Chapter 6

Chapter Six

MONTY

Monty both did and didn't know what he was doing. Bronx was exactly his type—older, starting to grey at the temples with a nice, silvery sprinkle throughout the rest of his hair. He had delicious wrinkles by his eyes and a softer body than most of the men Monty's age he met at the club. He had big hands and a rough, booming laugh.

He really was adorably awkward and shy and a little unsure of himself, but he had a feeling that would change in bed.

He was playing with fire because Bronx was most definitely the sort of man Monty could fall in love with, and he knew that was dangerous. He was surrounded by painful divorces and terrible custody battles all day. He had been since he'd started working as an intern while he was studying for the bar.

He'd seen it in his own house growing up—the hatred between parents, the vindictive exes, the children caught in the middle.

In spite of fearing he'd turn out like his dad, Monty had always wanted to love and be loved. He wanted the powerful kind that lifted him off the ground and carried him to the heavens.

But he was a realist, and he wasn't sure that existed. He had faith that Dallas and Kylen were good for each other, but he was also cynical enough to know he wouldn't be surprised if they crashed and burned in a few years.

Some people grew together, and some grew apart, and there was no rhyme or reason why it happened. It just did. And he wasn't sure any of it was worth the risk.

Maybe that made him a coward. And maybe he'd end up dying a lonely old man because he chased hookup after hookup, running after a handful of weeks at best.

Maybe he'd be full of regret when his twilight years came and went.

But right now, he felt safe. And he felt good about his decision as he stared at Bronx, who had his eyes fixed on the road. There was a hint of color in his cheeks and a smile on his lips. Monty caught a glimpse of his expression as they passed under the lights of a strip mall. Then his smile turned shy.

"I can feel you staring."

Monty grinned and looked away. "Sorry. You're really good-looking, and I think I'm a little surprised you want this with me."

Bronx made a startled noise. "An attractive lawyer with an amazing body and sexy accent?"

Monty flushed. "It's not that sexy. It's…muddled. I've lived in the States for a long time."

"It's sexy," Bronx confirmed, lifting his chin without glancing over. "I could listen to it all night."

"Maybe you'll get the chance." Monty hadn't felt bold enough to flirt like this in a long while. He used to be good at it, but after several dating disasters that left him either paralyzed or unconscious, he'd lost his confidence.

It didn't help that he'd attempted to woo Kylen and had been turned down after a single sentence—not that he blamed him. Kylen had already been in love with Dallas at that point. But it had shaken his confidence, so to have it come back like this was surprising.

It felt oddly serendipitous that he was in Bronx's car—that the path to his latest lover had come from his two new best friends.

"You should know I was serious when I said I haven't done this in a while," Bronx said as they turned onto Monty's street. "Like, a long while. My ex and I stopped sleeping together over a year ago, and I haven't even tried to look elsewhere since the divorce."

"Well, it's just like riding a bike, no?" Monty asked. He made an up-and-down gesture with his hand, and Bronx burst into laughter.

"I can safely say I've never fucked someone that reminded me of riding a bike, but I'm willing to try."

Monty grinned. He liked making Bronx laugh. He liked the feeling he got in his chest because he suspected Bronx didn't have a lot to laugh about right now. But he had lines around his eyes and commas at the corners of his mouth that said he used to smile more.

If Monty could give him that—even for just a short while—he'd consider it a win.

"This is me," he said, though the GPS had already indicated it.

He lived in an attached town house with a small yard. It was ranch-style because he was afraid of stairs, thanks to his fainting and cataplexy. He didn't want to go out from a broken neck because his body decided to collapse while he was heading down to his kitchen.

"Nice place," Bronx said as he pulled into the driveway. "I'm okay here, right?"

"You're fine. I don't have a car." Monty could see Bronx frown, and he probably wanted to ask why. It was a strange thing not to drive in a town that had so little public transportation. But Bronx kept his mouth shut, and Monty appreciated it because it always got weird when they found out.

