Carter slept until 10:30 am and woke up feeling like an actual person again. He really needed that long night of rest. So much sleep debt had accumulated during his Ibiza trip and then when he got back, he had that whole thing with Logan and hten the fire alarm.
He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom and thought back to two nights ago. He still couldn’t believe what happened.
Logan McMillan. In this room. On this bed. Blindfold, dog tag, a whole-ass insane production. Carter had spent three years looking at the guy in the gym and telling himself it was just admiration, which was a very polite word for *crush*. It was crazy that the first man Carter ever topped would be Logan fucking McMillan.
Then Logan had been under him, begging, shaking apart…acting like a little bitch…nothing like the proud, confident alpha male he’d known the past three years. That man didn’t seem like Logan McMillan at all. He had the same handsome face, sexy athletic body, perfect tight ass…but it was like inside, he was just a shell of himself…
Then that goddam fucking annoying-ass fire alarm that resulted in Carter staying up half the night.
A false one, it turned out, but nobody knew that when it started shrieking through the house at the exact worst moment. Carter had barely gotten his underwear on. Logan had gone pale and it seemed like the shock sobered him up a bit. By the time the firefighters finished inspecting every floor and finally left, a full hour later, Logan was gone.
No text. No note. No clothes in a pile. Carter found himself with just an empty bedroom that still smelled like sweat and cum.
Carter had texted. Then he’d texted again and hour later. Still no response. Carter got worried. That night he sat on the edge of his bed until two in the morning refreshing a thread that refused to turn blue.
The reply came at 2:00 a.m. on the dot. From Logan.
*Hey sorry for the delayed response. I’m okay. Back home. Thanks for tonight… This was a one time thing. We shouldn’t have done that. My fault. I’m sorry. Let’s not talk about this okay.*
Carter had read it three times. He was a bit taken aback, but he understood.
He was Logan’s boss’s kid. That was already a nightmare on paper. And Logan that night…the glassy eyes, the desperate begging, the way he’d slipped in and out of sentences.
Logan hadn’t seemed entirely sober. In fact, it was highly likely that Logan was high on some sort of drug. Carter wasn’t stupid. He knew something had been in Logan’s system. Of course the guy sober-up a few hours later, remember whose son he’d slept with, and try to put the lid back on.
A one-time thing. Carter dropped his phone onto his chest and exhaled.
Fine. He could do fine. He’d gotten what he’d wanted for years…I should be happy, Carter told himself. That was hot as hell. I’m glad it happened.
Then he remembered Brett. And Carter’s spirits lifted. Brett’s flight home was scheduled to land last night!
The thought hit like a switch. Excitement first, bright and immediate. Then an anxious little twist underneath it, because wanting something this badly always came with the possibility of walking downstairs and finding out the temperature had changed.
Brett was back home.
Carter sat up, heart doing a little flutter. He wanted to see him. Badly. He missed Brett so bad the past few days. Carter Hepburn had a little time to reflect over the past day or two…and he realized he’d developed feelings for Brett.
Carter had never been in love with anyone before. But he had come to the conclusion that the feelings Brett gave him had to be that.
It wasn’t because Brett had been the first man to penetrate him anally. The man that took his virginity. That night mattered. Of course it did. How could Carter forget the way Brett fucked him all night long. Slow at times, rough and brutal at others. Then tender, romantic aftercare. Carter had lost count of the number of loads his big brother planted inside his newly deflowered fuck-chute.
But the real feelings had landed the day after, in daylight, when they’d peeled off from the group and actually hit the town in Ibiza.
Carter fondly remembered Brett’s arm around his shoulders as they walked. The absentminded kiss to the top of Carter’s head in the middle of a crowded street, like it was allowed. The shivers that ran down Carter’s spine at the slightest touch—fingers at the small of his back, a hand on his nape steering him through a doorway. Brett pulling out his chair at lunch like they were on a date, and Carter sitting down with his face hot and his whole chest full of something he’d never had a name for.
Butterflies. Actual butterflies. He’d never felt that with anyone. Not with girls. Not even with Daniel.
