A Timely Gift Read online

  “That’s crap.” Anger seethed in my gut. Didn’t she know her son at all?

  “Well, she believes all the bullshit myths about bisexuals, I guess. Anyway, we haven’t spoken much since, and not at all since I moved. Because why would I ‘come back to this godforsaken tundra anyway’?”

  The last was said with a smile, and I offered one back. Shit, he’d had it rough over the past couple of years. He didn’t deserve it. But even after all that crap, he was still a generally happy person. That wasn’t something you could fake, and I could see the contentment in Deacon’s eyes.

  The lid of the watch chose that moment to snap open, startling us both. I tentatively reached out and pushed it closed, half expecting it to pop right open again. But it didn’t, and I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. I picked up the watch and slid it back into my pocket as I stood.

  “Give me a sec to put the casserole away. It’s movie time.”

  “I can help,” Deacon offered as he stood.

  “Nope. Go sit in the living room. Pick out the first movie. I’m just gonna leave the dishes in the sink. I’ll be there in a moment with Bailey’s-laced hot chocolate.”

  Deacon studied me, but eventually he nodded and walked toward the door. I watched him leave and took a moment to sort out my thoughts. I felt bad for him, for everything he’d gone through, but I was glad to see he was handling it well. It might have been more than a decade since we’d seen each other, but I still knew him well enough to know when he was hiding things. He was never very good at it. The truth was in his eyes.

  Kitchen once again set to rights, I quickly brewed two mugs of hot chocolate in my single-cup brewer, added heavy doses of Bailey’s, and headed into the living room. Deacon was seated on the far end of the couch, and I handed him his mug. He smiled in thanks.

  “A Christmas Carol?”

  “Excellent choice. Muppets, George C. Scott, Patrick Stewart, or animated Jim Carey?”

  Deacon chuckled. “I can’t believe you own all those versions.”

  I shrugged, unapologetic. “I have a couple of other versions too, but those four are my favorite.” I gestured to the coffee table where I’d stacked the movies next to the plate of cookies I baked the day before. “Which one?”

  He pursed his lips, apparently thought it over, and then grinned. “Muppets. I think we could both use happy and funny along with the poignant.”

  “You got it.”

  “ANOTHER HOT chocolate?”

  I picked up my empty mug and gestured toward his. We’d already watched the first movie and followed it up with How the Grinch Stole Christmas—the original animated version with Boris Karloff expertly voicing the Grinch. It’s a Wonderful Life was up next. But before I started the next movie, I wanted to refill our drinks and put some more cookies on the plate. We’d steadily munched through the first helping.

  “I better not.” Deacon rested his head against the back of the couch and turned lazily to look at me. “We’ve had two, and those plus the wine…. Any more and I won’t be fit to drive home in a few hours.”

  “So stay here.”

  Deacon’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. I laughed.

  “The couch is comfy,” I said deliberately, and he looked chagrinned. “Besides, you’re heading to my da’s house with me tomorrow. It’ll be easier to head out together, yeah?”

  Deacon stared and then shook his head—not like he was disagreeing, but more like he couldn’t understand. He blew out a breath.

  “What about clothes?”

  I shrugged. “You aren’t that much bigger than me. Maybe, what? Two inches and twenty pounds?” I studied him critically. He couldn’t be more than six feet tall, and while he was a little more muscled, I wasn’t skinny. “I’m sure I can find something that will fit.”

  Deacon didn’t say anything, but his dark eyes were wide. I could see the lights on the Christmas tree twinkling in them. We’d left the room lights off, so we had only the tree and the big-screen TV for illumination. Damn, he looked good. I cleared my throat. Maybe I should lay off the booze too.

  “You don’t have to—drink any more, I mean. The offer is open either way. And you don’t have to stay either, if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion.” I felt embarrassment rising, but I forced it down. I hadn’t blushed in years, and I wasn’t about to start.

  “Okay.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Okay to what?”

