So this was New York.
Flynn Boomer climbed out of the taxi, studying the concrete and steel buildings towering above him as he did so. A blast of icy wind slammed into him, sending his hat—a well-worn Socceroos cap—flying from his head and into the bumper-to-bumper traffic, where it was promptly crushed under the snow-sludged tire of another taxi.
Not a good start to his time here.
Closing the back passenger door with one hand, he adjusted his duffle bag farther up his shoulder and then tapped the grimy-slick roof of the cab in a Ta, mate gesture as he took one last look at his now ruined Socceroos cap.
Bugger. He’d bought it at the final of the Asian Cup, when Australia defied the odds and beat the—
“Are you Flynn Boomer?”
Flynn pivoted on his heel, finding a man twice the size of a rhino striding toward him, with a moustache the likes of which Flynn hadn’t seen since the Seventies under a hawkish nose. The bottom-half of the colossus’s body was covered in the iconic yellow firefighter’s uniform pants, the top half encased in a blue t-shirt stretched to its limits.
The man grinned, extending a hand as he plowed his way through the cold air and bustling pedestrians between where Flynn stood and the entry to the stationhouse of Ladder Co. 42.
“Welcome to New York.” Warm, calloused fingers engulfed Flynn’s freezing hand, followed by an enthusiastic pumping. “I’m Chief Tanner May. Sorry the weather’s not treating you well.”
“G’day, Chief.” Flynn returned his grin, even as what felt like a million shards of ice lashed at his face and hair. “No worries on the weather, although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking of the beach back home right now.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Tanner laughed, seemingly oblivious to the crypt-like air and wind assaulting them. But then, Flynn thought, a New Yorker wouldn’t be fazed by such weather. In the same way Flynn wouldn’t think twice about heading outside back home on a day even Satan would consider too hot. “It’s summer in Australia, isn’t it.”
“It is, sir.” Flynn suppressed a shiver. Well, tried to. He failed.
Tanner laughed again. “I saw that. C’mon, let’s get you inside so you can meet the rest of Ladder Co. 42. And no calling me sir, got it? It’s Tanner or Chief.”
Flynn grinned, falling into stride beside the massive man. “Got it, Chief. Is it always this cold?”
Tanner cocked him an eyebrow, a jovial smirk dancing beneath his moustache. “You’ve arrived just in time for a history-making cold snap, Boomer.”
Flynn’s laughed. “That’d be right.”
Tanner chuckled. “Think my boy got the better end of this here exchange program. You get to freeze your ass off while he gets to soak up the summer on the beach. Y’know, I don’t think Bromwich’s ever seen a beach. We may not get him back.” He slapped a hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “What are your thoughts on staying permanently?”
Before Flynn could answer, they crossed the threshold of the door leading into the stationhouse and the cold vanished. Replaced by a heat that had nothing to do with the windows and walls keeping the New York winter at bay, and everything to do with the man currently taking the blood pressure of a firefighter almost the same size as Tanner.
Flynn’s mouth went dry.
His chest constricted.
His gut clenched. So did his jaw.
His balls—a few heartbeats ago shriveled to the size of walnuts thanks to the icy wind—throbbed with a memory Flynn had worked fucking hard to erase.
Jesus, what the fuck was David Ennis doing here?
“Guys.” Tanner’s booming voice echoed around the stationhouse like a canon, making Flynn jump. “This is the Aussie taking Bromwich’s place. Here to teach us how they do things Down Under while our boy shows them how it’s really done.” He laughed, the sound far from mean.
Flynn took in all the hellos and welcoming nods from the men who were about to become his colleagues for the next twelve weeks, men whose lives were in his hands as much as his life was in theirs.
Took them all in, tried to memorize the names thrown at him with casual ease by Tanner. Tried to appear like they were the sole focus of his attention.
He could only hope he was better at the illusion than he’d been at suppressing his earlier shiver out on the footpath.
Because what he was really doing was fighting the need to stride over to the man with the honey-auburn hair, blue eyes and impossibly square jaw and kiss him senseless.
The way he had the last time they’d been breathing the same air together, a lifetime ago on the other side of the world.
David Ennis was the American doctor who’d broken Flynn’s heart six months ago.
The man Flynn had come out of the proverbial closet for.
