“SHUT UP, Lanie.” Matt’s voice, hard and hoarse, trembled.
Then he pushed another finger inside and hit Lane’s gland.
“Oh fucking God!” Lane arched off the bed, his hands twisting the sheets in his ecstasy.
“I can’t wait.” Matt gave his gland another hit, Lane groaned, and then Matt pulled his fingers out.
Matt reached over the bed, grabbed his jeans and rummaged through them, pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and retrieved a condom.
Lane’s eyes widened. This was really it. They were going to do it. Matt had a rubber in his hand and intent in his eyes. And lust.
Lust? For Lane? No, that had to be something else, something drunk and wild and filled with I’m going to regret this in the morning.
Lane closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Should he call a halt to this?
Hell, no. Had he lost his fucking mind? This is what he’d waited his entire life for—his first time. And it was with Matt. Just as he’d always dreamed it would be.
Only Matt was drunk.
The sound of the foil ripping on the condom brought Lane’s eyes open.
Matt knelt between his legs, rolling the latex onto his jutting cock, and Lane thought he’d never seen anything so sexy as Matt, hair falling into his eyes, his firm body posed over him.
Then Matt took his dick in his hand and guided it to Lane.
Matt inhaled and looked up into Lane’s eyes. “Tell me to stop, Lanie.”
Lane couldn’t speak. Didn’t trust himself not to say the same thing he’d fought not to say since he was fifteen. I love you.
Lane shook his head and pulled his legs apart.
“Thank God,” Matt muttered. With a toss of his head to keep the hair out of his eyes, he licked his lips and pressed in.
Incredible pressure. Lane tried to relax, just like when he took his butt plug, but this was Matt, and he couldn’t. He could barely breathe. Could barely think.
Something inside him short-circuited, and all he could do was feel Matt’s cock pressing into him, spearing him, forcing that tight ring of muscles to open for him.
Lane pushed, and Matt slid in.
“Lanie, oh God,” Matt crooned, eyes shut tight.
It felt different than Lane’s plug, warmer, so much warmer, fuller, more stretched, more exciting, just so much more.
Matt squeezed Lane’s hips with his hands, holding back whatever it was that played over his face. Would he ever take his first stroke?
Lane needed to be fucked. Now.
He pulled back and thrust forward onto Matt’s prick, and Matt’s eyes shot open. Their gazes locked, and Lane tried to send a telepathic cry of Fuck me now to Matt.
Message received.
Matt snapped his hips, and Lane groaned. He did it again and again, and before Lane could think about it, Matt was fucking him. Slow and controlled, as if Matt had all the time in the world to spend with Lane, when they really only had until Matt sobered up.
Lane didn’t give a shit if Matt never sobered up, if he could have Matt like this forever.
Lane wrapped his legs around Matt and held on. Matt lowered his head to rest on Lane’s and shuddered as his hips, with a mind of their own, kept snapping, kept thrusting in and out, working Lane’s tunnel until Lane was on the very edge of coming.
Not yet! His mind screamed at him to hold on, to give him more time. This couldn’t be over so soon. Even if he was a virgin, Lane set his jaw, determined to ride it out as long as Matt did.
Matt looked like he might not last long after all. He shook and trembled. Must have been the alcohol. Even young guys felt the effects of drinking on their libidos.
Lane figured what the hell. He reached up and stroked Matt’s cheek. “Matt, I—”
Matt crashed his mouth down on Lane’s, cutting off his next words. Lane’s brain couldn’t function, not with Matt’s dick in his ass and Matt’s tongue down his throat, and he couldn’t breathe either.
Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, let me die right now.
Matt clung to Lane, his hips jerking faster, his desperation bleeding through every touch of Matt’s tongue along Lane’s mouth. Then their kiss broke, and Matt buried his face in Lane’s neck, sucking and biting and gasping.
Lane realized his hips were matching Matt’s motion, all on their own. He hadn’t thought about it once, no command to move his hips. Just his body’s reaction to being taken wherever Matt wanted it to go.
He thrust up as Matt thrust down. They worked in such perfect rhythm, Lane thought he’d die from the sheer perfection of it. For once, Lane wanted Matt to know he could give back as good as he got, that he wasn’t some baby, and that this wasn’t his first time, even if it really was.
With a cant of his hips, Matt nailed Lane’s gland. “Oh fuck, yeah. That’s it, Mattie, that’s it.” Lane’s voice sounded odd to his ears. He sounded like a slut, with a strange purr-beg-whimper that he’d never heard before.
Matt drove into him, hitting it, slapping his balls against Lane’s ass, the smack punctuating each mind-blowing thrust, and Lane knew it would only be a few moments before he blew his load all over Matt’s chest and his own belly. And wasn’t that fucking hot?
Matt pushed up on his arms and looked down into Lane’s eyes. Tossing his head back, Matt groaned, and his arms shook with strain.
“Lanie, gonna come,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
Lane gasped and whispered, “Give it to me, Mattie.”
Matt gave three quick thrusts, then froze, opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and emptied into the condom as a wild, guttural, feral groan emanated from his throat.
Without a single touch to his cock, Lane came too, shooting between their bodies, painting his own belly. Just from Matt’s fucking and his cries. Lane had never heard anything more erotic, more arousing, than Matt at that one sacred moment, when his face became even more beautiful than Lane had ever seen it.
Matt hung there for a long moment, then pulled out.
“Shit.” Matt grabbed at the condom. “It slipped off.”
Lane froze. “How off?”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’m okay.”
