Mav, that’s great!” Mom beams.

  Kellan nods his head. “Good job, bro. Keep the clients coming.”

  We pass the time making small-talk. It’s weird having it just Kellan and I when, a year ago, it was all the Dumont sons in the house on Friday nights. I haven’t spoken to Sebastian in a few weeks, though I know he’s busy with the upcoming season. I’ll have to call him soon.

  When dinner is ready, we make our way to the dining room. The table is set, the water glasses already poured. Dad, to his credit, sets his phone facedown and attempts to engage in conversation. We all dig in, and it’s quiet for a time.

  Kellan breaks the silence first. “So, Harp and I have some news.” He’s practically bouncing in his chair as he looks to his boyfriend in excitement.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “You’re pregnant.”

  Mom gasps. Harp chokes on his water and spits it across the table.

  Kellan rolls his eyes. “Someday soon, hopefully. But not yet. No, it’s about Harp’s art. Tell them, baby.” He slaps Harp on the back to help clear his air passage.

  Harp clears his throat. “Well,” he says in his deep voice. “As you know, my art has steadily been gaining traction. A few days ago, someone reached out to me about my work.” He stops, smiles into Kellan’s eyes. Turns back to face everyone. “I’m going to be premiering my most recent collection in San Francisco this spring with a very prestigious gallery. They’re going to pay for me to fly out and everything.”

  Kellan throws his arm around Harp’s broad back, pulling him close to bury his face in his boyfriend’s neck.
“Isn’t he amazing?” he exclaims.

  It is amazing. “Wow, man. Congratulations.” We exchange goofy smiles. I know how hard Harp has been working the past six months. I’m happy for him, as I know his ultimate goal is to create art full time. A difficult thing in this world, but not impossible.

  Harp—this big, burly guy—ducks his head, blushing. Kellan coos in his ear how proud he is of him, and I have to look away. I want that again. To have someone who is there, always.

  Mom raises her wine glass. “To Harp.”

  Everyone joins in. “To Harp.”

  Chapter 8

  August

  By the time I leave the house party, it’s almost ten, which means the party’s starting to get in full swing. Turns out I’m not in the mood to be social tonight. I had a few sips of beer, I mingled, then I sat on the couch and wished Mav was here with me. Dangerous thoughts, but I can’t quite help myself.

  To be honest, I’m still confused over how Maverick and I parted ways this morning. I know he’s been setting his alarm earlier than usual. To avoid me. Avoid the elephant in the room. How I got him off, and how he liked it. It got on my nerves, so I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. Sitting in the darkened kitchen, waiting for him to eat breakfast. Yeah, didn’t like that, did you? Then I had to ruin it by making him breakfast.

  Sometimes I want to confront Mav outright, ask him if he thinks what happened was a mistake. Turns out I’m as much of a coward as he is.

  It’s as I’m turning a corner down a residential street that my car dies.

  It just… stops. Like it’s finally had enough.

  “No, no, no,” I whisper. “Come on, baby. Just a little further.”

  Using the last of my momentum, I pull over to the curb and roll to a stop. I turn the car off, wait a few moments, then try again. The engine turns over. Coughs and sputters. Nothing. I do it again. Same thing. I check the dials. My gas tank is full. My engine isn’t overheating. I crank the engine, listening carefully. My car isn’t that old. It doesn’t even have one hundred and fifty thousand miles on it.