Pounding Skin Read online

  Jon almost groaned aloud. It wasn’t even half-time yet, but Matt was killing him.

  And then the bastard added, God I want your cock.

  The groan damn near escaped that time, and Matt wasn’t done. Before Jon could respond, a photo came through of Matt’s lap, his tattooed hand gripping the erection that was plainly visible through his jeans.

  So should I take care of this myself? Or save it for you?

  Jon’s body temperature soared.

  Oh fuck it. He’d never hear the end of it from the squadron, but he was going crazy. He needed that cock out of Matt’s pants and deep in his throat. Suddenly he was hungry for the sounds of Matt getting off.

  Yeah. Fuck it.

  Jon pocketed his phone and stood. “I gotta run, guys. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “What?” Nate swayed a bit, clearly well on his way to shitfaced. “Already?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  “Nice!” His RIO grinned stupidly and waved his beer at Jon. “Somebody’s gonna get laaa-aaid!”

  “Fuck you, Screws,” Jon laughed.

  The other guys immediately joined in, of course, cheering for Jon as he pulled on his jacket. He just laughed it off. No point in getting annoyed—God knew he’d been part of that chorus himself a few hundred times.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  They taunted him all the way out the door, but once he was in the parking lot, he was home free. Since he’d had every intention of getting hammered with his buddies, he’d ridden in with Nate and Taxi, so he grabbed a cab to Matt’s apartment.

  And not a moment too soon, that cab pulled up, and Jon sprinted up the stairs to the second floor. Heart racing and cock hardening, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

  “It’s open.”

  Jon pushed it open, and immediately understood why Matt hadn’t come to the door—he was lying on the couch, completely naked and grinning like mad. He had a leg slung over the armrest, and was fingering himself with two lubed-up fingers.

  “Oh my God,” Jon groaned. There wasn’t a porno in existence that rivaled what was laid out in front of him.

  Grinning like a devil, Matt started stroking his dick with his other hand. “Another five minutes,” the smug bastard said, “and I would’ve taken care of this myself.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing that driver liked to run lights.” Jon nudged the door shut with his heel, never taking his eyes off Matt. “Or I might’ve missed this.”

  “Well, you’re here now.” Matt slid his fingers free and stood, and Jon couldn’t resist waiting for him, if only because it was insanely sexy to watch this naked, aroused, tattooed man stroll toward him with all that lust in his eyes. Leaving the bar tonight had been a no-brainer with someone this gorgeous and horny waiting for him.

  As soon as they were close enough to touch, Jon curved a hand around Matt’s neck and pushed his lips apart with his tongue. Matt sank into his embrace, prodding him with his thick erection. Jon loved the heat of Matt’s bare skin through his clothes. He groped him all over, tracing his muscles and squeezing his ass, and God, he couldn’t get enough of him.

  Matt rubbed his cock against Jon. “Want you to fuck me.”

  Jon growled into his kiss, then started down Matt’s neck. “You really been thinking about the other night?”

  “Oh yeah.” The words came out as a breathy moan. “Thought it would hurt, but it felt so good.”

  “And you want more?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Now?”

  “God, yeah. Please. I want—”

  Jon spun him around, shoved him up against the wall, and pushed his legs apart with his knee. He licked his fingers, then slipped them down into Matt’s crack.

  Matt whimpered, pressing back against Jon’s fingertips. “Yeah . . .”

  Jon kissed up and down Matt’s skin as he pushed his fingers inside the already slick, relaxed hole. “You want me to fuck you hard?”

  “Uh-huh.” A slow shudder worked its way up Matt’s spine as Jon teased him inside. “God . . .”

  Grinning against Matt’s neck, Jon growled, “Someone’s getting hooked on bottoming, hmm?”

  “Been . . . thinking about it all day.” Matt clawed at the wall, knuckles turning white as he tried to find some kind of purchase. “I love being fucked.”

  Jon released a ragged breath into Matt’s hair. Nothing turned him on like someone who wanted it this bad. He added a third finger, and Matt’s throaty groan made him that much harder. Jon didn’t even have to move his hand—Matt rocked his hips, fucking himself on Jon’s fingers.

