Nine

NINE

W e stayed at the house until five, when Duke and his family left. Lang wasn't comfortable leaving his mother with her ex, and neither was I. No amount of her saying we were being ridiculous was going to change either of our minds. Sharpe thanked us for staying because he wanted to show Talia his condo, where it was, all the great restaurants around it, and the bookstores, cafés, and yoga studio. These were, conveniently, all things she loved.

"I'll see you at Miro and Ian's later," Sharpe called over to us as he was walking Talia out of the house. "Don't forget food and a bone for a really big dog."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Really big dog, man," he repeated.

I didn't know if he was screwing with me or not.

Lang and I played Spades with his mother, Duke, her sisters, and some other family members for a couple of hours. Etta had taught me how to play when Lang first started bringing me over, and while the game itself was not that hard, the strategy was what took time to master. I was nowhere near his mother's level, but I loved it whenever she complimented me.

When Selah told Duke they had to be on their way, I could tell he wanted to stay. Perhaps he didn't have this same kind of neighborhood where people walked over to say hello and Etta told them to make themselves a plate of food. She had people in and out all day long, bringing her lots of homemade goodies, bread, pie, and muffins. Her house was one of the focal points of the neighborhood. I didn't know if Duke was part of a close community at home. Maybe he had lots of friends there, or maybe he didn't. Perhaps that was a piece of his old life he missed. Regardless, he lingered on the covered porch after the rest of his family said their goodbyes, leaning on one of the redbrick columns.

I was out there, sitting on the swing with Etta, loving the fans Lang had paid to put in the year before.

"This house was always beautiful," Duke mused, staring at Etta.

"Yes, it is." She nodded. "But you know, it's not the building; it's the love inside."

"Yes," he assented, and took a step forward, as though to walk over to her, but hesitated.

"They're waiting on you at the gate," she told him, and waved.

I saw Selah wave back.

He nodded. "Thank you again for your hospitality. It was so kind of you to pack up food to take with us. I promise to send all the Tupperware back."

"Oh no," she said, using the fan in her left hand and taking hold of mine with her right. "I don't expect anything back."

After a moment he said, "Etta, I?—"

"Have a great trip," I called over. "Drive safely now."

He looked from her, to me, back to her, smiled, and left.

"I think he was havin' second thoughts about leavin'," I told Etta as I watched Duke jog over to the large SUV his family had already loaded into.

"No," she said, moving her fan so she was putting air on both of us. "He had a twinge of nostalgia, is all. Happens to the best of us. We long for a past that never actually existed."

"Not me. I much prefer the here and now where your son seems to kind of like me."

She chuckled. "Please. My son has been lovin' on you since the start, Delroy McCabe. I have never seen him want to be around anyone else more."

That was very nice to hear.

"And I couldn't be happier. I like having another son."

And that was even better.

We had to go to get clothes from my place, and on the way there, he asked me why I was always so on top of his calendar. "More specifically, why were you keeping such a keen eye on all of my dates?"

"You know why," I replied, glancing out the window, thankful I was in a nice cool car instead of outside, walking down streets covered in hot pavement.

"No. Tell me."

Turning to look at him, I smiled. "The truth is, I always wanted to make sure I didn't have any plans when and if yours went sideways. I wanted to be there to fill in and spend time with you."

I was surprised when he pulled over, unclipped his seat belt, and leaned sideways to first take my face in his hands, and then kiss me.

My body heated so fast, and I whimpered into his mouth, unable to stifle the sound.

"Good noise," he teased, smiling against my lips before he kissed me again, harder, with tongue and teeth.

"I…could you drive to my crappy apartment, please," I pleaded, barely getting the words out when he broke the kiss to stare into my eyes. "There's a bed there."

"I'm aware," he rumbled.

My cock had thickened with his attention and closeness, and when he began stroking me through my pants, I had trouble sitting still. "We're really close and?—"

"I want you to know," he said, his hand sliding from my dick to my balls and then under my ass, "that there won't be any more dates, not for either of us."

