Just a Bit Twisted (Straight Guys 1)

“Why don’t you do long-term relationships? You’re thirty-three.”

“And?” Rutledge said. “I’m not the kind of man who wants the white picket fence and 2.5 kids.”

Shawn glanced at Emily and Bee. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I always thought gay guys weren’t much different from straight guys and would want to settle down eventually. Even Christian wants that.”

“Christian?” Rutledge looked slightly puzzled.

Shawn frowned. “My best friend?”

“Ah. You mean Ashford.”

“Seriously? You don’t know his name?”

“Why would I want to know his first name? He’s my student.”

“I’m your student, too, Professor.”

Rutledge looked at him, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Who says I know your first name, Wyatt?”

Shawn laughed softly. “Okay. For your information, it’s Simon.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“A-ha!”

Shaking his head, Rutledge looked back at the road. “I obviously know your name, but I don’t think of you as Shawn.”

“Fair enough. I don’t think of you as Derek, either.” Even saying the name aloud was a bit strange, actually. Shawn rolled the name on his tongue. Derek. Nope. Rutledge was Rutledge. Shawn would be very worried the day he started thinking of Rutledge as Derek.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Rutledge murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Now come here and kiss me.”

Shawn blinked. “What? You’re driving.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” Rutledge said dryly, without looking at him.

“Are you serious?”

“You should know by now I’m always serious. I’m losing my patience.”

Shawn looked at Rutledge’s lips and said, “Okay.”

He scooted over.

Rutledge turned his head slightly, put his hand on Shawn’s nape and kissed him. Shawn sighed and started sucking on Rutledge’s tongue.

After… some time later, Rutledge bit Shawn’s bottom lip for the last time and pushed him away.

“You should let me fuck you,” he said grimly.

Leaning back in his seat, Shawn wiped his wet, swollen lips and took a deep breath. His skin still burned from Rutledge’s stubble.

Chapter 8

It was dark by the time they arrived.

As they got out of the car, Shawn looked up at the house and said, not without humor, “Actually, now some things about you are starting to make a horrible amount of sense.” It was an almost laughable misnomer to call it a house. It was a vast mansion of classical design.

Bee clapped her hands in excitement. “A palace!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Emily said, her tone superior. “Kings and princesses live in palaces. Our country doesn’t have loyalty.”

“Royalty,” Rutledge corrected her, locking the car. “If you’re going to call someone stupid, make sure you don’t make mistakes yourself.”

Bee beamed at Rutledge and grabbed his hand. “I like you, Mr. Rutledge!”

Rutledge stared down at the tiny girl with a vaguely puzzled expression on his face, before looking at Shawn.

Suppressing a smile, Shawn said, “Leave Mr. Rutledge alone, Bee. Come on, take my hand.”

Bee pouted but let go of Rutledge’s hand and took Shawn’s. Emily took his other hand while a few servants came out to take their luggage inside.

“I don’t like him,” Emily said as they walked to the house.

“Don’t be rude, sweetie,” Shawn said, glancing at the man in question, who walked alongside them. “Mr. Rutledge can hear you.”

Rutledge’s eyes were focused on the house; he showed no sign of listening to the conversation.

Shawn averted his gaze. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago, he had this immaculately dressed, stern-faced man grunting and moving on top of him.

“But I don’t like him,” Emily said stubbornly but lowered her voice. “Don’t like how he looks at you.”

“How he looks at me?” Shawn repeated.

“Like Bee looks at a pancake.”

Shawn forced out a smile. This was a whole new level of awkward. “You just imagined it, pumpkin.”

“But—”

“You just imagined it,” Shawn repeated, hoping Rutledge hadn’t heard Emily’s words.

Rutledge’s face was hard and cold, devoid of all color. This was a man who was coming home to his father and his family after fifteen years. He looked about as happy as a man on his way to jail.

A butler—a goddamn butler—opened the door and greeted Rutledge with a quiet, “Master Derek.”

Shawn led the girls inside. They looked shy and nervous, and Shawn had to admit he wasn’t any less nervous than them; he was simply better at disguising it.

His first impression of the hall was of vastness—of marble and pillars and classical busts and a towering dome.

“Derek!”

Shawn looked up. A tall dark-haired woman was walking down the stairs, a vaguely relieved smile on her lips. She hugged Rutledge and kissed him on the cheek.

“Vivian,” Rutledge murmured. “You look good.”

So this was the sister who had convinced him to come.

Shawn eyed her curiously. He could certainly see the family resemblance. She seemed a few years older than her brother, perhaps thirty-five.

Vivian pulled back and stared at Shawn and the girls over Rutledge’s shoulder, but before she or Shawn could say anything, two elderly men entered the house.

One of them, the taller one, bore an uncanny resemblance to Rutledge. In fact, they could have been twins if the man wasn’t about thirty years older. Shawn decided this must be Rutledge’s father, Joseph Rutledge.