Bad Company

  “A better friend.” Nate looked off into the distance like the bus would spare him having to get through this. “You were right. I’m not really good at being friends with people. I tend to get on their nerves. But, there’s one thing I’m good at, and that’s learning how to make something work better.”

  “That’s a lot of words, Nate. What are you saying?”

  “Can we still be—Christ, I don’t mean it like that.” Nate squeezed the back of his head. “I want you to stay part of my life.”

  “Well, Eli seems to put up with you all right. Despite your best efforts to shake him loose.”

  “He’s too young to know better.”

  Kellan let the laugh slip out. “Yeah. I think we can still be friends.”

  “Thanks.” The sun shimmered off the bus, making it ripple as it rolled toward them. “Your mom’s helping you out?”

  “Well, she wired me enough cash to buy some decent clothes. God, getting money that way is fucking complicated.”

  “Yeah.” Now that Nate had finished his speech, he didn’t seem to know what to say.

  “So how far back up does this bus go?”

  “Up to Johns Hopkins Bayview. Um, where are you headed?”

  “I thought I’d go in to see how Marisol is doing. I can’t play the guitar, but I can still work with her. I’ll check in with Jeff.”

  “Right. You know, you’re still welcome to stay—I could get an air mattress or a futon or something.”

  Kellan wanted to take pity on him, but this earnest, trying-too-fucking-hard Nate was too much fun. He deserved a little payback.

  The bus’s air brakes made a nasal blast as it jolted to a stop in front of them. “Meet me after work and we’ll talk about it.”

  “Where?”

  Kellan pretended to think a minute. “J.J.’s.”

  BEING LATE made Nate physically sick. Being late today, wondering if Kellan would still be there waiting while Nate was stuck at the Rag’s offices in a forty-five minute phone call to placate a major advertiser over a double-booked back cover, infected him like a full-body toothache. He dry swallowed Tylenol and swore that the marketing director and the graphics editor were never allowed to be out on the same day again, no matter who the Orioles were playing or what their record was. He’d rather be back covering local bands and their tragically overhip groupies than running the office.

  At least by six, traffic flow had gotten light enough that he was able to push the scooter as fast as it would go as he headed north.

  He parked it in the same alley and hit the door. Kellan was sitting at the bar in the same spot Nate had occupied six weeks ago. Scooter in the same alley, Kellan in the same spot. After work on a Monday. Nate wasn’t slow.

  “Hey.” He walked up and nudged Kellan with his shoulder. Kellan looked at him and took a long swallow from his bottle. “I hear you’re gay now.”

  “I’m in a gay bar,” Kellan pointed out with a shrug.

  “Good, because I need a boyfriend.”

  “Blow me.”

  “Anytime, anywhere, baby.”

  “I don’t know. I might need a boyfriend who isn’t such a control freak.”

  Nate leaned close to his ear. “You want to fuck my ass, Kell? Then let’s get out of here.”

  Kellan coughed on his beer. “Okay. I was just—I mean, you don’t have to—”

  “No, but you do.”

  Kellan started to wipe his mouth with his sore hand and then switched. He licked his lips and Nate kissed them, using his tongue to invite Kellan’s to follow him back. Kellan grabbed Nate’s head and held it. The ache faded from his body, melting into the wooden floor. Kellan was better than all the damned Tylenol in the world.

  Kellan lifted his head. “I’m good with things the way they are.”

  Nate ran his tongue over Kellan’s jaw, right below his ear. “Why do you think I have a dildo in the drawer next to my bed?”

  Kellan jumped off the barstool and slapped a ten on the bar. Nate swore he was about to push the scooter—or the truck blocking them—when they went down Washington. But when they got in the apartment, Kellan seemed to run out of steam.

  Nate steered him toward the couch, stripping them both. He looked at the tie in his hands and then at Kellan, sprawled on the couch, bandaged hand over his head. Another time.

  Yeah, suddenly they had all the time and the laters in the world. Nate’s heart did that clichéd beat skip again, and he swallowed hard as he fished supplies out of the drawer. Swallowing didn’t loosen his chest. Religion might be the opiate of the masses, but sometimes confession was good for the soul.

