Lush in Lace (7 page)

I took his stillness as encouragement and
slipped one arm around his waist. He tensed again when my hand
slipped down into the back of his pants and past the tiny elastic
waistband of the thong. When he still didn’t stop me, I allowed my
fingers to travel toward the warm line of his ass, searching for
that precious strip of cloth that covered his treasure.

I held my breath, fearful that any minute now
this giant of a man was going to kick my ass or worse, stop me
before I could feel that intimate part of him I’d only ever dreamed
about. Hell, maybe this was a dream?

No, it was too real. There were too many
sensations surrounding me for this to be a dream.

I inhaled Scott’s spicy scent mixed with the
tiniest tang of sweat from a night spent on the dance floor. The
heat from his body engulfed me, keeping us both warm in the cool
night air. His quick, choppy breaths tickled my neck and drummed
against my ear. It was impossible for him to hide his reaction.
Which led me to ask myself—why?

Why was Scott allowing me to touch him?

Why was he acting as if he liked the feel of
my fingers on his ass?

And why the hell was his cock hardening
against my thigh?

I wasn’t about to waste these precious
seconds guessing at the answers. Instead, I’d push him as far as I
could and deal with the consequences later.

With one hand on the railing, I used the
other to follow the trail of thin string down his ass crack. I
didn’t get far; his legs were too close together.

“Let me,” I whispered daringly against his
neck.

Once again, Scott surprised me by widening
his stance, allowing me access to that tight ring of puckered skin,
still clamped firmly shut but so tempting. “You’ve been good
tonight, Lush,” I praised, while caressing his most private
entrance.

“Mmmmm, uggggh,” he moaned, and I felt his
body shivering against mine.

“I like those sweet little sounds you
make.”

I kept circling his opening, adding a slight
amount of pressure with each pass. It was not enough to enter him,
but enough to let him know I could if I wanted to. The crazy thing
was I think he’d let me if I tried.

Shifting, I brushed my solid cock against his
own and was gifted with another soft moan at my ear. Fuck, he was
big, like every-gay-man’s-fantasy kind of big.

Twice, Scott leaned his body into mine as I
swiveled my hips, our cocks dueling with each other beneath our
clothes.

“Don’t,” he warned a few moments later when I
found the courage to increase the pressure of my finger on his
hole.

“You sure?” I asked, aching for the chance to
finally be inside him, even if it was only the tip of one
finger.

He nodded.

I tried to hide my disappointment, moving my
hand to his ass cheek. “You’re softer here than I imagined,” I
admitted. “And the sounds you make are so sweet, Scott. I wonder if
that’s how you’d taste too, sweet and sinful.”

He whimpered at my words, and I wished more
than anything that I could turn my fantasy into a reality.

Unfortunately, a slew of wedding guests chose
that exact moment to enter the sanctuary of the terrace. I had no
choice but to remove my hand from Scott’s pants and take a step
back.

He paused for less than a heartbeat before
placing his big hands on my chest, shoving me away forcefully. It
was as if the magnitude of what just happened only now occurred to
him.

The force of his blow caused me to stumble
back a few steps, further separating us. I’ll admit his reaction
shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did, especially after the
freedom he’d allowed me with his body.

“Satisfied?” Scott bit out. However, this
time when he asked the question, his eyes were ablaze with anger
instead of lust.

“Not by a fucking long shot,” I admitted
without remorse. In that moment, I had to wonder who Scott was
really mad at, me or himself? “But I guess this proves you won the
bet fair and square, Lush.”

His face paled at my words. “Asshole.” He
nudged me aside with his big shoulder, attempting to storm off.

I didn’t expect his rejection to cut me so
deeply. I found myself wanting to hurt him back.

“I need those returned by the way,” I called
out after his first few steps.

At my words he stopped, turning back toward
me.

I gave him a big, toothy, sadistic grin.

“Why?” he asked confused.

So I can jerk off on them
, I would
have replied if I’d wanted to be honest, but I didn’t. “They’re
expensive,” I said with a shrug. “And one of my boyfriends might
like them as a gift.”

