Tight Quarters (Out of Uniform 6)

He really wanted to get Del off first, focus on his pleasure, but Del’s eager mouth was making that darn near impossible, the way he was going for it, doing everything Spencer loved. His muscles tensed, pleasure coiling low in his gut. His head fell back, unable to keep up licking when it was this good.

“You’re going to get me off. Is that what you want? Want my come?”

“Mmm,” Del whined around Spencer’s cock and sucked hard. The needy sound went straight to Spencer’s balls, and his restraint slipped. He thrust up into Del’s mouth, things getting fast and sloppy as he catapulted into orgasm. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this man, but holy hell did he know how to make Spencer fly. Letting himself collapse for a few moments, he enjoyed Del’s knowing laugh and the way Del kept licking at his sensitive nerve endings.

“Your turn.” He rolled so that Del fell back onto the bed, and then scrambled to get his mouth on his cock, and his fingers back working his prostate.

“Oh fuck. Almost came from sucking you. So close.” He rocked his hips in time with the slide of Spencer’s mouth. Spencer might not have the sheer enthusiasm Del demonstrated for oral, but he tried to make up for it with finesse, unleashing all the knowledge he’d stored up about what got Del off. He fingered him with one hand, using his free hand to play with his balls while he sucked hard on his cockhead. And it wasn’t long before Del was panting and shuddering, coming apart for Spencer in a way that never failed to take his breath away.

“Now that’s a wake up.” Del grinned at him, a sleepy satisfied smile. “Breakfast of champions.”

“You’re trouble,” Spencer said and meant it. He was trouble all right, trouble for Spencer’s mind and his heart. And maybe he was a big chicken but he let his agent’s email slip to the back burner. He’d talk to her, find out what was up, think on things, see if anything was salvageable so that he could have both Del and the project, because he knew in that moment that he was going to do whatever he could to keep this man in his life.

Chapter Nineteen

Spencer hated having to wait. He needed to talk to Del. Their midweek respite in San Clemente had been great, but he’d spent the past few days dealing with his agent, and now they really did need to talk, but he really didn’t want to do it over the phone. Luckily, Del was due any time now—

Buzz. As if on cue, his phone vibrated, and somehow he knew he wasn’t going to like the text even before he opened it.

Got as far as Carlsbad. Called back to base. Deploying. Hate canceling on you so, so much. I’ll be in touch when I can, but it’s likely gonna be a while. Keep my side of the bed warm for me?

Spencer’s stomach sank. No way could he unload on Del now. The last thing he needed was Del upset or distracted as he left the country. Instead, he typed a fast reply.

You know I will. He wanted to add something about staying safe, but knew that was pretty pointless and would put pressure on Del that he didn’t need. Instead, he typed, You’ll be in my thoughts. Don’t feel bad about taking a rain check. I’ll be here when you get back. Be thinking about what you want for dinner.

The reply came sometime later, right when he’d figured he might not hear anything. You. I want you for dinner ;) Heading out now. Take care.

And then he really did have to wait as the days rolled into a week, rolled into two. In the meantime, he tried to keep busy with work. He did several more mentorship meetings with the paper, and those were fun and good distraction, and the young people were full of ideas and enthusiasm. While he was still wrestling with what to do about the book, he got a text from Harry’s widow.

Did you hear back on your book proposal? I’ve got fifteen vets lined up for you to talk with—the PTSD foundation we’re involved with is inundated with new requests every day. Trying my best to keep up. God bless you for thinking of us for this book project.

Guilt slammed into Spencer. How could he even think of not doing this book? Harry’s much-too-young widow, Caroline, was counting on him. Harry’s memory deserved this project. And fifteen sources. After just a casual inquiry. There were undoubtedly dozens more stories waiting for him to uncover. And if his work could save one person in a similar situation to Harry, shouldn’t he take it? He scrolled back on his phone until he got to Harry’s texts. Nothing about the passage of time had convinced him that he wasn’t partly responsible for his death. Now Caroline had a foundation, not a husband. A foundation with more work than funds.