Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

MONTY

Monty didn't know why he was nervous. He'd wanted to see Bronx again, and while their relationship hadn't been defined, they'd both communicated exactly what they wanted from each other. A good time, many orgasms, touch comfort, and no strings. Bronx hadn't given any indication that he wanted to change those terms, and while Monty couldn't deny he wanted more than that, he also knew he wasn't ready or willing to bend.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

So why was he fretting like he was some hormonal teenager? He paced the floor until his limbs felt tired, and then he forced himself to sit with his eyes closed until he heard the sound of a car pulling up into the driveway. His heart kicked up again.

He alternately breathed deep and then held his breath until there was a soft knock at the door. "Come in!"

He heard it open. There were shoes on the tile being kicked off. And then Bronx was there in the doorway, as gorgeous as he had been the last time Monty had set eyes on him. He was dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans, arms folded over his broad chest, and he was smiling.

"Miss me?"

Monty swallowed thickly. "More than you know. How long can you stay?"

Bronx crossed the room and lowered one knee onto the sofa cushion, hovering over Monty's torso. "Technically, as long as I want. My son already suspects I'm seeing someone. I told him I wasn't dating—which isn't a lie—but I might have to come clean about us if we plan to do this more often."

Monty wasn't sure how he felt about that. It wasn't like Bronx was asking Monty to come have family dinner or anything like that. But Monty was going to meet him soon for his flying lesson, and all it would take was one whispered word, and their cover would be blown.

"I won't tell him who it is," Bronx clarified.

Monty closed his eyes and shook his head. No. He couldn't turn Bronx into a liar. "I'm okay with you letting him know. I'm not ashamed of you." When he looked up, Bronx looked almost…anguished. It was a strange expression he hadn't expected to see.

Bronx swallowed heavily, then cupped Monty's jaw. "I'd really like to kiss you."

"That's always on the table," Monty replied.

Bronx grinned widely, but his expression sobered as he leaned in. Their lips met in a hot, careful press, parted gently, Bronx's tongue seeking Monty's. He tasted like spit and coffee—a strange combination, but not one he hated. Monty opened himself to Bronx, feeling needy and wanted. His arms raised, and he gripped Bronx by the hips, urging him to lower down and straddle his lap .

"Well, hey there, sparky." Bronx smiled down at him, wide and sunny.

Monty's chest erupted with warmth as he tipped his head back. "Hello."

"God, you are the best part of my day," Bronx murmured, licking a stripe up Monty's neck. "I was going to see about wining and dining you before we got to this part, but now that I have you…"

"I want you to fuck me," Monty murmured.

Bronx groaned loudly as he turned his head and took Monty in a mean, messy kiss. His teeth grazed his lower lip, tongue heavy and fat as it thrust into his mouth. Monty's hips began to flex upward as Bronx's hips ground down. His cock was thick and throbbing behind his zipper.

"You mean?—?"

"Yeah," Monty said. "I want you inside me. Take me to bed?"

That seemed like an easy ask. Bronx climbed to his feet and held out his hands, helping Monty up. He held him steady, fingers curled in the back of his hair, kissing him once more before he broke away and tugged him toward the bedroom door. Monty trailed after him with a soft laugh, his body feeling light and free in ways it hadn't in so, so long.

He felt easy and pliant, leaning against the closed door as Bronx attacked his clothes. He stripped him down quickly and methodically, but instead of doing the same to himself, he dropped to his knees. He laid kisses over Monty's stomach, over his hips, his thighs, his knees. He spread his legs to lick at the space just under his balls, gently tracing them before he stroked his cock from root to tip.

Monty groaned. "Yes. Yes . "

Bronx looked up at him with hooded eyes. "I want to suck you off first."

Monty nodded, biting his lip, shoving his fingers into Bronx's hair to guide him. Bronx wasted no time getting his mouth around Monty, taking him to the back of his throat with a single swallow. He held them there, letting the head of Monty's cock bump against his tongue before he dragged himself away.

The slow slide was erotic torture, a teasing torment of what was to come. Bronx made so many promises with his body, and Monty was not afraid he was going to be let down. He watched, his vision half-blurry, as Bronx laved his tongue at his slit, gathering the moisture there and swallowing it down.

"You taste amazing."

Monty didn't know what to say. Words failed him as Bronx held his cock in his hand and laid worship to his shaft. He kissed up one side, down the other, then took him into his mouth again. This time, he didn't make Monty wait. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, bobbing his head as he took him so deep his nose buried in his thick curls.

Monty heaved a breath so he wouldn't pass out as he gripped Bronx's shoulders and fucked his hips forward with a careful thrust. Bronx looked up at him, went entirely still, then nodded. Fuck my face , his eyes said.

