Best Laid Plans (Garnet Run 2)

Finally, Charlie couldn’t take any more. He was hot all over and his skin felt like it could hardly contain him.

“Please, please, please,” he heard himself chant, and Rye moaned, his breathing getting heavier.

Charlie thought if he didn’t come right the fuck now he might die. He did the only thing he could think of. He slid a hand into Rye’s hair and yanked.

“Oh, fuck!”

Rye’s hand sped up on his cock and Charlie groaned. He gathered Rye’s hair into his fist and pulled slowly, feeling Rye’s rolling grind stutter and become more desperate.

There was a finger at the sensitive tip of his aching cock that sent sparks all through him, then Rye was jerking him hard and fast.

Charlie’s orgasm barreled through him like a freight train, flattening every thought in his head to Oh, god, Oh, god, Oh, holy fucking god, as he came his brains out in Rye’s hand.

The pleasure pulsed out of him, shattering the world behind his closed eyes to a supernova of light and bowing his body in ecstatic relief.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, still shaking from the pleasure.

He’d let go of Rye’s hair when he came, and now he grabbed it again, tugging sharply. Rye’s hand tightened on his spent cock like he’d forgotten he still held it, and he thrust against Charlie’s hip, moaning.

For the second time, Charlie saw Rye freeze for a moment and then go wild against him. He threw his head back as he came and Charlie gave his hair another long tug.

Rye was fully clothed while Charlie was naked except for his rucked-up shirt, but Rye still managed to look vulnerable in his pleasure. His cheeks and throat were red and he was writhing against Charlie, trying to wring one last moment of pleasure from his body.

With a final groan, Rye collapsed against him, still cupping Charlie’s cock in his hand.

They lay together that way for a minute, as their breaths slowed. Then Rye kissed Charlie’s shoulder and shifted so he could look at him.

“Are you okay?” It was probably the dozenth time he’d said it but this time he sounded tender, concerned.

Charlie cupped his face and drew him down for a kiss.

“I’m good,” he said.

And he really, really was.

Chapter Sixteen

Rye

Marmot was laughing at Rye. She’d been laughing at him for the last week. He could tell.

“Stop laughing at me,” he muttered.

Marmot cocked her head.

“Shut up.”

But he couldn’t muster much fire behind it because she was right—something was wrong with him.

He was all...mushy.

He scowled at himself in the mirror, but it was still there in his eyes. Mush.

Ever since the night Jack and Simon had come to dinner and Charlie had let Rye bring him to orgasm on the couch, Rye had felt this little place inside him soften.

When he saw Charlie doing something as mundane as pouring coffee, he remembered the way his breath had caught when Rye pinched his nipples. When he glanced over to see Charlie’s muscles flexing as he lifted something down from a shelf, he remembered how those muscles had trembled when Rye stroked his inner thighs. When Charlie chuckled at something a customer said in the store, Rye thought of the wrenched sound he made when he came—like every inch of his body was experiencing this overwhelming pleasure.

Then there were the looks Charlie had been giving Rye. Part shy, part dirty, and wholly distracting, he didn’t think Charlie was even aware he was giving them, but every time Charlie hit him with one the soft place inside got a little gooier. And other parts of him got harder.

Rye had certainly lusted after people before. He’d even done the dance of the forbidden with people before, where the sexual tension between them became so charged that when it finally snapped it burned with intensity.

But none of it had anything on the soft, tender feeling he had whenever he saw Charlie.

And Rye wasn’t sure he liked it.

He glared at himself in the mirror.

“Mush,” he hissed.

Marmot hissed in sympathy.

* * *

On Saturday they made their way over to the Crow Lane house to continue construction. Jack and Simon were meeting them there, as were Vanessa and Rachel.

As they got out of the truck, Charlie handed him a thermos.

“Coffee,” he said.

“Oh, thanks.”

Charlie gave him one of those looks, paired with a shy smile, and Rye felt a treacherous mushiness threatening. He scowled at it, and Charlie’s smile faltered. Oops.

He huffed and tugged Charlie’s sleeve.

“C’mere.”

Charlie blinked, eyes narrowed against the sun. He had wrinkles in the corners of his eyes when he squinted like that. Rye touched them with one finger. Then he pulled Charlie down so he could reach his mouth and kissed him.

He’d meant it to be a soft kiss of apology—balm to soothe the inadvertent hurt he’d caused—but when his lips touched Charlie’s, Charlie’s arms came around him and lifted him off the ground. Charlie kissed him with barely restrained passion and his arms were like iron, holding Rye tight.