Nowhere Man

Nowhere Man by Jamie Craig

Amber Quill Press www.amberquill.com

Copyright ©2008 by Jamie Craig

NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Nowhere Man by Jamie Craig

CONTENTS Also By Jamie Craig CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 Jamie Craig Amber Quill's Rewards Program ****

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Nowhere Man by Jamie Craig

NOWHERE MAN By JAMIE CRAIG **** Amber Quill Press, LLC www.amberquill.com

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Nowhere Man by Jamie Craig

Also By Jamie Craig At The Advent Of Dusk Double Down Fortune's Honor Keeping Time A Little Bit Bewitched Calendar Boys, Vol. I & II Time In A Bottle The Master Chronicles Book I: Master Of Obsidian Book II: Unveiled Book III: Mosaic Moon Book IV: Seduction In Black And White Book V: Chaos & Communion 5

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Book VI: Dominion Calendar Boys January: Miami's Perfect Weekend February: Mine March: Kiss Me April: Out Of The Storm May: Corazón June: Commencement July: Vintage August: Scorched [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 1 Bobby stared at the address scrawled on the hotel stationery. It couldn't be right. There was absolutely no way Dr. Parley Taylor, author of The Smoke Seekers and Little David, two-time finalist for the National Book Award, one of the most brilliant literary minds in contemporary culture, could live in this rundown tenement in the worst slum of Kansas City. A homeless man jostled his elbow. Bobby stepped out of his way, but the grizzled figure cursed at him anyway, shooting a dirty look from beneath eyebrows more Brillo pad than hair. Inconceivable. But all his research from the past four months had led him to Kansas City. And the private detective had been adamant this was the same man. Bobby had no choice but to follow it through to the end. Tucking the paper into his jacket pocket, he glanced up at the overcast sky before climbing the steps to the apartment building. Though there was a security pad to the left of the doorway, the broken handle said it probably hadn't worked in years, maybe even decades. Bobby pulled it open and gritted his teeth against the stale scent that assaulted his nose as soon as he crossed the threshold. Dr. Taylor had a basement apartment. Bobby descended the narrow stairwell, staying as much to the center of the risers as he could. Dust coated the walls, but at least the 7

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smell seemed to dissipate as he reached the lower floor. It was a small comfort as he found the door marked 4B. The green paint was chipped, and the peephole had long been covered. In spite of his reservations, Bobby's stomach lurched in excitement. This could be it. He could finally meet the man he'd been studying, the writer he'd been analyzing, face to face. All it took was a single knock. And nearly three minutes of waiting. Bobby wondered if he should knock again. Maybe Dr. Taylor wasn't home? Maybe he didn't hear him? The wait was just long enough to start doubting himself, and he began to concoct a cover story in case he had the wrong apartment. As soon as the door opened, Bobby knew it was not the wrong apartment. The occupant peered at him from blurry eyes. Deeply etched lines made him look older than his fortyone years, and his clothes had seen better days. They were free of any gross stains, and the man didn't stink, but his Tshirt was faded and tattered, and his jeans were almost threadbare. But there was no doubt in Bobby's mind. This was Dr. Parley Taylor. "What do you want?" He'd practiced how he would approach the man from the moment he made his decision, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of addressing him in the bowels of a building's carcass, looking like he hadn't seen daylight in months. There were shades of the sharp attraction that had graced his book covers—the angular jaw, the slightly aquiline nose, the full lower lip that was as ready to pout as it was to smile—but those were masked by pallor and wary belligerence. This was 8

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the man whose picture had driven Bobby into a bathroom in order to jerk off the first time he'd seen it? It was almost as unbelievable as his living conditions. "To find you, actually. You're a very hard man to find, Dr. Taylor." "Yeah. Imagine that. A man who doesn't want company is difficult to find. If I owe you money, call my lawyer. If you're asking for money, I haven't got any." Taylor raked his eyes over Bobby's form, his expression unchanging. "You don't look like you're here to tell me about the Glory of Heaven, but I'm not really interested in that, either." "No, no glory from me," he tried to joke. Taylor didn't even crack a smile. It left Bobby wondering how he was going to get through to the man. Flattery probably wasn't going to work. Bribery even less so. And if he came out and asked for the help he was looking for, Bobby was pretty sure the door would get slammed in his face. So he just had to make sure he was on the other side of it before that happened. "I never expected to find you in Kansas City," he said, shouldering his way into the apartment. He knocked the other man slightly off balance, but that was inevitable when you had six inches and thirty pounds on someone. "All your family's still on the west coast, isn't it?" Bobby expected the apartment to be as cluttered and dirty as the rest of the building, but the space was surprisingly clean. Well, maybe not so surprising—Dr. Taylor didn't seem to have much in material possessions. He had a television against the wall, and a computer beside it. DVDs, books, CDs, 9

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magazines, and newspapers were stacked in straight rows against the wall. The kitchen consisted of a sink, a two-burner stove, and a small fridge. Bobby wouldn't be surprised if Dr. Taylor subsisted off takeout and delivery. But the floors were clean, and the walls might have had a fresh paint, and the couch looked almost new. It may have been Taylor's cave away from the world, but it was far from a hovel. "It sounds like you would know better than me." Dr. Taylor stayed beside the open door, like he expected Bobby to leave very soon. "What else can you tell me about my life?" He leveled a steady blue gaze that had intimidated more than one freshman in the basic lit classes he taught. "I know you wrote Little David in six weeks, and got it accepted for publication in three. I know everybody expected The Smoke Seekers to win, and there was an outcry when it didn't. And I know you haven't published anything in almost eight years. Your ex-agent said she hasn't even heard from you since you left California. Can you tell me why a man as brilliant as you would try and hide from the world at the height of his career?" "For giggles. I got bored. And I'm about to get bored with you, too. Why do you have such an interest in my life? Seems a bit unhealthy to me. Perhaps you should go see a shrink." "It's not your life I'm interested in. It's your work. Your books are the only reason I'm about to get my MA in modern American literature." "Wow, it's worse than I thought." Dr. Taylor shook his head. "Sorry, not even a good shrink can help you now. If 10

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you were going to get an MA, you should have at least studied something worth knowing." Bobby frowned. "I don't think it's a waste of time to appreciate brilliant writing." "Yeah, well, call me in ten years when you realize you've wasted your youth on so-called brilliant writing." Dr. Taylor gestured at the door. "I'll make a note of it in my date book, I promise." "Is that why you're hiding? You think you wasted your youth?" Taylor snorted. "Yeah, sure. That's exactly it. Somebody told me I could recapture it in a basement in Kansas City. I was skeptical at first, but things are really looking up for me." "Well, then, what was it? Because I haven't been able to figure it out." Bobby swept a more discerning gaze over the other man. His body was lean, the forearms muscled. He might look sick, but he wasn't wasting away. "Are you even writing anymore?" The corner of Taylor's mouth lifted. "Sure, I write all the time. The grocery list. Checks. An occasional grumpy letter to the editor." He kicked the door closed. "As for why I'm here, it's none of your business. Besides, your reason for being here is far more interesting. You can write your thesis or your seminar papers or whatever the hell it is you're doing without traveling all the way to good ol' KC." He took the click of the latch as a sign to relax. He wasn't getting kicked out. Not yet, anyway. But he couldn't give Dr. Taylor the answer he was digging for. Somehow, he was pretty sure, Hi, my name is Bobby Kendrick, and I've been in 11

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lust with you since I was fifteen, would elicit a stronger response than anything else he'd done so far. It didn't matter that he was twenty-three now, or that he'd had his fair share of lovers since first realizing he was gay, or that he mostly believed it was as much jealousy about how damn talented Taylor was. Telling the man you'd hunted down that you wanted to split his ass until he screamed your name usually came with an immediate restraining order. "But I can't interview you if I'm not here," he said smoothly. "And you don't have a phone." "Here's the funny thing. Most people would see the lack of a telephone as an indication that I don't want to be bothered, not an invitation to come knock on my door." Taylor advanced toward him, but Bobby refused to take a step back. He wasn't going to let the other man intimidate him, even if he did look a little like a predator about to corner his prey. "What do you think?" Bobby shrugged. "I think anything worth its salt is worth working for a little harder. No phone could have meant any number of things." He smiled. "Call me an optimist. I chose to believe you were a technophobe, not a coward." "A coward? What do you think I'm afraid of? Some knowit-all little shit will invade my home and ask a bunch of dull questions about dull books that everybody stopped caring about years ago? The fear of that eventuality positively keeps me up at night." Taylor stopped moving, but not until their chests were nearly touching. "Is it fair to assign motivations to you? I choose to believe you're looking for something a little more basic than conversation." 12

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He might be young, but he wasn't stupid. He knew Taylor was trying to drive him away, test boundaries in order to freak him out or some other shit like that. But he didn't back away from anything. Especially when what Taylor offered sounded exactly like what he'd been fantasizing for years. "If you really didn't want me here, you'd call 911. Maybe there's a little bit of pride still in there someplace. A piece of you that remembers just how right your words really were." "You don't get it, do you? I haven't been pining away the last several years, waiting for somebody to finally see me for who I am and rescue me from my basement. There's only one thing I want anybody around for, and I don't think you're up to it." Bobby paused. Dr. Taylor had never made his sexuality a secret; it was yet another reason why he had admired the man so early on. Taylor acted as if being gay was the same as having brown hair, or being double-jointed, or being able to curl your tongue. It was just a fact of nature, and he'd never cared about condemnation or ridicule that it might cause. But he didn't know Bobby was gay, did he? He couldn't. Nobody ever did. It was another test. It had to be. "You have no idea what I'm capable of," Bobby said. "You know nothing about me. You don't even know my name." "I don't really care either, but since you're here, you might as well enlighten me." "Bobby." It was ground gained. "Bobby Kendrick." "Bobby? What are you? Twelve? Do you have a grown-up name?" 13

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"No, I've got a mother who admired Bobby Kennedy. Did yours have a thing for pirates?" "I don't know. Too bad I didn't think to ask her before she died. Is there anything else you feel I need to know about you?" "Yeah. I don't give up. No matter what." "That's extremely admirable. Really, I'm impressed. Well, Bobby Kendrick, it's been a pleasure making your acquaintance, but I think you should go find somebody else to harass. Unless you want to stay and keep me company." "It's funny, but you're not acting too harassed. Annoyed, maybe." Without looking away, he crossed the few feet to the couch and sat down, stretching his arm along the back as he lounged in the corner. "I don't have to be anywhere. Do you?" "I'm wondering if I should be flattered that you've cleared your whole schedule to spend time in my basement, or just sad for you." Taylor towered over him for a moment before settling on the other side of the couch. "But I don't have anywhere else to be. I didn't have any plans today, except downloading some porn later." "Then I guess it's a good thing I stopped by." He could play this game for as long as Taylor did. "Because unless you're willing to pay for the really good sites, most of the porn online is shit." "Of course I'm willing to pay for it. I've got to do something with all those royalty checks, right? Besides the booze and cigarettes." "You don't smoke." "How do you know?" 14

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"You never did. And if you do now..." He made a point to sniff the air. "You're doing it outside." "Well, I'm not smoking cigarettes at any rate. So what? Do you have my whole biography memorized?" Bobby shrugged. "I was fifteen and in love with Little David. I don't think it's a crime." "Not a crime, but probably something you should have outgrown by now. I sure as hell have." Taylor narrowed his eyes. "How old are you? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? I started that book before you were even born. Christ." Making Taylor feel his age was the last thing Bobby wanted. He wanted to draw him out, not push him back even deeper into his closely guarded shell. "All the more reason to admire you." He straightened and leaned forward, hoping to convey his sincerity. "Why is it so hard for you to accept the fact that someone like me could find inspiration in your work? I would've thought you'd love that idea." "It's not the thought of somebody like you finding inspiration in my work. I wrote those books before I had any good understanding of the world. Maybe the prose is lyrical and I managed to make a few good metaphors. But the books aren't honest. I'd be more impressed if you recognized that fact." "And what's so dishonest about them?" Maybe if he understood the answer to that, he'd understand the answer to why Taylor was hermiting himself. Taylor studied him for a moment, as if debating whether or not he should answer Bobby's question or finally just toss him 15

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out on his ass. "They're manipulative. I wrote the books so people like you would find them inspiring. Every word, every sentence, every image was meant to play you." "Why? Because you could?" Bobby shook his head. "I don't believe that." "No. Because I wanted to be the next, great American writer. I wanted to be successful. I can't really have too much respect for anybody who has decided to participate in my egotistical nightmare." "A nightmare?" He sounded more than a little silly repeating Taylor's phrasing back at him, but that was how wrong it sounded coming from his mouth. "You were a success. Critically, financially. How is that a nightmare for any writer?" "Well, I guess when you put it that way, I can see the error of my ways. I'm cured. Congratulations. But there is a reason to be careful what you wish for." Something had happened. No amount of sarcasm or snide comments could hide that. The pallor Dr. Parley Taylor wore had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with that mysterious event. "And I suppose you're not going to tell what that reason is," he said carefully. "I'm not in the habit of spilling my guts to strangers, no. Of course, I'm not in the habit of spilling my guts to people I know, so either way, I won't be telling you the reason." "So we'll find something else to talk about. I'm easy. How about those Broncos?" 16

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Taylor stood. "I'll give you a helpful hint. Don't ask strangers that question in Kansas City. And since you're desperately reaching for topics, I think this conversation is over." He gripped Bobby's jacket and yanked him to his feet with surprising strength. "Go write a paper about what a fucking hack I am, and I guarantee you'll make a name for yourself in the field." Taylor might have succeeded in surprising him once, but now that Bobby wasn't startled upright, he had no intention of being dragged out by the shirt collar like a little boy. Planting his feet, he clamped his larger hands around Taylor's wrists, a little amazed that his fingers could touch around the slim joints. "For the last time," he ground out, "you're not a hack. Not now. Not then. Not ever." Taylor tried to tug his hands free, but Bobby wouldn't let him. Each time Taylor attempted to pull away, Bobby tightened his grip. "If I agree that you're right, will you leave?" "No, because I'll know you're just humoring me." "Then it seems we're at an impasse." He shook his head. "I don't get it." And he really didn't. "You've given up, and I don't know why. And fine, you're not going to tell me, but damn it, I never expected to see the man who got me through some of the roughest times of my life feeling sorry for himself." "Why do you keep ascribing your feelings of inadequacy to me? First you accuse me of being a coward, and now you think I'm feeling sorry for myself? Just because I don't live 17

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my life the way you think I should? Or do you expect me to apologize for disappointing you?" "You're better than this. You deserve better than this." "Now I know you don't know me at all. If you did, you wouldn't say that." "And if I needed any proof at all that you're exactly like I said, that would be it." It dawned on Bobby that he was still holding Taylor's wrists, and he looked down at them in mild surprise. Taylor saw the path of his attention, but when he tried to take advantage of the distraction to yank away, Bobby just pulled him forward. Their bodies collided, and though it was just a brief crush of hard flesh to hard flesh, Bobby felt the heat seeping through Taylor's thin clothing. It was enough to make his breath catch—only for a fleeting second, but a second nonetheless. A knowing glint appeared in Taylor's dark blue eyes, and Bobby hastily released him, taking a step back. Taylor didn't let Bobby have the space he wanted and needed. His step back resulted in two steps forward from Taylor, and his eyes glittered. "I'm beginning to think you had an ulterior reason for knocking on my door, Bobby Kendrick." He shook his head. "No. It's not like that." But there was nowhere else to retreat, and Taylor wasn't stopping, matching each stride until the couch hit the back of Bobby's legs. "I admire your work. What you had to say. That's all." "You're not a very good liar. You sound convincing enough, but your eyes give you away. And your eyes have been crawling all over me since you walked in." "Because you look like shit." 18

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Taylor chuckled. "Even if that were true, it wouldn't be enough to dissuade you. I think that's what you like the most. You're wondering how you can get close enough to fix me." Bobby tightened his mouth. It was the only part of his body he seemed to have any control over. Taylor stood right in front of him, and though he'd already proved he was more than strong enough to take the older man, the instincts to do so failed him. "That's not true." But not even he was convinced by his weak assertion. "You know you're not the only one, right? I've had young men look for me, seek me out, before. Some of them because they just wanted to talk about the damned books. Some of them wanted to make me come back to the world. But a few ... a few of them wanted to know if the stories were true. You know the ones I mean, about all those nights and all those clubs, and all those boys." Oh, Bobby knew, all right. They had been a big part of his fantasies at the start. The tales of a young Parley Taylor, partying all night, fucking all day, writing on scraps of toilet paper and club napkins whenever the spirit took him. He'd even seen people trying to hawk some of the written snippets on eBay. And, yes, maybe once upon a time, he'd imagined what it would be like to be the one Taylor chose. To be the one to get fixed by those piercing blue eyes, watch the Man Himself prowl through the crowd like he owned the joint so that you were hard and ready for him by the time he reached you. 19

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But not now. Not in years. This wasn't what he wanted at all. It was too bad his body had different ideas. "I want to help." "Oh, you can help." He brushed against Bobby, and his arousal was obvious. "If you're willing to go that extra mile. You know, you're just the sort of kid I would have sought out. Of course, the hunt makes it more exciting, but I'm not going to complain too much that you just showed up on my doorstep." "I'm not a kid," he blurted, and immediately felt ridiculous. Taylor was playing him again. He knew that. So why the hell wasn't he stopping him? "So what are you going to do? Stay here and prove it?" Taylor reached between them, his fingers tracing the line of his erection. He hardly applied pressure, but the contact still seemed to sear him. "Or get out while you can?" He reacted, because it was the only thing he could do. His hand shot out, gripped Taylor's shoulder, and shoved him sideways, sending him sprawling along the length of the couch and pinned Taylor to the cushions. The new position ground their cocks together. Bobby groaned as he began to rock. "You're an asshole," he muttered. Taylor grinned, his hand going to Bobby's hip. Instead of stopping him, the tight grip just encouraged Bobby to build the pressure between them. "That's what I've been trying to tell you since you walked through the door. You're just getting the message now?" 20

