Chapter Fourteen
Adler
Lots of people say lots of things about Adler Lockhart, most not good, and rightfully so. I know I can be an ass at times. Words fall out of me before I think about what they are or how they might impact someone. But sometimes… every once in a proverbial blue moon… I say the right thing at the right time. Me telling Layton that I loved him in return, yep, that was one of those right thing and right time deals. Mark it down, folks. It probably won’t happen too consistently. And not to toot my own horn, but what I did after we had that icy-cold moment of amazing was freaking stellar as well.
I took Layton to his place, because we needed to roll around in the fluffy greatness that was being in love with each other alone. I love Apollo, but knowing he’s pitter-pattering around while I’m trying to sex it up with my man isn’t conducive to romance. And tonight I was all about the romance. Layton was quiet, vulnerable, and I did my best to keep my inner setter on a short leash. While I wanted to leap on him, knock him down on the ground and lick his face for about eight hours, that wouldn’t fly. He needed a calmer lover tonight. He needed his lover to stroke and whisper soft words. He needed his lover to simply adore him. And that was what I planned to do for as long as he would let me.
We’d just gotten our coats off when I moved to his stereo. I popped out the last CD in the player, one of mine, and replaced it with one of his. When I turned, he had one fine dark eyebrow creeping up his forehead.
“I thought we were going to make out a bit,” he said. I nodded, then reached behind me to adjust the volume down a bit.
“We are. I’m going to show you just how much I love you.” I tugged my shirt over my head and dropped it to the floor.
“So you can have sex without that 80s power ballad CD rattling the windows? Good to know.” A teasing smile lifted one side of his mouth.
“Well, this won’t be the same as something from Cinderella, but I’ll manage,” I tossed out as “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons rolled out of the speakers. He’d just burned this CD the other night while I’d been reading some old autobiography about Mario Lemieux. “Come on over here.”
He moved to me slowly but not hesitantly, which was great. He trusted me. Nothing had ever made me feel more important than that. Being rich or a reasonably famous athlete didn’t even come close. Knowing that this man trusted and loved me? Hell, that made me glow inside. As I reached for him, I hoped he could see the love I felt for him radiating from me. Maybe if he couldn’t see it, he could feel it. I gently wrapped him in my arms, nuzzling his long neck as he settled into my embrace.
“You’re so perfect here, Layton,” I whispered over his jugular.
He wiggled closer, eager to press his erection into my hip bone. A soft moan left my lips. My hands skimmed his ribs, then danced over his lower back, settling on his firm ass. As much as I wanted to jerk him into me or throw him onto the couch, I did neither of those things. I wanted no trace of those fear feelings that crept up over him at times.
His reply was to run his hands over my chest. His fingers roamed over my pectorals. I just held his ass loosely, no pressure, allowing him to touch and gyrate as he wished. His hands went everywhere as we stood there in his living room, swaying ever so gently to Sia’s “Bird Set Free” which flowed into my consciousness, the lyrics a perfect representation of this man pressing soft kisses to my jaw as he melted in my arms.
“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, with a nip to my neck that made me weak and wanton.
He led and I followed, my fingers between his. His tidy bedroom was familiar now. I’d spent all kinds of time there of late, rolling around with him, getting off with him, whispering under the covers with him. Layton turned and pulled me to him. He unzipped my pants, slid them down my legs, and helped me step out of them. He wiggled my briefs down over my hard-on, then to my ankles, balancing me as I stepped out one foot at a time then peeled off each sock, his gaze flickering over my body, touching everywhere.
“You okay so far?” I asked. He took me in hand. My cock leaped at his touch.
“Let’s go to bed,” he repeated, his voice as smoky as a wood fire.