"I do not date," I whispered, moving on the fingers sliding over my crease.

His chuckle was deep and husky, and I felt it sparking over my skin, like being outside right before a storm. "Well, you won't be doing anything with anyone but me going forward, so the only dates you have to worry about will be our alternating ideas of fun."

"We don't have alternatin' ideas," I assured him. "As long as I'm with you, I always have a good time."

"That's a very romantic thing to say," he said, brushing his nose across my cheek as he grabbed my ass hard.

"Could you please drive to?—"

"You should see your eyes right now," he murmured. "They are so dark and beautiful, and you're all flushed, and your lips are?—"

"Please," I implored him. "Make the car go."

"I will make the car go," he promised, his smile huge. "Man, you are out of it, and I love that it's because of me."

"Everythin' is always because of you."

"I have no idea how I missed that."

I shrugged. "It's because you saw me as a friend, nothin' more."

"That's not true at all. I think I rationalized all your attention as you having to watch me like you did because I was your partner. Forgive me for being stupid."

"Well, again, as we've said before, we've both been dumb where the other person was concerned. The good news is, we're both fast learners."

"That we are," he agreed.

Walking up the flights of stairs to my fifth-floor apartment, we arrived on the fourth to loud music and people everywhere. It was nice. All five apartments with their doors open and people going in and out. When I moved in, the manager had offered me a place on what he called the "fun floor," but I declined. I wasn't there enough to socialize with my neighbors, but I could see the appeal.

"This reminds me of dorm parties in college," Lang said from behind me.

It did, yes.

When we were almost to the next set of stairs, snaking between people, saying pardon me and excuse me over and over, I got stopped by someone taking hold of my bicep. Turning, I found a familiar-looking blond guy I couldn't place, who appeared to belong on the cover of a surfing magazine.

"Hey," he said, and weirdly, tightened his grip on me. "I know you. We go to the same gym."

It was still early, only six thirty now, which was not, to me, the normal time most people were wasted, but from how glassy his eyes were and how big his smile was, I was thinking he was trashed.

"Okay," I said, peeling his fingers off me.

But when I tried to walk by, he grabbed my arm again, even tighter. "Don't blow me off," he said, chuckling. "I've been waiting to talk to you since I asked around and a friend of mine said you lived in this building."

I think he meant for that to seem nice, but all I was getting were stalker vibes. "Look, man, I'm just tryin' to get to my apartment," I told him, and when I took his hand off me the second time, I eased him back, gently but firmly, so he'd get the message. "I don't want any trouble with you."

"But I want to have trouble with you," he said, his smile more of a leer, looking me up and down. "I saw you screwing some guy outside the showers a couple months back, and I wanted to join. Don't play hard to get now. Come to my place with me, it's right downstairs. I even have some Molly."

Oh yeah, I felt classy.

Groaning, I moved again to go around him, but he took hold of my shirt. I was getting annoyed. "Man, I am so not the guy you want to mess with right?—"

"I will give you a whole fucking second to get your hand off him," Lang warned from behind me, already close but now right there, at my shoulder, looming, with a tone of voice I'd never heard before. And he wasn't loud, and he didn't sound mean, but there was no mistaking the absolute threat in his words. The guy stared at my partner a moment and then let me go, spun around, and disappeared into the apartment behind him.

I rounded on Lang. "You realize I can handle myself, right? You didn't need to threaten that poor drunk guy."

He nodded. "I do. I count on it. But no one gets to put their hands on you, and especially not three times because they saw you screwing some guy at the gym."

"Yeah," I said, exhaling, then started up the stairs. "Not one of my finer moments."

"Do you even remember Shower Guy?"

"Not really," I said, chuckling, reaching my floor. "But unlike for you, names are sometimes optional. Although I will say, I've been goin' through a dry spell."

"Have you?" he asked, hand on my shoulder as we walked down the hallway. "Why do you think that is?"

