Resist: Gavin

  Was that only four days ago? It seems like a lifetime.

  My hands are literally shaking by the time I park the car in front of the house. Whether it’s from anger, adrenaline, or annoyance at the rude questions lobbed at me by the paparazzi, I can’t say. Any way you look at it, I’m not exactly calm as I storm through the door and into the kitchen where I find Gavin sitting by himself thumbing through a magazine while he eats his lunch.

  Chest heaving, hands fisted, I stop in the doorway. Gavin lifts his head and those perfect, full lips part in surprise. His bright blue eyes widen and lock onto mine.

  The sight of him has my shaky façade crumbling to pieces in front of me. I can feel the fabricated reality I’ve tried so hard to maintain slip out of my grasp like wisps of smoke.

  I am so screwed.

  Gavin

  I’m not mad at that chicken-shit, Mitch Hale. Nope. Not at all.

  That’s what I tell myself as I stomp around the kitchen of the rental house, mumbling obscenities as I look for food. I woke up to a rabid Ross Evans calling to yell at me for fifteen solid minutes. Something about photos of me and the twink at the beach yesterday.

  Then I got another long-winded, manic message from my father. Apparently I’m not just a fag, now I’m a whore as well.

  I pulled out my laptop after ending the call and found the article Ross was ranting about. Jesus. The damn media. They make it look like Sean and I were getting dirty right there on a public beach. Even the title, Walker Walks Out on Hunky Honey, chaps my ass.

  For fuck’s sake, I’m out for four days and suddenly I’m the gay Casanova, breaking my ‘boyfriend’s’ heart by hooking up with another man behind his back. My fake boyfriend. The one who kissed me in a way I’ve never been kissed before. The one who the mere sight of him has me springing wood hard enough to pound nails.

  Fucking Johnny Utah.

  I find a container of chicken salad and spoon it onto a bed of mixed greens. Needing something to occupy my mind and pull me back from the ledge I’m standing on, I grab the latest copy of Variety and read it while eating at the kitchen table. Marcus made himself scarce somewhere outside after I lost it and yelled at him.

  Was it fair to take my frustration out on him? No. But he was a damn convenient target.

  I’m almost done with an article about the third and final installment of Ryker Bancroft’s Quantum Stranger trilogy, when the front door slams shut. I ignore it, assuming it’s one of the security staff. Heavy footsteps pound down the hall, stopping at the edge of the kitchen.

  My fork is halfway to my mouth when I spot Mitch. Then, several things happen.

  First, my cock instantly grows hard in my loose athletic pants.

  Second, my eyes greedily devour every inch of his rugged, sexy body—from the top of his disheveled dark hair, to the ridiculous black T-shirt that says “Serial Killers Will Love You To Pieces” stretched sinfully tight over the broad muscles in his shoulders, down to the snug pair of dark-wash jeans that hug a mouthwatering bulge straining at his crotch.

  Third, every bit of the anger and betrayal I’ve felt since Mitch turned tail and ran comes roaring back with a vengeance. My lip curls up and I drop the fork, ignoring the loud clatter it makes when it hits my plate. I shove back from the table and stalk over to stand inches away from a man I’d love to both hit and fuck, in no particular order.

  Before can I give Mitch a piece of my mind, I glimpse the rage simmering behind those steely grey eyes. His jaw is clenched and his annoyingly mouthwatering body is strung as tight as a bow, rigid and unmovable.

  We’ll see how unmovable he is.

  Choking down the urge to punch Mitch in his smug face, I shoulder by, deliberately knocking him back a few steps. If I don’t get away from him, I’m going to explode with frustration, sexual or otherwise. I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear a low, rumbling growl behind me.

  Fuck. He’s following. Is it sick that I both wanted him to follow and prayed that he wouldn’t?

  When I reach the threshold to my bedroom, I whip around, prepared to take a well-deserved fist to my jaw. Only Mitch isn’t expecting my abrupt turn and crashes into me. The collision sends us both stumbling into the room, me going down ass first with Mitch’s full weight knocking the wind out of my lungs in a loud huff.

  “Motherfucker!” I wheeze, gasping for air. “Get the hell off of me, Hale!”