  “Oh my God.” Matt shuddered. “Stop . . . teasing. I want your dick. Now.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Please.” He turned his head, searching for Jon’s lips, and in between breathless kisses, he murmured, “Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

  “You have condoms handy?”

  “End table.”

  Jon glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, Matt had left a few in a pile next to a bottle of lube.

  He pushed Matt up against the wall and bit the side of his neck. “Stay right there.”

  Matt did as he was told. Palms splayed on the wall, feet apart, he waited.

  Jon grabbed a condom and the lube. He pushed the lube bottle into Matt’s hand, then undid his own pants enough to free his cock. While he put on the condom, his head spun. In his mind, he still saw Matt the way he’d been on the couch. As if Jon wasn’t already turned on as hell, watching Matt finger his own ass—fucking himself deep with two slicked fingers—had been almost unbearably sexy. He’d never seen a man so hungry to be fucked, and now he was more than happy to oblige.

  Matt handed back the lube, and Jon quickly coated the condom in a generous layer. Then he pushed up against Matt, nudging his knees apart, and roughly thrust himself into the tight, lubricated hole.

  “Oh God.” Matt shuddered. “Whoa . . .”

  Jon withdrew slowly. “Not too much?”

  “Nuh-uh. Perfect. More.” Matt clawed at the wall, reminding Jon of that moment before they’d kissed for the first time in the tattoo shop. “More.”

  Jon gave him more. Matt had prepped himself so well, there was no need to hold back. Besides, holding back would probably turn Matt into a pleading mess—this man needed dick, and he needed it now.

  Jon withdrew partway, then slammed home. Matt clenched, and his back arched, and his hands slid down the wall.

  “Fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck, you feel good.”

  “So do you.” Jon held Matt’s hips and fucked him hard, alternately watching his cock slide into Matt and watching Matt writhe and squirm as he pleaded for Jon to give it to him harder and harder.

  Christ, this was hot. He decided it was well worth the ribbing he’d get later for ditching his squadron. He could handle just about anything if it meant having a naked, pleading Matt pinned up against the wall and taking him. Begging for him. Especially with Jon not even undressed yet. Every time he moved and his belt buckle jingled, it underscored how desperate they’d both been to fuck.

  Matt used the wall for leverage and pushed back, and together they fell into a mind-blowing rhythm. Even when Matt twisted slightly, pressing his shoulder against the wall to free up his hand to furiously pump his dick, his hips rocked just right to complement Jon’s. He may not have had much experience bottoming, but he was a fast goddamned learner.

  “You feel so good,” Jon ground out. “Jesus, I could . . . could fuck you like this all . . . I swear to God you’re—”

  “Oh fuck, I’m coming.” Matt shuddered hard enough to nearly throw them both off balance. “Oh God, Jon . . .” He shuddered again, and dragged Jon right over the edge with him.

  Jon slammed into him, forcing him up against the wall, and the sound he made wasn’t even human. It was an animalistic roar, primal and unrestrained, as he took those last few desperate thrusts and unloaded inside Matt.

  And then they were still.

&n
bsp; Panting. Trembling. Jon’s cock still buried in Matt’s ass. He pressed his forehead to Matt’s shoulder, and they both just breathed for a moment.

  “For the record,” Jon said, “you can pull me away from my buddies any time you want some of this.”

  Matt laughed, sounding equal parts sated and drunk. “I’ll keep that in mind. ’Cause I really like getting fucked like this.”

  “Good.” Jon exhaled as he carefully withdrew. “Then you better keep my number on speed dial.”

  “I will. I so fucking will.”

  Chapter 14

  Sketching had a weird effect on Matt’s brain. He was laser-focused on what he was drawing, on tones and lines and values, but his mind also wandered to other things. Somehow, he was just as focused on whatever non-drawing thing he was thinking about. He and Colin had spent part of the last election having deep and sometimes heated political discussions even while they were both hunched over sketchpads in deep concentration.

