6. Hank

6

HANK

D enny lived in a luxury glass-and-steel condo on the riverfront. It was one of those uber-modern buildings that boasted views of the Rocky Mountains and sweet amenities that appealed to corporate types…or professional athletes.

I followed his truck across town and snagged a spot in the visitors' lot. The complex was ghostly quiet, but I knew there were cameras everywhere, recording my movement as I made my way to his two-bedroom unit on the tenth floor per his instructions.

He wordlessly opened his door, shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on the bench in the foyer. I did the same and followed him into the great room, where he removed his shoes and clicked a button on the panel affixed to the wall. Contemporary shades silently slid from a hidden canopy on the ceiling to the floor, covering the bank of windows. The whirl of the motor was the only sound in the sparsely furnished space.

A leather sectional sofa anchored by a geometric-print rug faced the enormous flat-screen on the faux-stone accent wall. And a generous island delineated the kitchen from the living area with light wood cabinetry that matched the hardwood floors.

But it was anonymous chic with zero personal pizzazz. No photos, no books, no cozy touches…like throws or decorative pillows.

Don't get me wrong, it was very nice. But this wasn't a home. It was where he slept and stored his belongings. I'd bet big bucks Denny's thoughts on Denver were similar to mine on Elmwood. It was his purgatory. A place to be endured for a short time only.

Interesting thoughts since he was originally from Colorado. Something to remember, I mused, setting my hat on the island.

"Want a drink?" Denny swiped his hand through his hair nervously. "I have…water."

"No, thanks. You're a loose cannon around a glass of water, and I'm still damp," I joked, hoping a little levity would get him to relax.

It didn't work. Tension radiated from him in waves. Any second now, he'd change his mind or ask me to leave. And I'd agree this wasn't the sexy angle either of us needed.

But I was wrong.

Denny grabbed a handful of my shirt and slammed his mouth over mine.

I was too surprised to react for a beat, but I caught up quickly, cupping his neck as I slipped my tongue inside. He moaned, tilting his chin to meet me thrust for thrust. He untucked my shirt and slid his open palms along my spine.

We made out for a while, exploring each other with deep kisses and roving hands. Even fully clothed, Denny Mellon's body was a work of art to be worshiped with reverence. I ran my fingers through his thick hair, down his chest, and along his sides while he plunged into my mouth, sucking the air out of me.

I broke for oxygen, nibbling his bottom lip, my fingers resting on his belt buckle. When he inclined his chin, I threaded the leather strap through the loop, undid the button, and unzipped his fly. He caught my wrists, held them behind my back, and recaptured my mouth.

Jesus, that did something for me.

I hadn't been with someone who could physically overpower me in a long time. I forgot how much I liked giving someone else the reins.

He dragged his stubbled jaw along mine and nipped my earlobe.

"Take your jeans off," he commanded gruffly, releasing my wrists.

I unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped in a flash, then hooked my thumbs through my belt loops. "I'm still wet. This is gonna take a while."

Denny leaned casually against the counter, looking surprisingly confident for a guy who'd never been with a man. "We have time, and it's your turn to do a striptease."

"Fair warning. It's not going to be pretty…or sexy."

"Was mine?"

"Uh…no," I admitted, pulling my T-shirt over my head.

"The bar is low, cowboy. I think you can do this."

I furrowed my brow in faux exasperation and wiggled the denim over my ass. It wasn't a dance, nor was I shaking my hips. Okay, I was a little bit, but that was because the fabric was uncomfortably wet and tight as fuck.

By the time I'd rolled my jeans to my knees, I was practically sweating…and very much aware of Denny's heated gaze traveling over my torso.

"My knees are trapped. Help me peel these off."

Denny froze. I could practically see the wheels in his brain turning, weighing consequences and repercussions. There'd be no pretending this was the product of last weekend's drunken madness or desperation now. This was something new.

I might be getting the better end of this deal, but God, I'd make it worth his while.

He had to make the next move, though. He had to be sure.

I held my breath and waited.

Denny licked his bottom lip and trapped it between his teeth, his eyes fixed on my mouth before sliding slowly south. I didn't want to spook him, but my dick had a mind of its own. There was no way he didn't notice the massive tent in my boxer briefs.

Just as I wondered if this was too much, too real for him, Denny shoved my boxer briefs out of the way. My cock sprang free, bobbing enthusiastically as if it were personally greeting a new friend, drooling precum and all.

There was probably a joke to be made here, something to lighten the mood and keep this fun so neither of us would regret it in the morning, but Denny didn't seem tentative or nervous in any way. His confidence was back, and he was more determined than ever—as if my cock were his number-one priority.

"Can I touch you?" he asked.

"Yes."

He brushed his thumb along my shaft and gently cupped my balls, weighing them like precious orbs.

"You don't have to be so careful," I choked out. "Tighten your grip. That's it."

