Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NICHOLAS

The pizza arrives, and Clay and I move to the couch. His hair is still wet, and the candles cast dancing shadows on the walls.

It's Randy's old place, but strangely different, too. And maybe the surreal nature of it helps explain why I'm sitting here, internally reasoning out an entire sexual relationship with Clay.

Clay, who has been quite considerate, even when he's scowling at me. Clay who is passing through town, and doesn't believe in romance, anyway, making him unavailable for anything more.

He hands me a plate with a slice on it. "Good-looking pizza."

"It is," I agree. "The toppings change with the growing season. The little charred slices of asparagus and leek are my favorite right now."

He nods and takes a big bite of a slice before grumbling his pleasure, and the center of me quivers.

The idea of a purely sexual proposition here in town is both sneaky and exciting, and in a way, Clay could be a safe person. He's not going to turn around and gossip, so I'd enjoy a little reprieve from the neighborhood's peering eyes. And with swoony dates and romance off the table, it's an opportunity to try something casual, and see if I can still protect myself emotionally, too. I'm pretty sure I'm up for it.

Protecting myself from Clay the landlord, however, I'm not sure. The fact that he could ruin my business still hangs over my head. It makes this a particularly bad idea, I have to admit. If things took a turn for the worse, or Clay ran into some internalized homophobia, it could play out in our professional relationship, too.

Or memories of mutual blowjobs could endear him to the building and help convince him not to sell to a developer in the end. That also seems possible.

The more I learn to read Clay, the more I think he could be interested in something with me. He'd probably never come out and say it himself, although I get the impression he doesn't invite many people to use his shower. But I'm not quite confident enough in that assessment, yet, to do anything but smile and enjoy the fantasy where he isn't a threat to my livelihood.

Clay nods his head back. His heavy stubble is growing darker, approaching a beard, and it brings out the lines of his eyes. "Let me ask you something. What made Sue and Nance want to help me out today?"

I swallow the heavenly pizza. "They care about the property. And I guess they see that you're taking care of your building, which earns you some goodwill."

He nods, seemingly satisfied by that, and goes at his slice again.

"Sue's a master carpenter," I add. "She designed that house in the back and led the crew that built it. Banks wouldn't finance two unmarried women at the time, which is infuriating crap, but then they figured out a way to make it work in your grandpa's big backyard, and Sue built the most beautiful house in town."

"That's impressive. I plan to put the years in and make myself a master carpenter, too."

I nod. "I know it takes a lot of hours. Is that your big plan, after you sell the house?"

Clay finishes devouring his slice and wipes his hands roughly with a napkin. "Part of it. I'm going to use the money to start my own crew. Back in Missouri, I've been busting my ass for years and paying attention. I know what suppliers to use. Where the work is, where it isn't. And I've seen all the ways my old crew did things backward, cutting corners when they shouldn't have. I know I can do better than that, so I'm going to take the money, move to a little city not far from where I used to live, and set up shop." He swallows. "My old crew used me," he says evenly. "But I know I can do better."

"I'm sure you can," I tell him. "But I'm sorry your old crew used you, either way."

It's more than I've heard him talk at once before. Clay says everything definitively, with strength in his eyes. I can tell how serious he is about his dream. He's fully capable of moving back to Missouri and achieving this, and nothing is going to stop him.

It's impressive. It reminds me of when I was set on opening my shop, my vision the only thing that mattered.

Although when I express sympathy about his old crew using him, he does turn away, his eyes back to the ground as his hand rubs his knee.

This all means that Clay is definitely on his way out of here. He is going to sell the building and leave town as soon as possible, and there's nothing I can do to change that.

It's a ticking clock, reminding me that this is my chance. If I'm going to take a risk and proposition Clay, I don't have long to do it.

"You're investing in yourself," I tell him with a broad smile. "That's amazing. Congratulations."

"It puts you in a tough situation, I know," he says, "everything with the building being up in the air. But I promise I'm going to treat the place right while it's mine. Fix up what I can, leave it as good as possible for you."

"You're going to sell it," I tell him. "I understand that. And I hope you'll sell to an owner who cares about the building as much as you do."

He leans forward just slightly, moving toward my space. Clay is probably six feet tall, a few inches taller than me, and even sitting down, I can feel the difference.

"I'm not going to make any promises I can't keep," he says. "And you don't know me enough to trust me, anyway. But I don't intend to start my dream by ruining someone else's. Not if I can help it."

Although I'd prefer a total assurance that he's not going to ruin my business, I'm increasingly appreciating Clay's blunt style, and the honesty matters to me.

Offering a smile, I lean forward, too.

"No promises," I agree, and something shifts, the tension heightening as the words seem to take on a loaded meaning.

Clay doesn't pull away from me. His eyes search mine, and wordless questions pass between us.

"You don't have much time left in Allentown," I venture.

Clay pushes a hand through his hair. "You going to encourage me to hit up the gay bar again?"

I laugh. "Maybe not the gay bar. That doesn't quite seem your style. But since you bring it up..."

Clay scoffs. "Even if I wanted to," he says, eyes now toward the distance, "I wouldn't know the first place to start. And I definitely don't have time to figure shit like that out."

He's leaving the door open to the possibility. Everything feels charged, delicate and risky.

His gray eyes turn back to me.