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His jaw locked. Each rub made his jeans burn along his cock, his boxers nearly soaked with pre-come already. If they kept this up, he was going to come in his pants, because this was Parley-fucking-Taylor he was grinding against, Parleyfucking-Taylor looking up at him with pupils blown and nostrils flaring, Parley-fucking-Taylor hard for him and his cock, his presence. Bobby glanced at the man's mocking mouth. His watered. God, he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to slam their mouths together, just like their bodies were, and devour him, bask in each ounce of brilliance, know what it was like to hear his name fall from those lips. As soon as he did, though, he knew Taylor would deride the sentiment. Maybe not the old Taylor, but the new, definitely not improved, version would. Instead, he slipped a hand beneath Taylor's neck and curled his fingers painfully into the man's hair. Pulled until it forced his head back. Lowered his mouth to suck hard at the taut sinew of Taylor's neck. Taylor gasped, his body stiffening beneath Bobby's, his free hand going to the back of Bobby's head. He held him in place, his muscles trembling with each hard suck, and Bobby knew that he would leave a vicious purple mark on the Taylor's skin. "Is this all you want to do, Bobby? Or do you want to make good use of that hard cock?" No, it wasn't all he wanted. He wanted to tear those threadbare jeans off Taylor's legs, lift his knees to his head, and plough into his ready ass until they were both shaking. He wanted to sink his teeth into Taylor's flesh, make him 21

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scream and beg for more. He wanted to come, and then he wanted to feel Taylor come, and then he wanted to start all over again, maybe let Taylor ride him the second time. He didn't say any of that. Because admitting it would make it happen, and in spite of Taylor's assertions otherwise, Bobby wasn't like those boys he used to pick up. Licking over the spot that now pounded with Taylor's rampaging pulse, Bobby dragged his tongue along the edge of stubble just barely peeking through, over his Adam's apple to the other side. His mouth clamped over the mirrored spot, and as he pulled hard enough to dare the blood to the surface, he increased the force of his hips, making each grind almost painful. Taylor's nail dug into the back of Bobby's neck, and he rocked with Bobby, matching his pace. "Oh, I can tell what you want. Do you know how long it's been since I've been fucked? Long enough to be tight for you. And grateful. Don't you want to hear me begging for it? Don't you want me to tell you how much I need you?" He did. God help him, he did. But what he wanted more than that was for Taylor to mean it. He didn't want this to be a game, a way to get to him, a war to see who would win and who would lose because that wasn't what it was supposed to be about. At one point, Bobby was certain Taylor would have agreed with him. Reluctantly, he eased up on the suction, lifted his head, stared down at black eyes that made every part of him feel like it was flying apart. "You're humoring me again. Stop it." 22

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"Not humoring you. Well, maybe a little." He guided Bobby's mouth close his, and the first touch of his full lips against Bobby's mouth sent a thrill down his spine. The caress was far too short, and over far too quickly. Taylor dragged his mouth along Bobby's jaw to his ear, and his breath was hot as he spoke. "But you're going to make me come in my pants if you keep this up, and that's not fun for anybody." "Oh, I don't know. Coming sounds like fun to me." Easing his hips up, Bobby reached between their bodies and found the cool metal button of Taylor's jeans, flicking it open expertly. "But I'm not fucking you. Not even if you beg." Taylor's hand moved from Bobby's hip to his cock, and he squeezed him through his jeans. "I doubt I'll have to beg for it." He gritted his teeth against the sudden surge of electricity that went straight to his balls. "I'm still not fucking you." Taylor unzipped Bobby's fly and pulled his shaft free from his pants. He glanced down, a small smile pulling at his lips. "What are you going to do then?" The heat was relentless, excruciatingly thorough as Taylor deliberately spread his fingers as wide as possible in order to cover as much of Bobby's prick as he could manage. In that moment, with the one man guaranteed to always make him come writhing underneath Bobby like he hadn't wanted anyone ever as much as he wanted him, Bobby couldn't remember exactly why he wasn't going to split that tight ass so both of them screamed. He only knew the fire, and the want, and oh so torturous need to get even more. 23

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"I'm not going to do anything," he growled. Abruptly, he sat up, yanking Taylor with him. Reaching in past the open flap of the man's jeans, he fisted his cock with a powerful enough squeeze to make Taylor groan. "Suck me." Taylor's grip tightened, and he pumped his wrist, stroking Bobby's smooth shaft. "If you want it, you're going to have to take it." He couldn't ignore the challenge in Taylor's eyes. He also knew that Taylor wasn't joking. His skin burned. Everything burned, even the space behind his eyes. And his balls throbbed, pain and heat flaring with every heavy beat of his heart. He released Taylor's cock and took his shoulder instead, forcing him to the floor between Bobby's feet. Bobby wrapped his fingers around Taylor's hair, and dragged Taylor's mouth to his waiting cock. He sighed the second the crown slipped past the warm, wet, full lips. This was better than anything he had ever imagined, hotter, tighter. It was even better because he was the one in charge. Though Taylor coiled his slippery tongue around the head, Bobby refused to pull him down his length just yet. He needed to feel the rapid breath fanning over his skin, see the hunger in those eyes as Taylor gazed up at him through his lashes. "Did you do this at the clubs?" he asked. "Get on your knees for the boy you picked out and suck him dry?" He didn't care that Taylor couldn't answer. He just wanted to watch the way the man reacted to the accusations. "You know what I would have done if you'd found me back then? I wouldn't 24

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have filled your mouth up. I would have fucked you against the wall and made you recite Little David at me." Taylor's eyes darkened, his brow drawing together. His tongue didn't slow, and his lips were still tight, but Bobby could see the warring emotions on his face. Bobby could imagine what Taylor's response would be, so instead of easing his grip, he increased the pressure, forcing him down, filling more of his mouth. Taylor shifted slightly, and over the soft sounds of his wet mouth, he heard Taylor stroking himself. He pushed for a little more but paused just before Taylor's nose brushed against the hair at the base of his cock. He moaned in protest, but Bobby held him, sighing as Taylor moaned a second time. "You don't get this anymore, locked away in your little hole, do you?" His heart was racing. He had no idea how he wasn't fucking Taylor's face the way he wanted to, but somehow, the control held him back. "And you want it. I can see how much you want it. But you know what? Knowing all this doesn't change a single thing about what I think about you." His tangled fingers pulled at the loose strands of hair as he tightened his hold. "Nothing's ever going to change the fact that I know you're brilliant." Taylor's eyes narrowed the moment before Bobby pulled him down, burying the head of his cock in the other man's throat. Taylor's throat constricted around his cock as he swallowed again and again. His shaft twitched against Taylor's tongue and the roof of his mouth, and chills rolled down his spine. He didn't let Taylor move until his balls started to tighten, and 25

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then he only allowed the other man enough room to move a few inches. But those few inches were enough to create an exquisite sort of friction, and when Taylor scraped his teeth across his shaft, Bobby thought he would break. The rhythm he established was erratic and short-lived, vicious thrusts where mouth met hips, Taylor's throat a growing torrent of trembling. On the third stroke, Bobby shouted, slamming upward so roughly that Taylor barely had time to accommodate him, and he blasted shot after shot down the man's throat as everything tunneled around him. His head slammed back against the couch, and his eyes squeezed shut, and even as the shudders wracked through his body, all Bobby was aware of was the torment of those tight muscles around his cock. And the fact that it was Taylor sucking him dry. Bobby could tell the moment when Taylor's orgasm overtook him. He tensed, the vibrations from his shout echoing through Bobby's cock. Taylor eased away from him slowly, lapping at his slick skin, like he couldn't quite get enough of him, and catching each thin strand of come with his lips. But when Taylor finally looked up at him, his eyes were shuttered once again. Hot shame burned away the euphoria of the orgasm. What the hell was he thinking? He hadn't come here for sex, as much as he might have fantasized about it. And yet, he'd done exactly as Taylor had predicted, acted like a cock-crazed teenager eager to just get off. It didn't matter that Taylor had come, too. It didn't matter that he was still semi-hard at thoughts of where else he could fuck the man. 26

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All that mattered was that he'd proven Taylor right. That, more than anything else, killed off any remaining desire he might have had. Taylor's piercing gaze tracked him as he jerked to his feet. It watched every flutter of his fingers as he shoved his prick back into his jeans, did up the fly with a hasty yank. It followed him all the way to the door, unspeaking, all-knowing. Bobby even felt it as he fled back into the streets. All he could think was, At least something escaped. [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 2 Parley Taylor had been twenty-five when he was heralded as the new, bright voice of American literature. The book the critics adored without reservation had been written when Taylor could remember he was trying to write a book. The voices had been so much a part of his life that sometimes he forgot they were fictional and not just people he knew. Sometimes, their words poured from him, and that always frightened him, and he drank until he forgot who they were, and they waited for him to come back to them. Taylor had laughed as the critics, reviewers, readers, academics, and even late night talk show hosts fell over themselves to explain motivation, theme, metaphor, and meaning. It was all a big joke. It was such a big joke that Taylor felt like he should—in the words of his English compatriots—take the piss out of all of them. He wrote Little David and waited for the backlash. Taylor wasn't even given the satisfaction of the backlash. They loved it. Their love for the book bled over to his life, and he was tied up in gratitude and praise, and that's when Parley Taylor realized there was something very wrong with him. He never considered himself a misunderstood genius. He wasn't misunderstood; he was the one who failed to understand. Taylor still didn't understand. He didn't understand the young men—the boys—who came to him. Who made pilgrimages to his home. Who looked at him like he had some sort of answer. He hated them. He hated them because they 28

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possessed the answers he lacked, but they didn't know it. He hated them because they couldn't quite comprehend that words were cheap—just the price of cheap tequila and cheaper whiskey. He hated them because they didn't hate him. And Bobby Kendrick was the worst he had ever met. Most of the people who sought him out scared easily. They were already intimidated by him. All Taylor had to do was make them a little uncomfortable, make them second-guess themselves, make them second-guess him. Then they'd go home and tell their professors and friends, "That Parley Taylor is such an asshole. I just wanted to talk to him and he made me feel like shit. What the fuck is wrong with him?" Bobby Kendrick probably would do the same, but it took longer to scare him away. It took longer to play him. Taylor felt a little bad for the way he'd played him—the way he'd used him. He was just a kid with some sort of crush. He probably hadn't spent any time in the real world, and he certainly hadn't been disillusioned. Yet. Taylor thought he could give him enough disillusionments to keep him weak and unbalanced for the rest of his life. If Bobby Kendrick ever came back. And Bobby Kendrick probably never would. The thought shouldn't depress Taylor, but it did. A little. He wasn't lonely. He didn't need the company. He certainly didn't need some naïve kid to get his rocks off. But there might have been something a little different about Bobby. There might have been something a little worthwhile to discover. Taylor could strip away the garbage bit by bit and find the core of Bobby, the part of him 29

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that remained untouched. To destroy? Taylor could do that, but he found he didn't want to. He just wanted to see that untouched bit of him. Appreciate it for what it was— something precious that he shouldn't manipulate and shape and bend until it fit his needs. But it was nice to fantasize about it. And his short encounter with Bobby Kendrick would be enough to feed his fertile imagination for days, weeks even. He was surfing through The Daily Show's video archives when a knock came at the door. Frowning, his gaze jumped to the time displayed in the corner of the monitor. It was too early for the mail, and too late to be old man Waldo from down the hall. Besides, Waldo had already stopped by for his daily bitch and brandy session. Nobody else ever bothered Taylor. He would have ignored it if a second knock hadn't come, a little bit harder. Muttering under his breath, Taylor rolled back in his seat and went to answer the door. This was one of those times he wished he hadn't painted over the peephole years ago. The sight of the one and only Bobby Kendrick standing on the other side deepened his frown. The boy was American breeding at its worst. Six-two, corn-fed muscles, dark hair just starting to curl at his nape. He had the hands of an athlete but the clean complexion of someone who'd never seen the sun without protection. The eyes, though, those were the worst. They were the clearest blue, open and expressive. They flamed with the fire of belief, even when he'd had his thick, gorgeous cock buried in Taylor's throat. 30

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And now, they smiled at him. "Maybe you're just a morning person," Bobby said, shouldering his way into the apartment just as he had done two days earlier. "You look better today." "I'm not a people person. Why haven't you gone home?" "I haven't gotten my interview yet." "I think you know everything there is to know about me at this point. Or maybe you'd like to get better acquainted with other parts of me?" "Nice try." Bobby wandered deeper into the apartment, heading straight for the computer to lean in and look at the screen. "Download any good porn today?" Taylor eyed Bobby's ass and weighed the pros and cons of letting the younger man stick around. On the one hand, he might be able to get Bobby on his knees this time. On the other hand, he was already a little tired of his presence. "No. I've been getting caught up on world events. That Iraq war is quite a debacle, isn't it? You look young and healthy. Maybe you should enlist." His eyes narrowed when Bobby grabbed the mouse and minimized the Internet browser. "So what else do you have? Is your current project on here?" "No. I don't have a current project." Taylor closed the distance between them and grabbed Bobby's wrist. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" He'd forgotten just how strong Bobby really was. Or maybe he did know, and something deep inside wanted to feel it again. Either way, he was barely aware of Bobby's swift response, not until the cold steel snapped around his wrist. 31

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"No, but I did learn how to use these babies from my last boyfriend," Bobby replied, closing the matching handcuff around his own wrist. Taylor automatically jerked away, but that didn't help. Bobby looked at him calmly, unaware or unconcerned at the anger bubbling to the surface of Taylor's skin. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" "I thought you looked like you could use some fresh air. I knew you'd probably tell me to fuck off, so I decided not to give you the chance." He glanced down at Taylor's bare feet. "You should probably get some shoes on, though. In this neighborhood, there's no telling what you might walk in." "I'm going to give you five seconds to get this damned thing off my wrist before I punch you in the face." Bobby smiled. "Not that it wouldn't be fun to watch you try, but you'd be wasting your energy. I don't have the keys on me." "Where do you have the keys?" "My hotel room. So, see? You have to go out, whether you like it or not." Taylor knew he was trapped. Even if he managed to knock Bobby unconscious—and he wasn't above trying—having a tall, strong, unconscious man attached to his wrist would not actually make his life easier. It'd be easier to go along with whatever stupid thing Bobby thought he was doing, and then call the police if Bobby knocked on his door again. And then press charges, for trespassing and kidnapping. "Fine. But I suggest if you don't want to be arrested, you make sure this is the last time I see you." 32

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The warning didn't faze Bobby. He just shrugged goodnaturedly and said, "We'll see. Do you like Italian?" "No. Come here." Taylor led Bobby to the small kitchen, where he found his sandals. He dragged Bobby into the bedroom next, searching for his wallet and his keys. "Do you care if I don't like Italian?" "Not really. I just thought we could pick something up for lunch and there's a great little place around the corner from my hotel. The calzone I got from there for dinner last night was fantastic." "That's very exciting. Really. Do you have any other earthshattering finds you'd like to share with me? Maybe some fried chicken that was awe-inspiring?" Taylor knew the sarcasm wasn't necessarily required, but he was not going to make it easy for Bobby to simply dominate and control his life because he thought he had the right. Was this how Paul Sheldon felt? Was he already on the slippery slope to an amputated foot and a missing thumb? Bobby waited patiently while Taylor bent down to pick up his wallet from where it had slipped off the nightstand. "So don't eat if you want, it's your call. But I am. You can watch." "You mean you're not going to force a calzone down my throat because I'm just wasting away? Or are you going to force something else down my throat when we go to your hotel?" For the first time, Bobby looked less than at ease. "Look, about the other day..." The hand cuffed to Taylor's clenched momentarily in a fist. "I know you played me, and I'm not proud of reacting the way I did. But it's not happening again. 33

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I just want to talk to you. And since you refused to do this the civilized way, well..." He shook their cuffed hands so that the chain rattled. Taylor sighed and slipped his wallet in his pocket. Bobby had no idea how easy it would be to play him again. Taylor was pretty confident he could manipulate Bobby into any position he wanted, without too much effort. Or any effort at all. "That's admirable. Well, I'm ready to face the world. Are there flying cars yet? It's been so long since I've had any fresh air, I'm sure the world will be full of surprises." Bobby didn't say a word while he led the way out of the apartment, nor while Taylor locked the door behind them. He guided him up the stairs in silence, even ignoring the snorts of laughter coming from Cullen, the homeless guy who took up residence in the hallway when it got too hot or cold. "I suppose it would be stupid to ask if you have a car," Bobby finally said on the sidewalk. "Not stupid. But it's a manual transmission, and I would need both hands to drive. And before you ask, no, you cannot drive my car." Taylor stood far enough away so the chain stretched taut between them, and sunlight glinted off the steel. "We can walk where you want to go, or we can go back to my apartment." "Walking, then." Bobby set off down the street, his long strides forcing Taylor to assume a quick pace or risk getting dragged along behind. "What do you drive?" "An old Chevy Bel-Air. I picked it up about twenty years ago, and it's still going strong." Taylor watched Bobby from 34

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the corner of his eye. "So really, don't you have anything else better to do? A job? A boyfriend? A girlfriend?" "Nope. I'm on summer break. I don't go back until August." Taylor caught a half-smile. "And before you make another comment about how young I am, I'm a grad student. Second year." "Masters? You know you're not going to be able to do anything unless you get your doctorate, right? Oh wait, look who I'm talking to. You probably don't have a plan beyond graduating. I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by graduate school." Bobby glanced at him before answering. "Frankly, I think if I'd said I wasn't bothering with college, you'd say something like how good minds get wasted, just to be contrary. Don't you get tired of trying to push everybody away? Or is it just so second nature now that you don't notice?" "Actually, no, it's not tiring at all. Usually, I just have to push once, and people take the hint. Don't you get tired of putting your nose in business that isn't any of yours?" "I suck at sitting back and watching people destroy themselves. Sue me." "But why do you care?" Taylor came to a stop and forced Bobby to look at him. "I'm serious, here. Dead serious. I'm nearly old enough to be your father. I'm intelligent enough to make my own decisions. Why do you think you have the obligation, or the right, to be my savior?" The smile was gone. So was the cockiness. "Because there's already enough shit in this world. And whether you like it or not, I got more strength from you than I ever got 35

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from anything else in my life. Not just your books." With his free hand, he poked Taylor in the chest, not hard but firmly enough to make his point. "You. Because you had balls I never did. Don't tell me it's a mistake to respect that, because it's not. I guess..." His sigh of frustration came with a shift in his gaze, somewhere off to the side as if it was impossible to meet Taylor's eyes. "I just wanted a chance to know the man instead of the biography." Taylor didn't feel any sympathy for Bobby. Or any empathy. He didn't feel much of anything at all, except confusion and mild irritation. But Taylor also knew that no matter how much he insisted there was nothing to know about him, and nothing worth learning, Bobby wouldn't listen to him. He was too stubborn, too confident in his righteousness. And Taylor was tired of knocking his head against this particular wall. "I'll make a deal with you, Bobby Kendrick. I'll answer your questions honestly. I won't try to push you away, or manipulate you, or play you. This afternoon is yours, to do with as you will. But after this, I never want to see you again. You go home and back to your life, and you leave me to mine." No hesitation. The answer came so swiftly, he couldn't doubt Bobby's sincerity. "Deal." "Fine. Now, for the record, I don't particularly like Italian, but I do know of a good Indian place. Have you ever tried Indian food?" 36