Monty did it again, and Bronx moaned. The vibrations went straight to Monty's balls, and they tightened. He began a slow rhythm, afraid to hurt Bronx but brave enough to start taking what he wanted. Bronx's cheeks were flushed, like he was the one getting off. He kept his hands tightly around the backs of Monty's thighs to keep himself still and steady, and he let Monty do the work .

He wasn't going to last long. "Sorry," he managed to get out. "I'm s-so…I can't…"

Bronx hummed again, sucking harder as Monty pulled back, and then he freed one hand and pressed two fingers against his hole. It was over. Between one breath and the next, Monty was coming. Hard. His vision whited out, and his limbs felt heavy as he spilled thick, hot ropes against Bronx's tongue.

He felt Bronx swallowing him down, his massive arms keeping Monty upright, and when the feeling began to cool, he was lifted into Bronx's arms and carried to the bed.

"I didn't realize veterinarians could carry grown men like me," Monty said, his words slightly slurred.

Bronx settled next to him with a soft chuckle. "You spend your days lifting completely unconscious Mastiffs between you and some vet tech the size of a thimble and see how buff you get."

Monty grinned, rolling toward Bronx as his vision began to clear. He looked up at him and pressed a kiss to his pec. "That was amazing."

Bronx traced a finger around Monty's slightly chapped lips. "You stayed with me this time."

"Mm. I did. But you know I never go far."

"I know." The two words came out like a whispered confession, warm and different from the way most people talked about his disorder. It made him want to reach out and hold Bronx close. Was this crossing lines? "You're upset," Bronx said softly.

Monty shook his head and took a breath before he made his confession. "What I want hasn't changed. I'm not…ready for anything more than this. But I find myself…" Words were failing him a litt le.

"Say it. Don't worry about how it sounds. I'm not going anywhere."

It was a promise Monty didn't want Bronx to make because it wasn't fair. He didn't want him to make that kind of vow. He'd be shattered if the man broke it. He took in a short breath, then tightened his jaw.

"I crave this."

Bronx frowned and looked down at the way Monty was curled against him. "Being held?"

"Touched kindly. Wanted. More than just sex sometimes. I know that's not what we agreed, but?—"

"No."

Monty felt his throat go tight. Of course that was the wrong thing to say.

Bronx gripped him by the chin and held his gaze. "I crave it too." Monty had no idea what to say, so he kept silent. "It's a lonely world, and being surrounded by people who are finding their happily ever afters when you're confused about what that even means makes it harder."

Monty's body went limp with relief, and he buried his face against Bronx's neck. "You understand."

"I understand exactly. I want my brother to be happy, but I hate him a little for being able to lose his marriage and have his life turned upside down and still find the courage to give himself to someone else."

Monty pulled back to look at him. "Do you want to redefine what we have? Take a little more than I'm giving you?"

"If anyone else in the world had asked me that, I would have kissed them and politely excused myself for the rest of my life," Bronx admitted. "But you feel different."

Monty felt a wave of panic, even if it was the answer he'd wanted to hear .

"I'm not ready for anything more than this right now." He cupped Monty's cheek and stroked a thumb under his eye. " But I'm also not interested in having this with anyone else."

Monty bit his lip, then let it go. "Neither am I."

Bronx quickly shook his head. "No. No, you don't need to say that just because it's how I feel. I won't put those expectations on you."

Monty surged up toward his mouth and kissed him for the way Bronx made him feel inside. "I know. It's what I want."

He groaned as he kissed back, and Monty lost himself to the feel of him.

Monty wasn't expecting anyone to get to him like this. To make him feel this way. Before meeting Bronx, he would have assumed it was impossible. When Bronx pulled back to say something else, he was interrupted by the soft ding of Monty's doorbell.

He frowned. "Want me to get that?"

Monty shook his head, rolling on top of Bronx. They had plans. Things to do. Orgasms to have because Bronx was still half-hard and hadn't come. "Ignore them. It's probably someone trying to sell me home security."

Bronx snorted and gripped Monty by the back of the neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It was just getting good when the bell rang again. Then again. Then, three times in rapid succession. Monty's stomach sank down to his feet.

He only knew one person who would be that insistent.

"Secret lover?"

Monty raised a brow at Bronx as he pushed up on his chest. "You're the only secret I have—or want. Let me take care of it. Don't go anywhere." He climbed to his feet, regretting leaving the warmth of Bronx's arms as he grabbed his robe from the hook on the bathroom door and headed into the hall.

He tried to ignore the tremble in his hands as he reached for the knob and pulled the door open, but he didn't want to do this. Not now. Not with Bronx in the house.

"Whose car is that?" His father's voice was loud and demanding as he pushed past Monty, Poppy close at his heels. She shot Monty an apologetic look but kept her head down. "Tell me you're not stupid enough to start driving again."

