Holy shit.
Gavin
Mitch stares up at me, his eyes so trusting, and I nearly break down. This man—this beautiful, conflicted, man—trusts me to be his first. He tore down a decade old wall of denial and shame to hand over his deepest secrets to me.
Desperate for more friction, I drag back and snap my hips watching Mitch’s eyes go wide. His mouth drops open to form an ‘o’ and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. I do it again, and the strangled groan he releases lets me know I’ve found the perfect angle.
“God you’re so fucking gorgeous,” I groan, settling into a punishing rhythm. With every hard thrust, Mitch’s body is propelled across the slick sheets and up the bed. He braces his arms on the headboard, his biceps flexing powerfully to hold himself in place.
“Harder,” he demands. Bossy bottom indeed. “Fuck me harder, Gav.”
I pull out, flip a very surprised Mitch onto his stomach and yank his ass up in the air until he’s on his knees. I grab his shoulders for leverage, line up, and fuck him as requested. Hard.
“Fuu-uuck!” Mitch shouts, panting as I drill his ass over and over.
“Is this what you wanted, baby?” I lean over his rippling muscles to lick his ear, my sweat-slicked stomach sliding against his smooth back.
“Yes,” he groans, fisting the sheets and thrusting back in time with my punishing pace. “Jesus, yes. It’s so fucking good. I need to come.”
Sparks sizzle down my spine like a lit fuse. I reach around and grip Mitch’s cock, stroking him in time with each snap of my hips. “So fucking responsive. Come with me,” I groan as the ecstasy builds to the tipping point.
Mitch yells out, spilling over my hand, his ass clenching around my cock. “Fuck, baby! I’m coming!” I shout, thrusting deep one last time with an explosive gasp, lights flashing behind my eyes as I’m momentarily blinded by pleasure. My legs give out and I collapse on top of Mitch, sweat dripping from my temples and running down my cheeks.
Mitch groans from beneath me, his body loose and pliable. I roll off, breathing heavily to catch my breath.
“God, you’re fucking fantastic,” I rasp. Mitch merely grunts in response. I laugh, smacking his ass. “I’ll get a towel.”
I clean up in the bathroom and bring out a wet cloth. Mitch has turned onto his side, his eyes closed. They fly open when I kneel on the bed and gently wipe away the mess.
Tossing the towel to the floor, I climb under the covers and skim a hand down his flank. “You okay?” This time, I’m not worried that Mitch will freak out, but I need to be sure.
“Yeah. I’m tired. You wore me out,” he mutters.
Chuckling, I curl up behind him and throw a leg over his. Mitch puts his hand on my knee, holding me close. I bury my nose in his messy dark hair and kiss the back of his neck.
“I think you have that backwards, Utah,” I whisper. “You wore me out.”
I drift off to sleep and for the first time in a while, I completely forget about the danger that hangs over us every minute of every day.
Instead, I’m thinking of Mitch, of a future, of things I never dared to dream of. I wonder if any of it is possible for me, or if it’ll all be ripped away before I get a chance to find out.
* * *
“No! Fuck no! Mitch, you can’t. I won’t allow it!”
“Gavin, stop worrying.”
I glare at him. “Don’t minimize my feelings, Mitch. You don’t get to make decisions like this alone.”
Once again, I’m freaking the fuck out while Mitch is acting calm, cool, and collected. I fucking hate it. I hate that he can discuss this shit with a straight face. Acting as if he’s not suggesting the most ridiculous bullshit I’ve ever heard.
“Okay, okay. We won’t do anything until the tour is over, Gavin. Maybe we’ll have caught the guy by then.” Ross speaks from across the hotel conference room where he scheduled a staff meeting after the stalker left his most recent gift.
“We’re not doing it, period,” I snarl.
“Gavin—” Mitch starts.
“Ross,” I interrupt Mitch before he can speak. “Can you all give us a minute alone?”