Those eight hours had been the happiest of his life. Best morning, best afternoon, this easy golden stretch where Carter kept thinking *so this is what it’s supposed to feel like.* Like he’d stumbled into being in love and the universe had, unexpectedly, not immediately punished him for it.
Until what happened in the alley.
His stomach turned at the sudden remembrance. The cops. The rest of it. He shoved the memory away before it could bloom. That had happened. They’d gotten through it…together. Plus, Carter told himself optimistically, both of them had days now to process it and move on.
And now Brett was home.
Carter believed they could pick up where they’d left off. Not the ugly part. The afternoon part. The head-kissing, the holding hands, the quiet lovely lunches part. The rest of the summer could be that. All summer long, if Brett still wanted it. Carter wanted it enough for both of them.
Carter got out of bed with his pulse up, already listening for movement in the hall. Then he practically dashed over to Brett’s room.
The door was cracked. Nobody inside. The place looked exactly like it always did, which was to say like a Duke frat house had exploded and nobody had called a cleanup crew. Unmade bed. Dirty boxers on the floor (which Carter would admit he had picked up and sniffed a number of times in his life). A lacrosse stick crossed over a basketball like they were having an argument. Several pairs of expensive basketball sneakers. A couple posters of naked girls on the wall, glossy and shameless.
But no Brett. Carter’s stomach dipped. Then he saw the luggage. Duffel on the floor. Handle still tagged.
Brett was definitely home.
Carter took the stairs so fast he almost missed the last one. The living room opened up around that ridiculously large sofa Scott Hepburn paid too much for, and there he was.
Brett.
Sprawled on his back in loose white boxers and a loose white cutoff tank. All white cotton against tan skin. 6’3” stud just laying there with his hands behind his head like he was enjoying a bj from one of his bitches.
Broad shoulders, thick arms, a built chest the muscle tank flatterd. Brown hair a mess against the cushion. That tuft of curly chest hair poking out of the collar of the tank. Hands stacked behind his head, which pulled the tank up just enough to flash the dark hair in his armpits.
Carter’s brain supplied *he’s so sexy* and then *stop that* and then *sexy* again. He wished he could shove his nose in his brother’s bushy armpits and snuggle up there all day.
The footsteps did it. Brett’s blue eyes cracked open, groggy, unfocused, the particular confusion of a guy who’d been dead asleep ten seconds ago. He sat up, dazedly.
Carter didn’t care.
“Bro!!!” Carter yelled, already moving, and tackled him back into the sofa.
Brett let out a startled *oof*, then a warm chuckle that vibrated through Carter’s ribs. No hesitation. No weirdness. There was none of the awkwardness that gave Carter a bit of anxiety earlier.
Just his big brother, heavy and familiar and laughing, locking an arm around Carter’s neck and grinding his knuckles into his skull like they were fifteen again.
“There he is,” Brett said, voice scratchy with sleep. “Goooood to see you, lil buddy.”
Carter let himself get noogied. His face was in Brett’s chest and Brett smelled like clean laundry and last night’s travel and that faint gym-soap thing he’d always had, and Carter’s heart was doing the thing it had done in Ibiza when Brett pulled out his chair.
Carter held on a second longer than a tackle required, then pulled off.
Carter sat on the edge of the sofa while Brett layed back, stretched out, and relaxed again.
“Dude, so how was the rest of it?” Carter. “Last two nights. After I dipped.”
Brett scratched his chest through the white tank. “Wild, bro. Absolutely fuckin’ WILD.”
“Well, actually, first night, after you left to stay wherever the hell you stayed, I just… took it easy. Needed some quiet. Needed to—”
His voice dropped off. Not dramatic. Just gone, like he’d walked up to a door and decided not to open it. Like he had a momentary flashback to something dark and unpleasant.
Brett blinked, then brightened so fast it was almost jarring.
“But the last day, though. Duudddeee. Frickin Insane.” He laughed, already back. “The boys and I all went to this absolutely FIRE day party. It was sick.”
Brett continued, “Me and Oliver pulled two girls back to the villa. Absulute ROCKETS. Both of them. Like solid nines.”
Carter’s nodded as his eyes ran up and down Brett’s sexy body, checking him out secretly.