And it usually ended before he was satisfied.

He checked in with himself as he opened the door and stood up. He was feeling good—better than usual, in fact, and he prayed it would last through the night. He waited for Bronx to lock up, and then he led the way inside, flipping on the soft living room lights before gesturing around.

"This is it. It's not much."

Bronx surveyed the room, his brow furrowed. His face was so expressive, and Monty's mouth went a little dry thinking of how expressive he might get later. His cock twitched.

"You play?"

Monty followed his gaze to his upright piano. "Euh…yes, but I'm not very good. My mother had this idea that I was going to be an overaccomplished genius because I walked and talked early. Music and my brain never quite got along. None of the arts really took."

Bronx turned, then closed the distance between them. "Some say debate is an art."

Monty shivered at the sound of his low voice. "Debate?"

Lifting his hand, Bronx slowly cupped Monty's cheek, his thumb brushing over his jaw. "Arguing law in court. "

"Ah. I think you'll be disappointed to know that my job is nothing like they show on TV."

"Mm, I've seen it. My ex fucked off most of our hearings, but his lawyer was always there. And it might not be as dramatic as it is on TV, but it's still a skill a lot of people don't have. Mine got me everything I asked for."

"Rightfully so," Monty murmured.

Bronx's eyebrows lifted, and he tipped his head lower. "You think so? What if I'm the liar and my ex is the good man who got screwed."

Huffing a laugh, Monty shook his head. Bronx was so close he could smell his cologne, feel his heat. He struggled to stay present and not give in to his urge to climb the man like a tree. "Your brother has a big mouth. I know the details. I stand by what I said."

"Now I'm really turned on," Bronx said, then leaned in and took Monty's lips in a firm, almost furious kiss. His mouth was lush, tongue warm and wet. He tasted a little bit like his beer and a lot like the spices from his meal.

Monty groaned loudly as Bronx backed him up toward the wall, and he got a little light-headed as blood rushed toward his cock. "We should definitely take this to the bedroom," he gasped, breaking the kiss.

Bronx nodded, but instead of moving away, he dug his fingers into Monty's sides and laved wet, biting kisses along his neck. Fuck, it was good. It was too good. Monty wanted more—wanted everything. But he knew if he wanted to be safe, he needed to get somewhere with a soft landing.

"Please."

Bronx pulled away, lifting Monty's hands in his own, and he kissed across his knuckles. "Okay. Sorry. I just…I really like you."

"You sound surprised. Should I be insulted? "

Bronx let one hand go to cup Monty's chin. "No. All the weirdness is me. It felt like my heart and my dick were turned off for a while."

"And something changed?"

"Yeah." Bronx pulled him in for a kiss, then murmured against his lips, "Then I met you."

Monty swooned. Literally. The world tipped sideways for a second, and his heart pounded. He needed to get vertical. Taking a breath, he tugged on Bronx's hand, then ducked under his arm and pulled him down the deceptively large hallway and through the bedroom door.

It was a little messy. He'd left in a hurry when his car had shown up early, but he didn't think Bronx was going to notice or care. Not with the way he was devouring Monty with his gaze.

"Bed?" Monty asked, his voice rough and ragged. He was feeling a little light-headed, and as he took a step forward, the familiar, heavy sensation started weighting him down. Then there was the aura—the weird taste in his mouth and the flashes in the corners of his vision. Everything went hazy, his tongue thick and fat against the roof of his mouth.

Fuck. Not now. Please, God.

"Monty?"

He stumbled and sucked in breath, hoping he had enough time to explain. "I'm about to collapse," he slurred. "I'm fine. Please don't call an ambulance. I'll explain in a seconnnn?—"

And then he hit the ground.

The oddest thing about cataplexy was being awake and yet not. He wasn't unconscious. He could hear Bronx moving, feel him kneel at his side and touch his face. He was aware. But it wasn't reality. His eyes were closed, but he could still see the bedroom…except it wasn't his bedroom. There were vines on the walls and water spilling somewhere.

