Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

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There was a time in his life not that long ago when Bronx was pretty sure he'd never be in this position again. On his knees, tongue buried in another man's ass, drunk off his groans and the way he was squirming against the sheets.

He and Jules had been like that once, but that was years and years back. In hindsight, he probably should have known that Jules was getting what he wanted from someone else, but at the time, he thought he was happy.

Or, at the very least, content.

Now, with the taste of Monty on his tongue and his moans ringing in his ears, he realized how much he'd missed gently tormenting someone into ecstasy.

Pulling back, he licked around Monty's hole, then kissed down under his balls, urging his hips up. His cock hung heavy and fat with the refractory rate that Bronx no longer had at his age. But he wasn't mad about it. It meant he could play with Monty for longer, holding off his own orgasm until he was ready.

Which was soon .

Very, very soon.

He palmed himself with one hand as his other gave Monty a few fast strokes. His lover was babbling between French and English, though they were all half words, making no sense. Bronx loved listening to him like this.

"You are so perfect," he said, pulling his face back. He laid a few biting kisses along the globes of Monty's ass, then pushed up high on his knees. They popped loudly, but he ignored the sounds as he reached across the duvet and grabbed the bottle of lube.

Monty let out a shuddering breath as he turned his face to the side. His torso was lowered against the pillows he was hugging, his thighs trembling as he held his position. Bronx ran his hands over his soft, heated skin.

"Want to be on your back?"

Monty shook his head against the mattress. "Mm, no. No. Like this. I want to feel you around me."

Bronx swallowed heavily as he freed himself from his jeans. He kicked them to the side where he'd left his shirt, and then he stood, feeling blood rush to his dick. He was so hard he wanted to cry, and he dribbled precome as he stared at Monty open, needy, so fucking patient for him.

He popped open the lube cap and smeared some on his fingers before running them around Monty's hole. He twitched, the black, thick whorls of hair clumping from the gel, and Bronx slid one finger inside. He was tight—Christ, he was so tight. He spasmed around Bronx, at first involuntary, and then like he was trying to draw him in further.

"Like that?" Bronx asked him, kissing up his spine. He laid his hips over Monty's, feeling the movement in the curve of his ass as he tried to thrust against the bed. Bronx kept his free hand around his waist, forcing his hips to remain in the air. "Not so fast, sparky. Not until I let you. "

Monty shuddered and let out a sharp breath of air. "Please."

Bronx kissed the back of his neck. "Be a good boy for me. You can do that, can't you?"

"Ah, ouais. Yes." The words tumbled out like a whine, and Monty's hips continued to move restlessly, helplessly.

Uselessly.

Bronx's dick throbbed, and he shoved it behind Monty's balls, thrusting forward. "Feel that? Feel how much I want you."

"Please," Monty whispered.

"Soon, gorgeous. I promise." He pushed another finger in, stretching him wide, fucking them in deep. "One of these days, I want to watch you fall apart on my hand."

Monty sobbed and nodded, spreading his legs a little wider as Bronx continued to thrust between his legs. The head of his cock bumped Monty's low-hanging balls softly with a little tap tap tap . Fuck, it felt so good to hold him like this, to have him at his mercy.

He wanted to make him wait for it, beg for it, lose his mind as Bronx drew it out.

Letting Monty go, he fumbled for the strip of condoms and pulled his fingers out, watching as Monty's hole twitched like it didn't want to be empty. He groaned softly as he tore the packet open and rolled it on, squeezing himself at the base to pull himself back from the edge.

"Are you ready for me?"

"I've been ready for a hundred years," Monty bit out. He strained to look over his shoulder, his eyes glazed and narrow.

Bronx laughed as he rubbed the head of his cock between Monty's cheeks. It caught on his rim, and Monty gasped, thrusting back, though Bronx wouldn't let him take. Not yet. This was his moment.

He pressed his hand against the small of Monty's back to still him. "Still, sparky. Take a breath. You're gonna come, but I'm gonna make you work for it."

Monty let out a quiet noise of protest, but his legs spread further, and Bronx very carefully pushed inside. It was a slow slide, not easy. It had obviously been a long time since Monty had taken a dick, and while Bronx wanted to make him a little wild with lust, he didn't want to hurt him. That had never been his thing.