Brett was already laughing at the next part, one arm still behind his head, armpit hair on full display like he had no idea what it was doing to his brother.
“Bro, you won’t believe what happened next. Oliver’s girl had him so wound up he blew in like 2 minutes. Bro fucking premature jizzed, hahahah. Embarrassing.”
Brett chucked. “So she’s pissed at first, right? Then she walks over and realizes I’m still there…with the other chick…and suddenly it’s a….group project.” Brett’s blue eyes lit. “I’m telling ya…getting your dick sucked by two bitches at once is one of the most amazing feelings on earth. Especially when they start fighting over it.”
“Blew twice in an hour. Once on each girl’s face. Then that night one of them came back for seconds and I fucked her till the sun came up. Ran out of condoms after the second round, though…so….” He grimaced, then shrugged. “Hope she’s not pregnant. Man, Spanish girls are fucking freaks. We have to go back.”
Carter smiled. He made it reach his eyes.
The pang underneath it was sharp and stupid. Brett talking about girls on his dick with Carter like he’d already forgot about those amazing 8-hours that afternoon in Ibiza town.
He hid the jealousy. He’d gotten good at hiding things.
And anyway, it wasn’t like Carter had spent the gap being loyal. Luis. Marco. Daniel. Logan. He’d fucked around with four people since he’d last seen Brett. He didn’t get to be jealous. He didn’t get to act wounded on a sofa while his brother talked about two sexy Spanish sluts fighting over his cock.
“That’s disgusting,” Carter said, playfully “If she sucked your cock after blowing Oliver, that means your dicks touched.”
Brett laughed and flicked his ear. “You’re just mad you missed it, buddy.”
Then he sat up and swung his legs off the sofa. “Aight, I gotta shower,” he said. “It’s been like 24 hours.”
He stood, yawned, and scratched his balls through the loose white boxers without a shred of self-consciousness. Then he lifted his fingers, sniffed, and actually winced.
“Jesus. I reek down there.” He shook his head, already heading for the nearest bathroom that had a shower. “Don’t follow me into the bathroom, weirdo.”
Carter stayed a daybed near the bathroom and listened to the water start. He daydreamed about his “date” with Brett in Ibiza. The arm around his shoulders. The makeout session in the restaurant restroom. The night before, when Brett woke him three separate times to fuck him passionately.
10 minutes later Brett came back down in one of Scott’s spare robes, white, hanging open at the chest, brown hair wet and darker, the same color as the short beard shadowing his strong jaw. He looked older when wet. Handsomer. Carter’s stomach did the butterfly thing again, uninvited.
He stood up and hugged his older brother. A real hug, both arms, face turned into Brett’s shoulder.
“I really missed you,” Carter said.
Brett went stiff for half a second. Then he hugged back, awkward, a couple of solid thumps on Carter’s back like Carter had said something a little too sincere.
“Yeah, man. Missed you too. It’s been a weird-ass week.”
Carter didn’t let go when the hug should have ended. He pulled back just enough to get his hands on Brett’s face, thumbs against the short beard, and kissed him.
Tender. Sensual. Carter wanted to make love to Brett.
Brett exploded.
“WHAT THE FUCK BRO—”
The shove was instant. Both hands, hard, no warning. Carter’s back hit the plush rug on the floor and the air left him in a stupid little sound. Before he could sit up Brett kicked him in the ribs. Once. Hard. Then again, same spot, like he needed Carter to understand how pissed off he was.
Carter curled on his side, gasping.
Brett stood over him in the robe, wet hair dripping onto the collar, blue eyes wide and furious.
“Fuck off,” he said. “Don’t you ever do that again, you little shit.”
Then Brett turned around and walked away.
Six hours later….
In the afternoon, Carter’s ribs were still sore from the kick, but no bruising had formed.
He wasn’t thinking about that, though.
Carter was on his back on the giant daybed floating in the middle of Daniel Beaumont’s expensive pool. Naked, wrists bound above his head with Daniel’s white necktie. The knot wasn’t cruel. It was just tight enough. Enough that when Carter shifted, the silk whispered against the padded frame and reminded him he wasn’t going anywhere.