  He went to his knees in front of Kellan. “I love you, you know that? Always fucking have.”

  Kellan brushed his thumb across Nate’s lips, smoothing his beard. “Yeah. I do.”

  Nate caught Kellan’s hand and kissed his palm, then rubbed his face in it.

  Kellan’s fingers curled as if it tickled.

  “I could shave it if you want—if it’s too weird.”

  “It’s you.”

  Nate didn’t tease or lick, he went at Kellan’s dick and swallowed it, gulped him in until his pubes tickled Nate’s lips before slowly backing off.

  “Holy shit,” Kellan breathed and put his hand softly on Nate’s head.

  Nate pulled off all the way and lined them up, urging Kellan’s hand to hold him tighter. He hesitated for a second. Control was an illusion. He’d never had any where Kellan was concerned. “Like this, baby. Fuck my face.”

  Kellan shuddered and pushed in. Nate could tell the instant Kellan got over worrying about Nate’s breathing and gave in to the feel of Nate’s mouth and tongue and throat.

  “Fucking killing me,” Kellan gasped.

  Nate let Kellan have it for a while, until he felt the tightening of the skin over his lips, the tremors in Kellan’s thighs.

  He wrenched his head free. “Wait, baby.”

  Kellan’s eyes were hooded under his long bangs as he watched Nate grab the lube to pump some onto his fingers. “Are you gonna?”

  Nate reached behind himself and slicked his hole. He squirted a little into Kellan’s hand. “Put it on the head of your dick.”

  Kellan gave his dick a lazy swipe as Nate tore the condom open with his teeth. Kellan took it from him before he could roll it down. “I’d better do it.”

  Once the rubber was on, they both ran their lube-covered hands over it.

  Before Kellan could stop and think again, Nate pushed him back against the couch and straddled him on a foot and one knee. Kellan put a hand on Nate’s hip, and a tremor ran through them both. Sometimes sex was just sex—he’d given that advice often enough—and sometimes it was a whole hell of a lot more.

  Reaching back, he guided Kellan’s cock into place and sank down enough to feel the stretch. Kellan grabbed Nate’s ass with both hands, the splint jabbing into Nate’s glutes.

  “Easy. Gimme a second.” Nate closed his eyes and finally managed to take the head, then slid slowly down the shaft.

  “Nate.”

  He opened his eyes.

  “Yeah.” Kellan held his gaze.

  Nate started riding him, but Kellan kept trying to go deeper, desperation spilling into a whine in his throat. Nate worked himself faster, holding on to the couch and Kellan’s shoulder for support.

  “Fuck, that’s tight and I need, Nate, I need to—” Kellan bucked up.

  “Yeah, I got you.”

  With a wince, Nate pulled off and put his knee on the couch next to Kellan. Gripping the back of the frame, Nate stuck his ass up and tipped his head at Kellan.

  Kellan scrambled eagerly off the couch, and Nate turned his head away to hide a deep breath. He liked the pressure of a cock in his ass, but he didn’t bottom like this. Except he did now. Because the look on Kellan’s face was worth fighting with himself to let go, to let Kellan take over.

  Kellan wrapped an arm around him and slammed inside, too much too fast, and Nate groaned. “
Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. But you’d better make sure I get off before you come.”

  “Control freak.”

  Nate wrapped a tight fist around his dick as Kellan started to fuck him. One shift of their hips, and Kellan had the perfect angle. Fucking beginner’s luck. Nate wanted to tease him with it, but he couldn’t do much but groan with the thick pressure rubbing across his gland, body crowded full of Kellan, in him and on him and around him. A heavy breath in Nate’s ear, the snap of balls against his ass as Kellan drove him into the couch again and again.

  The last thought Nate had before he just gave in to what Kellan was doing to his body was a pang of regret at not putting a towel on the cushion. Then Kellan started moving in quick jabs that brought Nate right up under the edge. Tightening his ass muscles to help them both along, he worked his cock and let it go, let it flood through him and pour out of him, trusting Kellan to keep them both upright as Nate’s body locked out everything but the bursts of pleasure flying from his dick.