Swallowing the hot lump in his throat, Flynn braced himself for the inevitable introduction. The chief of Ladder Co. 42 had given him the run down on his team and was now holding out his hand toward Dr. Ennis in a presenting wave. “And this,” Tanner said, “is FDNY Chief Medical Officer, David Ennis. Who just so happens to also be the brother of Freddy over there, so he tends to spend a lot of his time here watching over his younger brother. Isn’t that right, doc?”
Flynn watched the man he’d spent eight weeks making love to unfurl from his chair. Watched David cross to where he stood.
Their eyes met. For a split-second Flynn swore he saw something hot in the man’s gaze, a desire that had burned there every minute of their time together in Australia, and then David extended his hand in the universally acknowledged form of greeting, his expression damn near bored. “Flynn, is it? Welcome to New York.”
The air left the room, replaced by a suffocating void icier than the wind outside.
Gut churning, mouth dry, Flynn took David’s hand—a hand that had cupped his face, his balls, wrapped his cock more than once—and gave is a single pump. “Yep, Flynn it is. G’day. Can I say, I met a doc in Sydney who was a dead-ringer for you.”
“Maybe it was the doc here,” Tanner said at Flynn’s side. “He spent a few months in Australia this year on a working vacation, didn’t you, doc?”
Before David could respond to the chief’s prompt, Flynn shook his head and fixed David with an unwavering stare. “Nah, the doc I knew in Sydney was taller. And prone to dancing and singing on pub tables wearing nothing but American flag boxer shorts.” He chuckled, narrowing his eyes in a deliberate show of contemplation. “Although…maybe… Care to sing a few bars of the Star-Spangled Banner for me?”
At his side, Tanner burst out laughing. A meaty hand clamped Flynn’s shoulder to give him a shake. “I like you already, Boomer. You’re going to fit in here without any trouble at all.”
Flynn grinned, even as he watched David’s face. “Thanks, Chief.”
With another laugh, Tanner turned. “I’ll leave you to it now. Let you get to know everyone without the chief hanging over your shoulder. Ennis, can you give Boomer a tour of the station.”
At David’s deep voice, Flynn’s pulse quickened. A hot rush of blood flowed into his cock.
Behind him, the chief snorted. “I meant your brother, doc. But go for it.”
David studied him, expression unreadable. “How was your flight?”
Flynn swallowed again. “Long.”
Silence stretched. Flynn didn’t need to look around the stationhouse to know they were being watched. It wasn’t surprising—he was the outsider about to spend three months fighting fires alongside them. Of course, every man in there would be sizing him up, taking stock of what they saw, asking themselves if he had it in him to drag them out of a burning building if needed.
How long would it take for them to realize he and David were regarding each other with what could be only described as an uncomfortably awkward stretch of silence?
Any second now, Flynn. So kill it.
Letting out a relaxed chuckle, he bounced a gaze around the stationhouse and rubbed his hands together. “So, where can a jet-lagged Aussie find a beer?”
David’s jaw bunched. His Adam’s apple jerked up and down his throat. His nostrils flared, and then, with a quick breath, he smiled.
That smile…Flynn had spent night after night remembering that smile. Had jerked off to it repeatedly.
“Let me show you the kitchen,” David said, American accent playing hell with the turmoil that was Flynn’s current mental state. “There’s no Fosters in there though.”
Flynn snorted. “Real Aussies don’t drink Fosters, doc,” he said, following David towards a door on the far side of the communal area.
He saw David’s shoulders tense. They’d shared this exact same conversation the night they’d first met: in a Woolloomooloo pub down by Sydney Harbour.
Flynn’s brigade had just finished fighting a fire in the third floor of a nearby apartment building. As was his tradition, Flynn had stopped into the Old Fitzroy Pub on his way home, buying himself a Carlton Dry as a way to quietly celebrate still being alive.
He’d noticed the man with the dark copper-blond hair, broad shoulders and lean hips sitting at the bar alone, a bottle of Heineken in his hand, when he’d first entered the bar.
Had noticed how fucking hot his arse looked in the snug denim of his jeans.
Ignoring the urge to introduce himself—what straight guy did that to a complete stranger in pub?—he’d ordered himself his traditional Carlton and started to turn from the bar.
“I though you Aussies drank Fosters?” the man with the hot arse and the broad shoulders had commented, a subtle American accent sending a lick of tight heat into Flynn’s groin.
Flynn had turned back to him with a chuckle, that lick of tight heat growing to a hot steel as his gaze connected with the man’s. “Real Aussies don’t drink Fosters, mate.”