It was a partly cloudy afternoon. The light kept changing. One minute the water was hard, jewel blue. The next a cloud slid over and the whole pool went soft and pale. Palm shadows moved across Carter’s six-pax abs. His youthful, tan skin glistened. Sweat had matted the black hair in his armpits into dark little thickets.
Daniel was between his thighs. The 6’1 DILF was giving the tied-up 18-year old an expert blowjob. Carter told him he was having a bad day, so Daniel told Carter to sit back and let him do all the work. To prove he meant it, he tied Carters wrists with his necktie.
Carter felt so turned on at the sight of Daniel sucking him off. Salt-and-pepper hair, still neat. That chiseled, patrician face lowered over Carter’s lap, hazel eyes half-lidded, strong jaw working. His well-shaped nose was buried in Carter’s trimmed pubic bush, and he was sucking him like he had all afternoon and no intention of rushing the interesting part.
Carter moaned. Soft. Helpless in a way that aroused Daniel so.
Daniel’s broad, hairy chest brushed the insides of Carter’s thighs when he took him deeper. Salt-and-pepper hair on tanned pecs. Warm mouth. Slow, expert pressure. He didn’t bob like a kid trying to impress anyone. He just held Carter in his throat for a second, swallowed around him, then drew back until his lips shone around the head and did it again.
Carter’s fingers flexed above the knot.
“Danie…you’re fucking amazing at literally everything.”
Daniel made a low sound that might have been a laugh and stayed right where he was, nose in the dark trimmed hair, sucking Carter like the rest of the morning hadn’t happened. Brett’s foot and the *don’t you ever do that again* were on the other side of the hedge, in another life.
Carter let his head fall back and moaned again.
Daniel decided he wanted to finger the sexy football jock. He just wet two fingers in his mouth—slow, obscene, like he wanted Carter to watch—and reached down between Carter’s spread thighs. The first touch was almost nothing. A slick pad circling him. Then the tip of one finger pressed in, delicate, asking.
Carter’s breath broke.
Daniel’s mouth stayed on the 18-year-old stud’s cock the whole time. Hazel eyes flicked up once, checking, and then that well-shaped nose settled back into Carter’s trimmed bush as the finger slid home.
It was disgusting how good he was at this.
He found a rhythm that shouldn’t have been legal. Mouth sinking down as the finger eased in. Mouth drawing off as it curled. When he added the second finger it was so gradual Carter only noticed because his own moan went higher. Daniel stretched him open in tiny, patient increments, rubbing that spot from the inside while his throat worked the head of Carter’s cock in wet, shallow pulses.
Carter’s tied wrists jerked against the necktie. The daybed rocked. Sweat ran out of his black armpit hair and down the sides of his chest.
“Oh my god—Daniel—that’s—”
Daniel hummed around him. The vibration went straight down Carter’s spine and met the fingers halfway. Carter’s hips tried to chase both things at once and couldn’t. Every time he pushed up into Daniel’s mouth, the fingers crooked. Every time he sank down onto them, Daniel took him deeper, salt-and-pepper hair brushing Carter’s abs, wet sounds mixing with the lap of the pool.
It got worse. Better. Daniel stopped being polite about the angle and just *worked* him—two fingers stroking in a steady, filthy caress while his mouth went tight and slow and devastating. No rush. Just a confiendent, experienced man who knew exactly how a body came apart.
Carter went wild anyway.
He thrashed as much as the silk would let him. Head tipped back. Mouth open. Soft moans turning into broken ones, then into actual noise he would have been embarrassed about if he could think. His thighs shook around Daniel’s shoulders. His cock kicked on Daniel’s tongue. The trim bush at the base was wet with spit and sweat and Daniel’s nose stayed buried deep in his sweaty pubes.
“Please—please I’m—I’m gonna—”
Daniel came off him with a wet pop.
The fingers stayed. They just went still, pressed to that spot and refusing to move.
Carter made a wrecked, betrayed sound. His cock stood up shining, flushed, twitching in the open air, so close it hurt.
Daniel kissed the inside of his thigh, maddeningly gentle.
“Not yet,” he said, voice low. “You’re not done being a good boy.”
Carter strained against the necktie and laughed, helpless, almost sobbing with it.