  Kellan grunted and took two deep strokes before he was coming too, shaking and gasping against Nate’s skin, leaving the imprint of Kellan all over him.

  Nate buried a wince in his forearms as Kellan pulled out.

  “So, do I need an air mattress?” Yeah, Nate might be willing to put his ass and his pride on the line for Kellan, but damned if he’d let him get the last word.

  “You need a real bed. We need a real apartment.”

  “We?”

  “Me and Yin. You can come live there too, but some of us are carnivores.”

  “Okay.”

  Kellan dragged Nate onto the couch where they got tangled up and stickier. “You’re kind of easy after getting fucked. I’m going to remember that.”

  “Don’t get too used to it.”

  “How about every time you piss me off?”

  “Define ‘pissed off.’” Nate lifted his head so he could see Kellan’s face.

  “Contemplating exactly how much five million could buy.”

  “Okay.”

  “One more thing.” Kellan was grinning. “As much fun as this stuff is—”

  “‘This stuff’ meaning sex?”

  “Yes. As much fun as fucking our brains out is, we’re getting a TV. At least thirty-six inches. And satellite. And—”

  Nate stopped him with a kiss. “What happens when I get pissed off?”

  “I’ll piss you off more until you fuck me stupid.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Exclusive Excerpt

  Bad Boyfriend

  Bad in Baltimore: Book Two

  By K.A. Mitchell

  Causing trouble has never been more fun.

  Eli Wright doesn’t follow anyone’s rules. When he was seventeen, his parents threw him out of the house for being gay. He’s been making his own way for the past five years, and he’s not about to change himself for anyone’s expectations. For now, romance can wait. There are plenty of hot guys to keep him entertained until he finds someone special.

  Quinn Maloney kept the peace and his closeted boyfriend’s secrets for ten years. One morning he got a hell of a wake-up along with his coffee. Not only did the boyfriend cheat on him, but he’s marrying the girl he knocked up. Inviting Quinn to the baby’s baptism is the last straw. Quinn’s had enough of gritting his teeth to play nice. His former boyfriend is in for a rude awakening, because Quinn’s not going to sit quietly on the sidelines. In fact, he has the perfect scheme, and he just needs to convince the much younger, eyeliner-wearing guy who winks at him in a bar to help him out.

  Eli’s deception is a little too good, and soon he has everyone believing they’re madly in love. In fact, he’s almost got Quinn believing it himself….

  Coming Soon to

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Chapter One

  WHEN QUINN straightened from brushing his teeth, the face in the mirror scared the shit out of him.

  Christ, I’m my grandfather.

  It had been cold in the kitchen while he sat at the table, surfed the internet, and pretended not to listen for Peter’s car in the driveway—or to check for any breaking news involving fires—so he’d thrown on a sweater Peter’s mom had given him for Christmas. With the off-brand matching luggage set under his eyes, the gray at his temples, and the old-man brown wool, he looked like his grandfather. After his heart attack.

  No wonder he and Peter hadn’t had sex in…

  “Hell, Peter it’s been three and a half months.”

  “I didn’t know you were keeping track. I’ve worked eight days straight and I’m thirty-six fucking years old. Do you mind if I pass out now?”

  “Yeah, I remember how fucking old you are. Especially since your birthday was the last time I got laid.”

  “So watch porn. You’re always on the damned computer anyway.”

  …two more weeks since that conversation added up to four months. Quinn was starting to wonder if he’d forget how to do it. Maybe he couldn’t blame Peter for dropping off to sleep when he came home and found dead grandpa in their bed. Ten years as a fireman’s partner could leave anyone with gray hair and worry lines.

  He’d thought about an affair—about Peter having an affair—but the checks Peter was bringing home meant he was telling the truth about working all the overtime. And Peter was in such a panic that anyone would find out he was gay that he’d be afraid to go near another man.

  Peter’s truck growled into the driveway, and Quinn dropped his toothbrush in the holder. He was too short on time for a dye job, but at least he could ditch the grandpa sweater.

  He traded his sweats and saggy boxers for a close-fitting pair of black briefs and shivered his way under the covers.

