Chapter Fourteen

MY GAZE dropped to his mouth. It really was a nice mouth. Surrounded by the scruffy black beard he was sporting, it made me focus more on the softness of his lips.

“Shane?” he whispered. I didn’t know what he was asking, I just knew that yes, he could. I nodded.

His lips descended to mine, and I moaned a little. After months of trying to forget what it was like to kiss him, Ambrose’s taste exploded in my mouth like the sweet nectar of a peach given to a man who’d lived on bread and water.

I placed my hands on his shoulders and hauled him in closer. Ambrose crawled over me until he pushed me back against the armrest of the couch. I turned my head and accepted the deeper weight of his kiss and wrapped my arms around him so he couldn’t escape my clutches.

Not that he was trying. One of his hands was at my waist and rested hotly on my abdomen. I could feel it through my clothes. Ambrose sucked hard on my lower lip until the sting made me wince and pull back. Then he licked wetly and kissed me gently. It was something I loved about him. He was strong and capable of hurting me, but never did. His lovemaking was always gentle and caring. He’d ask me what I wanted and if something felt good, always keeping my feelings at the forefront over his.

The fact that we were friends and also lovers gave us an odd dynamic. Ambrose had always had to give me a hand when it came to physical things. He taught me how to throw a baseball, even though he was two years younger than I was. When we wrestled as teens, he always metered his strength against mine and held back while I gave it my all until I tired, and then he would pin me to the floor or couch or grass, wherever we were.

That carried over to our lovemaking as well. Ambrose would rarely let go and give me the full force of his strength. I always felt he was holding something back a little, aware I wasn’t as physical as he was.

Likewise, it was me who’d showed him some finer points of sex. Of course, I did my research on the subject—a lot—and wiped my browsing history after. It was me who was usually the responsible one with the condoms. It was me who suggested that, despite everything the porn movies showed, sex on the kitchen table wasn’t all that comfortable and a bed was nearby.

But just like we were equals in our friendship, our lovemaking was equal in fervor. I yanked at Ambrose’s jumper, and he sat up and pulled off all his clothes from his top half. I stared.

“You have a new tattoo,” I remarked. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before when I put him in the shower.

Maybe because you were looking lower?

Ambrose’s first brush with the needle had been a rather unoriginal, uninspired tribal circle on his left shoulder. It was simply spirals and swirls, and it looked hot, but when I asked him why he got it and did it have meaning, he’d seemed rather unattached.

His second tattoo was just as unoriginal but had more meaning to him. He’d had the five stars of the Southern Cross inked on his right shoulder blade. He got it to remind himself he was a proud Australian. The Such Is Life in script that had been tattooed across his hip made me roll my eyes when I first saw it.

“Channeling Ben Cousins, are we?” I’d said.

One of our Australian legends, bushranger Ned Kelly, had supposedly uttered those famous words just before they hanged him. It was almost a rite of passage for young, drunk Australian men to have it tattooed on their body. Unfortunately one of the most infamous footballers from Western Australia had had it tattooed on his stomach as well… and had also gone on to become a legendary arse, unable to admit he had a problem with drugs despite several stints in jail and numerous arrests.

The words had been slightly soured by Cousins’s deeds, especially in the football community.

Now some tattoo artist had modified Ambrose’s circular tribal symbol. I pushed at his shoulder until he sat back and I could see. The swirl now morphed into a snake and twisted across his pectoral muscle. I could see from the stylistic shading that it was an Aboriginal artistic impression of a snake, even if the black, red, and yellow Aboriginal flag hadn’t been worked into the design of the snake’s body. Belatedly I realized it must be an impression of the Rainbow Serpent, the creator of life from the Dreamtime beliefs of the Aboriginal people.

Was Ambrose becoming aware of his Aboriginal roots?

“That’s so cool,” I enthused as I placed my hands over the ink and traced it with my fingers. “When did you get that?”

“February.”

“The person who designed it did a great job. It looks brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

“Why did you get it?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he pulled me to him until I was straddling his lap. We kissed with rising intensity, and I fell into the abyss. I was an Ambrose-aholic, and I’d just fallen off the wagon.

I shrugged out of my jacket and opened the buttons on my shirt without losing the feel of his lips against mine. His hands went to my trousers, and he unbuttoned and unzipped me. I was wearing a white undershirt for warmth, and Ambrose groaned against my mouth.

“Why are you wearing so many damn clothes?”

I sat back to pull the undershirt off. “Because it’s winter, and it’s cold. That’s what I mean about visitors ringing before they come.”

That sounded so suggestive, but to my surprise, Ambrose didn’t make a sarcastic remark. He placed his palms on my chest and moved them all around. “I’ve missed this.”

Despite so many unfinished bits of business between us, I had to admit, “I’ve missed this too.”

We kissed again, that time softer and with more than only a sexual urge. Ambrose traced the line of my ribs and then made a path down to my butt and cupped me to bring me close. Meanwhile I had found the fuzz on his cheeks with my palms. I ran my hands over his face and then up over his skull and felt the prickle of hair where there used to be curls. It was sexier somehow, and my arousal moved higher.

I angled my hips and pushed down against the erection I could feel.

“Shane?” He sucked wetly on my jawline as he whispered to me.

“Yeah?” I replied breathlessly. Ambrose was fucking sexy.

“Can you do something for me? It’s really important.” He’d found my neck, and I was arching so he could kiss me there.

“I’m kinda busy at the moment,” I panted. “Can it wait for later?”

I reached for his nipples and rubbed them with my thumbs. “No. I really think it needs to be done now.”

“Does it need to be me who does it?” I was fascinated with his chest. It was hard and rippled with muscles. The tattoo on his chest was also fascinating, and I traced it with my fingers.