If he could have, he would have taken deep breaths. Instead, he fought the hurricane of paralysis until he was able to twitch his fingers. And then move his toes. His arms were next, and eventually, he was able to open his eyes.

Time passed funny that way—he had no idea how long he was out, but he guessed it wasn't more than a minute from the way Bronx wasn't completely panicked. He moved his jaw as he came back online.

"Monty," Bronx said very softly.

He blinked, then groaned and sat up. His arms were weak, but it was a relatively mild spell. It happened when he got overexcited—or overly horny. He was both with Bronx, and he felt like an ass for not just explaining before.

"I'm sorry."

Bronx sat down and pulled one leg up toward his chest, his other hand hovering in the air like he wanted to touch but was afraid to. "How often does that happen?"

Monty managed a light scoff. His tongue still felt a little odd in his mouth, but the sensation was fading back into something normal. "It's not on a set schedule. When I get really, ah, excited , I tend to go down."

"That's why you wanted to get on the bed," Bronx said, glancing over his shoulder. "Were you going to tell me?"

Monty shook his head. "No. I was hoping if I was laying down…"

"That I wouldn't notice?"

Monty almost laughed. He wouldn't fuck a man who wouldn't notice if his partner went unconscious. "I was hoping my brain would be kind to me long enough to do all the things I wanted to do with you. But I should have known better."

The tips of Bronx's ears darkened, and a smile played at his lips. That was…surprising. It was nothing like the reactions Monty had gotten in the past. "I supposed that's fair. Is it narcolepsy?"

Monty was surprised by the question. People tended to understand narcolepsy from what they saw on TV. Bumbling fools who slumped over and started snoring into their soup. No one realized it was complex.

"It's something similar. The truth is, we're still trying to figure it out. Along with this, I also faint quite often, especially when I'm stressed. My blood pressure is fickle."

Bronx glanced down where Monty had gone soft.

"Ah, ouais," he murmured. Now, that was embarrassing. He wanted to cover himself, but he also didn't want to draw more attention to it. "It's not every time. And it's not all the time. I just really, really like you, and I wanted you a lot."

"Wanted?"

Monty blinked at him. "Want, of course. But I get it if this is too weird for you."

Bronx's frown deepened, and then he pushed up to his feet and adjusted himself before taking a step back. Ah , Monty thought, here we go . The excuses. The discomfort. The fleeing.

"Here." Bronx extended his hand, and after a second, Monty took it and hauled himself up. He was steady again, like nothing had happened apart from a little ringing in his ears. He started to pull back, but Bronx's fingers tightened around his own. "Do you want me to go? "

"No!" Monty blurted. "I just assumed…I know it's not sexy when your partner goes boneless."

Bronx tugged him close and looked into his eyes with burning desire. "Well. Boneless, yes. Bon er less, no."

Monty blinked, then burst into laughter, falling against Bronx's chest. "You're odd."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Monty looked up at him, then rose onto the balls of his feet to close the distance between them. "No," he said, then kissed him once, twice, then a third time. "No. It's a very good thing."

Bronx grabbed him suddenly, lifting him by the waist and spinning him toward the bed. Monty clung to him tightly, his breath rushing from his chest as Bronx laid him out flat. He hovered above, one hand pressed to the mattress. With his other, he traced a line down Monty's jaw.

"You're really gorgeous."

Monty flushed from the tips of his toes to the tops of his ears. He'd never doubted that he was conventionally attractive, but for him, beauty was so much more than that. It always had been. He'd been accused of having strange taste for his entire life, and it just made him sad for the superficial people around him who couldn't look past the surface of the skin.

But the way Bronx said it, the way he looked at Monty, it was like he was peering straight into the core of his being. He found whatever Monty had inside him worthy of his time, and his attention, and his passion.

"Touch me," he begged.

