As Rich’s fingers came in contact, Olly pulled back, his eyes grinning up at Rich. He let Rich’s cock slip from between his lips completely and shifted his position, stretching out on the couch. A pale, slender body wearing nothing but that silly necklace. “Come lie with me,” he said.
At Olly’s nudging, Rich lowered himself between Olly’s splayed thighs. They were now face-to-face and cock-to-cock. Rich moved his hips, and their cocks, trapped between their bodies, rubbed against each other and their stomachs. Olly’s legs wrapping around his own held them even tighter together. They moved slowly at first but built up to a steady pace.
The windows were closed again, and the stuffy air wrapped around their naked bodies. Wherever their skin touched, the friction turned slippery with sweat. It was incredibly dirty and stimulating in its simplicity, and all thoughts not related to chasing his release fled from Rich’s mind. However, it was Olly who came first, his come further lubricating their stomachs. Olly moaning and writhing under him swiftly pushed Rich over the edge too. His jiz spurted in a big, long stream. He crumpled onto Olly and felt slender arms around him.
When he caught his breath and his heart slowed to normal at last, Rich pushed himself up to a sitting position. He closed his eyes and tried hard not to get a panic attack, because with the lust and madness gone, anxiety rushed in to fill the vacuum. What the fuck have I done? And what the fuck am I to do now?
“You all right?” Olly asked.
Rich couldn’t look at Olly. “Hm. Yeah.” He pretended not to notice the feet nudging his naked thigh.
Olly nudged again. “Tell me a secret.” Olly was vexingly chipper after…stuff.
Rich grunted.
“All right. I’ll start. Olly’s not short for Oliver.”
“No?” Rich really wasn’t in the mood for a conversation.
“No. My actual name is Oleander.”
Okay, so that got Rich’s attention. He turned to face Olly. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. I told you, my parents are hippies.”
“No wonder you turned into a fruit with a name like that. What were your parents thinking?” Rich was aware of sounding a lot like his own father.
Olly’s eyes narrowed, and his voice turned chilly. “Your logic is flawless, Dick. What made you gay, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m not,” Rich said stubbornly, as if he could will his words to be true.
“You’re not gay?” Olly’s tone shot up.
“Correct.”
Olly was really pissed now, his voice tight with withheld emotion. “I have news for you—having sex with other men is totally gay.”
“We didn’t have sex.”
“Then how come I have your spunk all over me, if you don’t mind me asking? Spontaneous spunk explosion?” Olly pointed at the mess on his chest.
“It was just getting off. Don’t make a big deal of it.”
Olly leapt from the couch. “Fuck you, and fuck this shit.” Snatching a piece of clothing from the floor, he used it to wipe the mess from his stomach and tossed it at Rich. “You are totally fucked up. I’m going home and forget this ever happened. Tell Sandy… Actually, don’t tell her anything. I’ll call her sometime next week.” He yanked his clothes on as he spoke, and flew out the door without a good-bye or a backward glance.
“Fucking fuck, fuck,” Rich said to the empty house. He was taking deep breaths to calm himself, but the smell of spunk was everywhere. It assaulted him like a scent of remorse, and at first he wasn’t sure if he felt guiltier about losing his self-control with Olly, or what came after. Then he remembered the hurt in Olly’s eyes.
Rich wiped the stickiness with the piece of cloth in his hand and realized it was his own T-shirt. It reeked of sex.
Rich barely had a chance to clean himself up and put on fresh clothes before he heard a loud, purposeful knock on the door. His first thought was it could be Olly—he decided he’d explain in a calm and polite manner that what they’d done was a moment of madness, and would apologize. Profusely. The idea of Olly hating him bothered him more than he was willing to admit.
The burly, sweaty-faced man at the door was definitely not Olly. “Hi, I’m Larry from Babot’s Custom Cabinets. I have a delivery for”—he glanced at the clipboard in his hand—“Ms. Baker.”
The wandering kitchen cabinets had arrived at last. Rich had to make room for them in the garage, because Sandy hadn’t paid for installation. She must’ve figured Rich would do it for free. Good thing too, because the floor still needed refinishing. The dumb-ass previous owners of the house had put wall-to-wall carpeting in every room, even in the kitchen. At least it had protected the original floor. As an added benefit, the job would keep his mind occupied.