Daniel smiled against his skin and put his mouth back on him…just the head, just enough to keep him insane…while those two fingers held him open and refused to finish the job.
Daniel kept the desperately horny teenage jock on the edge.
Not enough to come. Never quite enough. Two fingers working that spot in slow, mean little strokes while his other hand barely touched Carter’s cock—just a wet thumb at the head, a lazy circle, then nothing. Carter’s hips chased every withdrawal. He was getting so desperate. He wanted Daniel so bad.
“Kiss me,” he said. “Daddy... Please. Please kiss me.”
Daniel’s mouth was right there. Salt-and-pepper hair. Hazel eyes amused. He leaned in close enough that Carter felt the heat of his breath, then turned at the last second and kissed Carter’s jaw instead.
Carter actually whimpered.
“Please. I want your mouth. Dude, I need to taste you. I’m losing my mind. Kiss me. Fucking KISS me—”
Daniel went still, considering him.
Then he smiled.
“Open.”
Carter opened his pretty lips.
Daniel didn’t kiss him. He let a thick string of spit fall from his tongue straight onto Carter’s. Carter flinched, a flicker of suprise crossing his face, and then Daniel did it again, slower, a rope of saliva dropping slowly into the back of Carter’s mouth.
“Swallow.”
Carter obeyed.
Daniel’s fingers never stopped. Prostate. Cock. That cruel light caress. He shifted up Carter’s body, still between his thighs.
And he kept feeding drool to his obedient, tied-up boy. Spit first. Then the thicker stuff from the back of his throat, warm and slick, dripping off his tongue in long strands that Carter had to gulp to keep up with.
A minute of spit feeding. Then another.
Carter’s face got messy. What he missed ran from the corner of his mouth down his cheek, his jaw, into the black hair at his temple. It looked like he’d been cummed on. And he was still tied up. Still hard. Still getting his hole stroked from the inside like Daniel was winding a watch.
The third minute, Carter started getting into it. The fourth, he eagerly lifted his chin for it.
He drank. Open-mouthed, eager, throat working, a soft moan every time Daniel let another heavy string fall. Throat mucus hit his tongue and he swallowed that too, green eyes looking greedy with lust, tan chest heaving under the afternoon light.
“Thank me,” Daniel said quietly.
Carter didn’t hesitate.
“Thank you Daddy. Thank you for feeding me. Thank you for your drool. I’ll drink it all. I’ll drink whatever you give me.”
Daniel rewarded him.
He finally kissed him.
It was deep and filthy and unhurried, Daniel’s tongue chasing his own drool around Carter’s mouth, fingers still buried, hand still teasing the soaked head of Carter’s cock. Carter kissed back like he’d been starving for it, tied wrists straining, swallowing around Daniel’s tongue, moaning into the taste of him.
Daniel stopped being careful.
His fingers slammed in hard and fast, no more of that pretty circling, just a sudden, ruthless pump against Carter’s prostate while his mouth sealed over Carter’s. Carter screamed into the kiss.
“Mmmm….shittt—Daniel—oh shitt—oh my god—”
Daniel didn’t let him up for air. He fucked him with two fingers like he was trying to pull the orgasm out by force, wet slapping sounds like the slap of water against the daybed. Carter’s tied wrists yanked at the necktie. His moans went ragged, high, ugly with how close he was.
“Don’t stop—don’t STOP you bastard…. I’m gonna….I’m gonna come—Daddy—please—PleasePleasePlease—”
Daniel ripped his fingers out.
Carter sobbed into his torturer’s mouth. His cock stood up dark and dripping, one throb short of finishing, balls tight, whole body shaking in sexual frustration.
Daniel pulled back just enough to admire at him. Carter stared into the sexy daddy’s hazel eyes. Calm.
“Babe….you wanna taste your own shithole?”
Carter went scarlet. Bright, humiliating red, all the way down his throat. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mouth was still open from the kiss and nothing came out.
Daniel pulled his fingers out of the sexy 18-year-old boy’s asshole. His fingers looked clean. No streaks at all. Just wet with the spit he used as lube.
He shoved them into Carter’s mouth anyway.
“Suck,” Daniel said. “Worship my shitty fingers. Taste yourself. That’s what you taste like when you’re opened up and begging.”