Bronx got to work, swift motions pulling his shirt off, his pants, his briefs, his socks. He was laid bare against the ruched top of the duvet, the fabric rough against his back in sharp contrast to Bronx's soft kisses laid over his throat.

God, it felt good. It felt better than anyone Monty had been with in a long, long time. His hands came up, gripping at Bronx's sides. "More."

Bronx pulled back with a small grin. "Demanding?"

Monty's throat went flush with heat as he shook his head. "No. Just…please?" Christ, he hadn't realized he could sound like that. Humble. Almost begging with a single word.

Bronx bit his lower lip, and then his hand trailed down Monty's naked chest. Bronx's rough clothes were almost a sharp contrast to Monty's naked skin, and he let out a surprised groan when Bronx rocked himself against Monty. He was hard, trapped behind the zipper of his trousers.

"You like that?" Bronx asked.

Monty nodded, wordless and silent apart from a short gasp when Bronx's hand finally made it where he wanted to be touched most. He braced himself to be gripped, to be stroked, but Bronx once again defied expectation. He ghosted a touch over the length of him, making his dick jump, then carefully cupped his balls in his impossibly warm palm.

He stroked over them with a rough thumb, rolling them gently between his fingers, eyes fixed on Monty's face like he was feeding off the ecstasy in his eyes. Monty groaned loudly, and Bronx let out a shuddering breath. "Fuck. You really like that, don't you?"

Monty squirmed. The touches were light and teasing. A gentle torment, and it only took Monty a second to realize it was on purpose. Bronx was going to draw this out.

To make him beg for it.

"I—" He stopped and swallowed thickly .

Bronx lifted a brow. "Come on, sparky, don't get shy on me now."

Monty jolted with the sudden nickname. Apart from shortening Montez, no one had ever cared enough—had ever been affectionate enough—to do it. Not even quick and dirty hookups. He was never called babe. Never a quick, whispered sweetheart.

Nothing.

He trembled slightly as his cock got thicker. How had a single, unsexy word gotten him so close?

Bronx didn't miss it. He licked his lips as he glanced down, and then he looked back into Monty's face. "This is gonna be over quick, isn't it?"

Monty's flush spread to his cheeks. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I…"

"No. Don't apologize. You're perfect."

Fuck. He felt a rush of pleasure coursing through his veins. Was he going to embarrass the fuck out of himself and come all over Bronx's hand without being stroked? "Sorry," he whispered again.

Bronx slapped his free hand over Monty's lips and stared him in the eye. "You. Are. Perfect. Do you understand me? You're so amazing. You're doing all of this exactly right."

Monty moaned loudly against Bronx's palm. His hips shifted, desperate for some kind of friction against his cock.

Bronx's gaze darted down, and then his hand moved, but not to touch him there. No, he spread Monty's thighs further and then began to pulse two fingers behind his balls, teasing his prostate from the outside.

"You're so good. So good for me, sparky." Bronx's voice rumbled over the surface of his skin, and Monty felt like he was about to light up like a goddamn Christmas tree. His face was hot and tingling, and his balls were tightening. His cock was leaking a steady stream over his lower stomach, the head only just poking out from his foreskin. "So perfect. Such a goddamn good boy."

Bronx pressed down hard and rubbed in a circle, and before Monty could stop himself, he was lost. The orgasm was different—strange. Subtler and warmer and yet seemed to carry on and on. His vision was blurry, a little dark, and he was profoundly aware of Bronx's weight on him as he writhed.

He returned to awareness at the feeling of Bronx's soft kisses along the side of his neck and the flat of his hot palm stroking over his softening cock. He moaned quietly, and Bronx lifted his head, his bright eyes staring at his own.

"That was amazing."

"Humiliating," he managed to say with a heavy tongue.

Bronx shook his head and kissed him softly. He was lying in Monty's mess, and for some reason, that made his dick give a feeble twitch. Bronx smiled and nipped at his chin. "Perfect. Goddamn glorious, sparky. I've never seen anything like it."

