A gay story: Jingle Bell Rock Ch. 03 3
A Side of Beef
Jack’s vanishing act the next day wasn’t unexpected, just hated. Once again, I roamed my apartment, coming up empty-handed. The fifty I’d tucked beneath the melted red candle on the kitchen table was untouched. I didn’t want to buy Jack but I didn’t want him cold or hungry or roaming around homeless. I’d fallen hard for the man in the space of three days, much harder than I’d suspected I would when I was watching him from afar.
I had his last name, but I didn’t have a phone number. Definitely no address, as had basically been established. He’d taken his backpack and guitars with him so I didn’t have anything to blackmail him with. The last thing I remembered from the night before were his desperate husky cries as he came inside me a third time after we finally made it to the bed. I’d passed out, probably with a ‘lucky bastard’ grin on my lips and I never heard him leave.
The one saving grace was I knew Jack Cotille and the Crazy Boys had a gig at Mosh that night. I took special care with my appearance before heading into work. I took a long shower, had a hot shave with lots of lather. My ass was a little sore; twinging when I sat down, but it was an ache I wore like a frigging badge of honor. I liked knowing Jack’s cock had been inside me. A grin on my face, I put on a new pair of leathers, one of my black T-shirts, and big shitkicker boots. I considered making Jack a to-go box of food he could snack on but how ridiculous would that be? Hey baby, here’s a doggie bag . . . and thanks for the doggie style fucking last night. Think we can try it again later?
At Mosh I had to wait until all the music lovers and rowdy partiers in line made it through the doors before I could follow them in. Jane winked at me from her station behind the bar. She shouted above the din, “You boy’s here. Rockin’ set tonight!”
Nice. Very smooth. Thanks, Jane. Bob the part-time bartender smirked in my direction. Yup, secret’s out.
I found a nice place to park my ass on the sidelines where I could keep an eye on any dickheads with attitudes. I also made sure I had a giant stretch of uninterrupted view of Jack. As the night wore on I had to bounce several douchebags who’d had too much to drink. And the ones who thought getting punchy with their girlfriends was a smooth move. As well as the idiots who were too high to see straight but just plucky enough to start a fight over nothing.
All the while, Jack’s gritty voice washed over me like a promise to fuck. The way he held the guitar over his crotch, pulling it and pushing it, invited a host of sexual fantasies I wanted to enact. His hips moving in circles reminded me of the way he’d grinded into me last night, rotating his pelvis and pushing deep.
Testing Jane’s theory, I stopped pretending I wasn’t paying aaaany attention whatsoever to Jack and blatantly stared at him. And whaddya know? His gaze penetrated me the second I made eye contact, never straying. Singing to me. Licking his gorgeous cocksucking lips. Christ. He made me so horny.
By the time the final set ended I was worried about busting through the seams of my leathers. Thankfully I got to cool off as I escorted the final clubbers from Mosh when the house lights came on. But back inside, bathed once more in Jack’s unmuted gaze, I was helpless to stop what I’d always been too scared to do before.
I marched up to the stage.
He peered up from packing his guitar and wiped a lick of sweat from his temple with the collar of his shirt. “Cher.”
God. He killed me when he called me that. Add the drawl and the slow smile, the damp shaggy black hair . . . I jumped onto the stage. Excitement flashed across his eyes when I walked over to him. Running both hands up his arms, I cupped his neck. I leaned in to lick the juicy curve of his so-red lips, grinning when he hissed between his teeth. Then I kissed him, drawing his tongue into my mouth, moaning with how sweet he tasted.
I kissed Jack—a man—right there in the middle of Mosh in front of Jane, his bandmates, God and everyone.
And holy hell, did he ever kiss me back. One long wet, plundering loud kiss punctuated by his growling whimper.
“You’re coming home with me, baby.” I pulled back.
His face was flushed, his grin full of delight. “Okay.”
“Get your shit. Let’s go.” I was too impatient to wait for the rest of them to pack up.
“Okay.”
We exited to the sound of whistles and claps and catcalls.
I barely restrained myself from attacking him outside, or against my truck, or inside it. I wanted Jack so much, but I wanted to take it slow—and goddammit—I wanted to know where he would be and how I could reach him.
Hustling him into my apartment, I watched him drop the guitar cases and stow his backpack. I thrust my phone at him. “Add your number.”
His teeth bit into his lip, a lip that smiled as he tapped at the screen.
“Now I’m giving you mine.”