“I would really appreciate your help, and since there’s no one else in the room….”

Heaving a sigh, I sat up, unfortunately removing myself from where those luscious lips could reach me. “It had better be super important.”

Ambrose gave me a cute little grin and ducked his chin slightly, pretending meekness. I knew it was fake. Bro-Jak meek? Ha.

“Can you help me off with my pants?”

I burst out laughing. “You were right. That’s really important and can’t wait until later.”

“I usually am. Right, I mean.”

I made a large scoffing sound and moved off his lap until I stood before him. He pushed down his pants and underwear until they were bunched at his hips and then placed two hands on the couch and pushed up, balancing on his arms and a single foot. I hurried to grasp the material and pull it down. The movement of the clothes freed his cock, and it sprang forward, thick, erect, and proud.

“Hmm,” I hummed as I surveyed the results of my help. “It appears the side benefits of helping are rather generous.”

Once the material was down to his knees, Ambrose sat again, and I helped him remove his shoes and pull his pants all the way off. What are mates for if not for helping out when you’re unable to do something by yourself?

“Your turn,” he said with a nod in my direction.

I screwed up my nose. I hated that part. But Ambrose knew me, inside and out. He heaved a big sigh and threw up his hands.

“You are not getting fat, Shane. You’re fine as you are. More than fine. And I’m sorry if my fit body is making you feel insecure about your own. What would you like me to do about that? Quit being fit?”

“Of course not.”

“Then get your damn clothes off and get over here. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t need you to be chiseled and ripped?”

I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I wanted to hide from his gaze, but he was urging me to take off more clothes. In the end I plonked my hands on my hips, simply for something to do with them.

“I don’t know how you can be around all those footballers day in, day out and then stand to look at something like me.”

Ambrose dropped his hand to his erection and he began to jerk himself slowly, tempting me and taunting me with one action. “Shane? I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m around those footballers day in, day out, but which guy is it that I come home every year to visit and hotfoot around to his house?”

Oh. That would be me. Nondescript Shane.

I tried to keep from beaming my happiness, but I didn’t succeed.

“Exactly,” Ambrose said with satisfaction. “Now get your damn pants off and get over here.” He patted his lap in case I didn’t understand the exact place he meant.

Duh.

I sat down on the coffee table and undid the laces on my shoes. Then I kicked off the shoes and placed them on the ground where they wouldn’t trip Ambrose, pushed the socks off and stuffed them inside my shoes, and finally stood to take off my pants.

“If you decide to delay and fold those pants nicely, I’m going to not be happy,” Ambrose growled. I glanced at him and weighed up the advantages of delaying him further, just for the heck of it. Then I looked at the state of his erection, and I did want that erection.

So I threw my pants aside and moved back to straddle him, and he grabbed my dick. “The force is strong with this one,” he chuckled.

Oh, he wanted to trade Star Wars quotes? “Patience you must have, my young Padawan.”

He laughed, grabbed my shoulder, and pulled me down to where he could kiss my mouth again. “Use the force, Luke. Use the force.”

I laughed and settled in closer to him, and our naked skins met with a kiss of their own. “Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you?”

“Great, kid. Don’t get cocky.”

Damn. He’d defeated me with a Han Solo quote. Han always eclipsed Yoda during moments like this. “You win,” I said damply against his cheek.

“Of course I do.”

Yes, he was always more competitive than me. “How do you know to defeat me with Han?”

“Only the thousand times we’ve watched those movies. You made me sit through them until I could recite the lines.”

Warmth exploded inside me. I had, hadn’t I? And Ambrose had done it—for me.

I reached between us and grasped his cock in my hand. It was hard and hot.

“This isn’t hurting your knee, is it?” I whispered.

“Fuck my knee.”

“No. It’s important. Is this hurting?”

I was pleased when he stopped and thought about it. He was finally caring about himself. He placed his hands under my buttocks and boosted me up. Then he rearranged his hips so he was sitting farther back on the couch, moved his leg to widen his seated position, and then lowered me slowly.

The new position brought our cocks side by side, so I grasped them both and made a firm grip with my hand.

“Oh, shit.” Ambrose gave a sigh of intense pleasure. I leaned against his broad chest and massaged our dicks, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the smell of his body. It was something I had thought I would never have again. “Oh, God. Shane.” His hands were on my skin, exploring. I loved Ambrose’s touch. He didn’t just head for the sexual zones. Some guys touched only your dick and butt, as though there were nothing else they cared about. With Ambrose, it was a body experience. He ran his palms over my shoulders, up my neck, down my back. He massaged the flesh of my butt, ran his fingers through my hair, learned the feel of my skull, and scratched my thighs.

Since I was on top and he was injured, I kept up the movement of my hips to simulate the sex act. I pushed against him, rubbed against him, and thrust against him. I made sure my hand held tight to our dicks the whole time, sometimes rubbing up and down, sometimes circling the head, and sometimes simply squeezing.

“Oh, Shane.”

Ambrose searched out my mouth with his, and we clung together. He cupped the back of my head with his large hand and held my head still so he could plunder the depths of my mouth, push his tongue inside, and touch my tongue with his.

His shoulders were tense, and suddenly he put his hand over mine and squeezed our cocks even tighter. He groaned, and then his breath caught in his throat as he gripped my head in a painful manner.

I didn’t care.

Ambrose was coming, and I closed my eyes, thrust quicker, and pushed myself toward that climax. Our combined hands were coated in his come. He bit down on the tendons in my neck, and it pushed me over the edge. I came, adding to the mess that was all over both of us.

“Ambr-ahhh.” I couldn’t even make my mouth and tongue move to make a proper word. It was his name and a cry of exultation all in one.

It was an ambrorgasm.