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"Once. I wasn't that impressed, but my ex said the restaurant sucked so I think it was just a bad experience." He glanced down at the cuffs. "Do they do takeout? We can take it back to my hotel, then, so we can eat with both hands." "Of course they do." Taylor smiled wryly. "I never would have tried them otherwise. We can stop and order there or have the food delivered to the hotel. The latter would probably be easier. They have fast service." "Sounds good to me." He began leading Taylor in a different direction, toward a more heavily trafficked area. "Let's catch a cab. I didn't think my cuff plan all the way through. My hotel is too damn far to walk to." Taylor felt mildly guilty for refusing his car. He had wanted Bobby to be uncomfortable in the heat—the air was already thick with humidity—and more than that, he had wanted Bobby to be embarrassed. The younger man probably was not accustomed to being the center of attention, or the freak who made everybody else uneasy. "A cab is a good idea. I'll burn in this sun." He didn't really expect Bobby to find one so easily, but within five minutes, they were comfortably ensconced in the back seat of a Yellow Cab that had seen better days in 1989. Their hands rested on the vinyl between them, Bobby's broader fingers within reach if he chose to stretch his own. "What's the best place to see a movie in this town?" Bobby asked out of the blue. "No way am I paying hotel rates for another one tonight." Taylor bit back his initial response of I don't go to movies, you twit. He understood Bobby was just trying to make 37

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conversation like a normal person. He could still do that, though it had been a very long time. "It depends on what sort of movie you're looking for. There's a dollar theater downtown, but you may have seen everything they're showing. There's a non-profit theater around there, too, and they show mainly indie films. But if you want a movie with big explosions on a giant screen, the Tower is your best bet." Bobby snorted. "I'm a grad student. That means I'm relatively broke and I have no free time. The dollar theater will be great. Thanks." "I don't remember exactly where it is, but I'm sure somebody at the hotel will be happy to point you in the right direction. Hell, bat your baby blues a bit, and you might even get somebody to offer to pay." "Pay for a dollar movie? Do I really look like such a cheap date?" Taylor lifted the corner of his mouth. "No. You gotta be smart and finagle dinner and drinks out of them." "That's a double-edged sword. Half the time, guys think that means I want to be on my knees for them." The thought of Bobby on his knees made Taylor's cock twitch, but he didn't rise to the bait. "Not if you do it right. If you do it right, they'll be so thankful you deigned to spend any time with them at all, it'll never occur to them to expect more. Just act like you're doing them a favor." "See, now that's the side of the sword I actually like. I don't know. We'll see. I've got three more days in Kansas City 38

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before I fly back to Chicago. It would be nice not to spend all of it alone." If Bobby was angling for some sort of invitation, he would have to try harder. Taylor didn't feel sorry for people who were alone—most of them didn't appreciate solitude for the gift it was. "Why? What's so awful about being alone? This world is full of people coming and going, of tragedy, of blood and destruction, of noise, of trends and commercials and media telling you that you're nothing if you don't have money. I think more people should spend time alone and take a vacation from the world." "Being a part of the world doesn't necessarily have to mean buying into all that crap." "Have you ever taken a break from it, though? I think most people don't because they're scared of being alone with their thoughts and realizing there's nothing there." Some of Bobby's earlier sobriety returned, and his gaze shifted to the scenery passing outside his window. "You don't have to be alone to be stuck in your head." "Helps, though. My point is, it's not a tragedy to be alone." The conversation was cut off by the driver pulling to a stop and pointing to the meter. Fifteen dollars. Taylor's first impulse was to let Bobby pay for it. But he had plenty of money, courtesy of Bobby and people like him, and he wouldn't notice if his wallet was a few bucks lighter. He reached for his wallet and fished out a twenty. "Keep the change." 39

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"I'll get dinner then," Bobby said as they climbed out. He avoided the front entrance and led Taylor to the Holiday Inn's side entrance. "Consider it my penance for cuffing you." Taylor would have been fine with using his ill-gotten gains to pay for dinner, but then, he couldn't have Bobby thinking he was getting too soft. "You might have to do more penance than that." "Not if this Indian ends up being as bad as the first Indian I had." But it was said with a smile, and then they were inside the wide corridor, and he was sliding his keycard into the first door on the left. "Home sweet home." There was nothing to set Bobby's room apart from all the other anonymous hotel rooms Taylor had ever visited. He had a single king-sized bed, and two duffel bags by the closet. Any other time, being invited into a good-looking boy's room would make him hard automatically. "The Indian will be so delicious, you won't want to leave KC." Bobby snorted and led him over to the nightstand on the far side of the bed. "I've got too much stuff waiting for me back in Chicago. I run away, and I can think of half a dozen people who'd hunt me down to drag my ass back." Picking up a small key, he held up their wrists in order to slide it into the lock on Taylor's cuff. It clicked open, and Bobby immediately widened the ring in order to allow Taylor room to pull away. "There you go. Just like I promised." Taylor rubbed his wrist until the feeling of the cold steel began to fade. The first time somebody put cuffs on him hadn't been pleasant, and the experience hadn't improved in 40

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the past twenty-five years. Now that he was free, he knew he could leave, and Bobby wouldn't be able to stop him. He'd try, but he couldn't hold Taylor in the hotel room against his will. Instead, Taylor moved to the desk and flipped the phonebook open. "Are you going to trust me with the food or do you have a preference?" "Anything but lamb. I've never been able to touch the stuff." Taylor nodded and dialed the Indian restaurant. He ordered two of everything he usually ordered—nothing too adventurous, nothing that would be too shocking. He might have ordered the most exotic thing on the menu for Bobby, but he consciously refused to make that sort of power play. Once the food was ordered, Taylor pointedly did not sit on the edge of the mattress. He stayed at the desk, leaning back in the stiff chair. "It should be here in about forty-five minutes." Bobby had settled on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his long legs stretched out in front of him. "I did take a little break from the world once." It took a moment for Taylor to realize that he'd reverted to the topic of conversation prior to getting out of the cab. "I started my freshman year the winter term. I took off that summer and fall and hiked through northern Canada." He grinned. "I couldn't afford Europe." Taylor returned his smile in spite of himself. "By yourself?" "The last five months, yeah. My boyfriend at the time started out with me, but we had a huge fight in 41

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Saskatchewan. He was tired of sleeping outside and wanted to waste a huge chunk of our funds on a weekend in a hotel. I cut him off and he hitched a ride back to Appleton." "So you spent five months by yourself hiking around a strange land and sleeping outside? I don't suppose you need me to tell you how unbelievably dangerous that was." Taylor's smile widened. "I like it. Is it something you'd do again?" Bobby's open face became thoughtful, his eyes soft with memory. "Yeah, I would. I'd probably start a little earlier and end a little sooner, though. I couldn't back then because I didn't graduate until June, but I don't suppose you need me to tell you it gets damn cold in northern Canada in winter." "Oh. You did it because of The Smoke Seekers, didn't you?" His hesitation made it clear that Taylor had hit it on the head, but to his credit, Bobby owned up to the confession. "That's where I got the idea, yeah. But I stuck it out because I fell in love with the country. Sometimes I think about going up there permanently after I get my degree." His smile was boyish. "But then I'd have to give up my broadband, and I'm not sure yet if I love it that much." "I didn't get to spend as much time there as I would have liked. Or as I felt I needed for the book." Something dark licked at the corners of his mind, but Taylor pushed it away. He didn't want to surrender to the demons that haunted him. "That research was the best part of the process for me." "Haven't you ever gone back?" "No." Taylor shrugged. "I have the time and the money, but I've generally lacked the inclination." 42

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"I'll bet you've seen some interesting places, though." "I guess I have. When I had the energy to travel to Europe and Africa and South America, I didn't have the money. The best I could do was meet as many people as I could. Well.... fuck as many different people as I could." "Different times. Though I'm not sure if I would've been as free as it seems everybody was back then." Taylor laughed, amused by the thought of those different times, and the slightly resigned tone in Bobby's voice. "No, it wouldn't be smart to be that free now. Or that's what I'd assume. God knows I don't have any idea what the club scene looks like these days. But I think you would have enjoyed yourself back then." "Maybe. But I don't think I would've gone out too much. I'm not very good at casual hook-ups." "I don't know. You seemed to be pretty good at it the other day." Bobby flushed. "That was different." "Why?" Taylor leaned forward. "I'm genuinely curious. Why is that different for you?" The way Bobby suddenly seemed interested in the pattern on the comforter made him think he was going to change the topic, or at the very least, offer some sort of vague answer. But then he was looking up again, and his gaze was unwavering, and Taylor realized he probably should have realized that a straight shooter like this kid wouldn't hold back, no matter how hard the question. "Because it was you. Because I'm not sure I'll ever be able to dissociate my feelings about you in order to consider it 43

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truly casual. And because if I didn't really want you to know that I'm not like those guys you used to pick up, I'd do it all over again without even blinking." Taylor could feel his hackles rise with each word. He wanted to build a series of walls, the likes of which Bobby would never be able to scale. He wanted to stand up and take Bobby by the shoulders and shake some sense into that pretty head of his. But his final comment pulled Taylor back from his initial reaction. "It's not your feelings for me. It's the feelings you have for the books ... and the image you think you have of me. That's always ... that's always the problem, isn't it? Everybody thinks they know who I am because of those books." Bobby didn't even blink. "That's why I wanted this time. Because I knew when I left the other day what a mistake I'd made." Something sly gleamed in his eyes. "Except you're wrong on part of it, at least. When I jerk off, it's because of the way you look, not because of the metaphors you make. Part of the reason it's different is because it would take a lot more than one suck session for me to lose interest in you physically." Taylor almost laughed again, but he appreciated the kid's honesty. He knew well enough what everybody had wanted from him when he was just some little punk. It wasn't until his book got published that one superficial element got passed over for the other. "So you're assuring me that you like me for my pretty face, and not for my brains? I guess I should take that while I can get it. I won't be able to say that for much longer." 44

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"Jesus, why does it have to be one or the other with you?" He looked genuinely frustrated as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed in order to lean closer. "Why can't I be attracted to you for both reasons? Or more? Is everything always so either/or with you?" "Because that is the way it is, Bobby. You can try to pretend otherwise, and you can insist that the world is a better place, and people can change. But I don't believe it. Everybody I have ever met is interested in one of two things. So far, you've demonstrated interest in both things, but I'm not convinced you care about anything beyond that." Taylor shook his head. "Not that it matters. Not that it should matter, really." "But it does matter. What is it going to take to prove that to you? Or at least, get you to see that you've done the exact same thing to me, pigeonholing me in the same category you've put everybody else? You think I'm the blind one here? You made up your mind about me the second you opened your door." Taylor pulled his chair closer to the bed. "Perhaps so. Give me one good reason I shouldn't keep you right where I put you." He finally had him. Lines creased Bobby's wide brow, and he remained silent for several minutes. Taylor waited, knowing he could be as patient as he had to be, and with each ticking second, the more convinced he got he'd finally found the button. It was almost a bittersweet victory, but he tamped that thought down before it ran out of control. 45

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Then, Bobby stood. He walked over to one of his duffel bags, bent down and rummaged around in one, and finally pulled out two very familiar objects. Taylor's jaw clenched as Bobby straightened with worn copies of his books in hand, but neither said a word as the young man crossed the two feet to the wastebasket and dropped them in. "There," Bobby announced. "Clean slate." He came back to the bed but didn't sit, sticking out his hand in greeting. "Bobby Kendrick." Taylor studied his hand for a moment, and then nodded and wrapped his fingers around Bobby's. "Parley Taylor." [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 3 It was the best night's sleep Bobby had had since coming to Kansas City. His first night had been a toss of excitement, too nervous about meeting Parley Taylor to completely relax. His second had been just as conflicted, though this time, it was dismay at what had actually transpired. His behavior shamed him. He hated that he fell so easily for the seduction. The last thing he wanted was to be lumped into the same fanboy category as those Taylor held in such disdain. But the night after the Indian dinner with Taylor, Bobby slept like a log. No dreams, no restlessness, just the deep, solid sleep that came to him when he was fully relaxed. He might not ever see the man again, but the hours he'd been given were better than Bobby could have ever imagined. After he'd tossed the books—the only gesture he could come up with that might show Taylor he cared about knowing more than some intellectual property that clearly bothered him—they'd talked for hours. Travel. Food. Modern politics. Taylor might have cut himself off from the world physically, but he was very aware about what was happening. His observations, while astute, reflected the same derisive perspective he viewed colleagues and readers, but every once in a while, there were glimmers of something else, a hope that Taylor immediately squelched in favor of the sarcastic comment. It was enough to convince Bobby he hadn't always been as angry as he was now. It was more than enough to intrigue him into even deeper conversations. 47

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The more Taylor talked, the more he relaxed. When he smiled, it changed his entire face. The pallor eased, and the lines at his eyes softened. He was hypnotic in repose, but when he flashed Bobby an unexpected grin, Bobby immediately felt shocks shoot through his veins. The urge to lean in closer was always right there at the edge of his awareness, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to reach out and touch the man. He jerked off in the shower that morning to fantasies of what Taylor would have done if Bobby had yielded to the impulse. He would have responded, Bobby was certain, but then all the ground they'd gained would have been lost. But in those moments, Taylor would want him. It would be Bobby's name on his lips as he gasped beneath him. It would be his cock pounding into Taylor's clenching ass, making him claw and beg for more. And Bobby would shut him up with a kiss, a real one this time, not the tease he'd been afforded that first afternoon. He was still imagining that kiss when he was poring over the Internet, looking at local theaters to see what might be playing. He still had a couple days in Kansas City without much of anything else to do. His primary goal had been achieved, and though he didn't gather anything he could actually use for his schoolwork, he'd received a greater education on Parley Taylor than he was sure the man ever thought was possible. The knock on the door startled him so much, he didn't move at first. Who would be knocking on his door? Nobody knew he was there, save Taylor, and he doubted very much 48

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that the other man would show up to spend another afternoon with him. They had a deal, and Taylor did not seem like the kind of man who would go back on anything once an agreement was reached. The second knock convinced him it wasn't a mistake. Whoever was knocking on his door apparently was sure he had found the right room. The person knocked a third time while Bobby was unbolting the door, and his confused frown only deepened when he opened the door to reveal his guest. Parley nodded at him and gestured at him with a brown paper bag. "I brought you something." With a confused smile, Bobby took it, though he refrained from looking inside right away. "Did you want to come in?" he asked hopefully, stepping out of the way. Taylor hesitated, and Bobby thought he was going to disappear as suddenly as he arrived. He offered a half-shrug and stepped into the room. "I can stay for a few minutes." He kept his delight hidden as he closed the door. At this point, he didn't really care about what was in the bag; Taylor had left his apartment to travel across the city in order to deliver it in person. The significance of that meant more than any token Taylor might offer. Bobby thought that all the way until he pulled the item out of the sack. His heart stopped when he saw the bound manuscript of Little David. Its edges were soft and worn, the lower corner bent and slightly torn. Slowly, he tossed the bag onto the bed and held the draft in his hand, flipping through the pages with ever-growing awe. Not a sheet was left untouched. Notes 49

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were scrawled in margins, arrows and steno marks nearly obscuring some of the passages. Inks varied; there was even smudged pencil on one skimmed page. But the details didn't matter. This was proof of Taylor's genius. In Taylor's handwriting. And it was now in Bobby's possession. He lifted his head to stare at Taylor in amazement. "What's this for?" "For you. I knew you were just going to go out and buy the books again, if you haven't already fished them out of the trash. I thought I'd save you the money and the hassle. This has everything the final draft does, and a few scenes my editor cut." He'd been ready to argue he hadn't gone digging for the books again when Taylor's last statement made him do a double take. "There's extra scenes in this?" He immediately began flipping through the draft again, trying to discern where they might fall. "Are you kidding me? Why would your editor..." He realized then how quickly he'd slipped into fanboy mode again and deliberately closed the book. "Are you sure you want to just give it away? I mean, I know how you feel about it, but if you don't want it, you could definitely make some real money from it if you auctioned it off." "The mortgage on my mansion is all paid off, so I'm not too worried about the money. Besides, there might be something worthwhile buried in those pages, and I think you'd at least do something with it. I might think you're a fool for ... well ... a lot of things, but I don't want you to be a fool and a failure." 50

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That was Taylor-speak for "I want you to have it." Bobby had learned enough about the man to know that. He'd also learned not to argue, especially when the last thing he wanted was to give it back. "Thank you." He set it carefully on the desk and stepped a little closer to Taylor. "I don't even know what to say." Taylor shrugged. "Thank you is enough. Just glad I caught you while you were still here." His smile was playful, indicative of his exuberant mood. "Where else would I be? But for what it's worth, I'm glad you caught me, too." For the first time, something like a smile reached Taylor's eyes. "I thought you might go out to that dollar theater and get caught up on all the movies you missed this year. And I didn't want to call and spoil the surprise." "I was actually working on just that." He ventured another step closer. Something about Taylor drew him like a magnet, every single time. "But if you don't have to run off, I'd rather spend some more time with you. We could just hang out like we did yesterday." Taylor glanced at the door, like he was thinking about running away. Bobby was more surprised than not when he stepped back to the chair he'd occupied the day before and sat down. "I don't have to run off, yet. You were going to ask me about my editor?" Bobby perched on the corner of the bed, as close to Taylor as he could get without sitting in the man's lap. Hell, at the moment, he would have gladly done so if he didn't think 51

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Taylor might have a few choice words to say about such a position. And thinking about Taylor's lap was not helping his excited mood at all. "I was just going to ask why on earth he'd cut the scenes," Bobby said. "But you don't have to tell me. It's none of my business." "I'll tell you. If I wanted you to keep your nose out of my business, I wouldn't have brought the thing over. My editor said they were superfluous. I didn't fight him too hard, because I thought the whole book was superfluous. The scenes mainly included a secondary character—Roger—and they're a bit darker in tone." "Roger?" Bobby wracked his brain, then shook his head. "What was so dark about them?" "They were sadistic. Thinly disguised autobiography." Taylor shrugged. "Indulgent. You'll see what I mean when you read them." "You're not sadistic," he said automatically. "I can't believe you take that kind of pleasure in hurting people." Taylor's grin turned wry. "Thank you for the vote of confidence. But I never said I was the sadist." His eyes widened. He'd known some bad stuff had probably happened to Taylor to make him retreat from the world, but he'd stopped trying to guess what it was when Taylor had made the deal. Reaching across, Bobby rested his hand lightly on Taylor's knee. He didn't squeeze it, though the temptation was great. He simply met Taylor's gaze. 52