He tugged me along to the wide bed by my cock, his eyes now locked with mine. We fell onto the silvery-blue comforter with him still gripping my prick. I threw my arms out to the sides and let Layton do what he wanted to me. I was his, and I wanted him empowered and eager and totally into this moment between us. He slid over me, fully dressed, and lowered his mouth to mine. Then he began teasing in that way that only he could. It was tempting beyond measure. He repeatedly flicked out his tongue along the seam of my mouth until I whimpered. Then he kissed me passionately, his hands fisted on either side of my head, his cock rolling over mine in a steady rhythm that was just this side of torture.
“Sweet shit,” I gasped when he broke the kiss and began working my neck with his teeth. Tender little bites that made me squirm and hiss. He nibbled one nipple then the other, sucked a bit of belly skin between his nice white teeth and suckled, then came back to my mouth. He did that several times.
“Layton, God.”
“You okay?” he asked between sucking bites along my hip bone. My cock rested by his cheek. All he’d have to do was turn his head to suck my dick into his mouth. My hips flicked upward as I tried to entice him to do just that.
“Are you?” That was paramount.
“Yeah, I’m loving this. I love you.” His pewter eyes locked with mine. I fisted the bedding as I fought the need to toss him onto his back and get inside him. That might never happen, and I was cool with it. More than cool with it. Still, the instinctual drive to bury myself deep within the person I loved was always kicking around in my skull unbidden.
“Love you too.”
He slithered from the bed and stripped. I watched, my fingers wound in his bedspread, my heart thudding against my ribs, and my cock ready for whatever he wanted from it. When he was nude, he stood at the edge of the bed, looking at me, the head of his prick slick with precum.
“Can you slide around?” He made a circular motion with his finger.
I slid so fast it was a wonder sparks didn’t fly from my ass as it zoomed across his comforter. He dropped one knee beside my ear. His dick bounced off my nose. I tried to give it a quick lap, but it bobbed out of tongue-reach.
“Oh shit, Layton, this is… I can’t do words about how glorious this is right now,” I said as he settled over me, his mouth dropping over my cock as his prick grazed my cheek. “Ah fuck,” I groaned as hot and wet surrounded me.
I turned my head and sucked the head of his cock into my mouth. His body trembled as he pulled in a shaky breath around my prick. He sucked roughly, getting me to the edge in no time. I had to get him there too, fast, because this had to end with both of us hitting a climax at the same time. I ran my index finger through the spittle coating his cock, then pressed into his ass, just to the first knuckle.
He mumbled something, but since his mouth was full of my dick, what he said was hard to understand. Didn’t matter. I knew he liked what was going on, because he pressed back onto that finger and rotated his hips. A few taps of his prostate, and he was there on the cusp with me. He pulled off when my ass left the bed, and finished me by hand. I grabbed one sweet ass cheek and pulled him downward, choking a bit when he bucked and pumped during his orgasm.
“Ah, ah, oh hell…” Layton gasped as he continued to stroke me, milking every drop before stopping.
I spent all kinds of time cleaning off his cock with my tongue before he tossed a leg over my head and flopped to the bed on his back. I lay there winded for a second, then pushed up and looked at him. His eyes were closed, his chin and chest laced with semen. He looked utterly blissed out.
“This is the best New Year ever.”
I scrabbled around on the bed. He cracked an eye open to see what I was doing. “You think so?” I asked before I dropped down beside him and ran a finger through a few dots of spunk drying on his chest.
“I know so.”
That made me incredibly happy. “I’m crazy in love with you, Layton.”
He threw his arms around my neck and kissed me with wild passion. “You have to be crazy to be in love with me. I’m a fucking train wreck, Ad.”
“Good thing we work for the Railers, then. See what I did there? Railers and trains and… sorry. Really sorry, the bad joke filter slipped or something.”
He blinked at the stupidity of my comment. Then he laughed, and it was the most glorious thing I’d ever heard. Well, right after the sound of him saying he loved me, of course.