"Why do I think that is?" I turned to look at him. "Because between you and the job, when do I have time to do anythin'? That double date you had with Malik last night was the first one you've had in over three weeks. Neither of us has been doin' much datin' lately—or in my case, fuckin'."

"That's true," he affirmed as we reached my door. "We've both been only seeing each other, no one else."

"That's kinda funny, ain't it?"

As soon as I opened my door, he shoved me through, slammed it behind him, then put me face-first up against it, pinning me there, his chest to my back.

"There will be no more fucking nameless guys for you," he rumbled in my ear. "Are you getting that? Are you hearing me?"

"Of course not," I swore. "It's us now, me and you. Don't be stupid."

"Take off your shoes," he ordered, roughly turning me around to face him, his hands on the front of my dress shirt, yanking it out of my pants before going to work on the buttons. "And pass me the gun and holster."

I toed off my shoes, that were actually his, as fast as I could and then complied with the rest of his order, bending over to unbuckle the strap, then straightening up and handing it over. He took it from me, and then put his hand flat on my chest, pressing me back against the door.

"Stay."

"Why would I move?" I asked, sounding as breathless as I felt.

Quickly, he put the holstered gun on the crappy coffee table that came with the apartment and was back in seconds.

"I really loved you wearing my clothes today," he told me, his hot gaze locked with mine. "It felt good seeing things of mine next to your skin."

"You liked that, did you?"

"Very much," he answered, yanking my shirt off and letting it fall to the floor. "I want the pants off while I go get your lube."

"You don't even?—"

"I know where everything is," he declared, leaving me to stare after him.

"I have a bedroom," I called out as I unbelted, unbuttoned, and unzipped before shoving my briefs and pants to my knees in one go. "Do you maybe want me to go there?"

"No," he said, sauntering back, and the moment he reached me, I was spun around and again pinned face-first against my front door. "I mean, you fuck outside showers, so what the hell do you need a bed for?"

I smiled against the hardwood surface as I heard him open the lube. "You seem upset."

"You just give yourself away to anyone who will take you? Is that what you do?"

"I—oh," I mewled as he roughly screwed two thick, lubed fingers into my ass. It felt amazing, the exact amount of sting I liked before my pleasure. He was relentless with the press and stretch, and my cock hardened fast. He was manhandling me, and that was perfect.

"Answer," he barked at me.

"I forgot the question," I moaned as he added a third finger. The twinge in my ass hurt only for a moment before becoming an ache for more.

"I said, you fucked everyone," he rasped, taking my cock in his lubed hand and stroking me fast and dirty at the same time his fingers in my ass pushed in deeper and harder. "Is that right? Do I have it correct?"

"Yes," I replied, bucking in his tight grip, pushing forward into his hand and then back onto his fingers. "I was with a lot of men."

"Which has nothing to do with me except for this." He released my shaft, grabbed hold of my hip with one hand, and guided the head of his cock to my entrance with the other. "You're with me now, and I don't share."

"Which is all I ever wanted, so can we be done with you bein' mad?"

"Not mad," he insisted as he parted my cheeks with the wide head of his cock and thrust inside me. "Just needing to be clear."

It hurt for several oversensitized moments, he was thick and long, but he waited, letting my muscles stretch around him and then tighten.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes," I husked.

"Then?" he prodded, not angry, but it was a near thing as he began to move.

"What do you need me to be clear about?" I managed to get out as his hand slipped around my cock, stroking sensuously, languorously, providing a counterpoint to the club filling my channel, sliding forward and back, the angle of his entry, the burn, and his powerful strokes almost more than I could bear.

"The fact that I'm a very possessive man," he confirmed smugly as my muscles, which had fought and resisted his intrusion, loosened enough so I was impaled, suddenly, his dick completely buried in my ass.

I cried out but he didn't check if he hurt me, didn't ask stupid questions because he knew better. Knew me. This man would never hurt me in any way, and most of all, he was settling something deep in my chest with his words.