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"You're right about some of the stuff you spout off. Some people are real shits." "Yeah. They are." Taylor glanced down, his gaze resting on Bobby's hand. "I think I should probably go." "Don't." The single word came out fast enough to make Bobby blush, but he refused to take it back. He was pinned by the intensity of Taylor's focus, and slowly, he slid his fingers a little higher, feeling the twitching muscle of Taylor's thigh. "You just got here." "I know." Taylor took his wrist with strong fingers. His grip wasn't quite painful, and Bobby didn't try to pull away. "But I'm not interested in spending another afternoon chatting. Not that you aren't capable of a decent conversation, but that's not what I want today." His mouth was dry. All he felt was the heat of the tight circle around his wrist. "So what do you want? Name it." Taylor stood without releasing him and stepped forward until their knees touched, and Bobby was forced to look up to meet his eyes. "You." His other hand went to Bobby's shoulder. "And not because we have something to prove." His heart boomed like thunder in a summer storm. This was different than the first time. Taylor had displayed none of the same trickery, none of the verbal foreplay. His gaze was still hypnotic, though, and his touch seared everywhere it made contact. Bobby wanted him, more desperately than he'd ever wanted anything. Even the Parley Taylor he'd built in his imagination. Tugging on the hold Taylor had on his wrist, Bobby fell back, taking Taylor with him. He landed heavily on Bobby's 53

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chest, but the weight was welcome. What was even more welcome was the hard slide of Taylor's mouth against his own. It could be difficult to understand Taylor at times, but it wasn't difficult to read his mouth. He controlled the kiss completely. His tongue teased Bobby's lips until Bobby granted him access, and then it pulled away. He did this again and again, until Bobby was nearly shaking with frustration, and he was almost ready to beg Taylor to just kiss him properly and put him out of his misery. But he didn't get the chance to do that. The third time Bobby parted his lips, Taylor plunged his tongue into his mouth, demanding a harder caress. Bobby groaned, grabbing the back of Taylor's neck and forcing him to stay, whether he wanted to or not. This was what had been driving him crazy, the potential of their desire exploding in a hot, ferocious kiss where Bobby ceded the control he usually commanded in favor of the ravenous strokes of a tongue that knew exactly what it wanted. Each swipe made his prick ache even more, and the hard length pressing into his hip only served to remind him that he had yet to fully appreciate Taylor's cock. More, his libido whispered. Take it all from him. You know you want it. Taylor wanted it, too. There was no doubt in Bobby's mind. His mouth was relentless, and his hands were everywhere, seeking out Bobby's flushed skin. He moaned as Bobby shifted beneath him, pressing harder against the bulge in Taylor's pants. They both came to the same conclusion about the clothes at the same time—as soon as Bobby realized he 54

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needed to be free of his shirt, Taylor broke the kiss and began pawing at the material, forcing the loose T-shirt over Bobby's head. He shivered more from the heat of Taylor's gaze than the sudden absence of his shirt. "Not just me," he rasped. His fingers, awkward in his lust, clawed at Taylor's waist. "Want to see all of you." Taylor straightened and tugged his shirt off. His chest was as muscled as Bobby had remembered it, and he immediately remembered all of his fantasies and dreams of pinning Taylor's slim body beneath his broader frame. Taylor didn't stop at his shirt, though. He popped the top button of his pants free and gave the zipper a sharp tug to reveal he wasn't wearing anything beneath his pants. His mouth watered. "Let me blow you." He grasped the long cock with strong fingers, pumping it slowly as he relearned its shape, its texture. "Fuck my face, and I'll return the favor." Taylor ran his fingers over Bobby's temple, and his brow was creased in a thoughtful frown. Bobby decided Taylor was doing much too much thinking, and tugged harder on his cock. Taylor moaned, the frown disappearing, and slid forward on Bobby's chest until the tip of his cock brushed his lips. The fingers that had been touching Bobby's temple spread through his hair, and Taylor palmed the top of Bobby's scalp as he eased his shaft into his mouth, the head sliding against Bobby's tongue. Bobby sighed in satisfaction. He loved sucking almost as much as he loved fucking, especially when the cock filling his 55

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mouth tasted as good as this one. He could even forget about the hand holding his head down; he'd asked to be fucked after all, and he couldn't blame Taylor for pinning him down when he planned on doing the very same thing at the first opportunity. Besides, there was something primal about the need to simply take your partner like this. It was one of the reasons he loved to top so much. He tightened the suction of his lips around the shaft. Looking up at Taylor through his lashes, he licked at every inch of the hot skin he could reach as he caressed the inside of Taylor's thighs. The man's balls were already heavy, and once in a while, Bobby let his knuckles graze over them. He wanted to drive Taylor as crazy as he drove him, and he'd use every trick in the book that he knew to do it. At that angle, it was easy to suck until Taylor's length was buried in his throat. He kept his lips closed over the root of Taylor's cock for as long as he could before opening his mouth and tilting his head away for air. Taylor watched him with hooded eyes, moaning each time Bobby relaxed his jaw and swallowed him again. His hips snapped forward, and he began thrusting into his mouth in a sharp rhythm, groans making his body vibrate. "Fuck ... yes ... Bobby..." He'd never heard Taylor use that tone of voice before. He'd never heard that kind of hunger from him. The guttural rasp of each word dug into Bobby's flesh with thousands of hooks and refused to let go, spurring him to noises he couldn't contain. His fingers stroked Taylor's balls with a gentleness he didn't realize he had, but when he felt them begin to tighten, 56

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he squeezed them lightly, a long finger sliding up the crease of Taylor's ass. He never once looked away from Taylor's darkened eyes. "God, Bobby ... I can't..." But Taylor reached his limit before he had the chance to say what he couldn't do. He thrust forward one more time and his back arched, his words turning into a strangled cry as he filled Bobby's mouth and throat with shot after shot of come. Bobby swallowed again and again, his throat working convulsively as Taylor jerked and twitched above him. His fingers flexed against Bobby's scalp in something that was almost a caress. Bobby slid his hand up to Taylor's waist, feeling the smooth skin, the sculpture of muscles twitching. His body ached for its own release, but his brain had gone back to how Taylor had felt beneath him, the wonder of what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his hips. He massaged Taylor's stomach, skimming upward to trace the hard nipples, and when the hold on his head finally eased, he slid his mouth off. "What if I don't want you to suck me this time?" he asked, licking around the wet crown of Taylor's cock. His nails scratched lightly across the man's chest, but it was the lust that still burned in his eyes Bobby was most interested in. "I want to feel just how tight your ass really is." Taylor slid his legs back, dragging his semi-erect cock down Bobby's chest, and bent to find his mouth. The kiss went on for so long, Bobby wasn't sure Taylor would answer his question. He seemed intent on tasting Bobby's mouth, of tasting his own come on Bobby's tongue, of swallowing each 57

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sigh and moan that escaped from Bobby's throat. When he had his fill, he broke the kiss and whispered, "I've been thinking about you fucking me for the past twenty-four hours." The confession compelled Bobby to wrap his arms around Taylor's back and roll to the side until they had reversed positions. Taylor automatically straightened his legs so that they were pressed from chest to toe, and Bobby yielded to the need to lower his mouth back to the other man's. In spite of his desire, this kiss was slow and deliberate, a declaration of everything he wanted and how grateful he was for Taylor lowering his walls to let him have it. He slipped his hand upward between Taylor's shoulder blades to find his nape, holding him there until his head spun. "I've got to get stuff out of my toiletry bag," he murmured. "I'll be right back." Bobby didn't wait for Taylor's response. He rose and hurried to the bathroom, undoing his jeans along the way. It took only a moment to find a condom, but a little bit longer to find the lube. He rarely had casual sex, but he was too smart not to always be prepared, just in case. Stripping out of his jeans, he took both items back to the bedroom, to find Taylor stretched out, fully nude, atop the blankets. Bobby swallowed at how delicious he looked. The taste of Taylor's come still lingered on his tongue, and for a second, he thought he could simply spend the day sucking him off, over and over again until Taylor begged him to stop. But the slight cant of Taylor's mouth came with a bend of a knee, exposing the crack of his ass, and Bobby's mind changed 58

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back again. Tossing the condom and lube onto the bed, he climbed up Taylor's body until their cocks nudged against each other. He rocked slowly, enjoying the way Taylor's eyes sparked every time Bobby's wet tip painted a new piece of skin. "I'm glad you came today," he said. "And not because of the gift." "I'm ... I'm glad I did, too." Taylor smoothed his palms down Bobby's back. "You know, I didn't bring the book just to..." "I know." Bobby bowed to skim his lips over Taylor's, soaking in his breath while sharing his own. The tip of his tongue found the seam, but he held back from plunging inside like he wanted. He wanted to savor the moment and the simple smell of the other man. "You're not in any hurry to leave, are you?" "No." Bobby's mouth moved down his chin, and he dropped his head back, exposing his throat to further exploration. "No. I'm not in any hurry at all." "Good. Because when I'm done here, I want to get you in the shower and fuck you against the wall." He remembered how Taylor had responded to this particular kind of contact the first time and clamped his mouth around the hammering pulse point. He loved the rough stubble against his tongue, but he loved even more the sounds Taylor made at the assault. Taylor arched his back, pushing hard against Bobby's mouth. His hands were wilder now, clawing and massaging and scraping the broad plain of his back and then moving 59

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lower, to Bobby's ass. The pressure and strength of Taylor's hands reflected his own desire, as though a part of him wanted Bobby to feel as much pain as Taylor felt desire. But he soothed the marks away, too, caressing him with soft fingers and his smooth palms. Bobby moved lower, licking over the chest that had been tantalizing him ever since he saw it. He circled one flat nipple, then the other, then went back to the first and caught the tip between his teeth. It was the lightest of pressures, but it was enough for Taylor to jolt again, nails digging into the tense muscle of Bobby's hip. "I thought about it, too." If Taylor could admit the truth, then so could he. He trailed farther down, following the faint line of hair to Taylor's groin. "I haven't been able to stop thinking of you since you left yesterday." "Yeah..." He gasped, his muscles flexing beneath Bobby's mouth. "But that's because you have some strange obsession with me." "No, it's because you've got a great ass and I got to watch it when you walked down the hall yesterday." He reached Taylor's cock, but expertly avoided it, settling between his legs and grasping his thighs. Bobby pushed them up and apart, licking around the sweaty sac as he exposed the tight hole he'd been waiting for. His cock jumped when he saw it clench. God, fucking Taylor was going to be amazing. "A strange obsession with my ass, then. Oh ... fuck." Bobby's tongue traced the tight muscle, but neither of them would be happy with that for long. The tip of his tongue 60

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pushed past the ring, and Taylor swore again. "You'll need to tell me ... where you learned to use your mouth like this." Bobby grunted. He wasn't about to pull away from the twitching muscles to speak until he was good and ready. His broad thumbs caressed the cheeks while he stroked deeper and deeper, clamping his mouth around the hole just as he'd done at Taylor's neck. Taylor put both feet flat against the mattress, bracing himself. "Much more talented than I gave you credit for." Bobby grunted again. If Taylor was still talking, then Bobby was doing something wrong. He moved his tongue faster and created a tighter suction, smiling to himself when Taylor began to moan. And then even his moans lost shape and fell apart. Parley's breath was deep and ragged, and his fingers wound through Bobby's long hair, pulling enough to make his scalp tingle. "Oh, Christ ... Are you going to fuck me or what?" Magic words. At least enough to finally pull Bobby up. He gazed up the length of Taylor's body to see desire-crazed eyes fixed on him. "You're the one who said you hadn't been fucked in a while." He affected a mock innocence, one he knew would get to Taylor. "I was just doing what I could to make it better for you." "You're a very thoughtful boy, Bobby. Very thoughtful." Taylor lifted his head and eyed the condom that Bobby had dropped on the bed. He snatched it up and tore the foil off, then sat up and wrapped his fingers around the base of 61

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Bobby's cock. After a moment of hesitation, he tilted his head and licked the pre-come off his tip. "Taste good, too." Bobby skimmed a hand over Taylor's cheek. The differences between the look in Taylor's eyes now and that first meeting drove him forward, pushing Taylor back to the bed as those sure fingers pushed the rubber over his cock. "I still have to stretch you," he said when Taylor reached for the lube. He shuddered when the slick coolness seeped through the condom. "You're making it very hard for me to make this good for you." "I never said I'd make it easy for you, did I?" He released Bobby's shaft, and his fingers still glistened with the lube. He reached between his legs and Bobby watched, his lips slightly parted, as Taylor pushed his slick fingers into his ass. The sounds that came with the hypnotic sight—Taylor's groans, the whish of lube getting sucked into his hole—broke Bobby. He fell forward, propping himself up on his knuckles, and slammed his mouth back to Taylor's. He didn't care about making it last anymore. He used teeth and tongue and teeth again to savage the lips that had taunted him, spreading Taylor wider as he angled his hips. Knocking Taylor's hand away, Bobby positioned the wet tip of his covered cock at the opening and pushed. Just a little. Just enough to pop past the ring of muscle that felt like it would never give. "Bobby ... God..." Taylor wrapped his legs around his hips and tried to draw him closer, but Bobby resisted. They were going to do this at his pace. Taylor lifted his head from the pillow and pressed his mouth to Bobby's neck. It muffled the sound of his moan as Bobby gained another inch. 62

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He'd had his share of lovers. He almost always topped. There had been Gerry, who'd bailed on him in Canada. Paul, with the dimples and the most beautiful, brown velvet skin. Greg, the divorced man who'd picked him at a poetry reading. James, who would only let Bobby fuck him after getting thoroughly and utterly rimmed first. Lucas, who couldn't come unless his hands were bound. No one had ever been as tight as Taylor. Nobody had ever been as hot. Not one of them made Bobby dizzy by the time he was halfway inside. "Fuck ... fuck ... fuck..." His arms shook by the time he felt his balls nudge against Taylor's ass. "Not such a strange obsession. This is better than I could've imagined." "Now I'll never get rid of you, will I?" The words were softened by a smile, and given the way Taylor tightened around him, holding him closer, Bobby had a pretty good idea Taylor didn't want to get rid of him any time soon. "Move. You're killing me here." The tone of his voice made Bobby feel contrary, and he deliberately shoved deeper. Taylor cried out, a sound Bobby swallowed by sealing their mouths back together. He didn't want to, but he knew he had to do what Taylor said. He countered the loss of pulling out of that tight, tight channel by kissing, kissing, and more kissing. They made him forget everything but the hard body squirming beneath him and the hands that clawed into his skin. They made him want more. Taylor worked against him, resisted him, tried to force his will over Bobby's body. Bobby refused to concede, and the battle of wills continued until he put a hard hand on Taylor's 63

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shoulder and forced him back against the mattress. Bobby wasn't sure why, but Taylor's attitude changed almost immediately. He became pliable beneath Bobby's body, his mouth and hands softening, his hips moving with Bobby's slower rhythm. Bobby had never fucked anyone without a condom. The heat pouring off Taylor's body made him wonder if this was what it would feel like. If it was this intense covered, would he even be able to handle what it would feel like to fuck him bareback? He'd never know. That would only come after years of monogamy. But for a split second, he wished he could have that with Taylor. It felt that amazing. Slowly, gradually, he quickened his strokes, adding more and more power until the mattress bounced beneath them. The muscles gave with the assault, but each entry felt nearly as tight as the first, sucking him in so that he had to struggle to pull out again. He had to stroke harder, which only made both of them whimper. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow, and he finally had to pull away from Taylor's mouth in order to catch his breath. Taylor dragged his tongue down Bobby's neck, and his hot tongue did nothing to cool his flushed skin. His teeth scraped across his Adam's apple, and then he moved back up to Bobby's mouth. Bobby felt Taylor's hand push between their bodies, and he fisted his own cock, stripping its length with each thrust forward. "Bobby ... Didn't expect..." The words came between hard kisses. "You to be like this." 64

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"Like what?" Because Bobby didn't think he was doing anything special. He was only following instincts, the same instincts that had him reaching down to knock Taylor's hand away, wrapping his own fingers around the velvety cock to match the rhythm and force set by his own. "This is just me." Taylor's eyes rolled back a moment before his lids slammed shut. The muscles stood out in his neck, and his lips thinned. "Exactly." Bobby wanted to press, but the power of speech escaped him. All the blood was rushing away from his brain, and when he slipped and was forced to reposition himself to resume fucking, Taylor immediately made a sound in his throat that Bobby had never heard before. He knew within a single stroke that he'd found the man's prostate, and he pounded relentlessly, determined to make Taylor come again before he lost it himself. "Oh ... Oh ... Bobby ... Oh, Jesus..." His cock jerked in Bobby's hand, coating it in fluid that wasn't quite as thick as the come Bobby had swallowed earlier. His body constricted, his ass clenching around Bobby's shaft, his arms and legs tightened around him until Bobby couldn't even move. Taylor trapped him, held him, surrounded him completely, and he trembled, like Bobby had touched him with a live wire. They stayed like that long enough for the edge of Bobby's impending orgasm to ease away. As he waited for him to relax enough so he could start moving again, Bobby rained kisses down upon Taylor's face, kissing over his closed eyes, licking along his jaw, setting his mouth over Taylor's ear and whispering how good he felt, how hard he was going to come, 65

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how it would feel to fuck in the shower later. Taylor shuddered with each word. At the first moment the muscles slackened, Bobby moved again, pulling out in order to slam back in, brutally ploughing into the quivering passage. Short nails dug into his back. They only added to the growing fire, and it didn't take long for Bobby's balls to tighten, for the tumult to grow too much to bear. He came with Taylor's name on his lips, his release erupting as his cock jerked against the tight walls. Over and over and over, he shot, and still, the fire rolled through him, filling him up until he was sure he was going to combust. It didn't stop even when he sought out Taylor's mouth, begging for his breath with a kiss he knew was far too needy. Taylor didn't jerk away from the caress. He deepened the kiss, like Bobby craved, but Taylor seemed to need it just as much as he did. The tension seeped from their bodies slowly, and they sank deeper and deeper into the mattress as the kiss broke apart. "Hope you didn't plan on that shower any time soon. Not sure my legs will work properly for awhile." "I can wait." He knew he had to move to keep from smothering Taylor now that they were done, but he really didn't want to. "But it's okay if they don't work by the time we get in there. I'll just pin you to the wall so you don't need them." "God, you're just full of energy, aren't you?" "No." He smiled, unable to resist. "Just obsessed with your ass." 66