Carter made a muffled sound and sucked. Automatic. Desperate. His face stayed red. This was so raunchy…so incredibly dirty.
“Come on, suck my fingers clean like you mean it,” Daniel taunted, “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
Daniel’s other hand wrapped around Carter’s cock and started stroking him, tight and fast, no more teasing.
“Thaaaat’s it. Good boy. Gooooooddd boyyyyy. Clean your filthy hole off my fingers. Good little slut boy. You like the taste of your own ass. Say it. You like sucking the fingers that were just inside your tight little shitter.”
Carter moaned around them, nodding, eyes wet, and then he came apart.
It hit him in hard, helpless jerks. He kept sucking through it, sloppy and loud, drool and whatever Daniel had put on his tongue running down his chin while his cock pulsed in Daniel’s fist and painted his own tan chest in thick, hot ropes. One across his abs. One up to his nipple. Another sliding into the sweat in the middle of his sternum. He convulsed, moaning around Daniel’s fingers, tied wrists straining, whole body trying to curl in and failing.
“Mmh—mmh—fuck—Daniel—”
Daniel stroked him through every pulse and kept his fingers on Carter’s tongue until Carter went limp, chest shining, mouth still obediently working.
“Good,” Daniel murmured. “You did well.”
Daniel dragged his palm through the cummy mess.
He spread it like lotion. Slow, sensual strokes over Carter’s tight abs, up the shallow groove of his sexy chest, over a nipple, down again along the lithe lines of that wide-receiver body.
Carter looked so sexy after he came. 18 years old. Six feet of nubile skin, still twitching from coming, black hair stuck to his forehead. The cum went thin and shiny on him. Every cut of muscle was coated in it.
Daniel looked at him like he was deciding where to start. He started jacking his own cock. Then he bent down and licked.
A thorough, unhurried cleaning. Flat of his tongue up the center of Carter’s stomach. A long stripe over the ridge of an ab. He sucked a smear off Carter’s pec, salt-and-pepper stubble rasping the wet skin, then went back for the line that had reached Carter’s throat. Carter moaned, oversensitive, wrists still bound in the white necktie, and Daniel made a low sound of approval and kept going.
His own cock was out. Thick. Seven inches. Veiny, that slight upward curve, salt-and-pepper pubes trimmed neat. Daniel stroked himself while he licked.
“Daniel…”
“Almost.”
He licked the last streak off Carter’s hip, stroked himself faster, then stopped with a hissed curse and reached for the lube on the edge of the daybed. One slick pass down those seven inches. Another. He pushed Carter’s thighs wider, pinned him by the hip and the tied wrists, and lined up.
The head pressed in.
Carter’s mouth opened on a pained sound.
“Ah—SHIT—you’re big—”
Daniel didn’t slam. He fed it to him slowly, inch by thick inch, that curve rubbing the place his fingers had already ruined. Carter took it. Tight. Hot. A sharp moan on every push, then a longer one when Daniel bottomed out and held there, hairy chest over Carter’s clean, spit-slick torso.
“That’s it,” Daniel murmured. “That’s it. Good boy.”
He barely got a rhythm.
Less than a minute. A few deep, rolling thrusts, the daybed rocking, blue water flashing at the edges, and Daniel’s hips stuttered. His forehead dropped to Carter’s.
“Take my load, boy.”
He came with a low, broken groan, buried to the hilt, seven inches pulsing inside Carter in long, heavy spurts. Carter moaned through the heat of it, still stretched, still tied, feeling every kick of Daniel finishing in him.
They stayed like that until their breathing evened out.
Daniel eased out of him carefully, kissed the inside of Carter’s knee, and reached up to work the necktie loose. The silk slithered off Carter’s wrists. Carter flexed his fingers and didn’t move. The daybed rocked. A cloud slid off the sun and the pool went bright again.
Daniel stretched out beside him on his side, one hand warm on Carter’s stomach, not going anywhere.
“All right,” he said. Quiet. Not prying, exactly. Just there. “You want to tell me what’s been sitting on you today? You shut it down earlier. I’m asking again.”
