Tipping the Balance (56 page)

He climbed onto the bed and settled himself over Brad, reaching up to interlace their fingers. For a moment, he didn’t move, only enjoying the feeling of the larger man spread out beneath him. That this man, this huge, powerful man, loved him enough to put him in control when before he’d feared to, rushed to his head. He had to make love to this man, and soon.

Drew rubbed his cock across Brad’s cheeks. He let go of Brad’s hands and pushed himself up. “I wish you could see how hot you look,” he said as he bit the back of Brad’s neck.

Gasping, Brad thrust up into him.

Taking it as a sign, Drew moved down so he could appreciate that fine ass properly. He kissed the top of the cleft as he caressed the cheeks.

Then he ran one hand up to tease at Brad’s hole, tickling the entrance.

“That feels… good,” Brad breathed.

“Yeah? I got something that’ll feel so much better,” Drew said. He spread Brad’s cheeks, kissing his way down from the top of the cleft, inhaling Brad’s scent. It wasn’t something he did with all his boyfriends, but Brad was his last boyfriend, and he deserved it all.

Drew flicked his tongue against Brad’s hole.

“Oh!” Brad gasped.

“Like that?” Drew teased between forays against the puckered opening.

“Jeez, yes, don’t ever stop,” Brad almost sobbed.

When he’d reduced Brad to a needy, begging creature, Drew sat up. “I think you’re ready.”

“I hope so,” Brad rasped, “because I really want to feel you in me.”

Drew smoothed a condom down over his cock. Then he warmed some lube in his hand before carefully opening Brad up. One slick finger became two, then three, and at each addition, Brad rocked up into Drew’s touch.

Then Drew grazed Brad’s gland, grinning as a shudder wracked the man beneath him. “That’s what I’ve been talking about.”

“Uh-huh,” was all Brad said.

It was time.

Straddling him, Drew used a finger to guide his cock to Brad’s hole. With only the gentlest pressure, he pushed inside the virgin ass.

“Oh my God. This feels… you feel… wow,” Brad huffed.

“Tell me if it hurts, if it’s too much,” Drew said tightly, taking it as slowly as he could.

Brad groaned. “So full. So… the slide over my prostate.”

Drew slid in, inch by inch, until Brad had taken all of his shaft and his pelvis rested against Brad’s cheeks. He lowered himself down so his chest rested against Brad’s back. He sighed with pleasure, resting there. He loved that soaring feeling, a feeling like no other, and knew he’d come from it alone if he lay there long enough, buried to the hilt in the tight, wet heat of his lover.

He pushed up and pulled back a little, then slid home again, taking it very slowly, each stroke pulling out a little more before inching in again.

He felt Brad shaking beneath him as the exquisite pleasure verged on torture. “Please,” Brad sobbed.

Bracing his arms on either side of Brad’s wide shoulders and rippling lats, Drew took up a rhythm that would bring them both to satisfaction.

Beneath him, Brad thrust back against him, seeking his own release.

Drew pulled out momentarily. “Up!” he commanded, spanking Brad’s cheeks.

When Brad was up, he thrust in again. “Yeah!” he cried.

Then he reached around and grabbed Brad’s cock with his lube-slicked hand. From the feel of it, Brad was making enough of his own, and Drew rubbed the pre-cum around, adding it to the mix, amazed that he could do this for his boyfriend.

“Oh God, babe… almost there,” Brad said.

“Me… too!” Drew grunted, Brad’s cries driving him higher. One thrust, then another, and he was over the edge. His body burned with the fire of his climax as he pumped out his life into his lover in an eternal instant and took it all back into himself.

“Aaaah!” Brad cried, his own orgasm overtaking him. He pumped into Drew’s hand, his spunk spilling over onto the bed, but Drew didn’t care. His man laid out beneath him, helpless after coming, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Brad rested on his elbows, head on the bed. “I can hold you up a long time,” he said after a few minutes, “but I’d rather hold you.”

Drew pulled out, holding onto the condom. He tied it off and dropped it on the floor. Then he stepped into the bathroom and brought back a towel and cleaned Brad up.

Brad pulled the comforter back and climbed in. Then he held out his arms. “C’mere, you.”

Drew smiled and climbed in, settling into his favorite place on earth—tucked under Brad’s arm. “Stay with me?” he said.

“Tonight?”

“Forever.”

July

“
Will
this Owen person be there?” Drew asked as he tied his bow tie.

Brad glanced down, sorry he’d done it and even more sorry he’d confessed it to Drew. “I don’t know. I guess it’s possible. I don’t control the guest list for the gala celebrating the completed Bayard House. Will it be a problem if he is?”

“No, I guess not,” Drew said softly. “I mean, it won’t be a problem.” Then he brightened. “You might have been the foreman, but now you’re my partner in St. Charles Renovations.”

Brad kissed Drew’s forehead. “I hate to break it to you, but since I got my contractor’s license and bought into it, I
am
St. Charles Renovations. You sell houses.”

“Boy, some people come into money and it swells their heads right up,” Drew said, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t ‘come into’ money,” Brad said. “My dad’s right-hand man for the last thirty years went to the police and ratted him out, and the cops indicted Randall for the arson at the Bayard House and paying a few of his workers to beat you up. Then my brother pulled the ultimate power move. Or maybe it was a dick move.”

“Maybe it was both,” Drew said, trying not to laugh as Brad made an utter hash out of his own bow tie.

“Both, definitely. I mean, forcing the old bastard out of the company he’d founded and then stripping him of everything while he’s in the slammer awaiting trial? I’m glad I’m not Philip’s enemy,” Brad said.

“Enemy? I should say not. That buyout was incredibly generous, and even after buying into Renochuck, you’re still loaded,” Drew said.

“Yeah, I’m a regular trust-fund brat, now,” Brad said with a wink.

“You were always a brat. That the lawyer controlling that fund decided Renochuck counted as making something of yourself and gave you control doesn’t change that,” Drew said, shaking his head. He batted Brad’s hands away from the bow tie. “Let me. If you don’t, we’ll never get out of here.”

Brad leered at him wolfishly. “We still might not. I had no idea how hot you’d look in a tux.”

He grabbed his boyfriend playfully around the waist and ground his crotch against Drew’s. Every day he gave thanks that this man, this wonderful, funny, intelligent, and gorgeous man, loved him.

A knock at the door prevented Brad from seriously wrinkling Drew’s tuxedo. He peeked out. “The car’s here. Are you ready, partner?”

Drew looked at him, and Brad saw the world in his eyes.

“Ready, partner,” Drew said softly.

And they were.

 
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Christopher Koehler
has had what his mother refers to as an incestuous relationship with books since he learned to read, but it wasn’t until his grad school years that he realized writing was how he wanted to spend his life. Long something of a hothouse flower, he’s been lucky to be surrounded by people who encouraged that tendency and the writing both, especially his long-suffering husband of nineteen years and counting.

He loves many genres of fiction and nonfiction, but he’s especially fond of romances, because it’s in them that human emotions and relations, at least most of the ones fit to be discussed publicly, are laid bare.

While writing is his passion and his life, when he’s not doing that, he’s a househusband, at-home dad, and oarsman with a slightly disturbing interest in manners and the other ways people behave badly.

Visit him at
http://christopherkoehler.net/blog
  or follow him on Twitter @christopherink.