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"It all comes to the same in the end." Taylor put his hand flat against Bobby's ribs and gently pushed until Bobby rolled off him. "I guess this is a non-smoking room." Bobby removed the condom, tied it off, and tossed it into the wastebasket, before rolling back to face Taylor. "You don't smoke anyway. Or is that just an after sex thing for you?" "After sex thing. That's not mentioned in the biographies I'm sure you've read?" He skimmed his fingertips through the come smeared on Taylor's stomach. "No, I think I'd remember that," he said before bringing his hand to his mouth to lick the fluid away. Taylor smiled a little, watching as Bobby's tongue lingered on his fingers. "It's no matter." Bobby dipped his head and traced Taylor's mouth, letting him have a taste as well. "Screw the rules," he murmured against his lips. "If you want 'em, I can run out and get a pack for you." He felt Taylor's grin widen. "Camels. Filters. And a lighter. Please." After one last kiss, Bobby finally peeled back, rising to his feet and going into the bathroom. He washed the come off his chest and the threads still clinging to his cock, all the while humming under his breath. Sex always energized him. Great sex left him feeling like he could move the world. Sex with Taylor apparently made him forget every health lesson he had ever cared about in favor of pleasing the man who'd made him forget his own name for a few minutes there. He was half-dressed by the time he emerged again, but Taylor hadn't moved from his position on the bed. "I'll only be 67

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a few minutes," he said. He pulled his T-shirt on over his head and grabbed his wallet and key card. "Start thinking about that shower." And with a smile, he went off in search of cigarettes. Because that was what Taylor wanted. [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 4 Taylor almost fell asleep. While he was waiting for Bobby to return with his cigarettes, he almost closed his eyes, and let the warm exhaustion take him. The bed was as comfortable as a hotel bed could be, and the air conditioner hummed beneath the window, generating just enough cold air to soothe his flushed skin. His mouth was dry, but when Bobby returned, he might have a soda with him. When Bobby returned. Bobby was going to return. And crawl into bed with him. And wrap his thick arms around him to pull him against his solid chest. Bobby liked to talk. While Taylor smoked his cigarette, Bobby would chat about this, that, or the other damned thing. Taylor would let him, too. Because he liked it, a little bit, when Bobby chatted about whatever damned thing that came to his head. He liked Bobby, a little bit, too. Taylor sat straight up and shivered. "Fuck. Fuck. That fucking kid's fucking with my head. Fucking me." He jumped from the bed and began searching for his clothes. How had his shirt made it clear across the room? He needed to get out of there before Bobby returned. The kid could keep the book—he should have never brought it, but it seemed like a good idea at the time—and maybe he even gave Bobby a thrill. A memory to keep him warm at night. Taylor winced at the thought. He hadn't given Bobby a thrill. He hated people who lied to him. He hated the games 69

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people played, the constant deception, even if he wasn't above using the other people to fulfill his needs. But he couldn't, in good conscience, lie to himself. He hadn't given Bobby anything as cheap as a thrill, and whatever happened in that room was not a simple fuck. Nobody got laid. Nobody got lucky. Bobby had been completely serious, one hundred percent sincere, and he demanded the same sort of sincerity from Taylor, because lies wouldn't be tolerated. Lies weren't even optional. Taylor could not deal with this shit. Bobby would probably get that. He knew that, once again, it was he who failed to understand. It was he who could not grasp the sort of connections and feelings that came to others naturally. He understood being thrown against a wall and used by some random guy in a noisy, smoky club. He understood sucking off a stranger in the front seat of his car. He even understood hustling for drinking money—he did it when he had sex, he did it when he wrote his books. But he did not understand almost falling asleep in another man's bed while waiting for a fresh pack of smokes. But he didn't quite make it. He was still searching for his shoes when Bobby opened the door. The plastic sack crinkled as it slapped lightly against Bobby's leg. Something more than cigarettes weighed it down. The thought made Taylor root around more quickly for his other sandal. "What're you doing?" Bobby was frowning. Those clear baby blues weren't so clear at the moment. Confusion rippled 70

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through his face, the sudden tension in his arms. "Did you forget something else you wanted?" "No, I didn't forget anything. I'm going home." Bobby didn't move from where he blocked the path to the door. "I thought you weren't in a hurry to leave. Did something happen?" "Yes, something did happen. I figured out I had better things to do than spend the afternoon here." He saw the words land. He saw the nearly infinitesimal flinch. Then he saw the muscles in that square jaw tighten. One thing he had to give Bobby; the kid took the blows like a pro. "Don't forget these." The sack sailed across the room to land neatly on the bed beside Taylor pulling on his shoe. "There's a diet Coke and a couple candy bars in there, too. I figured you wouldn't want to spend three times as much on the vending machines." A dozen retorts came to mind, all of them capable of cutting Bobby off at the knees, but Taylor didn't think he had the energy to fling them out, one by one, until something stuck. Instead, he pulled the cigarettes out of the bag and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. "Thanks for these. And the fuck. But you can keep the candy." Bobby leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest, not quite barring the way anymore but still not giving him the easy way out. "Wow, I must really merit. You actually said thank you." 71

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"I told you that you could have my gratitude, didn't I? I doubt you forgot I said that. You haven't forgotten anything else I've done." "No, actually, that's not true. There were a few minutes there in bed when I forgot what an asshole you were the first time I fucked you. Neat trick, that. You actually convinced me that was the real you yesterday. Or that the draft you gave me might actually mean something." "What did you want it to mean, Bobby?" Taylor's question was more curious than cutting. "That maybe you had done the impossible—or at least the improbable—and found the good in me?" "It doesn't matter now, does it?" "You're right. It doesn't." But he wasn't leaving and Bobby wasn't completely blocking his path. "So, out of curiosity, which part lit the fire under your ass? The fact that you asked for me? Or the fact that you got me?" "God's honest truth, Bobby?" Taylor pulled the cigarettes from his pocket and tore the cellophane from the package. The nicotine fix he didn't technically need seemed like a good idea. "It's the part where you looked at me like you were just waiting for the chance to jump at my next command." The frown returned, though this one resembled more of the thoughtful Bobby he'd gotten to know the past twentyfour hours rather than the one who'd been shooting daggers at him. "Let me get this straight. You want to get out of here because you don't like me being ... considerate?"

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"No. It's because I was going to leave sooner or later, anyway. Might as well be sooner. Would you be any happier about it if I waited around until after dinner?" "Oh, no. No, no, no." Pushing off the wall, Bobby stalked over, looming larger and broader with every step. "You don't get to turn this into your good deed of the day. Leaving to spare me a little bit of pain? At least be honest about it. Though at this point, I have no clue what that means for you anymore." Taylor put the cigarette in his mouth, only to realize he didn't have a lighter. Or a match. Bobby probably bought one. He is considerate, after all. Taylor almost snorted at the thought, and decided to just leave the cigarette hanging there. "I don't know what the fuck to do with you, Bobby. The truth is, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here in the first place. I meant it yesterday when I said I didn't want to see you again. And you know, if I say it again now, I'll still mean it." He moved toward the door. "So I'm leaving." He should have moved faster. He knew for a fact that Bobby was quick when he wanted to be, so he really should have expected it when the kid grabbed his shoulder and shoved him into the wall. "And tomorrow?" Bobby snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it aside. "Are you going to show up at my door tomorrow still meaning it?" "No. I won't be showing up tomorrow at all. I just came by today to drop off a bit of trash." The lie tasted like ashes on his tongue, and he longed for the cigarette Bobby had so 73

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casually tossed aside. "Everything that happened after that was incidental." "I don't believe you. It wasn't incidental. You said specifically you didn't want it to be about proving anything." Taylor could have growled with frustration. Was he just getting old and rattled? Or was Bobby really that unswayable. He was beginning to feel like it was the former. "It doesn't change the fact you won't be seeing me again." He tried to push against Bobby's shoulder, but the larger man was not going to budge. "Is there some business we have unfinished here?" Bobby's teeth clicked as his jaw clenched. His eyes searched Taylor's, flickering to his mouth, the hand pinning Taylor to the wall, back to his eyes again. The longer he took to speak, the more uncomfortable Taylor got. "I'm not ready for you to go yet." His tongue ran over his lower lip, and for a crazy moment, Taylor thought he was going to kiss him again. "If we call a cease-fire on the sex, would you stay?" "No, because then you'll just want to talk." Like Taylor had assumed he would. Which had prompted his initial decision to leave. His shoulders slumped a little, and the edge had gone out of his voice, though he didn't bite back the words. "Like we're friends or peers or something. We're not. And we won't be. Why aren't you ready for me to go yet? Is this fun for you?" "Because I like you." It came unerringly swift. He really was losing his edge; he should have seen it coming a mile away. "Because in a couple days, I'm crawling back into my 74

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books and my classes, and you're crawling back into your head and your hole-in-the-wall apartment, and I'm never going to see you again. What's so bad about talking?" "I've run out of things to say to you." Taylor gestured at the discarded manuscript. "There. Now you'll know everything anybody has ever deemed worth knowing about me. And since I don't have anything to say to you, you'll prattle on about what ever tedious thing has come to your mind, boring me, and embarrassing yourself in the process." "You're not your work. I've figured that out now. Don't lump me into the same category of the others who let you down somehow." "What about the ones I've let down already? Can I lump you in with them?" Bobby's eyes softened. "The only thing you've done so far to let me down is try and leave. So don't do that, and we'll be good." It shouldn't matter if he let Bobby down. It shouldn't be possible to let Bobby down. It shouldn't be a consideration. He didn't want, or need, that sort of responsibility—the responsibility of thinking about other people's feelings. Bobby's feelings. Bobby's disappointment. "For now." The hand on his shoulder eased slightly, the fingertips kneading into his tense muscle. "I don't have a problem with 'for now' if you don't." Taylor had problems. Taylor had a lot of problems. But he wasn't sure where to start, so he nodded. "I'd like to have my smoke now, though." 75

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Bobby watched him carefully, obviously gauging the flight factor before letting him go. He took the few steps back to the bed and retrieved the pack of cigarettes, digging around in the plastic sack to pull out a lighter. He handed both over to Taylor. "I'm sorry about shoving you," he said. "I don't normally get so physical. I don't know what's gotten into me this week." "Don't worry about it." The lighter flared and the cigarette glowed orange for a moment. "I seem to bring that out in people, anyway." "That doesn't make it right." Taylor waved his hand in front of his face, pushing the cloud of smoke away. "You're forgiven, if that's what you want. But since you're wondering what's gotten into you this week, I'm telling you. It's me." For the first time since returning, something resembling a smile ghosted across Bobby's mouth. "I probably should've expected that. You've always had a way of shaking up my life." Before Taylor could make a comment, he added, "It works for us in bed, though. Getting physical. I like that I can pound into you as hard as I want, and you make me feel you actually want it." "I do. Did." Taylor exhaled smoke through his nose. "Okay, do. But you know that. You must." Bobby sat down on the edge of the bed. "I thought maybe, but I've thought a lot of things this week and been wrong about them. This could've been more of the same." He 76

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glanced down, picking at his nails for a moment. "It seems more important to be right with you than quick on the draw." Taylor didn't move from the wall, though a part of him wanted to go to the bed with Bobby. "I know you're capable of being right and quick on the draw." He leaned over and flicked his ashes into the trash bin. "It's more important to be smart with me." He shook his head. "You're not some trap I'm going to get caught on. I wish you'd stop thinking like that." Taylor sighed. "Well, anyway, I do want you to get physical with me. You're not going to break me, and I like the way you use your body." The smile returned. It bugged him how much he actually liked it. "Does that mean we're not calling a cease-fire to the sex then?" "I don't want a cease-fire on the sex. The sex is the part that actually makes sense to me." Bobby's eyes narrowed slightly, but almost immediately eased again. The smile was gone, though. In its place was a quiet contemplation. "That doesn't mean I'm calling a cease-fire on everything else instead," he commented. "If that's what you expect, then maybe you really should go." Taylor thought he should call Bobby's bluff and walk out. And then he realized, it wasn't a bluff. If Taylor only wanted to fuck, then Bobby didn't want him there. It was exactly what Taylor had wanted to hear just five minutes earlier, but now it didn't seem like enough. It didn't seem right. 77

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"I don't mind everything else. Besides, I would never expect you to call a cease-fire on talking my ear off." His mouth twitched. "It only seems like I'm talking your ear off because you're out of practice." "I'm more worried about the other areas where I'm out of practice." He stepped into the bathroom and tossed the cigarette into the toilet. "You're not out of practice, though. You don't have a boyfriend lurking in Chicago, do you?" "No. Lucas—my last boyfriend—broke up with me on spring break because I wouldn't do a threesome with him and this guy he picked up at a club one night." Taylor rolled his eyes. "You always clear a threesome with the boyfriend first. Cuts down on awkward moments." "And somehow, I still manage to get my fair share of those." Bobby reached across for the sack that rested discarded on the bed and fished out the diet Coke. "You're not out of practice, though. You're so much not out of practice that I'm starting to wonder if I should be the one worrying about a lurking jealous boyfriend." "No. No lurking boyfriend. There hasn't been any lurking, jealous boyfriend for a long, long time. I'm not really boyfriend material." He watched as Bobby took a deep drink then held out his hand. Bobby handed him the bottle silently, and Taylor filled his mouth. "Believe it or not." "So you're staying today?" The question was asked simply, quietly. No artifice. Just a hopefulness that matched the clear gaze he couldn't shake. "I want you to, if that makes a difference." He paused. "Unless it means you're going to say no, then forget I said that." 78

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If anybody else had said that to him, it would have made a difference. A big difference. Because, before Bobby, there really was only one reason a person would ask him to stick around. "I'll stay. And I mean it this time. Though I'll do something to prove it if you don't believe me." Bobby's brows shot up. "I do believe you, except now I'm dying to know what you'd do to prove it." Taylor shrugged. "What would it take?" "Come out with me for the afternoon. Show me Kansas City. Then we can have dinner, and I'll do whatever you want from that point on." Taylor narrowed his eyes. "You want a date?" "If that's what you want to call it. We have to eat anyway, don't we?" Taylor didn't think he wanted to call it a date, but it sure as hell seemed like one. He once thought Bobby might be his own Annie Wilkes, but now he was beginning to wonder if Bobby was just a glutton for punishment. "We do. You should have some genuine Kansas City barbecue before you go home." Bobby smiled, wide and genuine. "All you can eat? We can work it off afterward then." "Sure. If that's what you want. I even have my car this time, so you don't have to trudge through the heat and humidity." "Ah, and here I thought you liked me all hot and sweaty."

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Taylor grinned. "Actually, I like to get you all hot and sweaty. And there are better ways than going for long walks in the summer heat." Rising from the bed, Bobby closed the distance between them, only stopping to scoop his hand behind Taylor's neck and crush their mouths together. The kiss was hard and demanding and far too brief, but at least he didn't let go when he was done. "All night," he promised. "I've got all that youthful energy, remember?" Taylor didn't know how this short errand had turned into so much more, taking a whole afternoon and night out of his regular life. Well, he knew how. He had let it happen. What he didn't know was why. He didn't pull away, though. He touched Bobby's chest and nodded. "Let's just see if I can keep up." [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 5 Taylor took Bobby to the center of Kansas City, and they wandered through stores and small shops and galleries and a museum. Bobby had something to say about everything. He bought a few small items as souvenirs, and he had an insatiable sweet tooth. At least it seemed that way to Taylor since Bobby was always crunching on little pieces of candy and mints, and making his breath smell sweet. Bobby hadn't been joking about his desire for all-you-caneat ribs. All day long, Taylor thought of little ways to cut at Bobby. Take him to dinner at a crappy buffet instead of a decent barbecue place. Tell him to shut up his chatter. Correct him when he made an obvious mistake, or even a tiny error that didn't make a huge difference. But he didn't. Not only that, he actively stopped himself and thought of nicer things to say. He even found himself searching for ways to make Bobby smile. It was horrifying. And Bobby didn't seem to have any expectations. Everything was a pleasant surprise. Nothing disappointed him. They were almost finished with dinner when Taylor realized exactly what he would need to do to make Bobby's eyes light up, make that huge, bright smile return. He had the power to do it. Did he have the desire to use that power? Or should he let it go? "Look," Taylor said, as they waited for their check, "do you want to go back to your hotel room?" 81

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Bobby lounged back in his chair, his feet nudging against Taylor's beneath the table. "Not really. Did you have something else in mind? A movie, or something?" "Not a movie. A more comfortable bed." His gaze raked over Taylor's body. "You looked plenty comfortable in my bed this morning." "I'm more comfortable in mine. I guess you get that way when you're old." The saucy taunt froze. Even the shoe pushing against his stopped moving. Bobby looked at him as if he couldn't quite believe what Taylor had said, motionless even when the waitress came by and slipped the check beneath the napkin canister. Only after she left did the smile Taylor had been waiting for start shining through, and Bobby leaned forward, his hand stretching across the table to graze fingertips across Taylor's arm. "Old is the last word I think of when I think of you." "Is 'asshole' the first word?" The smile widened. Closer to the brilliance Taylor was aiming for. "No. Provocative is." Taylor couldn't help but grin as he opened his wallet and counted out several bills. "Provocative asshole, then." "You're only saying that because you think it'll piss me off so I fuck you harder." He lowered his voice, and a hungry gleam appeared in his eyes. "For the record, that really isn't necessary."