  He thought about trying to pose, but Peter had always been able to see through Quinn, so he propped himself up against the pillows and hoped it didn’t look like he was in a coffin. Hubert’s tags chimed in warning, giving Quinn time for the futile hope that the big Saint Bernard mix wouldn’t shake his shaggy head and send drool around the room.

  Hubert yawned, and then Quinn was wiping his cheek from the spray as Hubert shook off sleep and climbed out of his bed, stalking stiff-legged out to meet Peter in the hall.

  Peter’s keys hit the kitchen table, and Hubert’s tags jangled as Peter rubbed his head and neck. “How’s my old man?”

  Hubert whined, and after a satisfied-sounding yawn, made his slow way back to bed.

  Peter slammed around in the kitchen for a few more minutes, leaving Quinn to wonder if this was a beer- or orange-juice-before-bed kind of night. Beer meant on the couch for TV, ignoring the bedroom, orange juice meant he might come to bed in a few minutes. Quinn heard him in the hall.

  “Hey. You’re still up.”

  Something was different about the man Quinn had lived with for ten years, like he’d shrugged off something that had been hanging on him for weeks, months, maybe this whole past year. It was in the broad shoulders, the steady hazel eyes, the way he stood straight in the door of the bedroom and offered Quinn the first smile he’d seen in who knew how long.

  “You’re home early.”

  “Lupi’s back from his suspension. We can finally stop covering for his ass.”

  “Shit. I was counting on those big paychecks so I could run off to Vegas.”

  “Yeah. Right. Like I can see you dropping something bigger than a nickel in a slot machine.” Peter pulled off his shirt, reaching over his head with arms crossed, dragging the material up from behind. Something about the familiarity of that quirk eased the ache Quinn had been wearing under his scalp for so long he didn’t notice it until it was gone.

  Peter was back. And they were going to be okay. The weirdness was gone, just one of those bumps in the long, long road.

  “Hey, I can spend someone else’s money, no problem. And it’s not like you’d even notice I was gone.” Quinn said it lightly, but Peter looked up from where he was folding his pants across a chair, lips twisted in a grimace.
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  “Sorry,” Quinn added quickly.

  Peter stared at him until Quinn wondered if they were back to the land of weird. Then Peter’s face relaxed, like he’d made up his mind not to get all pissed off again. “Not tonight, okay?”

  Quinn’s throat went dry. “Got something else in mind?”

  For a big guy, Peter could move fast and quietly—maybe he snuck up on fires. He had a hand on Quinn’s ankle, yanking him toward the edge of the bed. “Yeah. Get your slut panties off so I can suck your cock.”

  Peter knelt at the edge of the bed and ran his hands up the inside of Quinn’s legs, the touch revving Quinn’s engine faster than he thought his thirty-four-year-old tachometer could handle without redlining.

  Shit. Why had he put on such tight briefs? “A little help?” Peter ran his thumbs along Quinn’s groin.

  “So not helping.”

  Finally Peter hooked fingers under the waistband, and Quinn lifted his hips. Peter yanked.

  Ow. “Fuck.”

  Peter kissed it better. Kissed everything better and swallowed Quinn’s dick like he was starving for it, because God knew Quinn was. Their fingers locked together on Quinn’s hips as Peter sucked and bobbed.

  It had been so long. And it was so fucking good. Quinn mentioned that last bit out loud, in case the throb of his hard cock in Peter’s mouth wasn’t enough to tell him how fucking good it was.

  Peter freed one of his hands and grabbed the base of the shaft, giving the head perfect, wet, flicking-tongue, tight-lipped attention. “Don’t come.” Peter stroked his hand over the length as he licked and sucked on Quinn’s balls, pulling one into his mouth for the stretch and tug guaranteed to make him want to do exactly what Peter had told him not to do.

  “Uhn?” Quinn asked. If he’d known Peter would be launching the blitzkrieg of blowjobs tonight, Quinn might have taken the edge off so he could last longer than sixty seconds.

  “Want you to fuck me,” Peter said with his chin bouncing into Quinn’s sac, scrape and pressure, and Quinn smacked Peter’s stroking hand away before it was all over.