Carter watched the sky for a second. In the afterglow everything felt farther away. The kick. The harsh, *Don’t you ever do that again.* All that was a bit faded now.
Carter felt calm with Daniel. Safe, which was a stupid word for a naked afternoon in his neighbor’s pool, and also the only word that fit.
“I talked to him,” Carter said.
Daniel waited for Carter to elaborate.
“The guy who—the one I mentioned a bit the other night. Who took my virginity.” Carter’s ears went hot anyway. “I finally got to see him again. I’d been waiting days. I built it up in my head like an idiot. I thought things between us could turn into something…something more….I mean after that amazing night… no, not just that night. The day after, too. The way he was with me. I thought that was… I don’t know. Real.”
He swallowed.
“It wasn’t. He doesn’t feel the same way about me. At all.”
Daniel’s thumb moved once, a small brush on Carter’s skin.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Even though most middle-aged men would’ve probably thought Carter’s teenage drama problems were trivial and even annoying, Daniel listened intently, with genuine compassion.
“I feel so stupid,” Carter muttered. “I knew it was complicated from the start…I still let myself think I was special.”
“Wanting someone to meet you where you are isn’t stupid.” Daniel’s voice stayed even, hazel eyes stayed glued on Carter’s face. “You were honest with him. He didn’t want what you wanted. That hurts. It doesn’t make you naïve. It makes you a person.”
Carter’s throat tightened.
“You’re allowed to be disappointed,” Daniel continued. “You’re allowed to have wanted more than a night. And you’re allowed to lie here and feel wrecked about it. It mattered to you. That’s enough.”
Carter stared at him. Then he laughed once, quietly, and covered his face with his newly free hand.
“You’re really good at that.”
“At what.”
“Not making me feel like a child.”
Daniel leaned in and kissed his hair, nothing in it but kindness.
“You’re not a child,” he said. “You’re just having a bad day. Tell me the rest if you want. Or don’t. I’m here either way.”
The two men were quiet for a moment. Carter silently traced circles on Daniel’s chest hair.
“Is it someone I know?” Daniel asked.
Carter’s fingers paused on Daniel’s chest.
“Yes,” he said. Then, smaller: “But I’m not comfortable telling you his name.”
Daniel nodded once. He didn’t push. At least not out loud.
In his head, however, the list started anyway. Who could it be? A teacher? A coach? Someone from church, maybe. Another one of Scott’s friends? Someone close enough that Carter’s body language suggested saying the name aloud was dangerous.
Daniel wanted the rest of it so badly it surprised him. He wanted the identity man who’d gotten Carter’s first time and then been careless with what came after.
But he didn’t ask. He didn’t have a right to know.
He kissed gently on the lips instead. Then his forehead. Delicate. No heat in it. Just his mouth against damp black hair.
Daniel pulled Carter in closer.
Carter went easily. He tucked himself against Daniel’s side and turned his face into the hollow of Daniel’s arm, nose near his armpit, and inhaled. The scent was warm and clean and unmistakably masculine—skin, a little sweat from the afternoon, whatever expensive deodorant Daniel wore underneath it. Carter’s shoulders relaxed.
Daniel’s hand settled at the back of his neck and didn’t move.
They lay like that on the floating daybed while the clouds kept rearranging the light on the water for the next ten minutes. No talking. No questions. Just Carter breathing in Daniel’s warmth and Daniel embracing him, and the pool water making its gentle lapping sounds around them.
Carter closed his eyes. For the first time all day, he felt completely calm and safe.
Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story and continuing to share your comments. I love hearing what you all have to say. So many great ideas, even though I'm not able to incorporate most of them.
This chapter is a bit shorter than the other recent chapters, but I think it's a good change of pace. I've decided to remove the Scott/Logan storyline, at least for now, as it seems like the majority of readers were getting sick of reading about Logan's increasing humiliation. I might start it back up in a separate story, though, or pick it back up later in this one. I had initially planned a lot more Logan content, including scenes with multiple of his co-workers. However, I do think it makes more sense to give Logan his own story though. We'll see what happens.
I'm currently most horny thinking about various ways to progress Brett's storyline. For those of you who are into Brett, got any ideas of situations you'd like to see him in?