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"I'm beginning to see that. But I did get a bit of a taste of what happens when you're pissed off." Taylor licked some sauce from his thumb. "And I liked it. Ready?" Bobby was up out of his chair before he'd finished speaking, waiting for Taylor to rise and join him. They navigated through the tightly packed tables in silence, neither speaking until they were both in the car. As soon as Taylor slammed his door, Bobby stretched across the gear shift to zero in on Taylor's semi-hard cock. "If it wasn't still light outside, I'd ask you to ride me here," he said huskily. "But I don't feel like sharing you with an audience." Taylor didn't knock his hand away, though it didn't make it easier to back the car out of the parking lot. "That's a shame. I've done some of my best work in front of an audience." "I'll be your audience." He squeezed hard enough to make Taylor tighten his hold on the steering wheel. "Do we need to stop and get anything?" "Yeah, actually. I'm sure the expiration date has come and gone by now on the condoms I have. There's a drug store near my apartment, though. It'll be a quick stop." Taylor snorted softly. "I don't think I've ever done this." "Done what?" Taylor glanced at Bobby from the corner of his eye, wondering if he should elaborate. Or maybe he had already said too much? "Go out with somebody on what some would call a date. Take that person back to my home afterward. How many 83

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boyfriends have you had? Two? Four? More? This is normal behavior for you. It's never been for me." "Normal is relative." Bobby finally sat back in his seat, and though it was easier to drive, Taylor missed the contact. "Do you regret it? Now or then." Taylor considered the question for several moments, his eyes fixed on the glowing taillights in front of him. He never asked himself if he had regrets, because he never did anything he didn't want to do. Even if Bobby confused him and made him uncomfortable, he knew he spent time with him because he wanted to. "No. Not when it comes to relationships, or the lack thereof, anyway." Bobby fell silent again, though Taylor felt his gaze sure and steady. "Does the fact that I've been with five guys I considered boyfriends make you think less of me, then?" "No. It makes me think you're not completely fucked up. I may not have regrets, but I know healthy people have relationships." "You've really never had a date?" "Picking up random guys for a quick fuck doesn't count, right? When I wanted to have sex, I didn't need to go through the whole charade of a date. Also, when I wanted to have sex, I didn't want to ruin it with a lot of talking." "No, I can't imagine you would," Bobby mused. He grinned. "Just don't shut up when I've got my prick up your ass, okay? I like it when you talk then." "You just don't take it personally, do you?" 84

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"Why should I? We spent the day together, had a great dinner. Now I get to spend the night pounding into you, in your bed, until neither one of us can come anymore." "Others would, you know. I haven't been very nice to you." "Yeah, well, you didn't have me arrested for kidnapping you with my cuffing stunt, and now you've invited me back to your place. I think that's more than nice enough." Taylor thought Bobby had higher standards than that. Or should have higher standards. But either way, he wasn't going to argue over it. He wasn't very nice to anybody for any reason, why should Bobby be different? He was a little different from anybody else. After all, he'd never invited anybody else back to his apartment. Taylor pulled into the drug store's parking lot and parked near the door. "I'll be back in a second. Don't run away while I'm gone." He moved swiftly through the too-bright store, grabbing a box of condoms and one, then a second, bottle of lube before heading to the cashier. Through the plate glass windows, he saw Bobby tracking his movements, which only prompted him to snap at the pimply clerk to hurry it up. He didn't want to be in here. He wanted to be pinned beneath that big, beautiful body until he couldn't breathe anymore. Bobby chatted about how good the barbecue was the rest of the way to the apartment, and though Taylor wasn't certain, part of him was convinced Bobby deliberately did everything he could to make the food sound like an orgasmic experience. Nobody should be that excited about putting 85

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anything in their mouth, a wry comment he made as he led the way down the stairs. "I was just warming it up for later," Bobby said with a grin. His lashes ducked as he watched Taylor slip the key in the door. "Or now, as the case may be." Taylor let Bobby into the apartment, but hesitated at the door. They could have sex on the couch again. It wouldn't be terribly comfortable for Bobby's larger frame, but he didn't need to lead Bobby into his room. The hungry look in Bobby's eyes prompted him to move. "You did promise to suck me off earlier, didn't you? You owe me." They hadn't made it two steps before Bobby grabbed Taylor's shoulder and yanked him back against his body. "I promised a lot of things," he murmured, sinking his teeth into Taylor's neck. As Taylor gasped, Bobby smoothed a hand inside the waistband of his jeans in order to find the wet tip of his cock. His nail caught in the slit, and the slight sting made Taylor moan. "I was kind of hoping to get my prick in your throat again, too." Taylor shuddered at the thought, and at the way Bobby's cock pressed into his ass. He could feel Bobby's shaft filling his throat already, feel its weight against his tongue, taste the come filling his mouth. "That's not going to be a problem, I promise." Bobby licked over the marks he'd probably left in the skin, but he didn't move except to push his hand farther into Taylor's pants. "And riding me like I wanted in the car? I'll jerk you off while I'm fucking you, then, just so that I can get 86

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you to shoot all over me." The flat of his tongue dragged upward to Taylor's ear, and he bit at the lobe. "If you lick it off me when we're done, I guarantee you I'll be hard before all the come is gone. You have no idea how hot I think that is." Taylor didn't know how hot Bobby thought it was, but he knew how the thought weakened him. He wanted to slide down Bobby's body and swallow him right there, and then do anything else Bobby told him to do. When Bobby left—when he was really gone—Taylor would figure out why he was so willing to turn himself over to Bobby's desires. Maybe he'd even write a damned book about it. Bobby's arms were steel bands around him, broad fingers stroking along his shaft. Bobby scraped a path to his nape, and Taylor dropped his head forward to expose more of the sinew. Shivers rippled through his body as Bobby bit at his flesh. It was almost like the kid was trying to eat him alive. Taylor was just about to the point to let him. The bites continued, down over his thin T-shirt, catching on each knob of his spine. Bobby removed his hand from Taylor's cock in order to undo his jeans. By the time they were open, he was on his knees, and his hot breath soaked the cotton at the small of his back. "It might take me a minute to get to your cock," he murmured. The denim slid down Taylor's hips, and Bobby gripped his shaft. "Your ass is distracting me again." Taylor ran his hands over his face and through his hair, waiting for Bobby's mouth to close around his hole again. But Bobby wasn't so distracted he couldn't take his time. He 87

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skimmed his lips over the curve of Taylor's ass, then took the same path with his teeth, leaving trails of fire over his skin. Taylor reached behind him, running his fingers through Bobby's hair. His soft hair. Some parts of Bobby were distractingly soft, including his tongue when he dragged it down Taylor's crease. "Spread your legs." The order was softly spoken, nearly inaudible, completely obligatory. His jeans trapped his knees, but he moved them as far apart as he could manage. "That's better." Bobby tilted Taylor's cock upward, pulling in long, slow strokes that smeared the pre-come around the head. His other hand slithered between Taylor's thighs. At the moment his tongue traced the tight pucker, Bobby squeezed Taylor's balls and twisted lightly. Taylor might have mentioned that his room, and his bed, was really much more comfortable for this sort of thing. He might have said a lot of things, but thoughts and words fled as Bobby worked his balls. His fingers were a hard contrast to his tongue, and Taylor felt like he was being pulled in two different directions. He wanted to close his eyes and push back against Bobby's mouth to enjoy the thorough attention of his tongue, and he wanted to twist and turn with his hand. "Bobby ... God ... What are you doing to me?" He didn't really expect a response. That would mean Bobby moving his mouth away, and Taylor was pretty sure neither one of them wanted that. He was also pretty sure he wasn't going to last long if Bobby kept up this particular 88

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onslaught. But with his lower half trapped, and the fire raging under his skin, he wasn't going anywhere. He had no choice but to let Bobby have his way and hope he didn't shatter in the process. When Bobby finally did speak, Taylor's knees were shaking. "Have I told you yet what a great day I had today? I honestly didn't think it could get any better. You proved me wrong again." He should make a crack about Bobby's low expectations. He should snidely point out that Bobby was a cheap date. But it wouldn't do any good. Bobby wouldn't balk at the harsh words. And he didn't mean it, anyway. "Good. I..." For a moment, frustration eclipsed his pleasure. He was what? His trade was in words. He should have something now. "Wanted you to have a good day." The hands on his cock and balls tightened. The only reason Taylor didn't crumple on the spot was because Bobby pressed closer, giving him something to lean against. Scrabbling against Bobby's powerful arm, he used it to steady himself, but then the grips disappeared, and Bobby was rising again, coming around Taylor to grasp either side of his head. His mouth came crashing down, his tongue plunging past lips and teeth in a kiss that bordered on desperate. The moan that followed could have been Taylor's, except he didn't have the breath for it. That made it Bobby's. That made it better. Taylor gripped Bobby's shoulders, holding him tighter and tighter as the caress continued. A part of him knew Bobby 89

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wasn't going to the first one to break the kiss. He wasn't going to step away. His mouth was far too demanding, the moans in the back of his throat too hungry. Taylor wasn't going to be the first one to step away, either. Bobby's mouth warmed him, made his blood hot, and his skin flushed. It also made him anxious, unsure of himself and the tumult of emotions in his chest. When it happened, he wasn't sure why. But as the seconds dissolved into minutes, he slowly became aware that Bobby's kisses were slowing. The hands that had been holding his head motionless slid down Taylor's chest, not stopping until they reached his hips again. "Only thing that can make this better is your bed," Bobby said against his lips. Taylor nodded. He curled his fingers around Bobby's waistband and pulled him toward the bedroom. Nobody had ever seen the inside of his bedroom. It was small, but it was comfortable. The apartment might have been a cave, but his bedroom was more like a sanctuary. The room had a large bed, a small desk, and a wall-sized bookshelf. A stack of handwritten notes were balanced on the small desk, and Taylor paused, waiting for Bobby to notice, waiting for his attention to be distracted by what could only be a third novel. Bobby didn't even glance at the desk. All of his attention was focused on Taylor. Taylor brought Bobby's mouth to his again and guided him to the bed. When Bobby put his hands to Taylor's chest and pushed, Taylor tumbled backward onto the bed. Bobby looked even larger than normal, looming at the end of the bed, and his 90

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eyes were uncharacteristically dark as he bent down and yanked off Taylor's shoes and jeans. His clothes quickly followed. By the time he was naked, his thick cock jutted out from his body in declaration of his arousal, the tip shiny with pre-come. "You wanted sucking?" Bobby knelt on the edge of the bed between Taylor's legs and bent forward. He licked a path around the sac, up the shaft, circling the head, then paused to look up Taylor's body. "Unless you've changed your mind." "No. I haven't changed my mind." Taylor watched Bobby's dark eyes for a moment before adding, "But I thought you wanted sucking, too?" Bobby tensed as if to move, then hesitated. "I'm a lot bigger than you." Taylor shook his head and pushed himself to the middle of the bed. "That's fine. I like that you're a lot bigger than me. You won't crush me." Permission seemed to be all Bobby was looking for. He moved off and around the edge, climbing back on and throwing his leg over Taylor's chest. It exposed his ass, but more importantly, it shrouded Taylor with his weight, bearing him down even farther into the mattress. Slowly, Bobby edged backward, leaving a wet trail along Taylor's shirt where his cock dragged over the fabric. Taylor slithered down to allow Bobby's knees to get on the other side of his shoulders. His mouth watered with every inch that gorgeous prick approached. Before he could grasp it, though, Bobby gripped his, angled it away from his body, and immediately swallowed it down. 91

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Taylor had been thinking about a slower pace, right up until Bobby's lips touched his shaft. Then all he could think about was filling his own throat with Bobby's cock. He did take the time to suck Bobby's balls into his mouth, gently holding each one between his teeth to lick and massage. Bobby's groan made his own balls ache. His hand drifted up Bobby's tense thigh to his ass, and he traced Bobby's clenched hole with his fingernail. Teeth scraped along his shaft as Bobby pulled off with a gasp. "What're you...?" His upper body twisted as he looked back at Taylor. "I thought you wanted me to fuck you." Taylor frowned and wiggled his finger. "This isn't my cock, Bobby. Hasn't anybody ever touched you there just for fun?" "No. All my boyfriends ever wanted was for me to fuck them. The closest anyone's ever been to my ass is sucking on my balls." "You can enjoy attention to your ass without getting fucked." Though now Taylor wanted to fuck him. He wanted his cock to be the first in Bobby's tight ass. He pushed the idea aside. The night was young. "So relax." Though he still looked unsure, Bobby swung back to face Taylor's cock. He didn't swallow it down again, choosing instead to lick around and around the dripping head. It might have been a calming exercise for him, because as Taylor watched, the tight muscle slowly eased, relaxing as he'd been told. "That's it," Taylor murmured. He began to caress him again, keeping his touch light and careful. It was difficult to 92

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concentrate with Bobby's wet, hot tongue moving over his sensitive skin, but he didn't want to fuck this up. He didn't bother to examine why he didn't want to fuck this up for Bobby. He pulled his hand away again and Bobby sighed, his hips rocking back as though he was seeking out Taylor's finger. Taylor sucked on it for a moment, then pushed his wet fingertip into Bobby's ass. The muscle immediately clamped down around his knuckle. Hot breath spilled over his groin as Bobby swore softly, but Taylor didn't miss the absence of his talented tongue. His head was too busy teeming with thoughts of what that muscle would feel like squeezing around his cock. He would have to take it slow, really work to get his cock inside the kid. Savor it. It took time for Bobby to relax again. By the time he did, sweat was already gluing their bodies together. "You're fine." Taylor buried his finger to the third knuckle and held still for several seconds. He eased out of Bobby's channel and sought out Bobby's balls again with his tongue. Bobby groaned, and Taylor began to move his wrist, slowing pumping his finger in and out of Bobby's body. "Ready?" Bobby didn't have the chance to ask for clarification before Taylor curled his finger and sought out Bobby's prostate. His entire body jolted. There was something inherently wicked about introducing a kid to the joys of his prostate, a slight debauching Taylor always got off on. Though this carried tinges of that, it was the sudden stream of 93

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encouragement to come from Bobby's mouth, the near voracious way he attacked Taylor's cock, that truly got to him. Taylor barely had the wherewithal to continue his attention under the renewed assault. All he felt was the rough fingers on his balls, the constriction of Bobby's throat around his cock. That was his nefarious plan, Taylor realized. The boy was going to kill him with pleasure. He wasn't going to get away with it without a fight, Taylor decided. He slipped a second finger into Bobby's passage, and he didn't seem to notice at all. His mouth didn't slow on Taylor's cock, and he didn't make any sounds of protest. Now he used both fingers to massage his prostate, working the spot until Bobby was squirming and whimpering. Taylor wanted to show him what he was capable of, what his own body was capable of. He wanted to make Bobby come without touching his cock again. Muted cries joined Bobby's whimpers. He began grinding against Taylor, clearly seeking out more contact, but Taylor held firm. Not until the boy was shooting. As hard as it was to think straight with his cock vibrating from all the noises Bobby was making. He nearly lost it when Bobby grabbed one of his thighs to force his legs farther apart. Without preparation, three fingers sank into Taylor's ass. Even as the electricity shot through his muscles, though, a guttural shout wrenched from Bobby's throat. In the next second, hot come splashed onto Taylor's chest. 94

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Taylor continued pumping his fingers, and pushed against Bobby's hand. He desperately wanted Bobby's cock to replace his fingers, but just the thought of Bobby turning around and pounding into his ass was enough to make his muscles tighten. The pleasure built at the base of his spine, and Taylor rocked harder, waiting for the spark that would push him over the edge. It came when Bobby swallowed around his shaft. Instead of crying out, Taylor lifted his head and sunk his teeth into Bobby's thigh, his moan muffled against his flesh as he shot down Bobby's throat. Shudders wracked through Bobby, but he never lifted his head from Taylor's cock until he'd swallowed the last bit of come. Even then, he eased up only enough to take a deep breath through his nose, curling his tongue around the shaft and sucking hard at the tip. Taylor bucked, too sensitive to take the pressure. It tore his mouth away from Bobby, and his harsh gasping filled the room. Bobby licked all the way up. With one final dip into the slit, he shifted his weight, swinging his leg back over Taylor's body in order to turn around and sit up. "I can't believe you got me to come without blowing me," he panted. "I can't believe nobody's done that to you before." Bobby's sweaty hair clung to his forehead, and Taylor brushed it off his brow without thinking. "Now imagine how that would have felt with something more than my fingers." Bobby grinned. "You know, saying stuff like that just makes me want to fuck you all the more." 95

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That wasn't Taylor's intention, but he wasn't going to complain. He dragged his fingers through the come on his chest and brought them to his mouth. "Well, let's get on that." Before his fingers were clean, Bobby grabbed his wrist and pulled it to his own mouth. He sucked them in, his tongue swirling in and around them, then leaned over to do the same with Taylor's lips. "How big's your shower?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 6 Bobby wasn't surprised that he didn't see Taylor again before he flew back to Chicago. Disappointed, yes. But after they'd done the song and dance of how he was going to get back to his hotel the morning after, Bobby had known Taylor needed to initiate any future contact. He'd learned the hard way how skittish Taylor could be. Still, after such a great day and even better night together, he let himself hope a little bit that Taylor would at least call to say good-bye, wish him luck, call him a dumb kid, something. Those last thirty-six hours before he finally boarded the plane were the longest of the entire time he'd spent in Kansas City. There was nothing like watching a phone, waiting for it to ring, to make the seconds slow down. But Taylor didn't call. He didn't knock. Bobby boarded the plane without looking back. Back in Chicago, his apartment seemed huge after his tiny hotel room and Taylor's tinier place. Spattered tarps covered the couch he'd bought for twenty bucks at a yard sale his sophomore year, and a freshly painted canvas stood on the easel near the window, drying. Amy had been busy in his absence. She had to have ditched her boyfriend Patric, too, in order to be this productive. As if on cue, someone knocked on the door. Bobby dropped his duffels near the hall that led to the bedrooms and went to answer it. 97

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Patric immediately relaxed. "Great, you're home." He brushed past and headed for the kitchen. "Isn't Amy here? She was supposed to call when I could come over." "I just walked in the door." Bobby followed him, leaning against the jamb to watch Patric fuss with the coffee machine. Amy had been his roommate since they met at a senior lit seminar, and she'd been dating Patric for even longer. But she had weird ideas about not living with Patric, in spite of the fact that he spent more time here than he did at his own apartment. Bobby suspected she liked that she could close her door to him if she wanted to, a fact she took advantage of any time Bobby was gone for more than a day. "I'm more creative when I'm alone," she always said. As odd as he thought it was, Bobby had to agree. The paintings she did when she was the only one home were almost always better than the others she finished with company. "So how was the trip?" Patric had his head buried in the fridge, rooting around for something to eat. "Did you find that writer guy?" That writer guy. Bobby smiled. If they only knew. "Yeah," he said. "Turns out that PI you referred me to actually knew what he was talking about." "Told you he was good. My company uses him all the time to locate deadbeats." He emerged from the refrigerator with a container of chili, a half-filled bag of shredded cheese, and some leftover corn on the cob. "Was it worth it?" 98

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Bobby straightened and went to the cupboard to take out a saucepan. He was torn. There were two ways to answer this— the truth, where he bubbled with all the excitement he felt about the time they'd spent together, or the evasive way, where he respected Taylor's privacy. "I think so," he replied. "He was ... not what I expected." "How so?" "Oh, just little things. Did Amy really kick you out this whole week?" "What do you think? But the painting looks good. I'll bet she sells this one without even trying." Bobby smiled. No matter how many times the issue of living together got shot out of the water, Patric's devotion to Amy never wavered. He wondered briefly what Taylor would think about that, and realized he already knew. He'd think Patric was a lovesick fool. "Did you get him to sign your books?" It took a moment for Bobby to realize Patric was talking about Taylor again. "They'd probably be worth something on eBay, if you did." "He didn't sign them." "What? Why?" Bobby turned his back on Patric, grabbing a knife from the block in order to cut the corn off the cobs. "Because I didn't ask him to." "But you said that was part of why you were going." "No, I said it would be nice if he did. But even if he had, I wouldn't sell them." Patric shook his head. "What good is a signature if you don't sell it?" 99