He stroked a hand down Monty's spine, watching his body relax with every shallow thrust until—after a short forever—he was buried deep. Monty grunted as Bronx's hips met his with a soft slap, and he pulled out, thrusting forward faster. Harder.

Slap, slap, slap.

Bronx's throat was tight, and his muscles were tense with the effort to hold back. It had been a while for him too. Too fucking long, actually. And right now, he was wondering how he'd lived so long without this.

"I'm going to come," Monty said.

Bronx wrapped an arm around him and squeezed the base of Monty's dick tight enough to hold it off. "Not yet."

Monty cried out softly. "Please. I need to."

"I know you do. I know you want it. But I know you can be good for me. I've seen your patience, sparky. I've seen your power. It's fucking beautiful, and I want to see it now. Tell me you'll let me have this."

"You can have this," Monty gasped, rocking backward on Bronx's dick. "It's yours. I'm yours."

Bronx hated that those words didn't mean what he wanted them to mean—but that would be asking too much of both himself and Monty right now. So he basked in them for the moment, lived in the fantasy as his hand let Monty's cock go, trailing up to toy with his nipples.

Monty shook beneath him, quivered around him, body heated and primed to come. But he held off even as his arms trembled to keep himself upright.

Bronx tucked himself up against Monty's backside even tighter, pinching his nipples harder, tugging down until Monty was a mess of need. He was sweating and maybe even crying a little. There was a small puddle of drool on the sheet beneath him from his parted lips.

"Fuck, look at you," Bronx breathed out. "You're the best thing I've ever seen. You're so lovely, Montez."

Monty let out a sharp cry, and his hand flew up, squeezing the tip of his dick. "I c-can't. I can't. Bronx, I need it. I need you to fuck me hard. Let me come."

Bronx couldn't deny him any longer. He wanted to spend all night edging him, but he was weak to Monty's pleas. He gently moved Monty's hand back to the bed, and then he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. Again and again, changing angles until Monty's back arched and his mouth opened on a silent cry. He got the angle right, so he gripped Monty by the hips, keeping him in that spot, then rammed his prostate until Monty's eyes rolled back in his head.

His body was tense—Bronx hadn't lost him. Not yet. He fucked him hard, fast, and then when he was sure Monty was going to collapse with need, he gripped his cock and began to stroke him. It only took three pulls of his hand for Monty to let go, and the way he squeezed down around him took Bronx over the edge with him.

His body gave out, collapsing on his lover, and they tumbled to the sheets. Monty's body shuddered, racked with his orgasm as Bronx spilled deep in his ass. The condom filled, and Bronx bit down on the back of Monty's neck as the tendrils of pleasure began to ease.

Then, Monty was finally still in Bronx's embrace.

"Are you with me?" he whispered.

Monty said nothing, but he nodded and managed to nestle backward with what little strength he had left, and Bronx tightened his grip. Laying soft kisses over his sweaty shoulders, Bronx managed to kick the blankets down to the bottom of the bed. He pulled out so he could ease the condom off, and he tied the end in a knot before letting it fall to the floor.

He'd clean the mess he left behind later. They were sticky and sweaty, but the very last thing he wanted to do was move. He shifted to get more comfortable, and Monty's grip on him tightened.

"Don't."

Bronx froze.

"Don't go," Monty said. His voice was raspy and soft and very tired.

Bronx bowed his head and laid warm lips to the base of his neck. "I wasn't going anywhere."

"Can you stay? Will your son mind?"

He wouldn't. Bronx would send him a text before he passed out so Lucas didn't worry, but he could stay. The lines were starting to blur, especially after what he'd said to Monty's dad—especially when it had felt so good and so right—but he'd deal with that later.

For now, there was this. And him. And the one man who was starting to help him feel whole again.

Bronx woke alone in a bed that wasn't his, and it took him a second to remember why. His alarm was going off, so he rolled toward the edge and swiped his fingers over the discarded, sticky condom before he found his phone. He grimaced and wiped his fingers over the sheets as he turned off the noise, then covered his eyes with one hand.

He smelled like come and sweat. He was sticky and crusty, and he was not looking forward to picking that shit out of his pubes. But he couldn't stay like this forever.

Sitting up, he glanced around and realized the room smelled like fresh soap, and there was a hint of humidity in the air. The bathroom door was open, the light off, but he could see a little fog on the mirror.