He dutifully plugged my number into his phone and I made him show it to me. The entry didn’t have my name, just Cher.
Fuck, my heart did a backflip in my chest.
Tonight there were worrying dark circles under his eyes. I stroked my thumb softly over the discolored skin, closing in to kiss him chastely. “Now we’re gonna eat.”
“Yessir.”
“Then you’re gonna sleep the rest of the night and morning in my bed and you ain’t running off while I’m passed out because you fucked every single bone in my body loose.”
“Mais, I can do the fucking part, right?”
My eyes flipped wide. My fists clenched on my hips. “Yeah.” My voice lowered to a hoarse note. “Yeah, you can do the fucking part.”
After he was well fed and fresh from the shower, he crawled up the bed toward me. The towel barely held its knot low on his lean hips. His hand cruised along the inside of my thigh, heat seeping in beneath the black leathers.
“You always wear leathers to Mosh . . .”
“Yeah. They make me look mean.”
He started laughing like that was the funniest fucking thing he’d ever heard.
Rolling him over, I tore the towel away. “You think that’s funny? I’m the big bad bouncer, remember?”
He linked his hands behind my neck, kissing a path to my ear. “You’re the least mean person I’ve ever met. My gentle giant.”
We stayed awake far longer than was smart, shooting the shit about our upbringings. My strict Midwestern rearing that might’ve had something to do with me cowarding out about coming out about my gayness. His easy come easy go bayou childhood that had come to a crashing end when his folks died in a house fire, leaving him—sixteen years old and not at all legal—to look after his younger brother.
Everything about Jack was so temporary, so fleeting; it was painful to see him sitting across from me on the bed, in my bedroom. I wanted to tie him up and make him stay with his untarnished soul and his beautiful heart, his rough voice and his wild-at-heart songs.
He’d replaced the towel with a pair of my sweats he seemed to have adopted, and I did the same at some point during the night. And now we sat, my eyes growing heavy while he scribbled in one the many notebooks spilling from his open backpack. He drummed his fingers against his thigh and chewed the end of a sharp pencil that had some flashy cartoon design on it. Maybe it was another of his bargain bin post-Christmas finds. A smile flitted across his face when he sent a sidelong glance at me. Then he shook his head and bent back over the rapidly filling page.
I yawned and stretched, patting the bed beside me to see if he’d crawl up and inside. And be next to me. “What’s that?”
“Oh. I just write my lyrics in here.” He glanced at me again, coy instead of direct for a change.
“Are you blushing?”
He smirked, looking down at the pad. “I’m writin’ you a song.”
What is he doing to me? I had to admit to myself . . . I was falling in love. What a stupid thing to do with a man like him, who couldn’t be nailed down and most assuredly was gonna walk right out of my life.
But the way my heart filled at his shy admittance, I just couldn’t seem to give a shit. “Can you fuck me without a condom tonight?”
His eyes blinked up and the wide blue shock was swiftly taken over by pupil-blown arousal. Rougher than ever, his voice sent shockwaves of desire directly to my cock. “I can do that. I’m clean. I spend a lot of time at hospitals, I get tested regularly.”
Another worrying fact to stow away and mull over during the hours he went missing from my life.
He’d moved his redone Christmas tree into my bedroom because he liked the lights and the fact it was ours. With just those twinklers to light the way, Jack made out with me and sucked me until everything—the lights, his dancing eyes, his rakish grin—was a blur.
When he entered me, it was face to face for the first time. That first long thrust made me cry out and stretch for more. For him. Forever. I hoped I never stopped falling for him.
Curling over me with my thighs pushed up and out, he murmured sweet sexy nothings between a million wet hot kisses. Beb, and cher, and wanna get closer, crawl inside you, never leave you.
He kissed all over my throat and his breath gusted against my ear. His eyes blazed, the pulse in his throat jumping. “This isn’t fucking.”
I sucked in a breath, keeping my eyes open and on his as long as I could. “I know, baby.”
He slid deeper. His voice registered like a hypnotic drug to my soul, “I’m makin’ love to you, cher.”
It was intense and emotional and so completely right to be made love to by Jack, I had no choice but to groan and gasp and come just after those words. He held me up to him, getting as close as he could without inhabiting my skin like he did my heart. A heart that thundered with every thick hot pulse of his uncaptured seed inside of me.
Marking me.
Branding me.
Owning me to my very soul.
Stay tuned for chapter four…