  Mitch shifts and something happens. As he tries to right himself, his hips align with mine and twin hard-ons slide against each other through layers of clothing.

  We both freeze. Mitch hovers over me, his hands on either side of my head. The angry expression isn’t completely gone, as proven by the tight line of his jaw. But those eyes, they tell another story altogether. Mitch is turned on.

  And I can’t move.

  Not because he’s heavy, which he is. I love the feel of a solid, muscular man on top of me. No, I can’t move because the way Mitch is looking at me, with a mixture of loathing and lust, I don’t know what to expect next.

  “I hate you,” he snarls. Then he fists my shirt in one hand and crushes his mouth over mine.

  That was not what I was expecting.

  Mitch lets go of my shirt and drops his weight onto his elbows, allowing more of his body to slide against mine. Those wide, glorious pecs drag across my shirt, rubbing my sensitive nipples. A groan is pulled from deep inside my chest.

  Unable to stop myself, I bring my arms up around Mitch’s waist and slide them down to grip two handfuls of round, rock hard ass. My hips instinctually lift to get better friction across our erections.

  Mitch grunts into my mouth and grinds his own hips down against mine. He begins a slow, rhythmic rocking that quickly drives me out of my mind, pressure building in my groin. The entire time, our tongues slip and slide and duel for dominance.

  With a gasp, Mitch breaks the best damn kiss of my life. Huge, black pupils surrounded by a sliver of grey stare down at me.

  “I still fucking hate you,” Mitch growls.

  I’m mesmerized by those swollen, red lips. Now that I know how they taste, and I mean really know, I want more. So much more.

  “Then why are you kissing me?” I pant.

  “I don’t know.”

  Mitch attacks my mouth again. We come together in a messy clash of sharp teeth and velvet tongues. The hard length that grinds against mine has me moaning and writhing in minutes.

  I want this so much. In fact, I’m this close to coming, but there’s no way I’m dealing with a shame-filled, closeted asshole that blames me afterwards. Been there, done that. No thanks.

  I try to speak, but Mitch’s mouth never stops it’s sinful assault, so my voice comes out mumbled. “Shhttop.”

  His hips roll wickedly and my mind goes blank. I swear I see lights sparking in the back of my eyes as they roll up into my head. Where the hell did he learn that?

  Mitch groans long and loud and it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. My cock twitches and I shudder from the restraint required to keep from coming. I have to turn my head to the side to tear my mouth away from Mitch’s. Even then he still doesn’t stop, happy to continue licking and biting my ear and neck while doing that sinful hip thrust. My balls tighten as I teeter on the edge.

  “Fuck! Mitch, stop.”

  His hot tongue slides along a tendon down my neck, followed by quick, sharp nips of his teeth.

  Holy mother of god.

  “Mitch,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

  “What?”

  His voice is the rough, deep timbre of a man caught up in a haze of sexual pleasure. Jesus, this is more difficult than I thought. Every cell in my body is screaming for release and I’m trying to stop it from happening. I let my arms drop back to my sides, immediately mourning the loss of having that perfect ass cupped in my hands.

  I catch my breath and focus so I don’t lose my train of thought. “Why are you doing this?” My eyes are riveted to his mouth as his tongue peeks out
and swipes across his lower lip.

  Focus lost.

  “Doing what?” Mitch slides his hips a fraction and groans, his eyelids flickering shut.

  “Mitch!” Bracing my hands against his chest—and oh god, what a chest it is—I push Mitch off of me, dumping him on the floor.

  “What the hell, Gavin?”

  Mitch scrambles to his feet as do I. We’re right back to square one, staring at each other, both trying to be as intimidating as possible. Only this time, that sexy fucker is all rumpled and swollen lipped and I have a very obvious hard-on jutting out from my thin grey sweatpants.

  I drag a hand through my hair and tug. Hard. The sharp pain helps me ignore the fact that my cock is beginning to ache.

  “Fuck. What are you doing, Mitch? Are you gay? Bi?” Mitch frowns and takes a step towards me. In turn, I take a step back. “I’m not your experiment, Hale,” I spit out heatedly.