The American—David—had raised an eyebrow, a grin playing on his lips. “Hollywood’s been lying to me all this time? Goddamn it. I better go buy a Lonely Planet or something.”
They’d finished the night fucking each other’s brains out in Flynn’s bed.
For the next eight weeks, they’d explored each other’s bodies with such thorough intensity there were times Flynn didn’t know an existence before David had been in his life. By the time Flynn had been rushed to the Sydney Hospital with a broken collarbone and shoulder—thanks to a ceiling collapse during a house fire—they’d talked more than once about a shared life together. About the possibility of David moving to Australia.
He could still remember that night; the pain of splintered bone piercing muscle, the crushing weight of the burning ceiling…of thinking only of David as the ambulance raced to the hospital.
He still remembered the slamming of his heart as he asked his captain to call David, to let him know what had happened.
Still remembered the look his captain had given him, a combination of surprise, disappointment and acceptance.
When he’d been wheeled into the ER, when he’d seen David there, pacing the crowded waiting room, he’d climbed off the stretcher, ignoring the pain in his body and the protests of the doctors and nurses, and strode straight over to him.
Had tangled his hands into David’s hair and kissed him with honest, open passion and desire and need.
In front of everyone: medical staff, patients, his captain and the members of his brigade that had followed the ambulance to the hospital.
Had promised—in that one public, powerful kiss—everything he was to David, starting with the previously secret truth he was gay.
When he’d been discharged from hospital the next afternoon, David was gone.
The only things that remained of their eight weeks together was Flynn’s newly established gay status and a note from David saying he had to go back to the States and he was sorry he couldn’t be what Flynn wanted him to be.
Flynn dealt with the sideways looks and snide comments from his fellow fieries with ease—all it took was the calm promise to show them just how much they fucking needed him in a fire if they didn’t think he was man enough any longer. By the end of the month, the fact he’d come out meant little to any of them.
In fact, more than one offered to find David wherever he was, and drag him back to Sydney to explain to Flynn what the deal was with the vanishing act.
Flynn had laughed it off.
Even as his stupid fucking heart broke more every day without the American bastard.
The American bastard now entering the stationhouse’s kitchen before him.
Don’t look at his arse. Don’t. It’ll only make you want—
The second the door swung closed behind Flynn David spun to face him.
Without warning, and far less gentle than he’d been back in Sydney, David shoved him to the door, pinned him there with his hips and thighs and kissed him.
Hard. Hungry. Brutal.
And over before Flynn could respond.
Staggering back a step, David wiped a hand—shaking, Flynn noticed—over his lips.
Flynn swallowed, the cool sensation of David’s saliva on his lips mocking the heated need burning within him. “What the fuck, Ennis?” he growled.
David didn’t answer.
Instead, David raked shaking hands through his hair, bunching his fists in the thick strands as he stared at Flynn.
It dawned on Flynn when David pivoted away they weren’t in a private place. That they may not be alone in the kitchen. That David may still be firmly in the closet.
That he may be in a relationship…
Chest tighter, Flynn shot a quick glance around the kitchen.
They were alone.
Alone in a closed-door room.
Just the two of them.
“I’m sorry, Flynn.”
At David’s husky voice, Flynn returned his attention to the man. Noted the slumped shoulders, the almost imperceptible headshake.
“I never…” David continued, “I didn’t mean to…I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
Flynn swallowed the heavy lump in his throat. In his gut, a ball of sour pain rolled. Twisted over itself. Became something…angry.
Drawing a slow breath, Flynn fixed his stare on David’s back, even as a part of him remembered just how amazing that back felt sliding against his stomach and chest. “Tell me something, Ennis. Are you sick? Are you dying?”
At the question, David turned to face him completely. Even with the cold fingers of anger squeezing his heart, Flynn couldn’t help but devour every inch of the man’s face. Christ, he’d fallen for him hard. Hard enough he’d changed his life for him. A change he didn’t regret, regardless of David’s soul-destroying disappearance.
“No,” David answered. Confusion warred with dismay on his exquisite features.
“Did someone die? Did someone you love die? Is that why you just left without a word?”
David’s jaw bunched. He shook his head.
“Are you in a relationship?” The question churned Flynn’s gut. Tasted like acid on his tongue.
David shook his head again. “No.”
“In that case…” Flynn smashed his fist into David’s jaw.
David staggered backwards, eyes wide with shock.
“Fuck,” Flynn ground out. Sickened self-disgust flooded through him, drowning his cold rage.