Denny obeyed, curling his fingers around my base, testing his hold before gliding up and down. Goose bumps rose over my skin. I shivered with need, torn between being mesmerized by his curiosity while fighting the urge to take over.

But no…this was his show. I was here for the ride.

He stroked me faster, then slower, experimenting with pressure. His brows were drawn together, his lips parted as he explored. "Does this feel good?"

"Yeah. Do what you like when you touch yourself. I bet I'll like it too."

Denny nodded, squeezing my cock on the upstroke, milking my slit. He dragged a thumb through the precum and used it as lube, circling the tip over and over. It was too much and not enough.

"Can I taste?" he asked, gazing at me through hooded lids.

I slicked my forefinger and pressed it to his lips. "Try it."

He opened his mouth and sucked my finger. Denny's obscene moan echoed off the high ceilings and wrapped me in knots of thick desire. I hadn't "experimented" in years, hadn't realized I'd signed on for torture. And make no mistake, he was fucking torturing me.

Denny released my finger and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Salty, but good."

"Have you tasted your own cum?"

"Yeah, but this is different. Better." He tilted his chin, jacking me in long, languid strokes. "I don't know if I'm ready to suck your cock, but I feel like I should do everything at once. This is a dream. It's like it's not even real."

"It's real," I assured him, nibbling his bottom lip before crashing my mouth over his.

I held nothing back. I ground my bare cock against his denim-covered one, pumping my hips in a quest for friction as I sucked on his tongue. I couldn't get close enough. He tasted like mint and he felt like sin personified, I mused, pushing his jeans over his ass.

It was a moment of truth. If he was going to freak out, it would happen now.

But he didn't.

He angled his head, deepening the connection. His hands strayed from my pecs to my waist, and finally, he clutched my ass, meeting me thrust for thrust. No hesitation.

I could have come like this but damn, I wanted this to be good for Denny. And I just…needed to touch him.

I palmed his erection through the cotton barrier, slid it along his shaft, then slipped my hand in the front of his boxer briefs. I wrapped my fingers around his thick cock, stroking him to the rhythm of our dueling tongues.

"Oh, fuck. That's good," Denny gasped, shoving his jeans and briefs completely out of the way.

I nipped his jaw, rolling his nipples between my thumbs. "I can make it better."

I kneeled at Denny's feet and swallowed him whole.

Maybe I should have proceeded with care, taken it easy, and made an effort not to overwhelm him, but I'd lost control a while ago. I wanted things I couldn't ask of a newbie. I could hint at them, though. I massaged his inner thigh and pushed his legs apart, ghosting my thumb over his crack. Denny pumped his hips faster, almost, but not quite fucking my mouth.

I loved it. I fucking loved it. I picked up the tempo, sucking him with gusto as I traced his entrance with the tip of my fingers. He stilled for a beat, but when I oh, so gently pushed one inside, Denny went wild.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and let his hips fly. I jerked my cock, teasing his entrance with one finger while he fucked my throat in earnest. Tears blurred my vision. He was big and strong, and he was giving me everything he had.

I added the tip of a second digit and that was it.

Denny cried out a warning. "I'm coming. I'm…"

I swallowed every drop, shuddering through my own orgasm. Cum hit his ankles and spurted at his feet. I grabbed the rung on the nearest barstool, trembling through aftershocks.

I felt unraveled and undone as I licked my numb lips and tried to remember my name. It would have been nice to bask in a post-orgasm glow, but as my breathing evened out, I braced myself for anything.

This was no ordinary hookup. I'd just blown Denver's rookie hotshot and while I was pretty sure he'd enjoyed himself, there was a chance I'd just taken the "sexy angle" a step too far.

I stood, kicking my jeans and boxers aside to avoid tripping, and regarded him carefully. "You okay?"

Denny nodded slowly. "Yeah. That was…good."

I arched a brow. "Good?"

He smirked. "Very, very good."

Okay, so not too freaked out.

"That's more like it." I gestured to the floor. "Got anything to clean this up with? I think we'll need a mop."

"Yeah, I'll stick your jeans in the dryer too. Be right back." Denny gathered the discarded clothes and disappeared down a short hallway off the kitchen.

He returned a couple of minutes later with a damp towel, dressed in sweats and a Condors tee. I put my boxer briefs and T-shirt on and helped wipe up the mess we'd made. Then I wandered into the living area and sat on a corner of the sectional, thanking him when he handed me a water bottle.

"Nice place," I commented.

Denny perched on the edge of the sofa, leaving a cushion between us. His body language was all over the map—ankles crossed, fingernails scratching at the label on the bottle, yet…his posture was the epitome of relaxed. Evidence suggested he was nervous in a "What the fuck am I supposed to say to this guy now?" way. Totally understandable.

