Take This Man_Gay Romance Stories Read online

  My hands shook as I coated my shaft. Again I hovered, but this time braced on one arm, my other hand guiding my glans to his hole. Finding the angle for entry…under and up, following the slope of the bowel, high in, high in, oh Jesus, so high into him until I hit the cage of his pelvis, the barrier that keeps me out. Keeps me from entering fully into him, merging his body with mine. He held the back of my neck and his legs locked around my hips. His mouth was against my ear, murmuring, urging. My face hidden in his neck, I began to thrust. Unable to think, unable to feel anything but the heat and the wet and the staggering pleasure in my cock. The glory of fucking him.

  “Bite,” he panted.

  It’s a hangover from his adolescence. Iain’s first boyfriend used to mark him all over with love bites and he still likes having it done to him. I bit at the join of his throat and shoulder, sucked a sliver of skin hard against my teeth. He bucked violently and I felt the almost overwhelming urge to sink my teeth into the muscle, bite it hard, a male animal pinning its mate. My heart galloping, I leaned my brow against his. Storm clouds of orgasm were gathering, piling in the distance; already I was feeling the first warning flickers, the flashes of lightning in my cock. Focus. Focus on him.

  “Again, bite me some more—”

  “No!” I gathered him to me and surged into him, jolting his body with each savage thrust, lost to everything but the need to come, to empty my seed into him, flood him, fuck him, fuck him—

  “Yeah, baby, yesss…”

  I half-heard his crooning moan but then there was nothing, nothing more of him or of me. I lifted into the vortex, my climax spinning me, spinning me, and I convulsed into ecstasy and I broke apart.

  Sated and dreamy, I cuddled into him, drifting comfortably down into sleep. He moved slightly and I hooked my leg over his thigh and pressed a kiss onto his chest. It was wet with sweat and smelled of sex. I caressed his belly; it was damp too, slightly sticky. Sleepiness evaporating in a sudden cold rush, I swam back to the surface. Damp. No slippery wash of semen. My eyes snapped open. “Iain?”

  “Mmm?”

  “You didn’t come.”

  His arm tightened around my shoulder. “I didn’t, love, no.”

  “But…” I sat up. “Why not? What’s the matter?” I yanked the sheet away and stared in disbelief at his erect cock, the glans shiny, straining against its frenulum. “Iain?”

  “Come here.” He pulled me down and kissed the top of my head. “I stopped myself coming.”

  “But why? How the hell did you stop yourself coming?”

  “After the pounding you gave me, you mean?”

  “Well…”

  “I can do it when I want to. Chris, listen. We got married but a marriage has to be consummated, doesn’t it?”

  “Does it?”

  “Yeah, I think it does. The way I see it, two men, well…how would it work for two men?” Under my cheekbone, his heart had taken on a rapid, thumping beat. After a moment, he said quietly, “They both fuck. They fuck each other.”

  I smiled as I finally understood. “Yes.”

  He rolled onto me and kissed me savagely, grinding my lips against my teeth. “Where’s the lube?”

  “I don’t know, it’s here somewhere…”

  “Better find it quick-smart, babe, because your husband is going to fuck you.” He reached his hand over my hip to my ass. “Fuck you forever.”

  INTO THE DARK

  D. K. Jernigan

  This was the worst fucking idea, ever.” My headlamp illuminated Rick from behind, and I glared daggers at his back; not that he was paying any attention. Ahead of him, his own light only seemed to cut a small slice from the oppressive dark that closed in around us. “Cave hiking sucks. I want to go back.”

  “I told you, I’ve done this before. Don’t be such a baby.”

  So much for our big, romantic day off. With our demanding schedules, it was hard for Rick and me to coordinate time off together, and this was how we were spending the day? “We’re lost.”

  “We’re not lost. I swear, I know where we are. Do you want me to show you on the map, again?”

  “No, what I want is to go back!” We’d been walking through darkness for about an hour, the only illumination coming from the lamps mounted on our hard hats. Outside, it was a good ninety degrees, but in here the temperature plummeted, and I was already wearing the heavy coat Rick had insisted I bring. And “hike” was a bit of a misnomer, too. Sure, there was hiking. There was also scrambling over rocks, crouching in low passages and climbing up short rock walls. It was dark, it was scary and I was on the verge of seriously freaking out.