Monty's face heated. "I'm the one who gave up my license. You told me to keep it."

"That was before I realized how dramatic your little…disease has become," Rod said, waving a hand at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Monty a once-over. "You didn't say hello to your mother."

"Because my mother isn't here," Monty said. "And I'll happily remind you that this is my home—one you have no claim over. So whatever you want?—"

"Is it a whore?"

Monty reared back. "I'm sorry, what ?"

"Are you fucking a whore right now?"

"Rod!" Poppy hissed.

He shot her a glare. "Don't pretend that wasn't your first thought. The last thing we need is a scandal."

"First of all," Monty said, trying to control his tone. The more he got upset, the more he was likely to collapse, and he was tired of doing that. Not to mention, his balls were hanging freely in his robe, and he didn't need to be on full display in front of Rod and his wife. "It's none of your business. Second of all, no one knows or cares who I am, so if I was entertaining someone for pay, it wouldn't matter. Thirdly, and I reiterate, it's not your business."

"So, the answer is yes, then. I'm not surprised that's what your life has come to. I told you to give up on your nonsense and get married, but you wouldn't listen. And now look at you. Disrespecting your mother in your home and paying to get your dick sucked. I hope to God you've been tested, Montez."

Monty jumped three feet when he heard Bronx clear his throat in the doorway. He looked over, mortified, as Bronx walked a few feet into the room. He was wearing a pair of Monty's sweatpants, which rode high up on his ankles, and his T-shirt clung to the sweat left on his chest.

He looked thoroughly fucked with his wild hair and slightly reddened eyes.

"Babe, did you hire entertainment for us tonight without telling me?"

Rod's eyes went wide. "Who is this?"

"None of your?—"

"I'm his boyfriend," Bronx cut in. He dragged his hand through his hair as he walked over, then extended it to Rod, who pointedly didn't take it. Bronx shrugged and set his arm around Monty's waist. The strength of the way he was holding Monty told him that Bronx was preparing for him to go cataplexic. The thoughtfulness of the gesture was almost as overwhelming as Monty's anger and anxiety.

Rod scoffed. " Boyfriend . Right." He sized Bronx up. "How old are you?"

Bronx laughed. "Why? Are you taking a survey?"

"You seem a little…mature for my son."

"And this teenager wearing a wedding ring is your…daughter?" Bronx said.

Monty wasn't sure what to call the emotion he was feeling. It was entirely new, thrilling and terrifying all at once. He cleared his throat. "Bronx, this is my father, Rodrigo, and his wife, Poppy."

"So, that thing about glass houses and stones—your dad never got that memo?" Bronx asked. His voice was tight and low. He was angry, Monty realized.

Rod took a menacing step toward Monty, ignoring Bronx entirely. "What game do you think you're playing? Putting on a show for me so I'll what? Leave you alone?"

Monty's eyes went wide. "You came into my house without calling. You're interrupting my night."

"You owe your mother an?—"

"She's not my mother!" Monty started feeling flushed, face hot and tingly. Fuck, he was going to go down if he wasn't careful. Bronx's grip on him tightened. He softened his voice. "Please leave."

Rod didn't move, so Bronx straightened his shoulders, somehow looking taller. He met Rod's gaze and held it. "He asked you to leave. Don't force the issue. You won't like what happens."

Rod scoffed, then held his hand out to Poppy, who reluctantly took it. "We'll speak about this over dinner tomorrow."

Monty laughed in spite of the fact that he was about to go down. "I'm not coming to dinner tomorrow." His knees started to buckle, and Bronx caught him.

Rod either didn't notice or didn't care, but he also gave up the argument. Monty knew it wasn't over, but that didn't matter to him. What mattered was that he was safe, and he wasn't going to concuss himself when he went down.

The door slammed as his father left, and the world began to go dark at the edges .

"I'm going to faint," he managed to get out.

"Let go" was the last thing Monty heard. "I've got you."

Though he preferred it, fainting was harder on him than the cataplexy. In spite of the weird hallucinations, he recovered from those spells a lot faster. Losing consciousness usually came with a nice bout of tachycardia, and it took a while to climb out of the fog and remember where he was. For a while, his doctor had been worried they were seizures, but his neurological testing so far had been negative for that sort of brain activity.

His system was just…dysregulated. He was an internal mess.

He came to on the sofa with Bronx massaging his feet, and he let himself have a few moments to clear his head before he spoke. He was embarrassed yet again, and he had no idea what to say. He didn't mind Bronx knowing that his relationship with his family was complicated, but he hadn't wanted anyone to see how ugly it really was.

He swallowed thickly. "Thank you."

Bronx glanced over at him, then leaned forward and grabbed a mug off the coffee table. "Can you sit up?"