  Mitch’s head drops. His large hand rubs the nape of his neck. The tension across his shoulders is noticeable from several feet away. The man is so confused.

  And you still want him, Walker. Admit it. You’ll gladly do him even if you are an experiment.

  Fuck if that doesn’t make my dick even harder. Which, in turn, makes me angrier. Furious at being used, I’m determined to make him talk. Crossing the room in three large steps, I get right in his face, plant my hands across that damn perfect chest, and shove.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Hale? Huh? Want a little walk on the queer side? Well fuck you! Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m easy or desperate enough to be your one off.”

  Mitch’s eyes narrow and his mouth curves into a scowl. I think about how good that mouth felt on mine and my fury rises another notch. The resentment I feel floods my body with adrenaline, which makes me reckless. I crowd closer still, pushing Mitch back again.

  “Why are you here, Mitch? I thought you needed space to find my stalker. So where is he? Did you find him? Or did you come here just to get your cock sucked by the fag?”

  With a final burst of anger, I lift my hands to his chest, determined to give him one last push. Faster than I can track, Mitch’s hands cover mine. He flips us around and in one smooth move topples me backwards onto the bed. Once again, I find myself underneath Mitch’s large body.

  He pins my hands down on either side of my head, his chest and hips locking my lower body in place. If I wanted an honest-to-god knock-down fistfight, I could get free, but having Mitch hold me down, those grey eyes fixed on mine—it’s like being in trapped heaven and hell at the same time.

  “Mitch—”

  The desire to yell and scream has turned into another kind of desire. The kind that unfurls low in your belly, starting as a slow burn and cranking into a raging inferno in the span of a heartbeat.

  “Shut up,” he growls. “I’m not using you, Gavin. This isn’t an experiment. I…” Mitch closes his eyes for a moment, opening them back up to stare at my face with longing. “I don’t know what this is, but it isn’t a new feeling.”

  The sound of my name rumbling up from his chest has me shuddering beneath him.

  “Oh.”

  That’s all I can come up with. “Oh.” Brilliant. The man just admitted he’s possibly gay or at the very least bisexual. Most likely it’s the first time he’s ever told someone, and my genius response is “oh”.

  Mitch licks his lips nervously and lets go of my hands. He pushes back to stand, so I prop myself up on my elbows to watch, unsure of what he’s thinking. My jaw just about hits the floor when Mitch reaches a hand behind his back, those large biceps flexing, and yanks the black shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor.

  When Mitch toes off his boots and strips off his socks, I realize that this is actually going to happen. My eyes are riveted to the skin he exposed. It’s not the first time I’ve seen Mitch without a shirt, but last time it was dark and I was freaking out because someone was at the door. This time? I’m able to enjoy the view.

  His chest is perfection, just like I knew it would be. Broad and thick, with defined pecs and big shoulders. There’s a small sprinkling of dark hair in the center that thins out before turning into the happiest happy trail I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  If I thought his chest was impressive then Mitch’s abs are a work of art that gay men dream of. The skin is flat and tight, each ridge defined, flexing gloriously as he moves. They taper on either side of his torso, ending with sharp obliques that disappear down into his waistband. I want to taste that ‘v’. To drag my tongue down that trail to the prize that waits at the bottom.

  “Gavin.” Mitch’s husky voice is tinged with both nervous and carnal undertones.

  My gaze snaps back up. Determination, lust, and yes, fear, are all present in those expressive eyes of his.

  I understand what he’s saying without hearing the words. Mitch needs me to lead. He’s out of his comfort zone and needs to know that what he’s feeling is okay. I sit up and pull my own shirt over my head. Mitch’s pupils grow larger and one hand rubs across the front of his jeans, his eyes riveted to the small hoops threaded through my nipples. I’d bet everything I own that he doesn’t even know he’s stroking himself.

  Fuuuuck.

  “Come here.” Shit, my own voice is gone, replaced by a lust-fueled rasp.

  Mitch complies, his gaze drifting over my body, from my eyes, to my mouth, to my naked chest and back up. That damn hand of his never stops moving. It keeps fondling and squeezing what appears to be a sizeable erection.

  Lucky me.

