Loveless: A Male-Male Forbidden Romance Page 2

  Just me?

  Chapter Two

  DEVIN

  Married at sixteen.

  A father at seventeen.

  Gay the entire goddamn time.

  My mom never raised a quitter. A man who likes dick, yes. But a quitter? Never.

  When Whitney got pregnant, my first and only wanted time with a woman, I stayed. No one has to stay. Yes, for the child, but in the relationship? Not at all. No one wants a loveless marriage. But we found love, just not in the same way. Having sex with her for twelve years after, well, that nearly killed me.

  Having a secret as deep and hidden as mine isn’t an easy feat. Whenever we were in bed together, I had to imagine I was plowing into an ass. I’m such a prick, though. We never had face-to-face intercourse after the first time. It took everything to push into her at all and only ever from behind as I imagined a man beneath me.

  It made me feel worse each time, but upsetting her made me feel physically ill. She only wanted love. We had a great friendship, something that grew and made us bond for years.

  One day though, she found out the truth. Instead of a screaming match that anyone could expect, she hugged me.

  “I had a feeling for a long time, Dev. For years, it seemed to hurt you to be with me. In your eyes, there was a respect and love, but in your heart, it was shelled and cracked, faking something you weren’t capable of.”

  Her words make me cry. For the first time since our daughter was born, I cry. She understands in a way many people in this town wouldn’t.

  “I-I’m sorry.” I choke over the words.

  She pulls me closer, tighter, holding me together. “No need. Yeah, the time is gone and spent being unhappy in a romantic sense, but it’s you, Dev. You stayed for our daughter. You loved me in the only way you could. You were never mean or hateful. You tried. We had a good life.”

  It was in that moment I realized how much I lucked out with Whit. She didn’t berate me or call me harsh names, and we promised to not tell our daughter until I was ready.

  We don’t exactly live in an understanding and progressive town. If anything, we’re frozen in the past, only sticking to one social norm of a man and woman.

  Whit and I finalized our divorce when our daughter turned thirteen. It was harder on her than us. We never spoke ill. Hell, there isn’t hatred on either side. She wanted love, and so did I. We deserved to live our lives and find our happy endings.

  She did a few years later.

  Now, it’s my turn.

  I’m just not sure how to broach dating or how to tell my nineteen-year-old daughter that I’m gay. “Hey, I’m into dicks. It’s why Mom and I aren’t together.”

  Scratch that.

  No, fuck that.

  I’m not ready.

  Why tell her when there isn’t a single dude in Valley West who’s openly gay and also someone I’m into?

  It’s not that I haven’t been with men. Just that none of them are from this town, want a relationship, and are willing to relocate. It’s tedious enough to drive two hours to find them. My first time was sloppy. Awkward and quick.

  Whit and I had been separated for a whopping fifty hours. It took five shots of Jaeger and a shit ton of courage from the guy convincing me to top him.

  “You’re definitely a top,” he muses. He isn’t what I imagine I would want. Slim, tall, but shorter than me. Almost lanky and feminine in a soft but hard edges kind of way.

  “A top?” I question, not knowing the lingo. In all the years I’d been with Whit, I never watched porn or let my eyes stray. Except that one time... Why give myself a taste when I’d be in a closet and married to someone with the wrong-for-me parts?

  “You know, you do the fucking.” His smile widens with that.

  My dick jumps in my pants. Yeah, he likes that idea too. It’s not a stretch. The thought of getting plowed hasn’t really appealed to me. But giving? Hell yes.

  “I-I’ve never done this,” I mutter, almost feeling low and fucking ashamed. I’m thirty and have never been with a man.

  “Oh, honey. It’s not hard... yet.” He laughs and escorts me to his room. My first time could be a lot worse, that’s for sure. At least he isn’t an asshole.

  It took me a few minutes to stop freaking out, but he showed me how to stretch him, and we fucked. I’m a little ashamed to say it was only five minutes. But we both came, and the next few times after that with different guys over the years, I found what I liked.

  “Daddy!” my daughter, Primrose, yells from in the front room. Or is it the kitchen?