  Ahead of me, Rick sighed. I could see the tension in his shoulders and took it as yet another sign that we were lost. And doomed. I kicked a small rock on the ground, and Rick winced as the crack of its impact with the wall echoed around us. He turned, carefully keeping the headlamp pointed down and away from my face, and I glared straight at him.

  “This was stupid. We’re never going to get out of here.”

  “No,” he said, with exaggerated patience. “We’re fine. We’re almost there. If you don’t like what I want to show you, we can go back. Okay?”

  “Why can’t we just go back now?” I asked. Sure, I sounded petulant, but I was cold and tired and not a little freaked out. The cave felt like it was closing in on me, and the darkness was choking and stifling. I shuddered as I turned my head, trying to illuminate more of the cave, but the darkness swooping in behind the beam of light only made me feel worse. When I turned forward again, I saw that Rick had already started out ahead of me. I hurried to catch up, and resumed glaring at that tense spot between his shoulders, right above his backpack.

  “Trust me, it’ll be worth it,” he said, as if he could feel my eyes on him. He passed around a rock column in the middle of the cave, and I followed, dragging my feet. At the end of the passage, the rock walls seemed to squeeze together, forming a narrow opening.

  “No way. I’m sick of squeezing through little holes.”

  “Turn your light off.”

  “What? No! No fucking way. I want to go back.”

  Rick turned and took my hands, and I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to resist being charmed or sweet-talked. It didn’t really work. “Mason, I need you to trust me, okay? What I want to show you is just on the other side of that hole. Please? For me?”

  He’d been walking backward, pulling me toward the opening with each step, and I sighed dramatically as we reached it, and reached up to switch off the lamp. I could feel my face drain of blood as our light was cut in half, and Rick’s face was plunged into darkness. My heartbeat sped up and I started to tremble. This was the stuff of nightmares, buried beneath the earth under tons of rock, alone in the dark.

  Or almost alone. Rick gave my hand a reassuring squeeze and turned off his own lamp, and I whimpered involuntarily as we were enfolded in the darkness. He pulled me gently forward, and I felt for the opening with my free hand, ducking to squeeze through the tight passage. Two steps, then the walls expanded and I could stand straight again. Not so bad, except for the dark.

  And then Rick dropped my hand. I yelped in shock, but he murmured soothingly from just ahead of me. My fingers itched toward my headlamp, and I started a slow count to ten in my head. He had ten seconds, and then I was giving up on this bullshit and turning my light back on. Ten seconds… God, it felt like forever!

  I was at eight, and panting, when I saw a glow kindle to life ahead of me, then grow brighter. I looked away from Rick and his lantern (where had he gotten a lantern?) to keep from hurting my eyes, and what I saw made me gasp with wonder.

  The entire cavern glittered and shone with crystals embedded in the walls. It was like a fairy wonderland or some magical palace, hidden here in the ground where only the dedicated—or those with romantic and determined lovers—would find it. A fitting reward for over an hour of fear and frustration in the dark, despite the fact that I hadn’t done much to earn it.

&n
bsp; I stepped forward and put a hand to the wall, feeling the cool smoothness of the crystal embedded in the rock. It was so marvelous, it took me a moment to realize that Rick had been standing next to more than a lantern. I turned slowly and faced the scene, and felt instantly like a total prick.

  He must have come down here on his day off, yesterday, and gotten things set up for us. There was an inflatable mattress, fully inflated, and a bottle of wine, well cooled in the chilly air. He went down on one knee as I turned to face him, and my heart about stopped.

  “Oh, Rick…”

  “Mason. Will you?” He held up a ring box with a solid gold band, and I felt tears gather.

  “Are you sure you still want to after all my whining?”

  He grinned. “As long as I have permission to tell everyone that you whined and bitched the entire way to the proposal.”

  I held up my hand for him, and he slid the ring onto my finger; a promise made and sealed in gold. “Deal. You get wineglasses down here, too?”

  “I wanted to, but it seemed like a bad idea. We’ve got plastic cups. You game?”