Mitch shakes his head and slumps back in his chair, chewing on his pen. I scowl at him, pissed that he’s unintentionally turning me on. “Sure.” Ross stands up and gathers his things. “Come on, let’s go.” He motions to the new security guards that are in the meeting. “Gavin, we’ll meet later today. I’ll text you the details. You guys obviously need to talk longer than a few minutes.”
Everyone files out of the room, leaving me alone with a tired looking Mitch. That bastard knew what this meeting was about and didn’t warn me.
“You can’t do this, Mitch,” I plead, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest. Fear grips me hard, thundering through my blood like an out of control freight train. “I won’t lose you.”
Mitch grabs my hand, tugging me down onto his lap. Strong arms wrap around my waist as I straddle the chair. I breathe deep, trying to quell the panic rising up inside.
“You’re not going to lose me, Gavin. I’m not going anywhere. In fact, you’re not going to be able to get rid of me.” Mitch’s attempt at levity falls flat.
“Please don’t do this.” My voice cracks with emotion.
Mitch reaches up to push my hair back from my face. His hand slides behind my neck, holding me in place, our foreheads pressed together. “If you feel that strongly about it, I won’t do it, okay? It was just an idea.”
Fuck. Now I’m all twisted up inside with feelings, deep feelings. Is it possible Mitch feels the same? Hell, I’ve only known the guy for six weeks. We’ve been together for less than two. I can’t be that far gone already, can I?
“Thank you,” I whisper, brushing a soft kiss across his lips. When I try to pull back, Mitch’s hand clamps down on my neck. His tongue flicks out, tracing a line across my mouth that I can feel all the way down to my toes. I have so many things I want to say, but they all fall out of my head.
Mitch opens his mouth wider, his tongue practically reaching the back of my throat. A shudder travels the length of my body, the vibrations pulling a guttural groan from Mitch.
When his hands drop to my ass and he grinds our cocks together, my mind stutters and stalls, coming to a complete halt it turns to dust.
“Wait, Mitch—” I push at his chest, disengaging our mouths.
“What?” Hooded grey eyes look up at me. “I promised I wouldn’t act as bait for the stalker, Gav. The plan is shelved.”
“I know,” I gasp as he lifts his hips, dragging our cocks against each other again. “Just… we’re in a hotel conference room.”
Mitch pauses, then bursts out laughing. “See what you do to me? You make me forget where I am. Get up, let’s go upstairs.” He lightly smacks my ass.
With pleasure.
Mitch
We’re just checking into our hotel in our second to last city when my phone rings. I glance down at the screen. “Shit.”
My rare curse has Gavin glancing at me out of the corner of his eye while he continues to speak with Hawke.
Steeling myself, I decide that now is as good a time as any. Never would be better. I swipe the button to answer the call. “Mom?” I turn and cross the lobby, looking for a place to sit.
“Mitchell? Where have you been? Why haven’t you rung me back? It’s been ages!” My mother immediately sets in on me, making me feel about four years old instead of thirty-two.
“Mom, I’m fine.”
“Bollocks! You’re not fine! What’s all this on the news? Since when are you gay? And taking up with a celebrity?” Her British accent takes me right back to my childhood in London.
“Mom, please. Can we discuss this another time?”
My eyes catch Gavin’s across the busy lobby. His face is lined with stress and his gaze filled with curiosity. He looks as if he’s about to head my way so I hold up a finger and shake my head. Gavin frowns at the gesture, but remains with our group.
“No you may not, Mitchell Robert Hale!”
Groaning, I drop my head into my hands. I can’t drop these bombs on my mother over the phone. It’s definitely an in-person kind of announcement, telling your parents you’re gay. Oh, and that you may have a stalker leaving bloody body parts backstage at concerts because he’s got a fucked up thing for your new boyfriend.
“I’m in D.C. for work, mom. Why don’t I come by for dinner? I can explain everything then.”
“You’re in D.C.? Were you even going to ring your mother?” she huffs.
“Of course,” I lie. I had no intention of letting them know I was in the city. “I only just got in.” That part is actually true.