"You're mine," he said low and guttural as he wrapped me in his arms, all of him held inside my body as I let myself relax into his care. "I finally figured out who I needed to put my life in balance. My career, my family, my goals, all of it was on track, only one thing missing."

One hand moved to my throat, tipping my head back, gripping tight, as the other slid first to my abdomen, pressing me back just that much further on his cock, and then taking me in hand, stroking from balls to head.

" You were missing. My best friend, in my life, living with me, always at my side, and no one else gets any part of you anymore. Ever."

To others, it might seem insane, his words too much, scary even, but this was brand-new between us. Five years from now, even one year from now, he'd be certain of us, secure in our lives wrapped around one another, in our commitment to each other, and all this would be remembered bluster. Now, his actions, his words, let me know that along with protecting me, keeping me safe while we were out there in the world, and sane, never letting my memories, my demons strip me of my power or integrity, he would be more. Because now, he would be my home, and most of all, let me know I was loved. Let me know I was his.

I belonged to Lang and he had always, I realized, treated me like I did, but now he was showing me by taking absolute possession of my body.

When he slid free, I gasped at how fast it was but barely had enough time to process before I was walked a few feet to the kitchen and bent across the table, arms stretched out so I could reach the opposite side and hold on.

He rammed back inside me, having added a bit more lube to his dick, enough to make the thrust easy, the stroke a glide that immediately became a new pounding, ceaseless rhythm, in and out as he showed me that I was unquestionably, his.

"Only I get to kiss you, fuck you, hold you, and make you scream," he huffed out, his voice thick and gruff as he pegged my gland, and I did, in fact, roar his name.

He felt so good, and I was so full, the pistoning deep and fast, driving to my core with each thrust, the table taking my weight and his rutting without a shift or a sound.

"This table is coming with you to my house," he announced, and I smiled, as I'd been thinking the same thing. "Now get up on it because I want to see you come apart."

Again he withdrew, and I scrambled onto my table, and lay down so I was staring up at him. Immediately, he took hold of my thighs, lifting them in the air as he plunged back inside my hole, enjoying me splayed out for him if his gasp was any indication.

"Grab your dick and make yourself come. I want to see."

My strokes were sloppy, without a discernible pattern, but it was impossible to create my own rhythm with him hammering into me and the splintering electric shocks that was causing. "Don't stop," I begged, not caring that I sounded needy and desperate, only the sizzling heat rolling through my body, slithering from my tightened balls to the base of my spine, of any real consideration.

"You feel so good," he husked, his hands behind my knees, holding tight as he stared down into my eyes. "I've decided I want to do this for the rest of my life."

"Sex makes people…stupid," I murmured, feeling my muscles clutching around him. "Please don't stop, just—Lang!"

"Please what?" His voice was brittle, on edge.

But I was done. There were no more words.

"Please what?" he demanded, louder, his eyes narrowed to slits of teak.

"I wanna be yours," I barely got out as my orgasm came roiling through me.

"You already are," he swore, losing himself in the hard pounding, spilling inside my body, both of us mindless in our release.

It took me several minutes to realize my legs were wrapped around his hips and he was bent over, lying on me, cheek pressed to my pectoral.

"I can hear your heart," he whispered.

I had no doubt, as it was trying to beat itself out of my chest.

"Next time," he began, his hands on my sides, stroking slowly up and down, "I'll have you ride me in your bed."

"Oh yeah?" I croaked out, my voice trying to work. "Will we make it there?"

"I…that guy made it clear how close I got to this not working out." He was quiet a moment, and took a quick breath. "Any one of those other clueless fuckers could have seen what a gift you are, stepped up their game, and made a play for your heart."

I was going to tell him that it wouldn't have mattered, that I was his from the first time he held me in the rain, but he chose that moment to lift up, gently unwrap my legs, and ease, with the utmost care, from my still clenching hole.