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"Jesus, it was never about the damn signatures. I don't care if Taylor's famous or not. That never mattered to me." The pan rattled on the burner as the weight of the chili spilled out from the container. "Oh, that's right. The gay thing. I forgot about that." Bobby's grip tightened on the hilt. Patric was never derisive about his being gay or turned his nose up when Bobby would get affectionate in public with a date or boyfriend, but he had the annoying habit of treating it like it was some kind of affliction Bobby had. Worse, having his relationship with Taylor denigrated to some sort of mentorship, like Taylor was passing along the gay baton or something, made Bobby want to flatten Patric on the spot. "Did you ever think that maybe I just liked hanging out with Taylor?" Bobby said. "I would have liked it, even if he wasn't gay." "So you don't care if he's gay, you don't care if he's famous, what do you care about this guy for?" Enough was enough. "Because he's brilliant. And he doesn't even realize how brilliant he is. And he keeps me on my toes, makes me think. He's literate, funny, and—" "Gorgeous?" Patric grinned at Bobby's startled jump. "He is, isn't he?" "What he looks like—" "Doesn't matter to you," Patric finished. "Right. Except the way you're talking, you sound like you're in love with the guy. Like how you got when you met Lucas." 100

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He wanted to protest that Patric didn't know what the hell he was talking about. His relationship with Taylor wasn't anything like Lucas. But as soon as he realized he thought of Taylor in terms of a "relationship," Bobby's thought processes ground to a halt. As his silence stretched, Patric reached across and clapped him on the back. "Hang in there," he said. "We all fall for that one person we can never have at one point or another. And, hey, how many of us can say that the object of our affections is a famous writer?" He took the cut corn and turned away, leaving him there to his thoughts. Object of his affections. He'd had a case of hero worship when he'd arrived in Kansas City, but that definitely wasn't the case when he left. He knew the real Parley Taylor too well by that point to idolize him so blindly. But there were still feelings there, feelings he couldn't ignore, feelings he wasn't sure how to ignore. It was more than the physical desire just seeing Taylor evoked, though he had never had a partner who made him feel the way Taylor did in bed, or out of it, for that matter. It was how he felt when he was with Taylor, how he could see Taylor trying to be civil for him, how Taylor slipped every once in a while and then was surprised that Bobby didn't let it get to him. "So are you going to see him again?" Bobby stared at the cutting board in front of him but didn't see it. He saw a sharp smile that disappeared all too quickly. He saw nimble fingers wrapped around his wrist, felt the hesitancy in them in spite of their strength. He saw piercing 101

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blue eyes softening when they would glance at him when he thought Bobby wasn't paying attention. "Probably not," he said. Saying the words aloud sent a pang through his chest. "He doesn't need to be pestered by some kid like me. He's got better things to do with his time." And he did. Bobby had seen the evidence, though he'd refrained from commenting on it. Taylor had been perfectly clear from the start that he was just indulging Bobby, maybe scratching an itch since there was an obvious physical attraction between them. Bobby would respect that. Even if it took months to get over one Dr. Parley Taylor. **** When Taylor used Google to find out more information about Bobby, he told himself he was just vaguely curious about who this young man was. He had already published a paper—and Taylor was disappointed that the paper hadn't been about him—and he had played sports as an undergrad— football and track and field—which would explain his physique. But beyond that, there wasn't anything Taylor didn't already know about the kid. Well, there was one thing he didn't know. One thing a quick search on the Internet couldn't tell him. Why he was still thinking about Bobby Kendrick at all. After the second night they spent together, Taylor was so upset and confused, he didn't mind when Bobby left. And then, when he started to miss Bobby, he was too furious with himself to call the kid. He wasn't sure who he was punishing by refusing to call Bobby. Bobby for making him feel that 102

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way? Perhaps. Himself for becoming attached to a stupid kid who didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground? Extremely likely. Bobby had disrupted his routine. And now he couldn't find it again. He spent more time than he wanted to staring at the pages on his desk, reading over the lines, jotting down notes. A novel was there. A story was forming. Taylor didn't know what it was yet, what shape it would take, where the characters would go. But it was there. Sometimes he imagined Bobby reading it. And he hated himself for it. It was like some sort of bile stuck in his throat. Since when did he care about who read his books? Since when did he care about what anybody thought of his books? He didn't write for anybody. At most, his main goal was a paycheck. Of course, if he told Bobby that, the kid wouldn't believe him. He'd search for a better motivation, and pick out real meaning, and he'd be so confident in his beliefs that he might as well be right, since the truth wouldn't be able to sway him. He thought he probably did want Bobby to read it. He wanted Bobby to like it. He didn't need Bobby's praise—it hadn't done him any good so far—but... Fuck. Why was he even thinking about it? He'd never see Bobby again. They both got what they wanted out of their little fling, and now it was back to a normal life. The normal life Taylor had carefully selected for himself. It was no accident or coincidence he ended up in his little apartment in Kansas City. And it was the normal life that had made him 103

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happy. He hadn't wanted for anything. He enjoyed the solitude. The silence. The privacy. Even the celibacy. So what the fuck was so different now that he couldn't enjoy the only life he had ever really wanted for himself? The knock on the door startled him, and for a moment, he was sure it was Bobby. Even hoped it was Bobby. Though if he did open the door and Bobby was standing in the hallway, he'd be more annoyed than relieved. It wasn't, though. It was just a guy in a brown cap who wanted Taylor to sign some electronic tablet in return for a tiny box. Electronic tablet? What was wrong with paper? Taylor was beginning to feel old. He blamed that on Bobby. The package was from him, of course. Taylor didn't need a note to tell him as much, but there was one attached, even so. I almost considered not writing a note. I thought, if he doesn't know it's from me, then clearly I did something wrong. But in the end, I knew I had to. I had to take this last chance to tell you thank you for some amazing couple of days. You opened my eyes, more than I thought possible. It's not about your writing, as great as I think it is. It's not about the sex, as great as I know it was. It's about you. The you, you allowed me to catch a glimpse of. You didn't have to do that, and yet, you did. So thank you. It's just further testimony to the man I know you are. Bobby Taylor wadded up the note into a tiny ball and dropped it on the floor. Why did Bobby insist on doing that? Why did he insist on acting like Taylor just needed some positive 104

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reinforcement to build up his self-esteem? Taylor had plenty of esteem in himself. No matter how much Bobby insisted there was a different man in Taylor's skin, beneath all the rough edges, it wasn't true. And no matter how much Bobby tried, he was never going to fix the scars or be able to take back all the shit Taylor had seen. Experienced. Despite his annoyance with the note, Taylor opened the box to see just what Bobby thought the perfect gift would be. He had no desire to take anything from Bobby, and he thought he should probably send it back. Especially when he saw it was a pen. A gorgeous pen. The sort of pen that most people would treasure and use with pride, but a pen, all the same. "Once a writer, always a writer, huh?" It was more difficult to put a name on this disappointment. Did he expect anything else from Bobby? Anything better? He plucked the pen from its box and held it up to the light to study the inscription. And smiled. Once he started smiling, he didn't want to stop. Provocative Asshole. When he was smiling, it was a little bit easier to be generous about Bobby. Bobby, who had seen the inside of his bedroom, who had plainly seen evidence of a book that had only existed in rumors and speculation before. Bobby, who hadn't even asked him about it, and certainly hadn't mentioned it to anybody. If he had, it would have been all over the country by now. Gossip traveled fast in literary circles. In fact, nothing traveled faster. 105

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He bent and picked up the note, then smoothed the wrinkles out of it. With that tiny gesture, Taylor knew what he had to do. And thanks to the gift, he already knew where Bobby lived. [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 7 It was time to stop stalling. Bobby knew he had to do it. Classes were scheduled to start in a couple weeks. But for whatever reason, every time he sat down to choose his courses for his second-to-last semester, something distracted him. A football game on TV. Amy needing help lugging new supplies up from her car. The sudden need to trim his toenails. This wasn't like him. He loved school. He loved the process of picking and choosing his schedule. It fulfilled some inner geek cred that he'd been good enough at sports not to get teased about. But every time he sat down at the computer to go through the online catalog and check availability, he ended up somewhere else. He ended up thinking about Taylor. It had been two weeks since he'd left Kansas City. Over one since he'd sent the pen. It felt like longer. Taylor would give him shit about obsessing, and this time, Bobby wouldn't be able to tell him he was wrong. He missed him. He missed the asshole's dry laugh when something struck him particularly funny, and he missed the way he pushed back Bobby's hair out of his eyes when they were both lying down after sex. He missed watching that gorgeous ass walk away from him, and he missed the desperate way Taylor dug into his flesh when they were fucking, like he was afraid he'd disappear if he let go. 107

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Bobby sighed and stared at the monitor. At least he'd never humiliated himself by telling Taylor exactly how he felt about him. He wasn't sure he could handle the mocking that would definitely follow. The knock that came at the door was a welcome interruption. Opening it to see the man of his thoughts on the other side made Bobby stop dead in his tracks. Taylor looked back at him without speaking, as though they were having some sort of impromptu staring contest. Several beats passed before Taylor sighed and rolled his eyes. "Are you going to invite me in or are we going to talk in the hallway?" Bobby jerked. "Oh, right, of course." He stepped out of the way to give him room to enter. "Come on in." Taylor stepped into the living room and looked around. "You have a roommate?" "Yeah, but Amy's not here right now." He shut the door and promptly shoved his hands into his pockets. The urge to reach out and touch Taylor upon sight was still overwhelming. "Can I get you something to drink?" "No." Taylor paused for a moment, before adding. "Thank you. I'm just relieved I don't have to meet any of your friends. I'm not sure how many kids I can tolerate at once." "Yeah, and if you think I'm high energy, you really need a few Red Bulls to deal with Amy." There was an awkward pause where it was clear neither of them really knew what to say. Bobby filled it by sitting down, then gesturing toward the couch. "Have a seat. Unless ... you can't stay for more than a minute." 108

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"I didn't fly all the way to Chicago just to stick around for a minute." Taylor settled on the couch beside him. Close enough to touch. But Taylor didn't touch him, so Bobby kept his hands to himself. "I don't really want to stick around in Chicago, either. Not for long. I never liked this place. I'm thinking about going to Canada." His eyes shot wide. "Really? You're leaving Kansas City?" "Yeah, I packed what I needed, sold what I didn't, and bought out my lease. I don't plan on returning to KC." "That's huge. Wow. I can't say I saw that one coming." Bobby snorted. "Of course, I never saw you showing up on my doorstep, either, so clearly I don't know what I'm talking about." "Clearly. But I've been saying that since we met. So what do you say?" Bobby blinked. Since when did Taylor care about his opinion? "I say, I think it's great. Are you headed north again?" Taylor sighed. "Do you have rocks in your skull?" At Bobby's blank look, he added. "Think about it for two seconds. Do you really think I would go out of my way just to tell you I plan on leaving? I'll make it easy for you. No, I wouldn't." "So why are you telling me?" He had to ask. This was not an assumption he was going to make on his own, even if every nerve in his body had jumped at the implication in Taylor's words. "Oh, for Christ's sake. I'm telling you because I want you to go with me. We can go north. Or south. Hell, we can go 109

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anywhere you want, as long as your colleagues keep buying my books." To say he was stunned was an understatement. "You want me to go with you." Even saying the words out loud didn't make them feel more real. He reached across and settled his hand on Taylor's knee, hoping the contact would help. "Why? You don't really like me all that much." "I like you a hell of a lot more than I like anybody else in this world." "You didn't even say good-bye when I left Chicago. Did you get my package?" "Yeah." Taylor leaned to his side and pulled the narrow box out of his pocket. Bobby immediately recognized it. "And I didn't say good-bye when you left because I didn't want to talk to you. I didn't think I would miss you. But I did." His heart leapt, and he squeezed his fingers around Taylor's knee. "I've missed you, too. Half the reason Amy isn't here is because I'm driving her crazy with all my restlessness." "Well, I suppose that's good to hear. But you haven't answered my question." "How long are you talking about?" "I don't have a home or anything tying me down to any one place. How long do you think I'm talking about?" "I don't know," Bobby admitted. "A week or two? Long enough to scratch your itch? I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that you're even here. It's like I conjured you up, just because I wanted to see you so badly." 110

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Taylor sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You're bound and determined to make this difficult, aren't you? Look, Bobby, when I moved to KC, I established the life I wanted to live. It may not have looked like much to you, but I was happy. I had my own space. I lived on my own time. It was all I really wanted to do. Then you show up, and suddenly, my home doesn't seem that comfortable, and neither does KC, and I don't like it that much. But I'm not just restless. It's you. The life I want now includes you." He had to be dreaming. This wasn't the Taylor he knew. The Taylor he knew was locked away in a tiny basement apartment, sniping at anyone who crossed his path. The Taylor he knew wouldn't be sitting next to him in Chicago, watching him with wary eyes, offering what Bobby had only fantasized about in the dark hours of the night. But that was his hard thigh beneath Bobby's fingers. He could smell his soap. He felt the heat of his body, saw the worn callus on his finger where he held his pen when he wrote. And he wanted Bobby. "There's things you should know first," Bobby said carefully. "My school. It would mean giving that up, though I'd do it for you in a heartbeat. And I don't have a lot of money, because, you know, student here who already blew most of his wad going to Kansas City in the first place. But probably the biggest thing you should be aware of is that the reason I've been bugging Amy so much is because I realized I was in love with you." He paused, trying to gauge Taylor's reaction and failing miserably. "So this is your chance to take back the offer. Because if you don't, and I take it, you're 111

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going to be stuck with me in every possible way. Are you sure you want that?" "Trust me, Bobby, I've thought long and hard about what it would mean to come here. I figured it would probably mean sacrificing my freedom. Especially my freedom from you. And it also means I'd have to see you every day, instead of locking myself away in solitude. I'll have to put up with your chattering, and the way you get all excited, like a puppy, over stupid things. But ... I've had my freedom for several years now, and I never really did much with it. I like seeing you. I like your company. I like that you don't have expectations I don't have the interest or the ability to live up to. So, if you think you're in love with me, that's your problem. I can live with it." In spite of the other words surrounding Taylor's declaration, Bobby grinned. Taylor hadn't even hesitated to respond. He knew exactly what the game was and he was playing anyway. Considering Taylor didn't do anything he didn't really want to, it meant more than he was willing to tolerate Bobby to have him around. It affirmed feelings that probably ran deeper than he'd voiced. "This kind of blows my pen gift out of the water," he joked. "Who knew you were secretly Lloyd Dobler?" Taylor blinked. "Lloyd Dobler? Who..." The confusion turned into a frown. "Did you just compare me to a bad eighties movie? Because if you did, I might have to take back all the nice things I said about you." The threat was somewhat weakened when Taylor covered Bobby's hand with his own. 112

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"It's not a bad movie. Lloyd's a classic character. But I'll take it back anyway. Because my analogy makes me Diane, and I really don't think I'm anything like her." Taylor tilted his head thoughtfully. "I was going to call you a naïve overachiever, but you don't seem to have parental issues, so it's a toss-up. Are you scared of flying?" "Nope. Flew to see you, didn't I?" He leaned in slightly, drinking in the scent of Taylor. If he didn't know better, he'd say he was feeling a little drunk on it. "So to answer your question, yeah, I'd love to go to Canada with you." "Good. I'm glad that's settled." His tone made it sound like they were finishing some sort of business transaction, but he didn't seal the deal with anything as polite as a handshake. His free hand went to the back of Bobby's neck, holding him still before pressing his lips to Bobby's. Bobby opened his mouth immediately, welcoming Taylor's tongue. The caress was thorough, but restrained, as though Taylor wanted to taste every bit of him, but didn't want to overwhelm him. Yet. "God, I didn't realize how much I missed that," Bobby murmured when they parted. Taylor's hand was still on his neck, fingers softly stroking his nape. "You're going to be able to wait for me to get everything arranged here, right? I can't leave Amy in the lurch, and I need to let the school know they need to replace me." "I can wait. I've got myself set up in a hotel, and I'm not in a hurry to go anywhere. Well, not too big of a hurry." Taylor frowned. "We both know how I feel about graduate school. But ... I don't want to make you quit if you don't want to." 113

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With a grin, Bobby jerked his head toward the computer. "I've been trying for two weeks to get my schedule done for this semester and haven't been able to do it. I'm thinking that's a sign." "It's a sign I've corrupted you." Taylor smiled. "You should be running far away from me before I finish the job, not agreeing to go off to the wilds with me." "Maybe I'm the one corrupting you. When was the last time you did something like this?" "I've given up everything and started over again twice now. But I've never done it with another person. Never wanted to. You're right, maybe you are corrupting me. I should get out of here while I still can." But his hand wasn't moving, and there was still a twinkle in his eye. Bobby grabbed the front of Taylor's shirt and jerked him forward until he was practically sitting in Bobby's lap. "Not a chance," he said, their mouths just inches apart. "You wanted me? Now you're stuck with me." "Is that a threat or a warning?" "A promise." Bobby kissed him softly, pulling away when Taylor parted his lips to deepen it. "You're not sacrificing anything. I'm going to make sure you have everything you want." "That's good to know," Taylor said, his words warm against Bobby's lips. "There's one thing I want right now." He leaned forward, forcing Bobby against the back of the couch. "Your ass." 114

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He stilled. When they had messed around that last time in Kansas City, Taylor's exploration had been one of the most surprising parts. Bobby had enjoyed it, and he knew Taylor had expected more, but it had all been such a fresh experience that he'd never allowed another opportunity to take root. Could he do it? Not for anybody but Taylor. "How long would it take to get to your hotel from here?" he asked. Taylor licked his bottom lip. "About ten minutes. I didn't want to get a room too far away." "Can right now be fifteen minutes from now, then? Give me five minutes to throw a bag together, and I'll spend the night. We won't have to worry about Amy, or Patric, or getting undressed, or anything annoying like that." Taylor's lips twitched. "You know, I don't care if your roommates are in the apartment or in the bedroom with us. But if it bothers you, I can wait five minutes." "You wouldn't say that if you knew my roommates." He pressed one more kiss to Taylor's mouth before sliding out from beneath him. "Five minutes. Then I'm all yours." **** It didn't take fifteen minutes. It took twelve. The moment Taylor unlocked the door, Bobby pushed him inside, pressed him to the wall, and crushed their mouths together. Taylor's response was immediate and gratifying. He gripped Bobby's arms tightly, like he didn't plan to let Bobby go again. His tongue moved against Bobby's, pushing deeper into his mouth, hungry, searching. Taylor's lips were firm but 115