  I’m getting ready for tonight’s shift. Being a bar owner has its advantages. I can do whatever I want, show up when I want, and still manage fine.

  “In here!” I holler back, folding up the cuffs to my buttoned-up shirt sleeves. We have a fairly casual establishment. They all wear the logo tees and whatever else they want. I’m a little more old-fashioned. Buttoned-up with a shirt underneath and nice jeans with boots. It’s not too fancy, but I keep a clean cut.

  She opens the door and comes toward me. “I need to talk to you. It’s really important.”

  I raise an eyebrow. Primrose always beams in one way. Whether it be her colorful attire or her radiant smiles, she’s vibrant in everything. Tonight, she seems nervous—possibly even scared.

  “What is it, wild child?”

  She smiles at that, and the glimmer of light that leaks through her stressed gaps make me believe she’s serious. My child, the one who brings my life full circle, is never this out of place in her own skin.

  “Remember my friend I told you about?” she asks, her eyes a little downcast.

  The thing about Prim, is that she has tons of friends. If she walked into a bar—my bar, even—everyone and their cat would be her friend. Especially the cat. She’s obsessed. I’m allergic, so that’s a no go, but she loves from afar.

  “Which one?”

  She pouts, and I can’t help the chuckle that leaves me. With that, she’s crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. She reminds me of when she was little and would get whatever she wanted with that adorable expression. Not much has changed.

  “You’re friends with the entire town, sweetheart.”

  “I know, Dad, but jeez, you could try and think of the only person I always talk about.”

  “Texas?”

  She nods.

  “I thought you were talking about the state. I didn’t realize this was a person.”

  She smacks my arm lightly, her glare as admonishing as a unicorn’s glitter. “Dad.”

  “Primrose,” I tease.

  She huffs, and I love this immature side, the childish one that reminds me she’ll always be my little girl.

  “He got kicked out today, and I offered him a job and a spare room,” she rapidly explains. It’s like she ran a race with how fast she spilled the words out.

  My eyes widen. This Texas is apparently a guy. My daughter has... a guy? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

  “Are you two dating? Scratch that. There’s no fucking way your boyfriend will stay under the same roof as my daughter.”

  “Daddy! Come on. He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

  “Just friends, my ass. I was a boy once, Primrose. They only want one thing.”

  “He’s twenty-one! Not a child. He’s desperate and has no one. Please, Daddy,” she implores, using those doe eyes—the ones that are slightly glistening with emotion and hurt—that force me to almost give in.

  “Fine. He can stop by tomorrow. We’ll talk then.”

  She jumps up and down and squeals. “Thank you, Daddy!” Her arms wrap around me as she continues to celebrate. What I would do for my child.

  “I’ve got to head out, but we’ll talk tomorrow. It’ll be a late night tonight. Stock order.”

  “See you then!” she squeaks before kissing my cheek and running off.

  I swear if this dude is only trying to fuck my daughter, he’s in for a rude awakening.

  I’m not sca
red to show him the door.

  Chapter Three

  DEVIN

  The bar is already being prepped by the time I get here. We open in an hour, and the only thing I do beforehand is to make sure everything is on task for the start of the night. We already had our shipment delivered, restocked, and cleaned.

  We’ve been waiting ages to branch out, and finally, we can afford it. People think expansion isn’t as costly as it is. You can live a lush life for a tenth of the price versus starting up another location.

  The new bar in Vegas opens up in a few months. Dusty manages everything for now, but even my best worker can’t handle it all. I’ll have to fly out and help too, which will mean leaving Landon, Sandra, and Jules to run this location.

  I’m blessed to be managing my own bar and starting a new one in another state altogether. Yes, I’m living the dream, but I want more in life. Don’t we all?

  After I double-check everything, the doors open, and our regulars pour in. Todd comes straight for me, knowing I’ll make his Old Fashion in a jiff without question. Sliding it back to him, I head to the tables the patrons usually hang around at, and go back to my laptop.