Monty turned his face away. He wasn't used to this. It was starting to become overwhelming. He dragged a touch over Bronx's bare shoulder—when had he taken his shirt off? His jeans were open too—the zipper spread in a wide v, and his cock was rubbing Monty's hip through the fabric of his boxers.

"Let me," Monty started, trying to push Bronx up so he could get to him.

Bronx kept him pinned with his body, and after a beat, Monty went boneless. "Good boy," Bronx muttered.

Monty flushed hotly. What the hell?

"Thought so." Bronx reached between them and pulled his cock out, lying just to the side of the come Monty had spilled. He thrust forward, fucking the cut of Monty's hip. "You like being good for me, don't you?"

Monty swallowed heavily. "I didn't know."

Bronx's expression softened in spite of the heat lingering in his eyes. He thrust his hips a little faster as he cupped Monty's cheek with one hand, the other bracing himself on the bed. "Figured that one out too, sparky."

"How?"

Bronx stilled and cocked his head to the side. "Because it's obvious you keep so much of yourself hidden, but when someone sees you—when they really see you—you're so bright. It's beautiful."

"Oh." No one had ever seen him like that before. Could that seriously be him? Or was Bronx just very, very good at being charming?

Bronx shook his head and pulled away, chuckling when Monty made a loud noise of protest. "I'm not gonna come right now, sweetheart."

Sweetheart now? He wished to God he could hide the way he was blushing, but he loved the way it made Bronx's smile widen.

"I ruined the moment."

Bronx shook his head, dropping back down to pin Monty back to the bed. He kissed him slowly. Deeper than Monty had ever been kissed. "The opposite. You made my night in ways no one ever has. I love the way you respond to me. I love the way you light up. The way you came from a gentle touch and simple words? You are special , Monty. You're precious."

Monty closed his eyes. "I promise I'm not. I don't want you to get an idea about who I am and be disappointed later." He froze. Later? There were no promises of that, and Bronx had made it very clear he wasn't interested in more than this. A few times, sure, but no strings.

But when he was brave enough to look, Bronx's expression was soft and maybe a little sad.

"I wish I knew who made you feel that way about yourself because I'd knock 'em into next fuckin' week." Oh. His accent got very thick when he was irritated. Monty very much liked it. "But I don't think I'm gonna be disappointed later. I think we're gonna have fun next time."

Monty blinked. "Oh. You—I…"

"Unless that's breaking our deal?" Bronx said. For the first time that night, he looked unsure.

Monty cracked. He knew logically the best thing he could do was say it was enough and send Bronx home. This had been more emotional than he'd been expecting, and he was unprepared for it. He'd avoid Dallas and Kylen until the feeling under his skin became dull and easy to ignore, and then maybe they could become something like friends.

But he couldn't.

He wrapped his arms around Bronx's waist and held him. "I want to do this again. And I wouldn't mind if you stayed."

Bronx looked torn, then eased some of his weight back down. "No strings, right?"

"And no expectations," Monty added with a nod. "But I like you. I'm comfortable with you. And I know you won't cost me a twenty-five-grand ambulance fee if I collapse."

Bronx rolled his eyes as he burst into laughter and settled back down. "Naw, I won't. I'll just scratch my nails through your hair until you wake up." He demonstrated, and Monty all but purred. Bronx chuckled low in his chest. "Thought so. Oh, sparky, I'm gonna spoil you as long as you let me. But right now, I'm gonna clean your mess up because I'm about five seconds from passing out, and I wanna make sure you get to sleep comfortably."

Monty wanted to protest. That seemed like way more than they agreed upon. But it was also something he was craving. It was something he had been craving for a long, long time. So why not indulge before it was all over?

After all, he wasn't going to change his mind. A few nights was one thing. A relationship was something else. And he only trusted himself in the short term.

No matter how badly he wanted to be loved.