Blood Claim by Laura Mykles (free e books to read .txt) 📕

walk-in closet. Seeing them stopped him, but he slid right on by. “You'd be happy for me,” he said aloud to the memory of his lover. “I know you would. And, God, I know you'd think he was gorgeous.” The thought of the overreaction Daniel would have had to Wolfe's hair alone made him smile.

He pulled a number of items out of the closet, but after a half hour of trying them on, he decided to stick to jeans. The dress slacks still fit, but they were too dressy for lunch, and the casual slacks he'd bought back in school in preparation for job interviews were in bad shape. Jeans would have to do. Wolfe wouldn't take him anywhere really ritzy, would he? He contemplated calling back to ask but didn't want to look anxious or stupid.

Decision made, he shoved the jeans into the dryer and hurried to the bathroom for a shower.

He already had a hard-on by the time he got shampoo in his hair, and it hadn't gone away by the time he'd rinsed the conditioner out. Just the thought of Wolfe had his blood pumping in a way it hadn't since Daniel. There was no avoiding it. The simple prospect of sitting at a table with Wolfe—watching him talk, watching him eat, listening to that sinful, sexy voice without the filter of the phone—had him almost ready to come.

So he lingered with the soap, slicking his bare skin, imagining his hands might be Wolfe's as they traced the planes of his chest and the belly he kept flat by religious use of the rowing machine and treadmill in the next room. He slipped his palms over the meat of his ass, massaging his cheeks, kneading them apart so he could slide soapy fingers up his crack. Touching his own hole made him shiver and made his cock jerk. He was a bottom through and through—a fact Daniel had delighted in reminding him of and he'd delighted in being reminded of. He loved being fucked more than fucking, more even than getting a blow-job, although it was a close call there.

Indulging himself, he bent over under the heated spray of water. Balancing with one palm flat on the tiles before him, he soaped up the fingers of his other hand again and reached back to thoroughly finger himself. He did that sometimes, when the urge to have sex got particularly bad. He had a dildo that he'd use, but that was in the bedroom and his fingers would do just as well right now. He teased himself, exploring, probing, finding the spots that he knew all too well and pressing them. He did it with his eyes closed, imagining his fingers were Wolfe's, fantasizing that the man stood behind him, making him crazy before he took what would have to be a gorgeous cock and pushed it into Matt's body.

The thought of that hit Matt hard, hard enough to send him to his knees in the bathtub so he could free his other hand to grip his dick. Eyes closed, water streaming over his flushed chest and shoulders, he pleasured himself back and front until his balls drew up and shot out heavy spurts of semen to mix with the water swirling down the drain.

He knelt, stunned, as the orgasm washed from him, leaving his muscles sated and loose. “Probably better you did that,” he told himself just before pushing to his feet. If he'd been that pent up when Wolfe arrived, he probably wouldn't have been able to keep his hands to himself.

He was therefore stunned when, about twenty minutes later, he stood before the bathroom mirror blow drying his past shoulder-length hair and found that his dick was perking up again. Of course, he was thinking of Wolfe, wondering if the man would love his hair as much as Daniel had, wondering if he'd want to sink his fingers into it and use the hold to yank Matt's head back. God, he used to love it when Daniel did that!

"You're fucking hopeless,” he told his reflection as he set down the hair dryer.

He studied himself in the mirror. Small and skinny, that's how he'd always thought of himself. At five foot six, he was used to most men towering over him. His hair was long and brown, the color of dark chocolate, matching his eyes. The eyes that he'd always thought were far too big. It made him look younger and more innocent than he'd ever felt, but other men seemed to like the look, so who was he to complain? His shoulders and chest were nothing to drool over, although he had developed some tone thanks to the rowing machine. He was rather proud of his flat belly and the muscles in his thighs. Nothing huge, but there was some muscle there. The cock that wouldn't stay down wasn't large but wasn't small either, just the right size to sink into someone's mouth and a little down his throat.

"Oh, yeah, that helped,” he groaned at himself.

Back in the bedroom, he discovered it was two thirty. Too late to jerk off. For all he knew, Wolfe might be early. He'd just have to hope the hard-on went away.

As he dressed in the jeans still warm from the dryer, he caught sight of the lit candles in the corner.

Reverently, he knelt on the pillow. “It's just lunch, right?” he asked the picture. “It's not like he's even interested. He's never even seen me."

He smiled at the instant recollection of any number of a dozen compliments Daniel had showered on him in praise of his looks, his wit, and his personality. Daniel hadn't liked it when he cut himself down. “I do miss you,” he whispered, lightly caressing the curved side of the urn. As he snuffed out each of the candles, he realized that the loss seemed even less, growing softer with time. “I'll never forget you, but I have to get on with my life."

Of course,