  He stops when his knees hit the mattress. With my legs straddling his, I sit up and come face-to-face with that flawless set of abs. Putting my hands on his hips, I lean in and inhale.

  God he smells so good.

  My already hard cock turns to granite. Slowly, pressing my fingers into his sides, I open my mouth and let my tongue drag over those hard ridges, tasting and exploring every inch.

  When Mitch tentatively rests his hands on my shoulders, the contact sends a shiver down my spine. I sit up straighter and lick a path up to one of his flat, dark nipples. As it hardens under my mouth, Mitch lets out a gasp. Without stopping, I glance up to find Mitch staring at me, his expression so carnal my dick throbs, begging for release.

  A muscle in Mitch’s jaw jumps. He’s having just as much trouble holding back as I am. Suddenly, his hands are in my hair and he yanks my head back. When his mouth comes down on mine, I groan loud and embarrassingly long. Mitch’s knee comes up on the bed between my legs as he lowers me down.

  I tear away, panting. “Fuck, Mitch. Wait.”

  “No,” he growls, attacking my neck with his teeth and tongue. He finds a sensitive spot near my collarbone and sucks, hard.

  “Jesus. Shit, shit, shit, stop!” I shove my hands between us and once again have to squeeze my cock to keep from coming as he marks me.

  Mitch lifts his head and looks down between our bodies. His gaze comes back to mine. His expression is wild, uncontrolled, and the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Take off your pants,” I demand.

  You better be ready, not-so-straight FBI man. I’m about to blow your fucking mind.

  Chapter 8

  Mitch

  “Take off your pants.”

  Oh god. My legs go weak at Gavin’s command.

  There’s no going back. I don’t want to go back. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want this.

  I stand at the side of the bed, my hands frozen on the button fly of my jeans. My senses are so overloaded I can’t move. My eyes are busy feasting on Gavin, specifically, the erection tenting his loose sweats and those sexy piercings of his.

  My nostrils are filled with the scent of sex and sweat and Gavin, plus that damn coconut shampoo he uses. I lick my lips and can still taste him lingering there¸ potent and intoxicating. It all feels so strange yet so right.

  I blink to find Gavin standing in front of me. One of his h
ands runs up the side of my neck to rest on my jaw. The rough pad of his thumb brushes lightly in front of my ear. Full, soft lips gently press against mine in a kiss so perfect the tension seeps out of me.

  “It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs against my mouth.

  My entire body shudders at the caring tone and sweet endearment that comes from someone so masculine and strong. Someone normally so utterly frustrated with me. The skin across my stomach flinches when Gavin’s other hand dips down inside the waistband of my jeans. He deftly flicks the buttons open, leaving my pants loose. Gavin deepens the kiss, opening up and plunging his tongue deep into my mouth.

  A feral growl rips from my chest as the last bit of fear falls away, freeing me to finally take what I’ve wanted and denied for so long. I grip the sides of his face and groan, taking everything Gavin is willing to give. His hands slide around to my lower back to shove down the thick fabric that separates us. I feel Gavin shifting as he discards his own lightweight pants.

  I allow my hands to roam, dropping them from Gavin’s face to drift down the curve of his spine. My fingers dance over his skin, reveling in the feel of hard muscles flexing as I try to memorize every inch. When I reach Gavin’s lower back, my hand brushes over the two dimples that sit at the top of his ass. Going further, I don’t find any fabric, instead continuing down over hard, rounded muscles covered by silky skin.

  “Fuuuuck. You’re not wearing underwear.”

  Without breaking eye contact, Gavin shoves down my boxer briefs. “Now you’re not either.” He steps back to take a good look. My skin burns under the intense scrutiny but I’m not embarrassed. The lust in his blue eyes, the way his body tightens and shakes as he takes me in—there’s nothing but appreciation in his stare and it turns me on more than I thought possible.

  “You’re fucking huge,” Gavin grins. His expression turns serious. “And beautiful.”

  Can a man be beautiful? I let my own gaze drift over the perfection of Gavin’s body, smooth tan, nearly hairless skin covering long, lean muscles. I decide that beautiful is only one of the ways to describe Gavin. He’s a work of art, stunningly gorgeous, quite possibly the closest thing on earth to perfection.