  Searching real estate in Vegas isn’t easy. It’s not cheap, and anything somewhat near the bar is gaunt and overpriced. I look into nearby cities, especially Overton and Mesquite. They’re close but far enough to be cheap. They’re pretty unpopulated, too, which means it won’t be too hard to venture around. Nevada is an open-minded state. Being gay isn’t a big deal there, and in Vegas, I could meet tons of new people and possibly even find love.

  After bookmarking a few properties that appeal to me, I head toward the bar and watch Sandra and Landon pour drinks for people.

  On the far side of the tabletop, I notice someone I’ve never seen in here before. Not in this town or my bar. His hair is dark, but with the lamp shining down on parts of it, I can tell it’s a deep blue, navy possibly? Like my jeans but with black roots. It’s longer, wavy, edgy and different, but it also makes him seem very young. A hipster. Like my daughter, he’s not going with normal hair color.

  Unable to help myself, I make my way to him, spotting arms full of tattoos and a lip piercing that glints in the light.

  He doesn’t see me yet, so I take the time to admire his sharp jaw and sad posture. He’s troubled. I’m not sure how, but I can tell from his presence.

  An urge swells within me to help him out. It’s what makes me a good bartender, knowing the people, feeling them out, and listening to their stories. I know so many stories without asking for them.

  From behind the bar, I reach for a towel, I’m finally in front of him. I wipe the area down out of habit, and he finally peers up. His piercing honey eyes connect with mine, and my heart beats a little faster. Weird. I’m not one for being attracted to different or young and he’s definitely both. The despondence in his posture has a frown decaying inside me, unwilling to break free and scare him off.

  “Another?” I ask, nodding to his drink. I’m not sure what it is, but I’ll help him to whatever he needs. Maybe even just to hear him speak, to feel his pain, and to soothe whatever misery he’s carting around.

  “Not sure if I should. I don’t drink often,” he mutters, his face full of emotions that refuse to spill out.

  “Need a cab then?” I offer, not wanting this kid to wander off but not wanting him to leave either. It doesn’t make sense why I’m experiencing this urge to keep him here.

  He doesn’t seem even a little tipsy. The stiffness in his shoulders make me believe he’s ready to bolt at any wrong move. His desire to leave might be more aimed at despair and the wish to be alone than it does his excuse of not drinking often. Either way, it doesn’t stop the need unfurling inside my chest to help him.

  “No.”

  It’s one word, but it feels like a punch to the balls, bringing a larger pit from my stomach to my chest, weighing heavily with each beat.

  “What’re you having?” It’s not exactly a question but rather a band-aid, a forced one. “On the house.”

  His eyes meet mine again, and he tugs his piercing with his fingers, almost like he doesn’t understand my kindness. He pulls on it, making it indent his lip in an appealing way. My cock stirs at the motion, a burning in my insides, making me crave the taste of silver, and I long to delve into its flavor.

  “Jaeger,” he whispers, eyeing my mouth in a way that makes my chest tighten.

  Fuck. What is it with this guy? I’ve never felt even a glimmer of attraction for anyone in this town, yet this stranger walks into my bar and has me wanting to use my stock room.

  “Good choice.”

  “Fucks me up every time,” he muses, but there’s no smile. Just sadness. A whole lot of fucking sadness.

  I grab the entire bottle and two glasses and end up pouring us both a shot.

  “Jaeger’s my poison,” I admit when he doesn’t ask me the question burning in his gaze.

  He takes it, raising to his mouth. “To poison.”

  “To poison,” I respond and throw it back. By the time I lick the edge and glance at him again, his eyes are honed in on my throat, and the lust reflecting in his eyes has me steel in my jeans. Fuck.

  Unable to resist the urge, I nod toward the stock room, giving him the option to see if he’s interested. His eyes follow the movement. Putting up a hand for five minutes, I turn in that direction. No one seems to have caught our silent conversation, but I tell my bartenders I’ll be back.

  As I make it to the room, my heart races, galloping like a fucking horse. I’ve never done this, not in this town, definitely not in my own bar, and sure as fuck not with someone my daughter’s age.

  He’s drinking, though, so he has to be legal.