  “Okay, I’ll stay. But maybe go easy on the Bailey’s in the next cup.”

  I grinned, and warmth spread through my stomach. “Not a problem.”

  It didn’t take me long, and by the time I got back, Deacon had already put in the next movie. We met at the couch and settled in closer to each other, and I handed him his mug. But when I reached for the remote to start things up, he spoke instead.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  I blinked. “Uh… sure.”

  “How come you don’t have a boyfriend?”

  That was a loaded question, though one I wasn’t opposed to answering. I cleared my throat. “Umm. I did for a while. Paul.” Deacon scoffed when I said the name, and I had to smile a little.

  “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “We weren’t right for each other.” Christ, were we not right for each other. I thought he was a good guy, and I bent over backward to make him happy. But I was blinded to the fact that it was all one-sided. A gentle nudge on my thigh made me look up at Deacon. He was blatantly staring, expecting more. “When Mom got sick, he was resentful of the time I spent with her. So I cut him loose.”

  “Asshole.”

  I shrugged. He kind of was. But not because of that. He was demanding and callous, but at least he never lied. “Or honest. He told me he wanted to see me more, that I wasn’t there for him enough. But I had other priorities, so I told him to go. He did.”

  “Did you live together?”

  “No. We weren’t to that stage yet.” I shot him a grin. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

  He shrugged but unabashedly held my gaze. “I want to know you again. That’s all.”

  “Well, this? Sitting and watching TV. Or reading a book. This is me. I’m not exciting or terribly interesting. I love my work, and I love being at home. I love my family. I’m just me.”

  “Yeah, well.” Deacon cleared his throat and settled down into the corner of the couch. “‘Just you’ sounds pretty dang good.”

  I chuckled and then leaned over far enough so I could poke him with my elbow. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “It’s only fair to return the favor.”

  He shot me a glare but then ruined it by letting out a small chuckle. “Well, you already know the big stuff. Married and divorced. I don’t speak with my parents. I teach piano until my hand hurts, and if I finish a day with it feeling good, I play at home. Music still moves me, and I’ve got a subscription for tickets to Symphoria.”

  “You’ve only been back a little bit, but you already have tickets to the symphony. Why am I not surprised?”

  “Because it’s not surprising?” Deacon laughed. “Music is in my soul.”

  “Yeah. I know.” I reached out, squeezed his arm, and dragged my fingers on his sweater as I pulled away. “I haven’t been. I mean, I went with you when it was still Syracuse Symphony. But not anytime recently.”

  “You should go with me. We missed the holiday shows, but there’s a Brahms concert in January I’ve already got a ticket for. If you want, I’ll get one for you too.”

  Brahms wasn’t my favorite—even the pieces Deacon had played for me—but to have a chance to sit with him, watch him be captivated by the music? Worth everything.

  “Absolutely. I’d love to.”

  Deacon grinned, and I picked up the remote. “Ready for the next movie?”

  MY PILLOW moved. Then hummed. Actually breathed. I blinked awake, and it still took me a few seconds to realize that I was lying on
the couch, the latest movie was just ending, and I was sprawled all over Deacon.

  I stayed there and savored his warmth for just a few seconds more, indulging in the feel of him and storing it tight in the place where all my memories of Deacon lived. Then I yawned and pushed myself up and did my best to look embarrassed, even though I really wasn’t.

  “Sorry.” I turned, and my breath caught at just how relaxed and inviting he looked, stretched out in the corner of the couch. “Don’t know how that happened.”

  I didn’t, actually. I remembered coming back from settling Apollo in his cage for the night to find Deacon a little more sprawled out than when I left. And I remembered settling into the middle of the couch and spreading out a bit myself. But as to how I ended up half on top of him and using his chest as a pillow, I had no recollection.

  “No need to apologize. It happened because you drifted off and started listing to the side. It looked uncomfortable, so I tried to help. And you just sort of… leaned against me and then….” He gestured to himself as an explanation. I chuckled and shook my head.