* * * * *
When I woke up the next morning, Layton was tight to my back, his arm resting on my hip, one leg between mine. It was so nice I just rested there for a few minutes, enjoying the weight of him pressed to me as well as the smell of sex and man that filled the bedroom. The alarm on my phone went off. Cursing under my breath, I slithered out from under him, found my cell in my pants pocket, and turned the damn thing off.
“Maybe June sometime,” Layton mumbled. I snorted, tossed the covers over his tempting body, and jumped into the shower.
I had morning skate in about two hours, and a game tonight. Then we were jetting up to Boston to play Brady Rowe and his big, bad boys. Tennant was all kinds of pumped. After the Boston game, we’d jump to Pittsburgh for the first of a back-to-back that would find us playing in Harrisburg the next night against Pittsburgh again. Knowing I’d be gone for the best part of a week, I wanted to make sure this morning was extra special, to match the extra-specialness of last night.
I decided to cook.
It couldn’t be that hard, right? I mean, you just throw eggs into a pan and toss some bread into the toaster. Voila! Breakfast. It wasn’t like I was making something fancy like Apollo made all the time. I hustled around, because time was key. I had to get home, grab a suit, and haul it to the barn. Maybe I should bring some clothes over here. I pondered on that as I slapped some butter into a pan that I’d found in the dishwasher. Just a couple of suits and some casual stuff. I was here just about all the time and this running home for clean underwear was a pain in the ass. I’d think on it while on the road.
The butter in the pan sizzled. “Cool,” I muttered, then went to my phone for some tunes. I was feeling all kinds of great, so no soft or sad shit. Rick Astley blasted forth and all was good in the world. I danced across the kitchen as Rick pledged never to give his girl up. Dropping four slices into the toaster, I sang along with Rick, because I felt the same way. I’d never make Layton cry, or lie to him, or say goodbye to him.
“The butter’s burning,” Layton shouted over Rick.
I spun from the toaster. He nodded his rumpled head at the stove. I stopped dancing and grinned.
“You look amazing this morning,” I told him.
A shy smile tugged at his lush mouth. Wearing nothing but some baggy lounge pants that rode low on his lean hips, the man was the picture of disheveled, well-loved sexiness. And fuck me, but that thin line of dark hair leading into his waistband was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. I needed to lick it.
“Thanks. The butter is still burning.”
I threw the frying pan a look. Smoke was curling upward.
“And that’s not good?”
Layton rolled those gray eyes theatrically, then pattered to the stove and turned down the flame. Robert Palmer started singing. I wiggled my way to the man at the stove, kissed him on the back of the neck, then slipped my arms around him.
“I’m all kinds of addicted to your love,” I purred by his ear as he cracked a few eggs into the brown butter in the pan. Hands on his hips, I moved him back and forth to the steady beat. He laughed again, then began moving on his own. My life could not possibly get any better.
“My mother listens to this type of music,” he said while scrambling our eggs.
“You love it and you know it. Just look at your backside moving.” I lapped at his shoulder where it joined his neck.
“You’re doing that.” I removed my hands from his hips and his ass kept moving. “Shit, you’ve infected me with Rick Astley.”
“The love of the 80s is strong in this one,” I chuckled beside his ear. He turned in my arms, his eyes light and playful. He kissed me long and deep. I gathered him close as his tongue slipped and curled around mine.
“The love of Adler Lockhart is strong in this one,” he whispered when the kiss ended.
“You literally just killed me a thousand times right there. God, I adore you.” I covered his mouth with mine until the smoke alarm went off.
We ate out and held hands. On the table where everyone could see. That was my idea, as was the two plates heaped high with French toast and vaguely burned eggs. Eating was hard. I kept getting lost in pewter eyes and those tender smiles across the table.
“I love you,” I told him as he buttered his stack of toast. “I love you and I want to come out.”
He laid his knife and fork down beside his plate and pinned me with a look. “Ad, are you sure? That’s a huge decision.”
“I’m sure. I want to tell the world I love you. I want to take you out and hold your hand and fill you up with French toast.”
