Page 30 of Unlocked Dive
“Or hurt. And I don’t need to rub it in his face. I also think it won’t kill you to keep it in your pants for one night.”
“It might.” He drops his hands from my hair to his thighs. “I’ve never really done the whole ‘in the closet’ thing.”
He’s pissed, and the guilt makes my own temper flare. “Jesus Christ, Echo. I’m not asking you to pretend to be straight. You can’t tone down the flirting for a few hours while he’s here?”
The disappointment in his eyes as he pushes off my lap burns acrid in my gut.
“You play nice in public all the time,” I plead, frustrated. “Why is this so different?”
“I guess it’s not.” He reaches the rope and starts to climb. “But if you think anyone at Big Top is fooled, you’re deluding yourself.”
I want to stay angry, secure in my righteous belief that it’s not asking too much to respect James’s sensitivity for one night. I want to grovel, to beg forgiveness for asking Echo to sacrifice pieces of his identity the way I’ve spent my life doing for others.
Instead, I tread lightly, expecting him to withdraw, and tell myself it’s easier with distance between us.
His response is to wage war with his body.
Taking advantage of the warming weather, he abandons his shirts entirely. My days are spent watching him walk around in ass-hugging joggers and faded jeans slung low on his hips to reveal the irresistible V of his obliques below the lean expanse of his torso.
He attacks the rope during every practice, pushing himself to the edge of his fear as if determined to prove it was never thereto begin with, and every movement is calculated for seduction. Wheel ups and scorpions and arabesques—anything that lays him out, arched and exposed.
One afternoon, he rediscovers his ninja roll, landing the internal rotation of the half pirouette in a perfect back balance, his body displayed in a vaulted line from toes to fingertips. The look in his eyes has me crossing the mat, tugging his head back and down with a fist in his hair, and capturing his delighted mouth while he’s still in the air. For one moment, we’re back on the same side, and I’m lost in the verdant taste of his joy, sweet and splendid on my tongue.
Each hour I resist him is punished when we inevitably come together, a toll paid in lust and flesh. His grip painful in my hair as he razes the sensitive skin of my throat. His teeth fierce on my nipples and bruising my lips. His fingers sunk in my ass, stroking my prostate as he works me with his tongue and compels ecstasy from every agony.
By the day of James and Elke’s arrival, I have to wear my hair loose and a collared button-down to hide the marks of his retribution, while Echo oozes sin in a deceptively simple white V-neck tee, thin enough to reveal the shadows of ink across his ribs.
“At least I’m wearing a shirt,” he snarks, sliding a pile of diced onions into a bowl and passing it over. We’re making lasagna, and he’s been alarmingly docile all day. I can’t tell if he actually plans to behave himself or if he’s setting me up, and I’m no longer certain I care.
“You need a haircut,” I observe, although I like the way he tosses his head to clear the blue-tipped strands from his eyes. It’s an excuse to touch him, to rub the dark silk between my fingers and brush my thumb along his winged brow. His eyelids flutter,and he leans back against the counter, gripping the edge when I slide my knee between his thighs.
“Do they have any decent salons around here?” He tilts his head as I run my jaw up his neck, tickling him with my stubble. That damn purr starts in his chest, the vibration hitting the base of my spine, and I pull back before I get carried away and start burning the onions.
“There are a few that cater to the weed wives and big-city transplants. I’m pretty sure at least one of them survived the Covid lockdowns.”Blood back in the big brain, Byrd. I move back to the stove.
“Maybe I’ll do it for my birthday.”
“Your birthday?” I look over, hand halfway to a can of tomatoes. He’s still leaning on the counter, watching me through half-lidded eyes, the hard outline of his cock pressing against his jeans.
“Twenty-one in two weeks. You’ll finally be able to take me to bars.”
“We’ve already been to both pubs in town.” Patterson’s is a regular dinner stop for us on our way home from Big Top, and one Sunday afternoon, he dragged me to Dick’s to shoot pool after a grocery run. He’s never been carded.
“Well, soon we can do it legally. Maybe we can go down to the city and hit up one of the famous San Francisco gay clubs.”
“Would you like that?” I was married to Lara the whole time I lived in the bay. I know the places he’s talking about, but I’ve never been inside one. “A birthday trip?”
He pushes off the counter and closes the distance between us to rub his hand over the front of my jeans.
“What I’d really like is to ride your eight-inch cock until I come all over your chest and then return the favor, but I’m not holding my breath.” He presses his lips to mine, stealing mygroan, and then shoves me gently before returning to his station at the cutting board. “In the meantime, I guess I’ll settle for a haircut.”
“I’ll make an appointment,” I choke out, clearing my throat and dragging my eyes back to the stove. We definitely need new onions.
“I can’t wait.”
“Do you only shoot buildings?” Echo and Elke are sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through pictures of my sister’s latest project on her tablet and finishing off the third bottle of wine while James and I tag team the dishes.
“Well, all the money’s in weddings, so I do a lot of those, but my passion is architecture,” Elke tells him. “Especially urban architecture in Europe. I love the juxtaposition of the ancient and the modern.”