  Today, as he sat at the drafting table in the back of the shop, sketching out some flash designs to replace some of the more passé ones on the wall, he thought about his sexuality more than he had in a while. This newfound facet of his sexuality had him rethinking . . . well, everything.

  He wasn’t hung up on whether he was or wasn’t bisexual anymore. Since he’d had that conversation with Lisa, and subsequently started sleeping with Jon on the regular, he’d made peace with it. In fact, now that he’d accepted it, it was like a huge weight had slid off his shoulders. After so many years of insisting he was straight, it felt good to be okay with who he really was. To know who he really was.

  The only thing that wouldn’t quite settle was that nagging question—how long has this been going on?

  Considering how often he’d had to defend his heterosexuality, he had to wonder if there really had been something there that had tipped everyone else off while he kept himself in the dark. Something beyond his love of Bowie and George Michael. As he sketched, stopping occasionally to smudge a shadow with his thumb, he tried to look back on his life a little more objectively. Without the “I’m not gay” guard up, his mind wandered back through the relationships—platonic, of course—he’d had with men over the years. Friends. Classmates. Coworkers. Roommates.

  Was I ever attracted to him?

  Were we just close because we were close, or was there something else there?

  What about him?

  It wasn’t like he’d ever stolen any glances in the locker room in high school or at the gym. In fact, he’d made a conscious effort not to, so no one would accuse him of being gay.

  But now that he thought about it, the way his pulse had fluttered whenever Rich Grayson had walked into sophomore geometry was . . . weird. At the time, he’d just figured he was intimidated by the guy. Rich was the classic rebel, but just smart enough not to screw himself over. He’d lounge in his chair in class, kicked back like he didn’t give a fuck, but there was an image burned into Matt’s mind of Rich hunched over a quiz with concentration etched over his face. The teacher had accused Matt of cheating—called his parents, the whole nine yards—and Matt had been too embarrassed to admit he’d been looking at Rich, not his paper.

  It was so obvious now. At the time, he’d written it off as just being surprised that Rich was so earnest about taking a test when he didn’t usually seem to care. Same way he would’ve been gobsmacked if one of the drama geeks had started cursing out Shakespeare or one of the choir kids had taken a vow of silence.

  Face it, fucker—you’ve always had a fetish for bad boys who take shit seriously.

  Matt shivered. It was true, wasn’t it? Definitely explained why he’d spent half his senior year trying to work up the courage to befriend Scott Davis. Salutatorian on a motorcycle. Duh. Scott was also the reason Matt loved biker jackets so much, and suddenly it dawned on him—over a decade later—that maybe that should’ve been a fucking clue.

  And now Matt was “dating” a fighter pilot. Was there any man alive who personified that bad boy exterior with a serious interior more than a guy who flew fighter jets for a living? Jon got to go screaming around the sky at crazy speeds, blow shit up, and basically live out every little boy’s dream. A fast car drag racing on a back road wasn’t nearly enough to thrill him. And in order to get where he was, he had to be smart and dedicated. He had a degree in aeronautics for God’s sake, and the mental image of him at a textbook-littered desk, leather jacket draped over the chair, brow furrowed with concentration, made Matt shiver.

  As he continued down Memory Lane, wondering how many guys he could’ve hooked up with along the way if he hadn’t been so goddamned defensive, he kept circling back to one person in particular—Troy. His college roommate. Or rather, his college roommate up until an abrupt change halfway through their junior year. They were still in contact, mostly through social media and mutual friends, but they hadn’t been close since Troy had suddenly moved out.

  There hadn’t been an argument or anything. For some reason, things had been tense for a while. Frosty. Matt had just chalked it up to the pressures of living together. Matt had torn his hair out over Troy’s allergy to doing the dishes, and Troy had been annoyed to no end by Matt’s chronic forgetfulness about putting the trash on the curb in time to be picked up. It was minor stuff, though. For the most part, they got along. That was why they’d moved in together in the first place.

  The fact that Troy was gay and Matt was straight had never been an issue either. Troy didn’t mind when Matt brought girls home, and Matt didn’t mind when Troy brought guys home, and God knew they both had their fair share of overnight houseguests.