“You can do that and not make a big public display of things.” Our server came back with more coffee. We got our cups topped off without ever looking away from each other.
“Don’t you want me to come out? Are you worried about how it will impact you? Is it freaking you out? I won't come out if it’s ticking bad boxes for you,” I said after he went off to fill other empty mugs.
“Adler, it’s not that. I’m fine with whatever you want to do. I want you to be out if you want to be out, but I think you might be swept up in the feelings we have for each other.” His gaze darted to an older couple passing our booth. The pancake house was hopping. “You do tend to do that.”
“I don’t,” I argued. He gave me a stony look. “Okay, maybe I do let my emotions carry me along at times, but this isn’t one of those times.”
Ah, there was that smile. It was so pretty. “Tell you what. Take this week away to think about it. Don’t be hasty.”
“I don’t ever do hasty things and I will prove it to you. Don’t make that face.”
“Adler, your picture is next to the word ‘impulsive’ in the dictionary.”
“No, it is not.” Okay, it totally was, but I wasn’t backing down on this. “I’ll think about it while I’m on the road with the team. When I come back I’ll still feel the same way.”
“That’s fair. Now eat your breakfast.” He waved his fork at my food as if the discussion was over. “We have to get you to the arena in thirty minutes or you’ll be late for morning skate.”
“I’m not impulsive all that much,” I mumbled, and sawed at my pile of French toast.
Layton said something under his breath that had the words “setter” and “impetuous” in it. The rest was lost because I opted out of listening. I’d show him. Just you watch. I’d be Mr. Not Impulsive. I could do that for a week.
* * * * *
I burst into Layton’s office as soon as we got back from Pittsburgh. His gray eyes shone with pleasure when he looked up and saw me taking up all his office space.
“Hey babe, look at this!” I wrenched off my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt, removed my tie, and tugged my shirt down off my shoulder to show him the tattoo I’d got while in Boston. “It’s a Pokémon because I joined the Railers Pokémon group.” I wiggled my shoulder to get him to say something and to make Arcanine dance.
“Uh,” he said, then laid his pen—the one I’d bought him—down on his blotter. “Since when do you play Pokémon?”
“Well, I don’t yet, but I’m going to. And all the other guys in the group have inkwork and they said if I was part of the group then I needed a tat. Sweet, huh?”
He was fighting back a smile. “So let me get this right. You got this tattoo on a whim because someone said you should, even though you’ve never played this game in your life?”
I tugged my shirt up to cover the yellow creature sitting high on my left biceps. “Mostly.”
“And you still maintain that you’re not impulsive at all?”
I shoved my tie into the front pocket of my pants. “When you say it like that, it sounds a little rash.”
The laugh broke free. I loved making him happy. If a tattoo did that, I’d be inked from asshole to ears within a year. “I really missed all your spur-of-the-moment Adlerness.”
I bumped the door shut with my ass. The sassy smirk never left his mouth. The mouth that badly needed to be kissed. By me.
“You should get one that matches mine. Oh, here’s an idea. We both get Arcanine on our arms, then we just parade around town with our biceps out. People see it, do the two and two makes four, and we’re out.”
“First off, I am not getting a tattoo. You can forget that idea. Secondly, it’s late January in Pennsylvania. Your new cat ink would get frostbitten.”
“I don’t think he’s a cat. I’m not sure what he is. A dog, I think.” I peeked into my shirt at the tattoo. “He’s cute, though. And I’m not Tennant Rowe. I can handle the cold. Can I kiss you here in your office, or is that not professional?”
“I think you and I left professional in the dust.”
I leaned on the closed door, scooted down a few inches, and waited. My man rose from his seat behind his desk, slowly made his way around all the furniture, and was finally pressed tight against my chest, his hands raking through my hair.
“You’re so ginger.”
“You so missed me.”
His fingers moved softly over my scalp. “Yeah, I so did.”
He kissed me in a way that was so unprofessional but incredibly hot.