  A knock sounds on the door five minutes later, and I open it to see him standing there with the most devilish lip bite known to man. My lips tilt in a smirk, and I’m happy to know it wasn’t a one-sided attraction.

  It’s not like you can stare at someone and see that they’re gay, but when someone flirts, it’s usually telling enough.

  His hand connects with the door, and he closes and locks it. He saunters over to me with sureness. If I had an ounce of his confidence at his age, I would have been a happier man a helluva lot sooner.

  Instead of letting him lead, though, I take his face and crash my mouth to his. Surprise stiffens his posture for only a moment before a small groan rips from him. My cock practically rages against my zipper, wanting an escape. When my tongue strokes his metal, my body shivers in response, making my nipples as stiff as the drink we just shared.

  The silver of his piercing has me growling against his mouth. I push him against the metal door, grinding my cock into him.

  It wants all he has to offer.

  Feeling him solid beneath me has me desperate with a need to roar with some type of exultation. It’s an impulse that should scare me, but it doesn’t. He ruts against me, rocking our hips together while our lips fuck how our bodies are desperate to. Our teeth clack when we go the same way twice, and it only has the molten urgency between us growing.

  “Fuck,” he grunts against my lips, pulling back to run a hand through his hair. Is it soft? Why the fuck do I want to fuck him so bad and pull on it while he screams for me?

  My cock twitches at that. We’re in agreement.

  It’s been months since I’ve been to Olvier, the town where I go to meet men. If I’m not in this guy in the next five seconds, my cock might actually die.

  I don’t want to talk or ask questions. It’s unsafe and intense, scary, even, but I just want to taste, lick, and fuck this sad boy.

  It’s a bad combination that has me salivating. Crowding him against the door again, I sniff his throat. It’s so primal of me, but I can’t help it. It’s an incessant compulsion burning, blistering, and begging me to mark, mark, mark.

  He groans as my tongue licks a path to his ears, finding huge ass holes in them. I tongue them too, deciding all these differences in him fr
om the normal men I’ve been with makes me deprived of freedom, like a caged bull.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he practically sings in my hair.

  I bite the tendon in his neck, the one where his heartbeat throbs, beating life into him. After licking it better, I suck and suck and suck. He moans, his legs slightly giving out at the motion. There’s nothing I crave more in this moment than to leave my imprint, to give him my name in the only reasonable tattoo I can offer.

  Pulling back to see my hard work, I grin. It’s the most pride I’ve felt in a long time. I take no time to remove his shirt, he allows it, just sitting back for the ride. My, my, sad boy. Soon, my cock will be so deep he’ll scream.

  Ogling his muscular body, I hum my approval. He’s fit beneath his baggy black shirt. My eyes catch his light brown nipples and the little barbells through each one, and I fucking lose it. Leaning down, I flick one with my tongue and pull on the other.

  “Fuck!” he groans as if in pain. Not a pain that asks me to stop, though, the kind you can only get from pleasure.

  “We’ve got to teach you more words than that, kid.”

  “Not a kid,” he grunts, touching my chin and urging it upward. “I’m a fucking man.”

  His words come out sharp and harsh before he bites my bottom lip and takes my mouth for his gratification. Now it’s my turn to groan as he grips my raging dick in his hand. He’s not soft or sweet. He knows what he wants.

  “You’re fucking huge,” he hisses.

  I take his hands, both of them, and successfully pin them above his head.

  “Hope you love a good pounding, sad boy.” Only a flicker of fear settles over his eyes before he’s simpering.

  “Do your worst, bartender.”

  I want to correct him and tell him I’m the motherfucking owner, but I like the game, and I like that he sees us as equals. It’s his ass that I’ll be taking, though. He’ll enjoy every thrust, that much I promise.

  As I lean forward, my nose drags down his cheek, and I inhale his masculine scent. It’s crisp like mint and linen, mixed with that musk that only a man exudes. His skin feels perfect beneath the bite of my teeth. He’s rubbing into me as I taste him, and I’m unrushed for the first time tonight. Only pulling back to get to business, I release his arms that carry my fingerprints like a brand.