There was a gush of fluid I heard hit the floor, and his decadent chuckle made me smile as I looked up at him.

"Yeah, we need cleanup on aisle four over here," he said smugly, looking quite pleased with himself.

"You're givin' lord-of-the-manor vibes," I teased him, my feet now flat on the table, feeling like dessert or something he'd consumed.

"Well, yeah," he replied, grinning like crazy, gesturing at me. "You look utterly ravished, and I'm digging it."

I squinted up at him.

"No? Poor form?"

"Very," I mocked him, sitting up, ready to get off the table.

"Just wait a second," he ordered. "You're going to step down and slip in cum, and I do not want to tell Doyle that's the reason you have a concussion. The two of us would never live that down. Worst reason to go to the hospital ever."

"Doubtful," I argued as I sat up. "What about all those people who get things stuck up their ass?"

"True," he said, walking to the kitchen and grabbing one of my two dish towels that were draped over the oven handle. He gently wiped himself off before tucking his cock back into his briefs. Flipping the towel over his shoulder, he then grabbed an entire roll of paper towels from the holder and got under my sink, into the cabinet there, and emerged with cleaning spray. "But still, not a great look for you."

Only then, as he came striding back, open belt jingling as he walked, did I notice that his zipper was down, showing off his briefs, but other than that, he was still fully dressed.

"You didn't even take your clothes off?" I was flabbergasted.

"Did you see me take my clothes off?" he asked playfully.

"You still have your gun holster on?"

"I love how out of it you are."

"What the hell?" I asked as he knelt to spray the floor. "And you got cum all over one of my dish towels."

"That's what the washer is for, and you didn't see me leave it in the kitchen, did you?"

"I can't believe you did that."

"Oh calm down," he groused at me.

"What the hell was wrong with my bed?"

"I may have been a bit distraught," he confessed, and I watched as he sprayed the floor and then dragged paper towels through the bigger mess he'd made. "That guy touched you, and spat out all that shit, and this is brand-new. Us being…us," he said, tipping his head back to look up at me. "I felt like my heart was being squeezed right out of my chest."

Getting off the other side of the table, it was round but not huge, I returned with the garbage can and used the pedal to open the lid for him.

"Thanks," he said grumpily.

"My heart is all yours, Mr. Ross. No one else ever stood a chance. I was wastin' time with others because I couldn't have you."

He exhaled loudly, threw away a ton of used paper towels, wads of them, too many actually, and then stood up. "You could have had me any time you wanted."

"How would I have known that?"

"Don't you know everything about me?"

"Apparently I didn't, but I do now," I murmured.

"Yes," he said, and his eyes, as he looked at me, were warm.

I glanced away because it was a lot of honesty. "You better take me to Costco and buy me more supplies."

"I have lots at my place, so I can give you some. Or maybe since you're going to be spending lots of time with me, maybe don't worry about it."

I was quiet.

"Hey."

When my gaze met his, I found him staring. We were both having trouble and needed a reset. We had to get back to being us.

"Can we be done with you bein' worried and me bein' unsure?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. Let's be done."

"I know you," I said, reaching out to cup his cheek. "You know me. We're good."

"Yes," he said, inhaling a breath through his nose. "I was rougher with you than you were with me."

"You were," I agreed, drawing him forward, the two of us separated by the stupid thirteen-gallon garbage can.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I shook my head. "No, you did not. The beggin' and whinin' should have clued you in."

"Was that you?"

"Hard to have been anyone else."

He grunted.

"So, then, yes, I would very much like to ride you in my bed next time."

"Or my bed," he countered. "I mean, either or."

"Yes. Either or."

And now he was looking at me and I was looking right back.

"Would it be all right if we went to bed now and lied down?" he asked softly, stepping around the can to wrap me in his arms. "I would like to kiss you."

"I would like that," I told him. "And maybe you could drop the towel in the laundry basket on the way."

"Yeah, good call."