“Alright then. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late, Mitchell.”
Before I can answer, the line clicks off. Damn, she’s angrier than I thought. I guess I can’t blame her for being thrown off when her supposedly straight son starts appearing in gossip magazines as the gay lover of a rock star.
I rejoin the group as they pass out keys and make their way to the elevators. “Sorry,” I tell Gavin when I catch up.
All I get is silence in return. The other guys are in the elevator with us, as well as security, so I wait to speak again until we’re in our suite.
“Are you mad?” I ask as soon as the door shuts behind us.
Gavin brushes past me, headed for the bedroom.
“Hey! Don’t shut me out. What’s going on?” I grab his arm and he spins around, wrenching out of my grasp.
“You know, Mitch. If there’s something you don’t want me to know, you don’t have to slink away to do it,” he snaps.
“What?” I pull back, shocked. “I’m not slinking away. That was my mom.” Gavin’s eyebrows go up under the shaggy blonde fringe that I love to run my hands through.
“Your mom? You finally spoke to her?”
“Yeah.” I duck my head, embarrassed.
He knows I’ve been avoiding her calls the last few weeks. And I’m sure he’s figured out that I’m hesitant to tell my parents I’m gay. Gavin slides his arms around my waist, much less frigid than a minute ago. “How did she react to you telling her?”
Those shimmering blue eyes lock onto mine, filled with understanding. Now I feel like a giant shit for not coming clean to my parents. How can I deny being with someone so considerate and giving? Yet the thought still crossed my mind, which makes me feel worse.
“We didn’t discuss it,” I admit.
Gavin stares at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “What? Why not?” He shrugs out of my arms.
I close the gap between us, pulling him back against me. “They live here. I told her I’d come by for dinner.” I brush my lips across his cheek, inhaling the scent of coconut and Gavin.
“Oh. You’re going to dinner with your parents.” His voice is weird. Gavin steps away, dropping onto the sofa.
“Yeah,” I sit next to him and drag my hands down my face. “It seemed like it required a face-to-face discussion.”
And I still don’t know if I have the balls to tell them the truth.
“Probably,” he agrees, his posture stiff, leaning away from me. Gavin’s body language is obviously screaming something. I just don’t know what.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, putting a hand on his knee.
Gavin gives me a chaste kiss and stands up. “Nothing. Have fun at dinner. I’m going to lie down for a while.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He nods and leaves the room, shutting the bedroom door.
What the hell just happened?
* * *
After letting Ross know I won’t be around tonight for the scheduled appearance, I head down to the hotel bar. If I’m not working, then there’s no reason I can’t have a drink. And hell, if there were ever a time to drink, it would be now.
The bartender sets a Jack and Coke down in front of me. “Thanks.” I slide money across the bar, taking the drink to an out of the way table.
Still confused by Gavin’s behavior and uncertain of how to handle my parents, I pull out my phone.
“Mitch! How are you?”
“Sasha. I’m well.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she purrs.
“I’m in town,” I explain, throwing back half the drink.
“D.C.?”
“Where else?” I laugh.
“I don’t know. When am I going to meet this man of yours?”
“Sasha, are you going to let it go?” I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand.
“Of course not, Mitch.”
“I told you it’s for work. The relationship is all a show.” It sounds false even to my own ears. How am I going to tell my parents the truth about Gavin if I can’t tell one of my oldest friends?
“So you said,” she quips.
I drain the glass and put it down on the table before heading out front to hail a cab. “You don’t believe me?”
“Not for a minute,” Sasha confirms.
My gut is churning from a combination of nerves and alcohol and a heaping amount of self-loathing at my cowardice. The hotel porter opens the door to a cab and I climb in. “Forest Hills North,” I instruct the driver, giving him my parents’ address.
Returning my focus to Sasha, I somehow manage to force out the words. “Fine. You’re right. We are involved.”
Sasha giggles. “Was that so difficult?”