  Matt’s fingers stopped, and he lifted his gaze from the sketchpad. With unfocused eyes, he stared into space. He could still conjure a crystal-clear image of Troy in his mind, and if he’d been as understanding about himself then as he was now, he could see himself being attracted to him. The perfectly disheveled bedhead. The wicked smile that always made Matt wonder what he was up to. Mischievous eyes that were . . .

  What color were his eyes?

  It bothered Matt now that he couldn’t remember what color Troy’s eyes were. As much as he could see Troy in his mind, that detail had faded.

  What he did know, though, was that looking at Troy through this liberating new lens, it was hard to imagine how someone wouldn’t be attracted to Troy. Jesus, but Matt had been deep in the closet, hadn’t he? What a shame. What a waste. Maybe they could have—

  No. No. No. That train of thought would only drive him insane. The past was the past.

  The present, however . . .

  He and Troy were still friends on Facebook, and Troy still lived in the area. Maybe it was time to get back in contact for real. Sit down and talk. Figure out what went wrong, and if there’d been something happening that he’d been too far in denial to notice.

  The shop’s back door opened, the sound pulling Matt out of his thoughts.

  Pete came in, balancing a box on one of his huge shoulders. “Hey, Matt.”

  “Hey.” Matt sat back, stretching a few cricks out of his spine. “You need a hand with anything?”

  “Nah, I’ve got all this.” Pete paused. “Actually, though, if you’ve got some time, I need to ship this back to the supplier.” He pulled a box from their ink supplier from on top of the cabinet. “All the paperwork is done, and the address label is on it. Postage paid and everything. Should be able to just drop it at the post office.”

  “Cool. I’ve got a few errands to run anyway.” He glanced at his watch. It was almost two. Pushing back his chair, he stood and stretched again. He’d definitely been sitting too long. “You want me to grab anything for lunch while I’m gone?”

  “I’m good. Sarah packed my lunch.”

  “Lucky bastard.”

  “Trust me, she’ll make me pay for it. There’s probably a chore list at the bottom of the bag.”

  Matt chuckled as he reached for his jacket. Pete always joked about his wife keeping him
on a tight leash, but the fact was he worshipped the ground that woman walked on. She didn’t even need to leave him a chore list—he’d have the gutters cleaned and driveway pressure-washed if she so much as thought about it. Just like she probably made his lunch because she enjoyed it. For two people who’d been together twenty-five years, they still acted like the high school sweethearts they were.

  “All right.” Matt closed his sketchbook and grabbed his keys. “I’ll be back in a bit. Tell Colin to text me if he needs me to pick anything up while I’m out.”

  “Is he coming in today?”

  “Yeah, he’s at his therapist, so probably another half hour or so?”

  “Oh right. Right. I forgot.” Pete took off his coat. “Okay, I’ll let you know. And thanks for taking care of that package.”

  “No problem.”

  There was a post office not far from the shop, but he needed to swing by the sporting goods store over by Lynnhaven Mall to return something anyway, so he’d just go to the post office in that area. And now that he thought about it, Jon was off today, so . . .

  He sent a quick text: Heading to Lynnhaven—want to grab lunch?

  Then he picked up the box, and by the time he’d settled into the car, Jon had replied—Absolutely. On my way. Food court?

  Matt smiled to himself and started the car. He texted back, Food court is perfect. See you soon.

  Then he pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the freeway.

  Like sketching, driving allowed for some split focus. He was a vigilant driver, but he could still think about other things while he drove. Things like what he might say when he messaged Troy later. He was quickly warming up to the idea of going through with it, too. Things had been going more smoothly lately, after all. Business was starting to pick up. The new tattoo equipment worked like a dream. He was getting insanely hot sex almost daily. So he liked the thought of clearing the air with Troy. Putting their years-old tension to bed would be one less weight on his shoulders.

  As he pulled onto the freeway, he wondered how exactly he was supposed to broach the subject once they were face to face. Was it better to talk about stuff like that in person? Or should they try instant messaging—