“Stay safe, love you, bro,” Benji adds, clicking off the parlor lights and locking the door just after we both step out of the shop, the only light coming from a nearby streetlamp.
Sliding into Easton’s truck, unable to help myself, I peer into the parlor as two shadows collide in a heated kiss just behind the reception desk. I manage to make out just enough so that my eyes bulge before I turn to Easton, whose gaze is trained on me. I let out a nervous laugh and a “Wow,” my face rapidly heating. “I’ve never seen two men kiss. I mean, I have, but not like that.”
“Yeah?” One side of Easton’s mouth lifts. “And what do you think?”
“Honestly, it’s hot as hell.”
“Into voyeurism?”
“I just may be if it’s that hot. Others though, not my own.”
“Poor bastard,” Easton glances up briefly as he turns the engine over.
“Is Benji really that bad?”
He sighs as he puts the truck into gear. “He warns every single one of them, but they fall anyway. He was being one hundred with you when he admitted he has no plans of falling for anyone. But what he omitted is that he already fell, a long time ago.”
“Who is he in love with?”
“A girl we grew up with.”
“Girl?”
“Yeah. He has no preference other than what he’s attracted to. He’s got nearly two years on me, so I’ve laid witness to his bed being a revolving door since he was fifteen. Shit,” he glances over at me. “He would fucking kill me if he knew I told you that.”
“You’ll learn in time that his secrets are safe. I can only promise you in the here and now, they are.”
Nodding, Easton pulls out as I let my inner perve go a little wild, imagining what’s happening back in the parlor.
“And you?”
“Me what?” He draws out with a knowing smirk. “You can’t even say it.”
“Do you like a little cock on occasion?” He brakes in the midst of pulling out and floats a dead stare my way. I can’t help my dark beer-induced giggle. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“I have a very specific preference,” he admits readily. “I’m not hating on him in the least, just the way he goes about it. He’s unapologetically reckless.”
I lean back in my seat, rolling my window partially in unison with Easton. As he presses the gas, I unabashedly drink him in. “Easton?” I don’t wait for his reply as I grip the hand he has resting on the seat and squeeze. “Thank you for today.”
His eyes flit to mine. “It’s not over yet.”
Dive Deep (Hushed)
Andrew Belle
Easton
Natalie gazes up at the towering Space Needle as I park, no expected sarcastic quip or trace of amusement in her expression, despite being lured to the most well-known Seattle tourist destination.
Instead, she turns and peers back at me with indigo-colored trust, which only further widens the crack in my chest as she pries her way in deeper.
She’s sobered considerably since dinner, which consisted of tacos. Our conversation at the table drew out my frustration, and the lingering stares added up as she skillfully skirted around our attraction. Without prompt, she recalled what it was like growing up in Texas, shared stories about her favorite horse, Percy, and gave some background on her closest friends, Holly and Damon.
In return, I revealed more of what life was like touring in the early years—getting educated by a tutor before clutching Mom’s hand side stage, and watching the Dead Sergeants’ reign before I was tucked in by both my parents. Parents who opted on most nights to nurture me rather than pass me off to my nanny to party.
Even though they did at times.
In some ways, we couldn’t be more different. Yet, I feel myself as drawn to her as I have been since she bulldozed her way into my space days ago. Somehow, at present, it seems a lot longer than that.
She’s not so much a mystery to me anymore as she is a fixation becoming fucking impossible to ignore. The longer we linger, the physical curiosity becomes a beating, breathing presence between us.
Every part of me wants to grip her in my hands, dominate her with a kiss, unwrap her, taste her, and fuck her so thoroughly that words become unnecessary. But, I know she can feel it and stated as much last night.
Wordlessly, I round the truck and take her hand in mine, which she gives freely, loving the feel of the small fit of hers in my own. We lace our fingers together, the energy between us buzzing as we silently walk toward the entrance. Within minutes, despite her protest, I’m pushing my wallet back into my jeans, collecting our tickets as she scans the gift shop for onlookers while keeping her hand firmly in mine.
She’s leaving tomorrow.
It’s that fact alone that has my pulse amping up, while the urge I’ve been suppressing for the last few days threatens to overtake me. I do my best to bat the idea away because of her hesitance and plea last night.
If she doesn’t want to give in to this attraction, I’m sure as hell not going to force her. I’ve never had to coerce a woman into my bed, and I’m damn sure not going to start now. Ironically, the physical isn’t the most significant part of my draw to her. This…feels different, and it’s different because I’ve allowed her to get close to me. I’ve shared enough truths and insight about myself that she could burn me with little effort if she so desires. Power I’ve never granted to any woman, not even when I considered myself smitten with women I’ve dated in the past.
We walk to the elevator and wait for the next car to the top of the Needle as I pull out my cellphone and flip through the music. Pausing on a song, I mentally hear it start to play, the melody, the lyrics, every aspect of it as I observe her.
When her eyes dart my way, I decide to swing the bat in the opposite direction, intent on some sort of satisfaction for what we’re denying ourselves before I let her go. Digging my earbuds out of my pocket, she grins when she sees me produce them.
“Can’t go long at all, can you?” she taunts in a whisper, her attention fixed on my lips, which hover close to hers. “You truly are an addict.”
“It’s my only vice,” I admit, pushing back her silky curls and securing the wireless buds into her ears. “Don’t you write to music?”
“No, not really. I mean, it’s not a habit I have.”
“You should. It enhances everything.”
She lifts a skeptical brow. “I love a good song as much as the next gal, but everything?”
“Everything,” I insist. If I hadn’t seen her tear-stained cheeks after I played for her yesterday—a reaction I burned into memory—I’d believe she was more left-brain oriented than she’s letting on. Though it’s true that a certain amount of the population isn’t as affected by music as others, it’s most definitely not the case for her. She’s just not aware of how necessary it is for her as she should be. “It could be as much of a tool for you as your keyboard. It has the power to draw everything out of you that you can’t fully grasp on your own. For you, it’s fuel, trust me,” I tell her.
“Well, when you put it like that, I will.”
She’s looking up at me with the same expression she has had for the past twenty-four hours—touch me. I inhale a breath of patience, fighting once again to keep from capturing her perfect lips and owning them as the seconds continue to tick toward goodbye. She’s determined to snuff us out before we can become another mistake and leave our time together as nothing but a memory when she boards that plane. While I understand it because of how she’s explained it, and how it’s clearly affecting her, I can’t help but want to make her departure as hard for her as she’s continually making it for me.