"Thanks." Denny worried his lips as he tore the paper sleeve from his water bottle. "So…if we're friends now, I think I need to know more about you."

"I'm surprised you didn't google me."

"I did. There's not much info, and your social media feed is Zen quotes and pictures of horses."

Fair enough.

I rested my knee on the cushion between us. "I'm an open book. Ask me anything, but first…I have a couple of questions for you."

"Shoot."

"You seemed to know what you were doing." I made a lewd gesture with my fist. "Was that really your first time?"

Denny's ears turned pink. "Yes. I've just done my research, and it's something I've been thinking about for a long time. Like…years."

"My dick?" I joked.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Next question."

"Why did your grandmother summon me? What did you tell her?"

He chuckled, shaking his head with fond exasperation. "The truth minus the naked proposition part. I had to. Grams lives next door and saw me come home that morning just before my ex dropped my truck off. She'd already run into my friends at the bakery, so she knew I wasn't out late with them. She thought I'd hooked up with someone new and that I didn't want Mary-Kate to find out. That would have blown up in my face, big-time."

"Ouch."

"Yeah," Denny agreed ruefully. "I learned a long time ago that it's easier to stick to the truth. Elmwood is a small town, and people talk. That's why…if we're friends, I need to know more about you."

"Well, okay. I'm twenty-nine, just finished my second stint of grad school. I have a master's in business and psychology, and I recently opened my own business—which I'll have to put on hold for a few months. It's a bummer, but this little assignment in Wood Hollow will help me fund and expand faster."

"You're a horse whisperer therapist. How'd that happen? Aren't you supposed to be a logger?"

"If you ask my dad, the answer is yes. I have an older brother and sister, and he fully expected one of us to take over the family business. I'm the only one who stuck around and gave it a shot. I went to college in Boulder, fell in love, and figured the mill was my destiny." I opened my hands like a preacher at a pulpit, shaking my head ruefully. "I interned for Dad and tried to learn the ropes. It wasn't…terrible, but my father likes to call all the shots. My great contribution to RM Mill to date is that fucking billboard."

Denny flashed a Cheshire cat grin. "My favorite billboard. Tell me everything."

I sank into the upholstery with a sigh as if hoping it led to a magic portal. "In addition to being a shameless opportunist, my ex is a photographer. My dad mentioned at dinner one night that the mill needed a brand makeover, something sexy. It's my dad's mantra. ‘Make it sexy.' You gotta understand, my dad has this larger than life, super exuberant personality. He was always the loudest, the funniest, the most charming guy in any room. You wanted to be the one he noticed, you know? Seth, my ex, got caught up in Dad's sunny orbit. He wanted to do the photography. It would have been a huge career boost for him, and I didn't have anything to do with marketing, so it didn't matter to me. But get this…one day, Seth says, ‘Hey, baby, let's take the horses out and check out sites in the forest. For inspiration.' He took dozens of photos of trees and a few of me with Bess."

"Your horse?"

"Yeah, she's a beauty. Those were supposed to be for him…for fun. I didn't care that he showed Dad, but I did care that he took them to his meeting with the head of marketing. They loved them. They wanted me to be the face of RM Mill, and wasn't that an honor?" I huffed sarcastically. "It felt like betrayal. He sold me out for a buck. Needless to say, that was the end of us."

Denny frowned. "Did your father know you were against those photos?"

"Of course."

"And he still used them?"

"Of course." I chuckled at Denny's irate expression. "My dad loves money. He thought I was being ridiculous. It was a photo, no big deal. But I had a business degree, damn it. I wanted to help lead the company, not be a fucking model. It was insulting."

"You could sue."

"Sue my dad?" I scoffed. "Yeah, I don't think so. I'm a Cunningham. I doubt I'd win that lawsuit. It would have resulted in a lot of extra publicity…in addition to the billboards. Great for Dad's wallet, not mine. The whole thing pissed me off. I broke up with Seth, gave my dad my resignation, and took a job mucking out stalls at a neighboring stable for a few months while I figured out what I wanted to do next."

"Work with horses?"

"Yep. One of the owners had a group of kids with Down syndrome who'd come by once a week to ride. They were teenagers with big personalities, and their outlook on life was so pure. They were in awe of the animals, the color of the sky, the crest of the trails. Every day was an adventure, a chance to learn something new."

"That's cool."

I nodded. "I was hooked. I got my certificate so I could help out, and went back to school for a masters in psychology and counseling. I'd just gone out on my own when Dad got sick."

"I read about that. I'm sorry. Heart attack?"

"And cancer. His mind is sharp, but he's weak and frail." I cleared my throat and looked away briefly. "I agreed to help, 'cause even though he pisses me off, he's still my dad."

"That's cool. I admire that."

"He also offered me a lot of money, so don't be too impressed."

Denny raised a brow. " Hmm . Sounds like you're trying to get me to do the ad you didn't want to do."