  “Yeah. Well, still, thanks for being my pillow.”

  “Any time.”

  My pocket watch chose that moment to give a loud poing sound, and both of us snapped our attention to my pocket. I pulled out the watch and looked at it, held it up to my ear, and frowned.

  “Seriously I don’t know what’s up with this thing. You’d think Grandda would tell me if it didn’t work right.” I popped open the lid and saw it was a quarter after eleven. And the second hand ticked away, looking for all the world like it was a normally functioning watch. So weird. I dismissed it once again and snapped it closed. “It’s later than I thought. That plus the alcohol…. Maybe we should hit the sack?”

  We both stood and stretched and then set about tidying up in companionable silence. It didn’t take long. By the time I had the leftover cookies stored in a container, Deacon had all the dishes rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher. Once we were done, we wandered back into the living room.

  Deacon glanced at the couch. “I could probably make it home fine now.”

  The pang in my chest was so acute I spoke without thinking. “No! I mean, better not risk it, and you’re welcome to stay.” I glanced up at him, watched him consider it, and felt pervasive relief when he nodded. “Let me get you a blanket and pillow and stuff.”

  If I hadn’t been watching his face, I would have missed the flash of disappointment. For a second he looked so sad that I wanted to reach out and hug him. Then it was gone, and his expression was once again politely neutral, but I knew I hadn’t imagined it. I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and took a chance.

  “Or, you know, you could come share my bed.”

  His gaze shot to mine. Maybe I was off base. He’d said it was fine that I’d been lying all over him, and I knew I’d seen the spark of attraction from him. But that didn’t mean he wanted to act on it. What we once had was long in the past, and just because there were some residual feelings didn’t mean we had to do anything about it.

  “Rory,” he said slowly, his words measured, “if I get into your bed, it won’t be just for sleep.”

  “Yeah?”

  He smiled at the hope in my voice, and the longer he looked at me, the more wicked his grin became. Arousal sang in my blood, and my pulse pounded. The first time we met, I held out for three whole hours before he got me into the bedroom. It wasn’t something I did—just fall into bed with a man—not even back then. But Deacon made me forget my standard MO. His good looks and charming smile won me over. Getting to know him just made everything that much more intense and emotional.

  Given our first encounter, I thought resisting him for three days before I pounced on him was a herculean feat.

  Deacon reached out and slowly wrapped his fingers around my wrist. When he tugged, I went willingly into his arms. We still fit together like magic. I sighed contentedly and then gasped when he grabbed my hips and pulled us together. He cupped my cheek in his hand and tilted my head so he could stare into my eyes.

  “I thought about you, you know. Not a lot, I’ll admit. But sometimes I’d remember us and smile. And I can’t play Bach’s Air without getting hard.”

  A laugh escaped, cut off by a moan as he ground his pelvis against me. “I can’t hear it without wanting to get on my knees. You played with such passion that day.”

  Deacon slid one hand up into my hair and the other down to cup my ass. “I was playing for you.”

  I knew he had been. I’d joined him in the practice room just because I loved to hear him play. He was in full-on “getting ready for finals” mode, and I should have been studying too. He was playing a piece that was understated in its simplicity, something he used to keep his muscles primed and to cool down between more intense and complicated arrangements. But that day it was so moving and played with such feeling that I was on my knees and sucking him off before the final movement.

  With just the reminder, I went from semihard to fully erect. I pushed up on my toes and slanted my mouth over his. He opened immediately to let me in and tangled his tongue with mine. He tasted like cookies and chocolate with just the hint of alcohol, and he kissed exactly like I remembered. My body thrummed with heat, and I wanted him.

  I pulled back just far enough to speak against his lips. “Come to bed with me?”