I'm certain that if Clay didn't want this, he'd say so definitively.

"I suppose where you start depends on where you're trying to go," I tell him. "What specifically you're looking for." I swallow. "Who."

His gaze roams over my face, tracing across my lips before he draws them back, capturing my eyes directly. Clay's expression stays steady, and his voice rumbles.

"Didn't say I was looking for anyone," he says, but his eyes stay fixed there.

"I know you're not. But maybe you don't have to go looking."

Clay swallows, and I gather together the rest of my courage.

"If I'm totally off-base here," I say, "just tell me, and I won't bring it up again. But if you do want to experiment while you're in town, I think you and I could have fun." I let out a satisfied sigh, glad to have managed to spit it out. "What do you think?"

Clay swallows again.

"You want to fuck?" he asks slowly.

I laugh. "I mean, not exactly. At least not at first."

He shakes his head. "That's not what I mean. I mean, I didn't know you were interested in me."

"Only if you're interested, too," I say brightly. "And I'd be trusting you to not turn around and hold something against me as my landlord, so we'd have to progress carefully."

His brow furrows, and I can tell he hates the idea that he would do something like that. "I wouldn't," he says simply.

I arch an eyebrow, but don't say anything, giving Clay a chance to think.

"Us," he grumbles.

"I get that you don't have any experience," I tell him. "Even more reason to go slow. But it's not often I have a chance for some casual fun, and I certainly wouldn't mind taking our time. Learning what feels right together."

Something simmers in his eyes.

"You can think about it," I continue, but my voice falters as Clay keeps staring at me, devouring me. Something works through his expression, desire forming hard lines across his features.

"Oh," I say softly.

Before I can form another thought, Clay moves forward. His hand goes to my side, and he kisses me, his lips closing over mine. Pleasure washes over me at the sudden surprise, the sensation of his touch everywhere.

Recovering, I manage to join him, kissing back. His scruff scrapes my skin, and our tongues meet once, twice. Clay explores me, careful but not tentative, and I can feel him claiming his pleasure as he deepens the kiss.

My entire body comes alive, and I hum under my breath as I drag my hand over his broad chest.

When Clay finally pulls back, I gasp for breath.

"Wow," I say. "That's nice."

Clay pulls his eyes away, a little embarrassed for himself. "Didn't know I was going to do this tonight," he says.

"Me, either. But I liked it."

He grunts. "Yeah."

The conversation and sexual tension has me all worked up, and I'm sweaty and horny and definitely not thinking clearly.

But I slow myself down, breathing in the dim light.

"We can stop right here if you want. Give you time to think."

Clay frowns. His hand goes to my side again, and with smooth, firm pressure, he pushes me back onto the couch, getting above me properly.

"I don't like to second guess myself."

I grin, turned on by the power exchange between us. There's a spark from our dynamic in life that carries over here, too.

I bunch his shirt in my hand. "Good. Then kiss me again."

This time, what starts as a grunt turns into a low growl. Clay pulls me up and into his arms, taking me in another deep kiss. I tug on his shirt, bringing him down to the couch with me, and our bodies crash together as we make out.

Clay drags his hands up and down my abdomen, feeling me. The attention drives me wild, but it's nothing like the flutter that goes through me when he takes my face, cupping my cheek.

"Your mouth," he says as he looks at me. Clay drags his thumb down and over my bottom lip, feeling me. "You're so fucking soft."

I bite down lightly on his thumb. "And so hard."

Our bodies pressed together, I can feel his dick pulse in response. His erection is thick in his jeans, and when I move my hips, my hard cock rubs against his.

"Is that okay?" I ask, my mouth pressed to Clay's. I move my hips again, letting him feel what I'm talking about.

Clay's grip lands on my side. He opens his mouth, almost talks, but then takes me in another kiss instead, answering with his body.

I moan under my breath while we make out and dry hump, grinding our stiff heat together. We're still dressed, and I feel the soft cotton of his shirt, the worn denim that hugs his thighs, but also the hairy backs of his forearms and the warmth of his skin.

Clay kisses me harder, his confidence rising. I lose myself in the sensations, forgetting everything except for the electric pulse of desire and pleasure and need.

When we knock a cushion to the ground, I snap out of it and pull back, breaking the spell.

Panting heavily, I'm flushed, a little dizzy, and halfway to orgasming in my pants.

Clay leans back, catching his breath, too.

He furrows his brow. "Nicholas," he says, voice rough. He doesn't come up with any more words, but he doesn't have to. I understand everything from his eyes.

"Glad you liked it, too."

I grin. He's cute as hell right now, and I'd love to progress to actual nude frottage by candlelight. But I meant what I said earlier. We need to exercise some caution here, and I'd rather end on a high note and leave us both wanting more.

Which, based on the serious bulge in Clay's pants, seems to be a mutual desire.

"We should call it a night," I tell him.

Clay's brow stays tight, but he doesn't object. "Fine."

"And pick this up again soon?" I clarify. "After we've both had some time to sleep on it."

Clay nods. "Yeah. Sure. I'll, ah…." He pushes a hand through his hair and stands, recovering himself more. "Soon."

I stand and swipe a quick kiss across his lips, wanting the brush of his scruff one last time.

Before I cave to temptation and prolong the night, I make my exit, and whistle happily the whole way home.