Chapter 7
Clay
I wake up with the taste of stale whiskey in my mouth and a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.
I groan and press the palms of my hands against my eyes.
I can’t believe I told Max about my kink last night. He must think I’m a total freak now. He’s probably disgusted by me or laughing behind my back. Fuck, I hate myself so much. Max is going to kick me out and never talk to me again. Then he’s going to tell everyone what a freak I am.
I grab my phone to check the time and notice a missed text from Beck.
Beck: I’m running late this morning, so I won’t have time for morning yoga before my classes.
Clay: You’re running behind? Color me shocked lol
Beck: *gives you the middle finger* It’s not my fault; SOMEONE woke up and begged for morning sex
Clay: That someone was you, wasn’t it?
Beck: Totally ;) but it’s not my fault that Gage is the sexiest, most perfect man alive, and I want to spend every second wrapped around him.
Clay: TMI dude. Have a good morning; see you in a few hours.
I stretch and groan again. This is one of the main reasons I rarely drink; my poor dehydrated muscles get way too tight. And if Beck is blowing me off for morning yoga, that means I can do it in the peace of my living room instead of at the studio.
I roll out of bed and tug on a pair of yoga pants and a red V-neck t-shirt and then I run my fingers through my hair. I grab my yoga mat from my closet, my iPod from my dresser, and then I head into the living room.
I roll out my mat and pop in my earbuds. I start with Downward Dog to get a good stretch of my back and arms. I wish like hell I was sore from being tied up.
My stomach clenches at the thought, and heat rolls through my body.
I shake off the images because doing yoga with an erection isn’t ideal. Then I move into my next pose, this one a little more complicated and better to loosen my stiff muscles.
Max
I wake up feeling strangely off balance. It may be the hangover, or possibly the shit going down with Jess, but something else is nagging in the back of my mind. It’s like a dream you can’t quite remember after you wake up.
I reach under the covers and lazily cup my epic morning erection. It must’ve been a damn hot dream I can’t remember.
Images of smooth flesh dance behind my eyelids. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a woman in my bed; that’s the problem.
So why did I turn down the babe with the motorcycle the other day? It doesn’t make any sense how I can be this damn horny and fail to get excited by a beautiful woman giving me her number.
Maybe I need to stop being so hung up on instant sparks and just try to get back on the horse.
My alarm starts sounding from my phone, so I pull my hand off my dick and roll out of bed with a groan. I’m too groggy to be bothered with throwing on anything other than a pair of boxers to head to the kitchen to start coffee before I take a shower. Clay isn’t usually up by now anyway, and even if he is, I don’t care about him seeing me nearly naked.
I stumble out of my bedroom and head for the kitchen. But when I cut through the living room, I stop dead in my tracks: my stomach bottoms out, and my heart jumps into my throat.
Clay is on his stomach with his hands wrapped around both ankles, stretching his legs to touch his head.
And that’s when I remember the conversation we had last night about Clay being into bondage.
“Max, please,” An echo of Clay’s pleas in my dream sounds in my mind and nearly knocks me on my ass.
I stand there mesmerized as Clay releases his ankles and lays flat for a few seconds, just watching his back rise and fall with each measured breath.
Of their own volition, my eyes roam over the hard lines of Clay’s frame, and then for a just a second over his round ass. I can almost imagine what those taut globes would feel like under my hands.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I draw in a sharp breath and whip around to flee the room before Clay can notice me standing there, watching him with a tent in the front of my boxers.
I sprint to the kitchen, my chest heaving and my mind spinning like tires stuck in the mud.
I did not just get a boner for Clay, right? It’s not possible. I’m straight. I’ve always been straight.
I don’t have anything against gay dudes; hell, Clay is my favorite person on the damn planet save for Gigi. But I like women. I like their soft curves and sweet smell. I like smooth skin and long, fruity scented hair. I am straight.
My hands are shaking as I set about making coffee. Something routine and soothing that grounds me in who I am and what my life is.
Clay is my best friend, my bro. You don’t just wake up one day at the age of thirty-two and suddenly want to bone your bro.
I had a weird dream, and I’m hungover; that’s all. And the idea of bondage is hot. That has nothing to do with Clay; he’s just the one who happened to mention it to me, and now my brain is equating the two.
“Oh hey, I didn’t hear you get up. Are you feeling as rough as I am this morning?” Clay asks, coming into the kitchen behind me.
I startle and nearly spill the water as I pour it into the coffee maker.
“Yeah, real rough,” I agree in a gruff voice, my pulse pounding loudly in my ears.
“You okay?” Clay asks, likely noticing the way my hands tremble as I press the button to start coffee.
“Fine. I’m going to jump in the shower.” I force a smile and slip past Clay, trying not to notice the confused and worried look in his expressive brown eyes.
In the bathroom, I crank the knob on the shower to the hottest setting and strip out of my clothes, leaving them piled on the floor.
I step under the scalding stream and close my eyes to picture a motorcycle engine, and then I mentally take it apart and rebuild it in my mind until I start to feel myself centered and even again. I’m still the guy who loves motorcycles and his daughter. I’m still the guy who enjoys women but was never much of a skirt chaser. I’m still the guy with a best friend I can count on in all things. I’m still me.
I rinse the soap off my body, refusing to linger on my still semi-erect cock, and then I shut off the water and reach for a towel.
See? A shower was all I needed to feel like myself again. My brain was a little scrambled this morning, no big deal.
With a towel secure around my waist, I step out of the bathroom cautiously, listening for Clay.
The house seems to be silent, and I let out the breath I was holding and hustle down the hall to my room.
I toss my towel onto the bed and quickly grab a pair of boxers and jeans from my dresser and tug them on before my dick can get any more crazy ideas.
