Best Laid Plans (Garnet Run 2)

“It’s so sweet that you wanna do that,” Rye said between kisses. “But I know you can find a way to do it without spending a lot of—mmf. Okay, you’ve distracted me and I’m dropping it but don’t think I’m gonna forget!”

Satisfied that he’d made his point, Rye pressed closer to Charlie so they could grind together. Slowly, Charlie had begun to relax when they tried to get off at the same time. Rye didn’t need it—he was happy with Charlie every way he could get him—but one night Charlie had confessed that whenever he fantasized about being with Rye what he saw was them locked together in passion. He wanted it, he’d said. He just wasn’t sure how to shut his mind off enough to get it.

Rye had been ever so happy to help him practice.

Rye felt the bulge of Charlie’s erection and rubbed against it, drinking in Charlie’s rumbling groan.

They moved together, hips grinding, breaths shared, until liquid heat coursed through Rye’s veins.

“Charlie,” he gasped, latching onto Charlie’s neck to suck hard at the hot skin of his throat. His teeth scraped gently and Charlie gasped. Then Charlie’s fingers found his hair and pulled.

Rye let his head fall back and lust shot through him.

“That good?” Charlie murmured.

“Yeah, fuck, so good.”

Their mouths met again and this was mutually assured destruction. Charlie pulled his hair and Rye fed on Charlie’s mouth and their hips fucked and strained. Rye’s cock ached with the need for relief and he could feel Charlie’s erection throbbing against him.

With his mouth on Charlie’s, Rye snaked a hand between them and freed their cocks. Charlie’s moan was almost pained as their hot flesh came into contact, and Rye could feel his shiver of pleasure.

“Okay, baby?” Rye asked.

Charlie’s answer was to growl and pull him even closer, fist tightening around his hair. Rye whimpered and went to work.

He jerked them together, their flesh burning with the heat between them. Charlie’s hand came down over his own to help, and he squeezed them tighter, jerked them harder.

Rye opened his eyes to find Charlie’s on him as well. They burned green in his passion and Rye drank in every flutter of his eyelashes and every tremble of his lips as they pleasured each other. Charlie’s beautiful mouth fell open and Rye rested their lips together—not kissing, just breathing in each other’s every breath.

Rye felt the moment that Charlie’s pleasure crested in the tightening of his lips before he felt it in his hand. His flesh shook and his mouth drew into a grimace of pleasure too extreme to be contained. He threw his head back and roared as he came, his come a scalding brand across Rye’s hand.

Rye loved it when Charlie came first because of what always happened next.

For the space of two breaths, or maybe three, Charlie was lost in his own pleasure. But then, his eyes fluttered open and with a groan he claimed Rye’s mouth in a brutal, loving kiss. He used his hands on Rye like he was playing a delicate but necessary instrument and he intended to pull out every note.

Rye let himself be played by Charlie, because the music was always shattering and sublime.

Tonight was no different. Charlie’s kiss was pure passion and he used his come to ease the slide of his hand on Rye’s aching flesh. Rye’s hips strained and his ass clenched with the need for release.

Charlie wrapped his other arm around Rye’s back, locking them together, and slid his hand back in Rye’s hair.

He tugged in counterpoint—Rye’s aching cock and Rye’s hair—until Rye was a moaning, trembling, begging mess.

“I love you,” Rye said. “Please. Please, Charlie, I love you so much.”

The words left his mouth without thought or regret. Because although it was the first time he’d said them, he’d thought them a hundred times.

“Rye.” Charlie groaned the word like his heart was being ripped from his chest. “Oh, my Rye. I love you. I love you.”

He kept saying it, over and over, and Rye said it over and over. They layered I love yous, sharing the taste and the feel of the words until they were as familiar as one another’s breath.

Then Charlie leaned his forehead against Rye’s and took Rye apart. The pressure and friction were unbearable and so Rye didn’t bear them. He leaned back and let go and orgasm tore through him like a ribbon unspooling. Pleasure clawed up from his balls to his guts and left him shaking.

Shock after shock rolled through him until he was trembling with overwhelm.

He didn’t realize he was crying until Charlie wiped his tears away.

“My Rye,” Charlie said, and carried him to bed.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Charlie

It was the last weekend in August and the sun shone hot and bright through the trees outside the Crow Lane house. Only it wasn’t called the Crow Lane house any longer—The Dirt Road Cat Shelter was opening its doors in two hours and Rye was rocketing around the place like a feral cat himself.