Was Matt nuts? He fucked anything that moved. “Matt….”
“I said I’m clean. I’m very careful, Lane.”
“B-b-b-but—” Lane’s stutter returned. “How can you be so sure?”
“I just am, all right?” Matt rubbed his hand over his face and flopped back on the bed. “Just trust me, okay.”
Trust him? Could Lane do that? He’d shared everything with Matt, his hopes and dreams, his successes and failures. But this? This was life-and-death.
It was done and nothing could change it.
“Okay, Matt, if you say so.” Lane relaxed and exhaled. If he’d said no, if he’d made a bigger deal about it, it might have shredded their friendship.
When he returned to New Orleans, he’d just have to get tested. That’s all.
Matt lay next to him, his breathing slowing. Maybe a few inches separated their bodies, but to Lane, it seemed as if it were the Grand Canyon. Huge. Too big to cross?
Lane reached out and touched Matt’s hand.
Matt twined their fingers together. “Let’s get some sleep, huh, Lanie?”
“Sure, Matt.”
Matt closed his eyes.
Lane lay there, listening to Matt’s breathing. Knowing just when he’d fallen asleep. Lane closed his eyes, but damn, his brain wouldn’t shut down, wouldn’t turn off as a thousand thoughts ran in circles in his mind.
Lane knew Matt had his ticket, had nailed the interview for the small Los Angeles press, knew in three days Matt would pack his things, and he knew the minute when Matt’s plane would take off from the airport in New Orleans.
What he didn’t know was if Matt would still leave after what had just happened between them. Lane didn’t know about Matt, and he knew it had been his first time, and with the love of his life, but Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, it had been incredible.
The kind of sex you read about.
Well, at least it was for Lane.
For Matt? Probably nothing special. Besides, he was drunk.
Would Matt remember this in the morning?
Would Lane see regret in Matt’s eyes? He’d just die if he did. Just curl up into a ball and die.
What would this mean to their friendship?
LANE WOKE up when the sun hit his face. He blinked, rolled over, and reached for Matt.
No Matt.
He pushed up and looked around the room. “Matt?”
Lane’s clothes lay on the floor, right where he’d left them, but Matt’s jeans and T-shirt were gone. All signs the man had even been in his room were missing.
Maybe it had all been a dream? Maybe he’d been the one who’d had too much to drink? But he remembered last night, right down to the sounds Matt made when he came, the look in his eyes and on his face.
No way in hell that was a dream.
Lane got out of bed, tugged on his jeans, and opened his bedroom door.
“Matt?”
The door to Matt’s room was cracked open. Lane crossed the living room to it and paused. He took a deep breath, pushed it back, and stepped inside.
Matt’s bed had been stripped.
And his stuff was gone. Lane zombie-walked to the closet and pushed the sliding door to one side. Nothing but hangers and a crumpled candy bar wrapper.
He turned and stared at the dresser.
A piece of notepaper had been stuck in the side of the mirror, between the glass and the wooden frame.
Lane in bold block letters gave Lane’s stomach a roll.
This couldn’t be good.
He shuffled back to the dresser, staring at himself in the mirror. His hair stood out, spiked and bed-headed, his skin paler than usual, his eyes…. Well, they just looked sad. Resigned.
He snatched the paper and fell onto Matt’s bed, staring at the small folded sheet of college-ruled notebook paper.
Did he really need to open it to know Matt had left?
Yeah, he was a glutton for punishment.
Lane opened it and read.
Lane,
I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t think I should ever drink.
Decided to cut out of here. No point in waiting.
Keep in touch.
Matt
Tears spilled over, and Lane did nothing to stop them.
Bad enough Matt had left, but did he really have to say he was sorry about last night?
“I’m not sorry, Mattie,” Lane said to nobody. “I’ll never regret it.” Hell, how would he ever forget it? How could he ever forget Matt? How could Matt have just left him? No good-bye. Nothing.
The sob that burst from his throat surprised him. Then he gave in to it, his head hanging, his hands gripping the letter so tight he tore it in half, his shoulders shuddering with each deep breath he took in to fuel the next sob.
He fell back on Matt’s bed and stared at the ceiling. Matt was gone. He just couldn’t believe it.
“He’s really gone.” He had to hear it out loud, for himself, with his own words and voice, just to make sure that there wasn’t a single piece of his heart that hadn’t been broken.
He crumpled up two pieces of the note and threw it against the wall.
Fuck. Anger swelled in Lane’s chest. Hard, cold, heart-closing anger.
Matt had left—no, Matt had run as if his ass were on fire—to get away from his past, New Orleans, and Lane. Especially Lane.
The son of a bitch couldn’t even face him.
He’d fucked him and run, as if Lane were some piece of ass he’d picked up in a bar, had sex with, and was too embarrassed about it to hang around one second more than he had to.
Lane stood and left Matt’s room, shutting the door behind him. He walked to the bathroom they’d shared, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water on his face.
“Why would he stay? Not for you.” Lane looked into his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He didn’t even bother to finger his hair into place.
He leaned forward, searching deep into his own eyes.
Matt had treated him, his best friend, like a cheap pickup and made Lane feel worthless.
Another wave of anger buffeted Lane, drawing his mouth into a hard, straight line. “Pinky swear, the next time I see that son of a bitch, I’m going to deck him.”
By force of habit, Lane extended his pinky in a hook, but there was no one to wrap his finger with and pull.
He stared at his hand in the mirror, curled the fingers into a fist, and turned away.