"I was tricked. That's different. I'm not tricking you. I'm being up front and honest. I need your help, I need your name. No BS here. I need to make the mill sound sexy to the Four Forest area and?—"

"News flash, no one thinks a lumber mill is sexy, Hank. And no one in Elmwood will like you if the only thing you talk about is the mill," he interrupted.

"Hey! I'm very likable…once you get to know me."

Denny smirked. "I'm sure you are, but the least likable thing about you is your connection to the mill. I did some homework, and your mill is the first corporate entity in the Four Forest area. Everyone is pretty pissed at the former owners."

"Why?"

"The Larsons pulled a fast one on the city council by not disclosing that they'd taken on a silent partner. They sold a piece of Wood Hollow to your dad three years ago and finalized the deal six months ago, which coincided with a contract for a new housing development."

"That's business."

"Maybe to you, but in my town, your family are opportunists who pose a danger to an insular community that's used to doing business with handshakes over a beer at the inn."

"Well, I?—"

"And the fancy house in Elmwood is another problem," he continued, clearly on a roll. "The only other folks who live on the outskirts of town are Vinnie Kiminski and Nolan Moore. They're both natives and Vinnie's famous NHL royalty too, so they get away with it. Plus, they're super active in the community. Vinnie runs Elmwood Rink and the juniors camp. And Nolan runs Elmwood Diner with JC Bouchard, who's married to another NHL legend, Riley Thoreau."

"So you're saying we'll have to get married," I deadpanned.

"I'm saying that based on my research, you're an outsider who's labeled an enemy. Your image problem is epic. Honestly, I'm not sure how to justify hanging out with you."

"That hurts."

"Sorry, but I'm keeping it real." Denny uncrossed his legs and sat back on the sofa.

"You haven't kicked me out yet…so that must be a good sign."

"Yeah, well…it was a pretty fucking awesome blowjob."

My grin probably had a feral glint, but after a barrage of negative feedback, I was thirsty for praise. "Good. I had my doubts, but this might work out after all."

He uncapped his bottle and took a sip. "Maybe, but it doesn't make sense that we'd suddenly be friends. We don't have anything in common."

"I like hockey, and you play it," I offered.

"Have you ever played?"

"No, I'm not a good skater. I played baseball and soccer when I was a kid. I didn't do either very well," I admitted.

"Oh."

"Can't you just say you met me after a game in Denver at a bar—we talked and hit it off, and voila , we're friends?"

"Nope. I don't ‘hit it off' with people. It has to be believable…and likable. Like therapy with horses." Denny stared into space for a beat. "I think I'll have to be your client."

"My client."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Do you have a horse in Elmwood?"

"No, Bess is here for?—"

"Bring her to Elmwood this summer. We'll say I hired you as a therapist to help with my anxiety." Denny scratched his nape and wrinkled his nose. "Horses make me nervous, but if it's just for show, it's cool. People like horses and people who help others. They also like businesses that give to the community. Maybe volunteer too, or…I don't know. I'm spitballing, but I'm on to something. You aren't likable, but your horse is."

"Gee, thanks." I scrubbed my hand over my face and gave him a weak evil eye. "It's a good idea."

"Yep. It'll work…and it'll give us an excuse to see each other this summer."

"We could start sooner."

"I'm not going to be home till the season is over. And I can't ride a horse and risk injury either, but…we can practice here if we happen to be in town at the same time." Denny blushed and damn, that was adorable.

I nudged his shin playfully. "I like the sound of that. I'll be in Denver to check in on my dad and Bess. We can hook up whenever we're both able to."

"Cool." He inclined his head. "Can I meet her?"

"Bess?"

"Yeah, I'm just…curious about her. Your face lights up when you talk about your horse. And she's a famous billboard model too, ya know."

My smile was a little too big for my face. "Just say the word. I happen to be pretty tight with Bess, and I handle her calendar."

"Okay. Text me."

I figured that was my cue to leave. "I should go, but I'm gonna need my jeans."

Denny set his hand on my thigh, wordlessly anchoring me in place. His palm was big and warm, like a bear paw—the weight and heat of it burrowing under my skin. He squeezed my quad, flexing his fingers one by one as if he were playing the fucking piano as his gaze drifted to my crotch.

I waited for him to make a move.

And waited.

And just when I thought this was as far as he wanted to go, Denny pushed me flat on my back and dove on top of me.

His kiss was greedy and reckless. Our tongues dueled and found rhythm in the suggestive tilt and sway of our hips. Just like that we were off to the races again, shedding clothing as we explored the finer parts of this new arrangement.

To be perfectly honest, I didn't think either of us knew the rules, but that was okay. This was a fuck-buddy situation. We weren't going to become real friends. We were shamelessly going to be using each other for our own gain—and for now, that was all the clarity we needed.