He scrunched up his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he shook out his hand. He’d pulled the punch at the last second. If he hadn’t, the man he loved with every fucking fiber of his body would be on the floor. But that didn’t ease the guilt condemning him now. Nor take away the dull red bruise on David’s jaw mocking that love.
Fuck. He’d hit him.
“I deserved that.”
Flynn shook his head at David’s low statement.
“No you didn’t.” He opened his eyes, his stomach rolling at the sight of David rubbing the side of his face. “It doesn’t matter how much you hurt me by disappearing the way you did, you didn’t deserve that.”
David chuckled, a wry sound Flynn remembered well. It was the laugh David made back in Sydney whenever he got caught out by the cultural differences between Australia and American. Flynn had loved it, a gentle self-deprecating chuckle that stirred something in Flynn he still didn’t quite understand. “Flynn, would you believe me when I say I’ve been hurting just as much?”
“Really?” Flynn crossed his arms over his chest. “Not enough to call, though?”
“If I called,” David stepped closer to him again, close enough Flynn could smell the subtle musk of his aftershave and feel the heat of his body radiating into his own, “if I heard your voice, I would have—”
The door behind Flynn opened, slapping into his butt, his back.
Knocking him off balance.
Sending him stumbling into David.
Just as David’s brother, Freddy, barged into the room.
The sheer rapture of holding Flynn Boomer in his arms again, of breathing in his scent, of feeling his hard, muscular body, shattered the second Freddy’s voice filled the kitchen.
Before he could stop himself, David scrambled away from Flynn, pivoting on his heel to hurry for the kitchen’s counter as if that was exactly what he’d been doing before his younger brother entered the room.
Self-disgust choked him. Damn near made him throw up.
Prickling heat razed his body. His eyes burned.
Behind him, Flynn sucked in a sharp breath, the sound as hurt as it was shocked.
He didn’t turn.
He wanted to. Goddamn it.
But he didn’t.
What if his brother saw the raw desire for Flynn he knew would be in his eyes?
“Everything okay in here?” Uncertainty danced on the relaxed humour always present in Freddy’s voice. “We thought we heard a thud.”
“That was me,” Flynn answered, his Australian accent making David’s groin throb. What was it about the way the guy spoke that drove David so crazy with desire? “I think jet lag got the better of me. I got a little dizzy and smacked my knee into the table as I was walking to the fridge.”
David’s stomach clenched. His heart slammed hard and fast into his throat. Flynn had just painted himself as less than Superman-fit perfect, an unheard-of declaration from a firefighter, let alone one already unproven to those he would be working with.
Freddy wasn’t a gossip, but the rest of Ladder Co. 42 would soon hear the Aussie wasn’t coping well.
Once again, David wanted to turn back to the man. Walk to him. Kiss him. Hold him.
Instead, he yanked open the fridge and withdrew a bottle of Heineken from its interior.
“Good thing you’ve got a doc here to take a look at you,” Freddy said. “What do you think, Dave? Can you give Boomer a going over? Just to be sure he hasn’t got some weird Aussie bug?”
David bit back a groan as a tsunami of memories crashed through him at his brother’s innocent suggestion of giving Flynn a going over. How many times had he taken a look at Flynn in the incredible weeks they’d spent together?
A heavy, eager throb claimed his cock. He gripped the bottle of beer tighter, so tight his knuckles ached.
“Good of you to offer, Freddy.” Keeping his voice—and his expression—as neutral as he could, he turned to face his brother and Flynn. “But I’ve got to get back to the office. I only dropped by to make sure you were still alive after last night’s call-outs. Seeing as you’re walking and talking, I’m heading back to work.”
He risked his sanity by crossing to where Flynn stood watching him. The man’s expression was unreadable. It made David’s pulse pound like a damn cannon. Offering Flynn the beer, he dipped his head in a quick nod. “Nice to meet you, Flynn. Hope your stay in New York treats you well.”
Flynn took the beer from him. Nodded a farewell in return. Nothing in his eyes hinted at what he was thinking. “Ta, mate. I’m sure it’s going to be an experience.”
“Hey,” Freddy said, frowning at David. “What’s up with your jaw? It’s all red.”
Ignoring his brother’s snort, David hurried from the kitchen.
He didn’t stop on his way through the stationhouse.
Didn’t say goodbye to Tanner or any of the other firefighters.
He needed to get out of there.
He needed to get some air.