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surprisingly pliant against Bobby's. When Bobby broke the kiss to catch his breath, Taylor made a sound of annoyed protest and sought out his mouth once again. Kissing Taylor had always been one of Bobby's favorite parts. The man knew exactly how to tangle their tongues together, how to fit their mouths together, to drive Bobby crazy. But this was already different. This was better. This was knowing Taylor was his, for as long as he wanted. For a monogamous man like Bobby, commitment always made the kissing better. It made everything better. The hard line of Taylor's arousal pressed into his thigh. Bobby ground against it, smiling at the moan the contact evoked. "If I was smart, I'd hold my ass back until we were actually in Canada where you couldn't dump me once you got it." Taylor smoothed his hand down Bobby's back. "If you were smart." Taylor's mouth moved from Bobby's lips to his neck, and he scraped his teeth across his tight skin. "I could have your ass without promising you Canada, you know." "I know." He tilted his head back, shivering when Taylor bit at his Adam's apple. "You figured out how easy it is to get me to bend for you long before I left Kansas City." Taylor put his other hand against Bobby's chest and pushed him backward. "Is that what you want, Bobby? Do you want to bend over for me? Or do you want to be on your back?" "Back," he answered without pause. "I know it'll hurt more, but I want to see you." 116

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"It might." They stopped walking as soon as Bobby reached the foot of the bed. "But you know I don't want to hurt you, right?" "I know." He couldn't resist. He leaned in and skimmed his mouth along the sharp arch of Taylor's cheek, sliding all the way to his ear. "I trust you." Taylor caught his breath, and when he spoke, his voice was a little uneven. "That's because you're a foolish boy who doesn't know any better." He turned his head and pressed his mouth to Bobby's neck again. He sucked on Bobby's skin, holding it gently with his teeth, and fumbled with Bobby's zipper. "Lucky for me." "Lucky for both of us." Bobby caught Taylor's hand with his own and helped him open the fly of his jeans. As soon as Taylor's fingers curled around his hard shaft, Bobby released him and simply let him touch. He wanted this, but it was difficult to subdue his natural urge to take charge. His instincts told him to shove Taylor to the bed, tear off the rest of their clothes, and fuck him senseless. It made him tremble to hold back. Taylor pushed Bobby's pants down to his ankles, then ran his hand over Bobby's hip and thigh, soothing the tremors in his muscles. "But you're a good boy, too, aren't you?" Taylor muttered, his words almost lost against Bobby's neck. "Sit down." He gently pushed Bobby to the bed, then crouched on his haunches and pulled Bobby's shoes off. As soon as the shoes were gone, the pants disappeared, too. "I'm going to use my mouth on you, first." 117

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Bobby peeled his T-shirt off, hoping it would help distract him from images of being in Taylor's position. "I get my turn next go around, right?" "You get as many turns as you want," Taylor promised. He turned his head and nipped at Bobby's thigh, pulling the sensitive flesh into his mouth. He bit hard enough to send an electric twinge of pain through Bobby's midsection, but he immediately soothed the area with his tongue, lapping and kissing at the mark in his skin. "But I want to do this for you, first." He looked up through his lashes. "I want to show you ... what this means for me." The confession made his throat too tight to speak, so Bobby only nodded. His cock was hard and heavy on his stomach, his ass too open with his heels propped up on the edge of the bed, but he couldn't look away from the sight of Taylor's dark head dipping farther between his thighs. His hands fisted the patterned comforter. In some ways, it was like watching Taylor blow him that very first day. Hot. Exhilarating. But this differed enough to make his palms sweat, his cock leak all over his bare skin. Taylor's tongue was hot, much hotter than Bobby expected. He tensed, like the first time Taylor had touched his ass, but Taylor didn't seem to mind. He caressed the head of Bobby's cock, smearing the pre-come over his fingers and his sensitive crown. Bobby's stomach twisted into tight knots with each brush of Taylor's fingers, and he sighed with mingled relief and disappointment when Taylor stopped. His mouth disappeared as well, and Bobby stared at the top of his head, wondering what to expect next. 118

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Taylor traced Bobby's pucker with his wet fingers, then sampled it with his tongue. He circled the ring of flesh over and over before finally pushing the tip of his tongue into Bobby's ass. The sensation made him want to squirm, which would, in effect, drive Taylor's tongue even deeper. It wasn't anything like his fingers had been—softer, wetter. With it came the slight scrape of Taylor's teeth, too, the edges catching on the sensitive skin so that he clenched with every stroke Taylor made. When Taylor went so far that his nose was buried in Bobby's balls, he started to pet the long flank of Bobby's leg. Each caress brought Taylor's fingers closer and closer to his hips, but Bobby was focused on how it felt like Taylor was eating him from the inside out. Fuck, no wonder his exboyfriend James had insisted on getting rimmed all the time. This was almost better than having Taylor swallow down his cock. Taylor finally gripped Bobby's hips, his fingers a hard contrast to his soft tongue. He held him firmly against the mattress, stopping him from squirming and moving against Taylor's tongue. But his tongue didn't stop. He fucked Bobby with his mouth, almost relentlessly. Bobby's hands fluttered around Taylor's head, desperately looking for something to hold on to. Taylor finally lifted his head and looked at Bobby with heavy eyes. "Ready for more?" He nodded, his fingers trailing down the side of Taylor's face. The man really was beautiful, though he'd never admit it 119

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aloud. Taylor would laugh for a week if he did. But Bobby was pretty sure his thoughts were written all over him. Taylor had always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, no matter what. Taylor pushed himself to his feet and pawed through one of his duffel bags. Bobby shivered as Taylor held up a box of condoms and his bottle of lube. Everything inside Bobby felt tight, tense with anticipation and nerves. He wasn't sure why, but a part of him expected Taylor to put the condom on and get right down to business. Instead, he took his place on the floor between Bobby's legs again. As his slick finger moved into Bobby's ass, Taylor closed his hot mouth around Bobby's shaft. This was familiar, this was welcome, this was everything he could have asked for but knew he didn't have to. His hands settled on the top of Taylor's head, not pushing him down but molding around the skull to follow the slow bob up and down. It was easy to drown in the bliss. Nobody had ever sucked his cock the way Taylor did, taking such care to lick every square inch of skin, swallowing him down without any trouble at all. With his cock in Taylor's throat, he was barely aware of the finger gliding in and out of his hole. At least, not until Taylor added a second. His entire body froze. "Wait, wait," he panted. "I need..." Taylor stopped at the first syllable. Bobby didn't have to voice what he needed. Like everything else, Taylor just seemed to know. Taylor straightened without pulling his hand away from Bobby's ass. Bobby regretted the loss of Taylor's mouth until 120

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he stretched out against Bobby's body and his lips sought out Bobby's mouth. "You gotta relax," he breathed. "It'll feel better." He chased Taylor when he tried to pull away. "It already feels good," he tried to assure, but the knowing look in Taylor's eye stopped him from saying the rest of it. "I'm trying," he said instead. "It's just ... overwhelming." "That's part of the fun." Taylor dipped his head and licked Bobby's nipple. "Just let yourself be a little overwhelmed." Bobby didn't like feeling out of control. He knew he was obsessive about that, knew it drove a lot of people crazy. It had certainly done a number on Taylor when they'd first met, though he'd quickly turned it back on Bobby. But Taylor was right. What did he think abandoning his entire life in order to go off with the man he loved was, if not overwhelming? Yet he'd barely blinked in making that decision. Because it was Taylor who had asked. And it was Taylor now who was guiding him again. Taking a deep breath, Bobby concentrated on relaxing his muscles as he exhaled. The fingers Taylor still had in his ass immediately didn't feel quite as intrusive, and the pressure with which Taylor held him down immediately felt like more. He ran his hand down Taylor's spine, feeling the dips and bumps even through the thin T-shirt. "That's it. That's better, isn't it?" Taylor skimmed his lips across Bobby's forehead. "I know you want to be in control. You're bigger than most people. Smarter than them, too. It's easy for you. But this can be good, too." As if to prove it, 121

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Taylor added a third finger, but he moved his wrist slowly, letting Bobby become accustomed to each inch. Bobby closed his eyes, losing himself in the flutter of Taylor's mouth over his face. He kissed Bobby's eyelids, his temples, the hollows of his cheeks. He outlined his mouth with the tip of his tongue, then painted more kisses along Bobby's jaw. It was the most gentle Taylor had ever been with Bobby, and each caress only confirmed that it was all right to give himself over to him. All the while, Taylor's fingers never stopped moving. The lube slicked their path in and out of his ass. When Taylor paused with all three buried to the third knuckle, Bobby didn't even flinch. He merely gasped as Taylor began to scissor them, stretching him farther with every motion. "Once I get inside of you..." Taylor lifted his head to look at him with dark eyes. "You're going to feel me. All of me. But you're going to be stretched." Taylor rotated his wrist, pushing harder against Bobby's walls. "And I'm going to be careful." He kissed Bobby again, his tongue caressing Bobby's mouth. He didn't break the kiss until Bobby's breath was gone. "Ready?" Bobby trailed his hand down the flat plane of Taylor's stomach, molding over the bulge in his jeans and squeezing. "God, yes." Despite Bobby's declaration, he didn't want Taylor to move away from him. He felt empty, and he shivered, goose bumps covering his skin. He wasn't sure if he was cold, or if it was just the anticipation. His cock was covered in pre-come, and his ass clenched as Taylor finally stripped his jeans away and 122

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reached for the condoms. His cock was wider and longer than his fingers, of course, and for a moment, Bobby had his doubts that this would work, that he'd be able to stand it. Would Taylor stop if he couldn't take it? Bobby was sure he would. He was equally as sure that he didn't want to be forced to tell Taylor to stop. Once the condom was on and his cock was slick with fresh lube, Taylor knelt between Bobby's legs, and forced his knees even farther apart. Taylor didn't ask again if Bobby was ready. He didn't do anything else to prepare Bobby for the penetration. He just pressed the head against Bobby's pucker and began a long, slow stroke into his channel. It burned. In spite of Taylor's careful preparation, there was still long seconds of fire shooting up his spine as everything inside him tightened. His ass clamped down on Taylor's cock, but though Taylor paused, he fisted Bobby's shaft, distracting him for a moment from being filled. Two pulls was all it took for Taylor to press forward again, and Bobby reached for his hips, gripping them lightly as he writhed against the blankets. "God, Bobby. You are so tight. I've never ... felt anything ... like this." Taylor leaned forward until their noses were almost touching, holding himself up with his hand, while the other continued to stroke Bobby's shaft. "I'll take it slow. Tell me ... what you need." Bobby wrapped his long legs around Taylor's hips, coaxing him into penetrating farther. "Just you. Just like this." Lifting his head, he sought out the other man's mouth, capturing it in a long, slow kiss that matched the press of their bodies. He 123

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could have sworn he felt Taylor's lips quiver, but the notion vanished the longer the kiss lasted. "Are you going to be able to stay slow for a bit?" "Yes." He demonstrated by sliding out of Bobby's ass, then easing forward again. It gave Bobby a chance to adjust to Taylor's width and length, but at the same time, it forced him to experience the burn of every inch. "As long as you need me to." "Okay," he breathed. Part of him wondered what had happened to the Taylor he'd fucked in Kansas City. This Taylor was tender, gentle, considerate in ways the other Taylor had only hinted at. It dawned on him on the third stroke, while he was folding his arm around Taylor's back in order to pull him flush against his chest, that maybe he'd been right all along. That this Taylor had always been there and just needed permission to feel safe enough to emerge. It made him love Taylor all the more. Taylor's fingers tightened around Bobby's shaft, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He could see the effort twist Taylor's face, and feel all the energy locked in his Taylor's taut body. Occasionally, Taylor dipped his head and licked and nibbled and kissed Bobby's skin, moving over his jaw and neck. Bobby tensed with each thrust, but it was a different kind of tension. Pleasure, not fear or discomfort, wound through Bobby's body. "Faster," he whispered. Taylor pulled up, as if to ask if he was sure. He didn't. He met Bobby's eyes and his mouth canted. 124

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Bobby cried out at the first swifter stroke. It was harder, more defined. Skin slapped against skin, creating a sting to accompany the fire starting to lick its way through his groin. He began to rise to meet each thrust, an action that only made the knowing smile spread wider on Taylor's face, but there was little time to wonder about it before their mouths were fused again, hot tongues coiling around each other, teeth clashing in a hunger that matched their quickening bodies. Taylor bit at Bobby's bottom lip, then straightened and pulled Bobby's legs tighter around his hips. The new position allowed Taylor to move even faster, and he adjusted his angle. The first thrust almost made Bobby's eyes pop out of his head. Taylor had found his prostate again. Just the memory of what had happened the last time made Bobby's stomach clench. This wasn't going to be the last time Taylor fucked him, Bobby decided. With each additional drive, the springs inside his gut tightened. Words he didn't have power over tumbled from his lips, encouragement and pleas and muttered curses when Taylor would alter his tempo a fraction, just enough to make the waves ebb. His nails raked over his lover's stomach, but each fresh scratch only served to spur Taylor on harder. Taylor was barely stroking his cock when he felt his balls tighten. "That's it ... God, yeah ... don't stop..." One more slam into his tight passage, one more scrape across his prostate, and Bobby was done for. His orgasm exploded in a crash of light, come coating his chest, 125

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splattering along his chin. He felt like he was floating, the only thing anchoring him the continued slams of Taylor's length into his ass, and he clamped down around the throbbing flesh, desperate for a measure of control. "Bobby ... Bobby ... fuck..." Taylor's final word was lost in a strangled moan and his hips moved faster. A harsh shout tore from his throat, and his cock jerked against Bobby's walls again and again. Taylor shook and fell forward, his chest sliding against Bobby's slick skin, his mouth hungry and hot against Bobby's lips. Taylor didn't stop immediately. His thrusts slowed gradually, until his softened cock finally slipped out of Bobby's body. Bobby held Taylor close, not letting him go even when they were both completely still. "You better already have cigarettes," he teased softly. "My legs aren't working right to go get them for you any time soon." "I came prepared for any eventuality. I brought cigarettes in case we did fuck, and booze in case we didn't." Taylor rested his forehead against Bobby's. "Though we can still drink that." "You didn't honestly think I'd say no, did you?" "I didn't know. I mean, I don't make it easy, do I?" "Maybe not." They hadn't lain like this very often; Bobby discovered he loved the way he could so easily wrap his arms around Taylor and not let him go without having to worry about smothering him. "But the good stuff always means a little more work." Taylor snorted softly. "I didn't even know I wanted somebody to put forth the extra work to find the good stuff. 126

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Honestly, a part of me still doesn't know. But I guess I'm stuck with you now, so I better get used to it." "Yep, stuck with me." To make his point, he sought out Taylor's mouth in a long, lingering kiss that left his toes curling. "Are you going to let me tell you I love you without mocking me? Because this is one time I find it really hard not to say it." Taylor swallowed. "I'm not going to mock you. I can't promise that I'll never mock you again, but I'm not going to mock you right now." "Good. Because I do. Love you, I mean." "I know. And I ... no longer think you're the most annoying person on Earth." Bobby smiled. He didn't expect to hear the sentiment from Taylor; he knew it would never come easy, if it came at all. But everything he did screamed how he felt, from the way he continued to caress his sweaty skin to the way he'd reordered his life just to find a way to have Bobby in it. For Bobby, for the first time in his life when it came to Dr. Parley Taylor—brilliant author, provocative man—actions meant far more than words. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Jamie Craig Jamie Craig is the collaborative efforts of Pepper Espinoza and Vivien Dean. Both successful authors on their own, they began working together in early 2006. Pepper lives with her husband and cats in Utah, where she attends graduate school, and Vivien resides in northern California with her husband and two children. **** Don't miss Dirty Love, by Lacey Savage, available at AmberHeat.com! Isabel Warren wouldn't dream of defying the morality statutes that forbid women over forty from ever making love again. As a medical practitioner, she understands the need for laws preventing "dirty love." The S.O.S. virus of 2030 left most of the male population infertile and turned human DNA into something resembling a microscopic jigsaw puzzle. The virus itself is undoubtedly dangerous, but older women are perhaps the most significant threat humanity has ever faced. Yet knowing what's forbidden and keeping her feminine urges under lock and key are two different things. Especially when Isy's most recent assignment requires her to run intimate tests on Connor Flynn, a man sixteen years her junior, who seems determined to prove she's not the monster everyone else thinks she is. And if such delicious temptation 128

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wasn't bad enough, she's also got Trevor Jones to worry about. It seems he, too, is willing to risk everything to be with her. Two sexy men, and one woman who could destroy them both ... if they don't destroy her first... **** Don't miss The Wolfe Proxy, by T.D. KcKinney & Terry Wylis, available at AmberAllure.com! Ruthless CEO Quinton Wolfe sets off every alarm on sculptor Max Bowman's warning system. No way is that playboy getting near Max's sister, the newest shareholder in Wolfe's multinational corporation. No matter Quint's charming smile and sexy form, Max won't let his kid sister get taken in by that Lothario. Even if it means Max cuts a deal with Big Bad Wolfe himself. And what a deal! Max becomes Quint's play toy. Good thing Max enjoys it. He'll just play the game until he can turn the tables on the CEO. Or that's the plan. But somehow, even knowing the CEO is a ruthless snake at the core, Max still lets Quint worm his way right into Max's heart. Cutting Quint out of his life is the best thing Max can do. So why does it feel like Max might never be able to breathe again? It doesn't help that Quint's every bit as heartbroken and miserable. So maybe Max's view of Quint was skewed by the media. But can he separate the ruthless CEO from the 129

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gentle, caring man who loves him? And can he trust either one? **** Don't miss Dressed For Dying by Janet Quinn, available at AmberQuill.com! In 1892, reporter Sean Madigan is pitted against the New York police when he's assigned his first high-profile murder story, the slaying of the wealthy Marshal Haversham, clothing industry mogel and sweatshop owner. While Sean hunts for the killer in order to prove his worth to his newspaper editor, the madman goes on a violent spree, burning down Haversham's warehouses and sweatshops and killing young women who work within them. Each victim is found dressed in a fancy ball gown that was secretly made within the sweatshops themselves. When Madigan's sweetheart, Bridget, becomes the killer's next target, Sean determines he will find the man and his connection to the ball gowns. But the murderer has other designs, and it soon becomes a race against time and the police to discover the fiend's identity before he silences Sean or Bridget ... permanently... [Back to Table of Contents]

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