“Hell, Sasha. Bloody yes it was, alright?” I run a shaky hand through my hair and bring it to my collar to ease the tight pinch around my neck. When I realize I’m wearing a loose-fitting Henley, my hand drops to my side.
“Ooooh, your British is coming out, Mitch. What’s eating you?”
How does she always know?
I explain what happened with Gavin in the suite and she laughs. Loudly. “Men are so stupid, especially two men together. You can’t stop being idiots long enough to get with the program.”
“That’s not helpful, Sasha. Care to impart your wisdom?” I roll my eyes at my friend even though she can’t see it.
“He wanted you to invite him to your parents’ house, dumbass.”
“What? No, that’s not it.” Is it?
Sasha sighs heavily, the burden of dealing with a clueless member of the male gender just too much to bear. “Yes, it is. Trust me. He wanted to be there for you. When you get back you have some groveling to do.”
“Oh. Shit,” I mutter.
“Yeah, shit. Good luck with your parents. Let’s get together while you’re in town. Lunch tomorrow?” she asks. “Bring that hot man of yours.”
I chuckle. “If he’s speaking to me, I’ll bring him, Sasha.”
“Bye!”
I stare out the window for the rest of the ride, watching the familiar sights go by as the cab makes it’s way up Connecticut Avenue, still undecided as to how to handle my parents. It would be so easy to lie and tell them it’s a job. That the boyfriend image is a role I’m playing. They’d never know, what with me living all the way across the country. But the thought of pretending Gavin is just a client leaves me feeling sick.
The Slavic cabbie hands me a card with his number on it when it stops in front of the large Tudor-style home. “You call ven done, da?”
“Sure.” I pay the cabbie, taking the card. My stomach clenches as I climb out of the car. I have absolutely no idea what my parents think of the situation with Gavin and the media’s spin on our relationship. Not a single clue. I’ve never asked them their opinions on homosexuality, always too afraid to hear something I wouldn’t like.
My mother yanks open the door mere seconds after I ring the bell. “Mitchell? Why are you ringing? Come in, son.” She pulls me inside, giving me a long, comforting hug. I allow myself to sag into the embrace for a moment before pulling back.
“Sorry, mom. I don’t know why I rang the bell. Been away too long, I guess.”
“You have,” she scolds. “Come, we’re just about ready to eat.”
“Where’s dad?” I to
e off my shoes and leave them by the front door.
“In the dining room already,” she answers. I follow her down the hall, my stomach knotting up tighter and tighter the closer I get to my father. When I enter the room I can tell just by the look on my dad’s face how this conversation is going to go.
“Mitch,” he grumbles, his tone already conveying disapproval.
“Should I bother staying?” I ask, resting a hand on the back of a chair.
My dad stares me down, his eyes narrowed. I flick my gaze to my mom who is studiously avoiding eye contact, choosing instead to dish out the meal, fluttering around the table uselessly.
“I guess I’ll go,” I announce, turning to leave.
“Wait.”
My back tenses at the sound of my father’s voice. I don’t turn to face him.
“Why? Are you going to let me explain?” I ask, fisting my hands at my sides.
“Are you really with this… person?” he spits.
The unease I had been feeling quickly morphs into red-tinged anger. Some of it is directed at myself because, up until now, I hadn’t been sure if I would deny my relationship or not. My dad just made that decision very easy.
“Don’t you dare speak badly about Gavin,” I hiss, spinning around to meet my father’s shocked expression. I’ve never talked back to Robert Hale in my life. I’d be willing to bet that not many people have. “You don’t know anything about him. If you won’t let me explain then you don’t get to judge.”
“We’re not judging, love. We just don’t understand,” my mom says, her hands shaking. I get the impression my mom does understand. Those are my dad’s words coming out of her mouth.
“Phillipa, be quiet!”
“Don’t yell at mom,” I snap.
“Son, you will not raise your voice to me in my own home!” My dad pushes his chair back and stands to his full height, matching every single inch of my six feet.