Monty was still here.

Then the bedroom door opened, and he appeared. He was dressed in a button-up white shirt and black slacks, his hair combed, his face freshly shaved. He was smiling, looking a little hesitant, but he didn't slow down as he walked over and dropped down to press a kiss to Bronx's lips.

"Kisses are still on the table, right?"

Bronx curled a hand around the side of Monty's neck to give him a proper hello. With tongue. "Always. And sorry if my mouth tastes like ass."

"I don't mind it." Monty straightened and smiled at him. "There's coffee. Do you have work today?"

He did. He was meeting with a finance manager, and then he had to tour the building before signing the leasing papers. He was no longer shitting himself about making a mistake. The marketing manager he'd been working with had sent him an email that they already had clients ready to make appointments .

And two other vets had expressed interest in joining his practice.

This could work. He could plant roots here. Make a life here. Not erase what had been, but he could start fresh with something that didn't make him feel as though he was wasting his life.

"Bronx?"

He realized he'd been quiet too long. He sat up and swung his legs over the bed, profoundly aware he was naked, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He liked the way Monty stared. He liked the way it made him feel. He wasn't objectified. He was appreciated, which was so different because Jules had been looking at him for years like he was an overripe banana that needed to be thrown in the freezer.

"Banana?"

Fuck, had he said that aloud? His cheeks heated. "Ignore me. I'm useless before coffee and a shower."

Monty chuckled softly. "I have both. And I can make you something to eat if you like?"

"I don't do much in the mornings. Fruit. Maybe toast."

Monty offered him two hands and helped him to his feet before letting go. It was obvious now that he didn't know how to behave when they weren't hooking up, and to be frank, neither did he. He had no idea how to navigate something like this. He'd never really done casual before, and when he had, it hadn't been sleeping over at a lover's house.

Fuck it. He wanted to touch Monty. He pulled him close and kissed him again. "Let me shower. I'll feel more human that way. And I promise I'll clean up when I'm done."

Monty snorted and gave him a shove toward the bathroom. "I'll be here. There's soap and plenty of towels. Use whatever you need."

Bronx wanted to kiss him again.

Instead, he walked through the bathroom door and flicked on the light before turning on the water. He emptied his bladder while he waited for it to warm up, and then he hopped under the spray. He had globs of come stuck in his pubic hair, and it took several passes with lathered fingers to get himself clean.

A small part of him mourned the loss of washing away Monty's scent, but the bigger part of him knew that was weird and gross. God, he hoped this possessive feeling in his chest would pass once he got over the novelty of sleeping with someone as gorgeous, sweet, and kind as Monty was.

Stepping out of the shower, he toweled off, then wrapped it around his waist and borrowed Monty's brush to tame his wild mop. He needed a trim and a shave, but he'd worry about that later. Rummaging around, he found some mouthwash and took a sip, letting the cool mint ease away some of the sour taste in the back of his throat.

As he swished, he snooped a little and saw several bottles of pills lined up behind the mirror. His stomach sank a bit. It was easy to forget that Monty had medical complications. That his life wasn't as breezy as Bronx's. He was suffering not necessarily from his disability but from the way people were treating him because of it.

It made him want to break all his promises to himself and wrap his arms around the younger man and just keep him protected.

Forever.

But he'd done a version of that to his son, and Lucas was not thanking him for being an overprotective dickhead. Which brought him back to the night before when he'd stepped in and called himself Monty's boyfriend. It had been a fuck-you to the man insulting them both, but it had also been because of the shattered look on Monty's face when he was taking his dad's verbal abuse.

Was Bronx doing it now? Stepping in where he wasn't invited and fixing a problem that wasn't his business to fix?

Monty didn't seem upset about it, but Bronx knew he needed to clear the air.

His stomach was somewhere around his feet as he shuffled into the bedroom and smiled to find the place tidy. The bed was made, the condom was gone, and it smelled lightly like the rain-scented cleaning spray Lucas loved.

His clothes were also neatly folded on the bed, and his heart twisted in his chest. No one had ever done anything like that for him before. It was such a simple, thoughtless gesture, but it was one that threatened to bring him to his knees.

If he wasn't careful, he was going to be in big, big trouble.