The icy wind lashed at his face and neck as he stepped out of the stationhouse, reminding him he’d left his coat and scarf inside.
Screw it, he wasn’t going back in to get it. Perhaps the brutal weather would freeze the molten need for Flynn building in his core? Perhaps, if he walked to his office, he’d be numb to everything by the time he got there?
A block from his destination, David accepted no amount of stomping through the bitter cold was going to temper his desire for Flynn. He could run a marathon buck naked through the Arctic and he’d still be a goddamn burning rod of wretched want.
He needed a cold fucking shower.
And a brutal hand to remove the hungry steel in his cock.
Spotting a vacant taxi, David flagged it down, climbed in and gave the driver his home address.
What felt like hours later, his normal end-of-the-day chat with his doorman replaced with a wordless nod and the elevator trip to the fourteenth floor seemingly taking an eternity, he entered his apartment and hurried to his bedroom.
All over. Not just in his balls, his cock, but his chest and his gut.
His head throbbed. His throat barely allowed the ragged breaths he drew to make it to his lungs.
It was as if a live charge had replaced his very soul. He burned and thrummed; the memory of his lips against Flynn’s fueling the memories of not just his lips on Flynn’s six months ago, but of his skin sliding against the other man’s.
They’d never held back when it came to sex.
Neither was the bottom. They’d just surrendered themselves to the raw physicality of their desire for one another.
Whenever they were alone, behind closed doors, they’d lose themselves to each other. There’d been no need for direction or hesitancy. Without words, they’d known exactly what the other had wanted.
It hadn’t taken eight weeks for David to admit—albeit to himself—that he was in love with the guy. He’d known it barely a month into their time together.
Known it. Reveled in it.
Even as he wondered how he was going to deal with it. What he was going to do about it.
When the call came Flynn had been injured in a fire, what David was going to do about it became very clear: tell the guy, and plan for their future together.
And then David had kissed him in public.
The kiss had rocked him to his core with its honest, open passion.
Had shaken him to the point he could barely stand.
Had warmed his soul.
Until he saw the people milling around them, watching them.
Until he saw the disgusted expressions on some of those people, the contemptuous derision on the faces of Flynn’s fellow firefighters.
He’d known his family would share the same emotion. Knew his father would be mortified, his mother appalled, his brother repulsed. Just as he knew he loved Flynn more than any other person in his life, he knew his family would be disgusted.
And he’d fled.
Back to New York. Back to the lie of his life. A lie where he still dated women every second Friday night, always a different woman introduced to him by his friends and colleagues. A lie where he remained on the phone with his military doctor mother and his firefighter father when they were on their soapboxes about the “liberal idiots and their gay agenda,” contributing noises of agreement every few minutes, and played basketball with Freddy and the rest of Ladder Co. 42 once a week during which the conversation would always focus on women and sex and the joy of getting laid. He’d even contributed to those conversations, his mouth dry and his head roaring with what he could only call mocking disdain.
He’d returned to the life he’d lived before his trip to Australia, pretended the time he’d spent with Flynn never existed, and never answered any of Flynn’s calls.
He’d allowed himself once—only once—to go online to look at the images of Flynn in the latest NSW Firefighters calendar, but had slammed his laptop shut before the images could load.
And now here he was, the memories of Flynn’s lips on his more tormenting than any to be found in a calendar.
Yanking his tie from around his neck, he stormed to his bathroom.
The room flooded with stark white light, bouncing off the tiles and mirror. A mirror David stared into.
His reflection stared back at him, haunted self-hate in his eyes.
He lowered his gaze to his lips. Studied them. Told himself he couldn’t see the moisture from Flynn’s lips on their dry surface.
So why the fuck could he feel it so much?
Wrapping the side of the basin with fingers close to shaking, David lifted his stare back to his reflection once more.
What did he do?
Shut it down. Now. That part of your life is over. A vacation fling. A fantasy fulfilled.
He searched his eyes in the mirror for acceptance of the decision. For the determination to follow it through.
He didn’t find either.
Spinning from the basin, he reached into the shower and snapped on the cold water.
As if aware of his intention, his cock pulsed, harder than it had been for months.
He undressed, trying to ignore the eager throb in his groin and the man in his head responsible for it.
The water hit him like a thousand icy lashes, flaying his flushed skin.
He stood under the spray, eyes closed, teeth gritted against the rude assault on his body and waited for the hot lust damning him to dissipate.