  Chapter Five

  DEACON WAS so handsy that I finally had to push him away, or we’d never get naked. And good Lord, did I want to be naked with him. I rushed through the undressing and tossed my clothes in the general direction of the hamper. Deacon had a little more decorum. He haphazardly folded his clothes and put them on the top of the dresser. By the time I pulled off my socks, he was blissfully naked too. I threw the socks, not caring where they landed, and fell backward onto the bed.

  He stared at me, his gaze hungry. I lifted my arms in invitation and slid my thighs apart so he would have no doubt about where I wanted him. He was on me in seconds and fit himself into the cradle of my hips, sighing and groaning at the contact. I was pretty sure I whimpered—good God, did he feel amazing—and I didn’t even care. I had him in my arms, all his delicious skin pressed to mine, and that was all that mattered.

  I wrapped myself around him with my arms and legs and held him tightly in place so I could just keep kissing him—slow, sensual, drugging kisses that went on and on until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began. Deacon worshiped my mouth with his and seemed as content as I was to kiss and rock together.

  In an instant the barely there friction on my dick was not enough. I arched and writhed, pushing up against Deacon, seeking more contact. He pressed back, pinned my hips with his, and wrenched his mouth from mine. His lips were kiss-swollen and wet, and he looked utterly debauched. I groaned and wiggled again and lifted my legs higher.

  “Want more, huh?” His smirk was both hot and arrogant.

  I managed a strangled laugh. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Deacon nudged my head to the side and attached his lips to my jaw. He sucked and kissed his way up to my ear. He caught the lobe between his teeth, nibbled until I shivered, and then whispered, “Want me to fuck you?”

  “God yes.”

  I shoved him off me, and he laughed as he slid sideways. The lube was under my pillow, and I pulled it out and tossed it at him. But the condoms were in a box in the bathroom. I didn’t bring guys home, so there was no need to keep them next to the bed. I raced to the bathroom and back and brought the whole box. Deacon raised an eyebrow, and his smirk made a reappearance.

  “Optimistic, aren’t you?”

  “Shut up.” I laughed as I pulled out a condom and threw that at him too.

  Deacon ripped open the packet and rolled it down his length. I was mesmerized by his long, deft fingers, and I stared as he covered his dick. My mouth watered, and I briefly thought I should have sucked him before he covered up. But then he popped open the lube and spread the slick, and I moan
ed.

  “Get your ass over here if you want me to use this.” He shook his dick at me, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I dove face-first onto the bed, pulled my knees under me, and lifted my ass. I loved it hard and powerful from behind, and even though it had been a while, I craved that from Deacon.

  He was on me in a second, molding his body over my back as he probed my hole with his wet fingers. I spread my thighs wider and made myself relax and let him in. He spent just enough time to get me good and lubed up. Then he pulled his fingers out with a hurried pop and pressed the head of his dick against my pucker. I pushed back, and his dick slid up my crack instead of where I wanted it.

  “Easy now. Let me.” He repositioned and then pressed, breaching me with a long, slow, steady slide. I groaned. The burn and stretch was painful for just a moment. He must have sensed my tension because he went even slower. I flailed a hand backward and finally made contact with his thigh. I squeezed hard because I wanted him to keep going.

  Finally he was all the way in. I panted and tried to catch my breath as he wrapped himself around me completely. His breath gusted against the back of my neck, and then he kissed me there with a soft drag of lips.

  “Ready?”

  My only response was a moan and a tiny thrust backward.

  He started with easy strokes that slowly ramped up in intensity and force until he grunted with each thrust in, and I groaned every time he pulled out. Over and over, skin slapping skin, his steady rhythm drove me higher and higher. He adjusted his angle, slammed in, and pounded against my gland until I howled. As though that was what he was waiting for, he went to town and really fucked me while he stroked me until I all but screamed and hurtled over the cliff.

  He kept thrusting, but gently, as I came. It was almost too much, and it drew out my orgasm. But just when I was about to say uncle, he pulled out. I collapsed onto the bed, and I heard the snap of the condom and the unmistakable slick sounds as he jacked himself.