After I tug a shirt over my head and run my fingers through my damp hair, I realize that I was a complete dick to Clay this morning. He was nervous to tell me about his kink last night, and this morning, I probably gave him the impression that I’m freaked out about it.
I shove my phone into my pocket and head down the hall toward Clay’s room to see if he’s still home, so I can apologize.
I find his door open and his room empty, and my shoulders sag. I’ll have to make it up to him tonight and assure him that no matter what he gets off on, it’s not going to change our friendship.
I turn to leave when something in his open closet catches my eye.
I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s an invasion of privacy. But I can’t stop my feet from carrying me the few feet closer to get a better look.
After what he told me last night, it’s no surprise to find several black ropes hanging beside his clothes. But for some reason, the sight makes my breath catch and my cock thicken against my thigh.
With a trembling hand, I reach out and run a single finger over the length of the rope. So soft to the touch. I take one in my hand and wrap it briefly around my fist, and something deep inside me clicks into place.
My cock is hard and throbbing in the confines of my jeans now as images flash through my mind of a petite body bound and laid out just for me to play with and bring pleasure to.
I drop the rope and try to shake it off.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something lying on the floor just inside the closet. It looks like a photograph. I know I shouldn’t look. I don’t want to invade his privacy. But, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself reaching for the item.
My fingers glide over the smooth surface of the picture, and as I take in the image, my hands start to tremble.
The picture is of Clay. He looks like he’s about ten years younger here, his hair a bit longer, and his limbs a little more gangly with less muscle. But Clay’s adorable youth isn’t the most notable thing about this picture. That element is the same black rope that I just had in my hands. It’s woven around Clay’s arms, binding them together. I trace my finger around the outline of the image, my breath huffing out between my lips. My eyes travel away from his bound hands to Clay’s face. My gut twists with an ache of confusing longing as I take in the look of pure ecstasy coloring his features.
I should put the photo back on the floor and walk away. But I can’t.
Holding the picture against my chest, I hurry to my room, open the top drawer of my dresser, and shove it inside before I can let my better judgment talk me out of it.
My entire body is strung tight and pulsing with need. Ten minutes before work isn’t the time to be contemplating new kinks. I let out a slow breath and rub my hands over my face. I need to get a grip. I have to get to work, and I can’t go in there with a raging hard-on.
My legs carry me to the bathroom where I turn on the cold water in the sink and then splash some on my face. I have to get a grip.
Clay
I pace outside of Studio One, counting the minutes until Beck’s class lets out.
Max is going to kick me out. I’m going to end up homeless. I’ll have to live in my car. I’ll never see Gigi again. Of course, I won’t see Gigi again; Max won’t let a perverted freak like me around his kid.
“Hey, whoa, take a deep breath.” I hear Beck’s voice from behind me, and I realize I’m clutching the wall and dragging in shallow breaths.
I close my eyes and force myself to pull in a deep breath, holding it in my lungs for a three count before slowly letting it out.
“Let’s go to your office,” Beck suggests after I manage a few more breaths.
“But...your class,” I argue.
“It’s over, sweetie. Come on.”
I let Beck lead me to my office and guide me to my chair. I feel like such an idiot when I see the concern in his expression.
“I’m fine, just catastrophic thoughts and all that fun stuff. I’ll be okay,” I assure him in spite of the fact that my hands are still shaking, and my heart is still jumping in my chest like a frog on crack.
“What happened?”
“Max is going to kick me out, and I’m going to be homeless.”
“What? Why would Max kick you out?” Beck asks. “Oh, is he going to move to New York instead of trying to fight for custody?”
“What? No. Wait, do you think he’s going to move to New York?” I gasp, my gut tightening. “Oh my god, he’s going to move to New York, and then I’ll never see him or Gigi ever again, and I’ll still be homeless.”
“Babe, you need to calm down,” Beck insists. “I was just taking a guess. I doubt Max will move to New York; his job and family are here. Now, why do you think you’ll be homeless?”
“Max and I were drinking last night, and I…”
“Oh my god, you totally kissed him,” Beck gasps with glee.
“No! Holy hell, what is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? How the hell are you living with a man like that and not trying to jump him every second?”
“Because he’s straight,” I point out for the umpteenth time.
“If you didn’t try to kiss him, what happened?”
“I told him about the bondage stuff.”
“Was he mean to you about it? Because I will march right over there and shove my foot up his ass if he made you feel bad about something he has no business even having an opinion on.”
“He wasn’t mean, but I can tell it freaked him out. He seemed okay at first, but then he got really quiet, and this morning he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
“Oh sweetie,” Beck comes around my desk and crouches beside my chair, placing a comforting hand on my knee. “If he doesn’t accept you for who you are, then fuck him.”
I snort and bury my face in my arms on my desk. “It’s not that easy, and you know it. He’s my best friend.”
“Hey,” Beck protests and a laugh manages to escape from my tight chest.
“My other best friend,” I correct. “I care about him, and I don’t want to lose him over this.”
“I know.” Beck rubs my leg and rests his forehead against my shoulder. “If Max is really your best friend, he’ll come around. Maybe he is weirded out, but I’m sure he’ll get over it. He’s a good guy; you know that.”
I swallow hard and nod even though I’m not entirely convinced.
“Shit, I’ve got to pull myself together before my class gets here,” I lament, sitting up and smoothing my shirt.
“Do you need me to take it for you today?”
“No. Thank you, but it’ll help me get my mind off everything.”
“Okay, well if you need anything, you let me know. And if you need me to kick Max in the balls, you know I’ll do that, too.”
“You’re his lawyer; isn’t that against some sort of ethics code?” I laugh.
“Fine, I’ll get Gage to kick him in the balls.”
“Thanks, boo.” I give Beck a quick kiss on the cheek and then head to the studio, so I can try to center myself before my class arrives.