Instead, the memory of his last cold shower tormented him, a shower standing next to Flynn, out in plain view at the Bondi Beach sidewalk showers. Both had been half-dressed in wetsuits, having spent the morning surfing. Well, Flynn had been surfing. David—a New Yorker through and through—had been falling off his hired board more times than he’d stood up. They’d stood under their own cold showers, talking about the waves, David’s progress, their eyes involved in a deeper conversation. One involving tongues and lips and teeth and lube…
An impatient, demanding spasm claimed David’s cock, so powerful it bordered painful.
Opening his eyes, the icy water streaming over the back of his head, David glared at his erection. Ached for the man in control of it.
That day on the beach had been perfect. Every minute spent with Flynn had been perfect. Perfect. And now the man was here. Here in New York.
Deal with it.
Throat tight, gut tighter, David reached for his cock. Wrapped his fingers around its engorged length. Pictured Flynn, naked on his knees before him. And pumped.
Pleasure flooded his body. Raw. Honest.
“Fuck,” he groaned, increasing the speed of his hand to a brutal force.
He worked his flesh, the chill of the shower forgotten as he allowed himself the harrowing moment. Watching his hand fuck his own cock, he pictured Flynn’s head, Flynn’s mouth, drawing closer to his groin. Allowed his mind to tell him it was Flynn’s tongue licking at the bulbous head of his penis, not cold water spewing from metal pipes.
The precipice rushed at him faster than he’d expected. Breath ragged, he modulated his pace, slowing for dangerous heartbeats. He didn’t want to come yet. Not so soon. If this was all he could have of Flynn, this hollow, false illusion, he was going to make it goddamn last.
Breathing through his wavering control, he stroked his thumb over the tiny slit at the tip of his cock, once again letting his mind tell him it was Flynn’s tongue.
The contact—deceitful and oh so pleasurable—sent fresh lust into his groin and he groaned.
“Fuck, I love the noises you make when you’re horny.”
Flynn’s voice caressed his sanity, the declaration spoken a lifetime ago feeding David’s desire.
“If I do this, will you make that noise again? The one that sounds like you’re going to come…”
David cupped his balls and tugged, just as Flynn had done the first time Flynn had blown him, and as it had back then, a low, throaty moan vibrated deep in his chest.
“Oh yeah, such a sexy fucking sound from a sexy fucking man. I like it. Make it again for me…”
A smile curled David’s lips. A chuckle bubbled up from his soul.
How could it be possible even the taunting memory of Flynn made him happy? Filled him with contented warmth even as it tortured him with denied reality?
David didn’t know the answer.
All he knew, at that moment, was the overwhelming need to bury his cock deep in Flynn’s ass and lose himself to the man.
So much for dealing with it.
Enslaved by it was more accurate.
Squeezing his eyes shut, David stilled his hand. Stood under the water, chest heaving, balls swollen with unreleased lust.
He had to get himself under control. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t surrender to the desire eating him alive. Not when he was bound to see Flynn again at least once while the guy was here. He couldn’t stay away from the stationhouse. Not without Freddy asking questions. How would he explain that? Sorry, brother, but I can’t be near Flynn Boomer because I want him with every molecule in my body? Because he does things to me I can’t explain. Because he’s done things to me I fear you’d hate me for if you knew?
How would Freddy and the rest of Ladder Co. 42 react to that? Hell, how long would he keep his standing in the close-knit EMT community if even the hint of what he’d shared with Flynn came out?
Came out. Just like Flynn did. For you. In front of his captain. In front of his fellow firefighters…with that kiss…ah, that goddamn kiss…
The memory of Flynn’s lips on David’s flayed at David once again. Every memory of every kiss, of every time Flynn’s lips had touched David’s skin, whether it be his lips, his throat, his chest, his nipples, the back of his knees, his toes, his sac, his cock…
Desire—more demanding, more real than any he’d experienced since his time in Australia—took control of him once more and, with Flynn in his head, his soul, he pumped his cock again.
Punished his body for a need he hated as much as he ached for it.
Fucked his hand until the pleasure Flynn had awoken in him, a pleasure he’d kept suppressed, denied, erupted with shuddering force.
He came, thick wads of release spurting from his cock like white ropes.
Throwing back his head, the icy water stinging his face as hot tears of wretched release stung his eyes, he pumped his flesh until there was nothing left in his balls, nothing left in his body, except a need his hand would never sate.
Until he was depleted of everything but the aching want for a man and a reality he could never acknowledge again.
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