  “Definitely.” He poured, while I emptied my own backpack of food. I had wondered why he had insisted on me bringing impractical treats, like a box of strawberries. And why I’d had to carry all of it.

  But when he sat on the mattress opposite me, and I took the first crisp, sweet sip of wine, food was the farthest thing from my mind.

  “Thank you for dragging my lame ass down this hole,” I said. He took it for the apology it was, and leaned into me, and our lips met in a searing kiss that made the hairs on the back of my neck—and other things—stand up. I wished I could bottle the feeling and pull it out whenever I needed a pick-me-up, because there is nothing more energizing than feeling exactly how loved you are.

  His kiss told me all that and more, and soon we were lying back on the inflated mattress, doing a whole lot more than kissing. His hand brushed the stubble of my cheek, teasing my sensitive skin and sending shivers of excitement through my entire body. I took my own explorations to his waist, where I knew he was not quite ticklish in a way that made him incredibly horny. We teased and played, our tongues sliding over each other and our hands wandering.

  Then Rick grabbed my cock, and I knew that it was time for much, much more. I took the cue and kicked free of my pants and shoes, and he sat up to pull his shirt off at the same time. I chuckled when we came together again, each of us half-clothed, and pressed our lips together hard in a kiss that was as much a battle for dominance as it was a gesture of love. Seeing as I had been a dick all day, I fought back only long enough to make Rick feel good about winning, then let him roll me over.

  He bit at my shoulder blades as I got onto my hands and knees, wobbling on the squishy surface of the bed. “Hurry,” I whispered, and the cave brought the echoes of my plea back to us.

  “I am,” he assured me, and the slap he delivered to my ass echoed as well, though it didn’t cover the sound of his pants being pulled down, or the condom wrapper tearing a moment later. Then I heard the little click of the lube bottle, and a second later he was pressing against me, his cock hot and hard at my opening. “You sure you want this?” he teased.

  “Come on, Rick, fuck me.” I pressed back into him, but he shifted, forcing me to wait.

  “I don’t know, maybe we should eat first. It was such a long, exhausting hike.” I could hear him trying to suppress the laughter in his voice, and I rolled my eyes and moaned, begging him without words.

  This time he did laugh. But he followed it up with the ultimate reward, thrusting into me in one smooth motion. My body opened to him, and I moaned in pleasure as I adjusted to his girth and the glorious sensation of being filled and possessed by the man I loved.

  “God, move!”

  “God now, am I?” He wiggled his hips just enough to drive me half out of my mind, then began to pound me in a slow, steady rhythm that I knew he could hold all night long. I gasped and clenched around him, desperate for more and wanting more than anything to entice him into losing control. He slapped my ass for my efforts, and apparently decided it was fun. I groaned when his hand descended again, and then a third time. The stinging swats only made me hungrier.

  I started to reach for my own swollen cock, but Rick batted my hand away and bent over me. When his hand closed around me, the pleasure immediately began to mount. He stroked me in time to his own steady thrusts, but my heavy breathing and whimpers of pleasure were starting to get to him. When I cried out at an especially pleasurable stroke of thumb over crown, he gasped and his pace became faster and more ragged. I pushed back against him, begging him with my body to take me to the edge.

  “I love you like this,” he whispered, and then he granted my wish. He slammed into me, plunging me deeper into the pool of pleasure. His balls slapped against my ass as he fucked me fast and hard, our animal sounds of pleasure magnified and returned to us by the chamber walls until we were surrounded in a cocoon of eroticism. I tried to hold back, but his skilled hand on my cock was persuasive, and I shuddered with sensation as he made me come. He continued to stroke me, his hand lubricated with my fluids, and I moaned and trembled in sensory overload.

  “Fuck…yes. Damn, Mason.” He sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth, and I bore down around him one last time, ready to pull him over the edge with me. He came with a roar that echoed deafeningly around us, and drove himself deep into me.

  He pulled away a few seconds later, and we collapsed side by side on the narrow mattress, clinging to each other for warmth as much as anything else. “Still think this was a bad idea?” he asked.

  I chuckled. “Maybe not the worst, but don’t expect me to help you pack all of this shit out of here.”