I could have sworn he looked wounded for a
brief moment, but I decided it must have been the alcohol playing
tricks on my imagination.

“Why don’t you just date girls if you’re so
into this stuff?” Scott asked angrily.

I knew then he’d never really understand
me.

“Because girls can’t shoot their load in my
mouth, girls can’t rub their stubbly chin along my cock as I finger
their lace-covered hole, and girls definitely can’t paint my chest
with cum as I fill their ass with my load.” My goal was to shock
him, to solidify in my mind that Scott Lush was never going to be
the man I wanted him to be.

I got my wish.

His brows rose high in surprise, and his
mouth hung open in a perfect oval for so long that my mother would
have threatened it would stay that way.

“I’ll leave the girls to you, Lush,” I
growled bitterly. “However, after tonight I’m beginning to wonder…”
I added, purposely letting my words hang in the air.

“Well, don’t,” he spat back angrily. “Tonight
was about winning a bet, nothing more.”

However, his explanation wasn’t enough to
justify how eagerly he responded to my touch.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your girly things
back as soon as I get my money.”

“Tomorrow,” I returned.

It looked like he wanted to say more, but he
gritted his teeth and nodded, continuing off toward the sliding
doors.

For some twisted reason, I couldn’t let the
night end like this. “For the record, you look mighty fine in lace,
Lush,” I called out, unconcerned that there were other wedding
guests milling about.

Without a backward glance, Scott flipped me
the bird. He held it up proudly until his big body vanished beyond
the stained-glass doors that led back to the party room.

Despite everything that happened tonight, I
found myself smiling at his reaction. Scott seemed to have a knack
for surprising me. I found myself wondering if there was more to
him than I realized. Tonight definitely hadn’t unfolded as I’d
planned.

Was there a chance I could have Lush? Did I
dare imagine the possibility? And if there was, had I gone and
ruined everything by pushing him too far too fast?

****

-Rylan-

I was glad for the week’s reprieve. Scott
hadn’t been around since the night of the wedding when I’d had my
finger on his asshole. I deemed his absence both a blessing and a
curse. It gave me time to reflect on what happened on the terrace.
In the days following the wedding, I convinced myself that whiskey
must have muddled my brain that night. There was no way Scott Lush
would have let me touch his ass. However, that didn’t stop me from
fantasizing about that evening over and over again. I missed
him—the hardness of his body against mine, the scent of him, the
feel of his soft flesh in my hands. Hell, I even missed arguing
with him.

I wondered too how Scott would react if I
touched him again. Unfortunately, I’d probably never get the
opportunity to find out. Now that the wedding was over, Scott would
head back out of state and it’d be years before I’d see him again,
much less touch him. That thought didn’t sit well with me. Luckily,
fate was on my side and I’d be seeing Scott again in a few minutes.
I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was I needed to act
casual. No sense letting him know how much the memory of what
happened at the wedding still haunted me.

“Where’s the box?” I asked in greeting when I
found Scott standing, empty-handed, outside of the post office.

“In there,” he replied, barely making eye
contact and waving toward a large box on the counter inside. “I
don’t know why you needed to come all this way, Squeaker. I told
you on the phone I got it covered.”

We’d both received the same early morning
overseas call from BJ, explaining that their luggage had been lost
in transit. Without clothes and essentials our brothers’ honeymoon
could be ruined. Scott had been tasked with putting together a box
of basic necessities while I’d been asked privately by BJ to pack
some of the couple’s more intimate items, since even their bedroom
toys had gone missing.

I’d gone to the house while Scott was at
work, filling a small box with the items BJ requested.

“I had to get a few more things,” I replied,
following Scott inside and placing my box on the counter next to
his. “I hope you’ve still got room in there.”

He ignored my comment. “If they’re not
necessities, they aren’t going in,” he said tapping the box. “We
don’t need to bother adding any more weight; it will only be that
much more expensive to express ship it to Europe.”

“Trust me, they’re gonna need what I brought,
Lush.”

“What exactly did you bring?”

“Stuff BJ wanted,” I hedged.

“BJ already gave me a list of everything he
needed.”