Monty managed it, curling against the arm of the sofa with his toes tucked under Bronx's thigh. He took the mug—it was lukewarm and smelled floral, like chamomile and jasmine. He sipped it and tasted the faint sweetness of honey.

"Thank you," he said again.

Bronx smiled at him. "What's thank you in French?"

"Merci. "

"I think I knew that," Bronx told him. "I took Spanish in high school."

Monty grinned. "Gracias."

"Tell me you're not fluent in Spanish too."

Monty hunched in on himself. When he was young, he was mocked for knowing too much. He wasn't a cool nerd. He was the weird one. He didn't think Bronx of all people would mock him, but the old scars were still tender. "And Portuguese. A little bit of Italian only because it's related so closely to the other Latin languages. I, ah…I was lonely and bored a lot when I was younger."

"You are so hot," Bronx said quietly. He tilted his head to the side. "Besides Spanish, I only know this one." He tipped his fingers from his chin in the ASL word for thank you. "I've started taking this online class because Frey's son is Deaf, and he doesn't use speech."

Monty nodded. He knew about the kids in Dallas's friend group. He had a working knowledge of ASL as well because it was the only offered language he hadn't mastered during his final year at school, so he took two semesters. But he decided to keep that one for himself for now.

"So," Bronx said after a long beat, "that was your dad."

Right. His dad. He'd fainted because Rod had shown up to ruin one of the best moments of Monty's life. It was almost like the man had a sixth sense for when Monty was at his happiest. What god had he pissed off in a past life to deserve this?

He glanced over when Bronx reached out and cupped his cheek, stroking a thumb along his skin. "He didn't seem like a very nice man."

"Because he isn't one," Monty said, trying and failing not to sound bitter. "I feel bad for his wife. "

"The one he wants you to call Mom."

Monty felt a little nauseous, and he turned his face away. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I didn't want you to ever be part of that."

Bronx cleared his throat and looked apologetic when Monty glanced over. "Sorry, sparky, but you're talking in French."

Monty's face heated, and he carefully shifted his legs off Bronx's lap. The blood began to pool in his toes the way it always did after a fainting spell. His fingers felt a little heavy with it too. He hated how dysregulated his system was.

"It takes me a minute for my brain to clear," he admitted.

"I get it. I mean, I don't get it, but I understand," Bronx clarified. He was still smiling too. And he wasn't running for the door, which, once again, surprised Monty. He could understand why the fainting thing didn't bother him, but why would he stick around for Rod's threats and insults? And dear God, had Bronx said he was Monty's boyfriend?

"Ah, about what you said…"

Bronx flushed. "Yeah, sorry. I know that was way overstepping, especially since you were really clear about your boundaries. But I was super pissed at the way he was speaking to you."

Monty shook his head. "No. No, I…thank you. You didn't need to do any of that."

Bronx shrugged. "Did it help?"

Monty couldn't really answer that question. His emotions were all over the place, and it technically did complicate things. Now he had a fake boyfriend? Granted, it was a boyfriend he was already sleeping with, so it wasn't like he needed to play pretend in that regard, but Bronx was right: it was technically crossing the lines they'd both drawn.

He just couldn't bring himself to be upset about it.

"I'm sorry he ruined the evening."

Bronx's eyes widened. "Are you serious? Is that what you were saying before?"

Monty shrugged, staring down at his hands. "Something like that. Sometimes it feels like his one job is to make my life lonelier."

"He's sent people running before, hasn't he?"

Monty shook his head. "No one's ever really stayed long enough for me to take the risk. So I suppose, in that case, you're…putain, I forget how the phrase goes. One and zero?"

Bronx burst into the laughter Monty loved hearing so much and reached for him, manipulating him as if he weighed nothing until he was sat across Bronx's lap. The larger man took Monty by the chin and kissed him. "If you're making a sports reference, it's one-nothing. Or something like that. I'm not actually much of a sports guy. The only thing I've been into in recent years is my son's Goalball team."

"Goalball."

"It's a blind sport. Like dodgeball. Did y'all have that in France?"

Monty shook his head with a small grin. "But I know the reference. And Luke, he's very good?"

"He's fine," Bronx said. "I mean, never tell him I said that, but he probably wouldn't care. He did it to pass the time. I think he'd rather be a pilot."

"He might set records," Monty said and was kissed for that response. He groaned, losing himself in the taste of Bronx's lips before remembering what they'd been up to and what had been interrupted. "Are you?—"

"Yes," Bronx murmured softly, "but only if you are."

"Up for it," Monty said. He rocked his hips gently and felt Bronx's hardening cock against his backside. "Are you certain? After everything?"

"I should be the one asking you that." Bronx traced a touch over Monty's temple. "I know you said you're good after, but I don't want you to push it."

"I won't push it," Monty said. He leaned in and let his lips brush against Bronx's as he spoke. "Take me to bed. Make me forget."