  I could have smacked him when he answered, “My backpack is empty. Why do you think I made you carry all the food?”

  MY APOLOGIES, SIR

  Kiwi Roxanne Dunn

  The door closes behind them with a quiet click, but the gentility of the sound doesn’t belie Luther’s anger. Luther Aristotle Philadelphus (yes, that’s really his name) is always controlled, even when he’s furious. Owen Sean Monahan watches the slight tremble in Luther’s fingers as he hangs his plush, green-tweed coat up on the lone peg by the front door. That tiny shiver is the only visible indication of the anger that Owen knows is simmering beneath the surface of Luther’s placid calm. The only indication of it that Owen is likely to get for—well, however long Luther decides to keep him in suspense. Ah, the privileges of command, Owen thinks. To be able to pull rank.

  He feels a hot flush of shame stain his cheeks at the thought. That’s not fair, and Owen knows it. First Lieutenant Luther “Iceman” Philadelphus, until only recently affiliated with the USMC, to which Owen still swears allegiance to this day, has never been one to cling too tightly to his rank.

  When Luther first arrived to take charge of the battalion, the bunch of angry, disenchanted Marines would have cheerfully ripped him to shreds the first week if it hadn’t been for Owen fending them off. It was Owen who had quietly ass-reamed the men (and women, as there were a few of them, too) into giving Little Lord Fauntleroy a chance.

  Luther had won the men over with his blue eyes and pitch-perfect leadership skills. He had succeeded brilliantly in his role as commanding officer, though the whole battalion knew Luther was gay. Not that it mattered; the era of DADT was blessedly over, so everyone could go back to the normal, everyday business of trying to figure out who was shagging who. But what stood between Luther and Owen was rank. Officer and enlisted were the real taboo now. They were like oil and water; fire-breathing dragon meets dust bunnies; that sort of thing.

  Luther had a broad muscled back, working-class physique and truly enormous size-sixteen feet, which had always seemed tailor-made for combat boots. He seemed to have come out of the womb six feet tall and Nordic. Born with an M-16 in his steady hands. Even those ice-blue eyes seemed designed for tracking prey.

  Owen should
have known this was a bad idea: flying halfway around the world from England to turn up at the doorstep of Luther’s tiny student-housing Harvard apartment without so much as an invitation. He should have assumed that the shock of his presence—unannounced and unexpected—on Christmas Eve, might not be anything his ex-CO would want.

  But then, it had seemed too good an opportunity to pass up—after months of emails and passive-aggressive 2:00 a.m. IMs and the innuendo-laced Skype calls, in which Owen tried vainly to shock Luther awake for his 8:00 a.m. class while Luther spluttered and blushed over his second cup of black Starbucks Espresso Roast—to see him in person. What a wonderful world it would be, Owen thinks, grimly, without the slightest attempt at Christmas cheer coloring his thoughts. More fool me.

  Owen still wasn’t sure if their covert-ops affair had been the deciding factor in Luther’s decision not to reenlist after his initial service was up. Perhaps he should have asked. But it was a little late for that now. Luther was a mister, not a sir, and in his second year at Harvard Law School, so the whole question was (or is) now most decidedly a moot point, as Owen uses the moment it takes Luther to unwind the white, doughy scarf from around his tall and shapely neck to wonder why he’d even assumed Luther would be alone for the holidays.

  Still, Owen can’t help but remember the mingled shock and anger he’d felt, ringing Luther’s doorbell not six hours ago. He’d been greeted, not with the reserved happiness he might have expected from his former LT, but by a decidedly tipsy and unusually boisterous Luther, shrouded in a halo of Christmas-tree lights spilling out from inside and surrounded by half-adozen of his grad-school friends. They’d all been on their way to a Christmas party on the other side of town, and Owen had been left stammering his apologies to Luther’s white, wide-eyed expression.

  Owen’s hands clench tight against his sides. Now is not the time to push Luther’s buttons, and Owen knows it. He can see it in the hard, thin press of Luther’s posh, plump lips, the angry furrow of worry lines in his forehead. But the silence is getting to Owen, eating at him, and all the knowledge in the world can’t seem stop a soft “Sir—” from slipping past Owen’s lips.