“Not everything.”

Stubbornly, Scott didn’t make a move toward
his box.

“Seriously? Do we really need to do this in
the post office?” I huffed. “Can’t you just add my box to yours
without making a scene?”

“Not until I see what’s in there, Squeaker.
Haven’t you ever watched those ‘over the border’ shows on TV that
warn you about letting other people put things in your
luggage?”

“Really? You think I filled the shaft of a
dildo with cocaine, so I can smuggle it to BJ and Jamie in your
precious box?” I asked him sarcastically though perhaps a little
too loudly, judging by the horrified looks of some of the customers
in line.

“Just show me what’s in the fucking box,”
Scott hissed. I realized then that I wasn’t the only one on edge
today.

“Fine,” I grumbled, ripping at the plastic
tape that I’d used to seal its contents.

Once the box was opened, I stepped back, so
Scott could get a good look inside. He scanned the array of cock
rings, sleeves, dildos, vibrating plugs, beads, lube, and even
handcuffs. I could clearly tell he was shocked by the contents,
however he didn’t utter a word, at least not until he noticed one
item in particular.

“Where did you get that?” he asked
shakily.

“What?”

“That?” he stressed, pointing at the bright
neon-green butt plug I’d added to the box.

“The house.”

“I know but where?” he asked anxiously.

I shrugged, wondering why it was so important
to him. “The bathroom counter, I think.”

“Fuck,” he cursed, reaching for the object
and pulling it out.

“What are you doing?” I hissed, snatching it
away and tossing it back in the box before anyone in the small
front area could notice.

“That’s not BJ’s.”

“It’s okay if it belongs to Jamie,” I
replied, attempting to close the box once again. However, Scott’s
beefy hand on my sleeve stopped me.

“It’s not Jamie’s either.”

I waited for him to elaborate, still not sure
why he was so focused on the toy. It wasn’t like there weren’t far
more interesting items to see in the box.

“I… it’s mine,” he mumbled eventually, not
quite looking me in the eyes.

My brows furrowed in confusion. “It’s a butt
plug,” I said, unable to manage anything more interesting than
stating the obvious.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Scott replied
sarcastically.

“But you? I mean—why?” I asked, still
completely clueless.

Then it hit me; the reason why the plug
looked so familiar. It was one of the extra stag gifts from the box
I’d delivered before the wedding. Of course it’d been opened from
its sealed package since then, which could only mean…

“You finally found yourself a girl who let
you practice fucking her in the ass, huh, Lush?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

“Do we really have to do this now?” Scott
huffed, repeating my earlier sentiment. “Can I have it back? It
obviously doesn’t belong in BJ and Jamie’s box.”

Nervously, Scott looked up at the digital
number display on the wall that indicated customer number
eighty-two was currently being attended to. “I’m up soon. Give me
your box and I’ll deal with it,” he added, showing me his number
eighty-four ticket stub.

“Fine, but I’m gonna want an
explanation—”

“Hey, Mr. Madden,” a not-quite-fy-mature
male voice interrupted me midsentence.

I looked around to find eighteen-year-old
Kevin Nillex standing a few feet away.

“Hey, Kev. What’s up, dude?” I asked, smiling
and thumping his fist with mine, forgetting for a moment the big
agitated man at my side.

The teen was wearing a T-shirt with a popular
video game logo on it, a bright-red windbreaker, ripped jeans (that
somehow looked brand new), and his hair was styled in a
short-cropped, trendy, disheveled mess.

Kevin Nillex may have had the mind of a
genius, but no one would know it from his style. It took a year for
him to morph into the cool, confident almost-man who stood before
me. I was proud of the role I’d played in his transformation.

“I won a prerelease copy of Morbid Mortality
online, and I gotta sign for it,” he replied excitedly. “Me ’n
Rodney are gonna play till we go blind. It’s supposed to be totally
chill.”

I nodded in understanding. Thankfully working
in the video game industry meant I could interpret most of what
passed for vocabulary from the youth of today. Plus, I’d heard of
Morbid Mortality, and it was indeed supposed to be “chill” as Kevin
had put it.