Everything felt different. He was a man in love. Greer truly loved Dallas. It showed in the gleam of his amber eyes, in the glow of his smooth skin and in the natural upturn in his lips. It was etched in his being.
He poked a finger through the knot of his black silk tie as the contentment of his commitment eased some of the urgency to have Dallas moving over him. He removed the tie, released the button at his neck, and placed the cuff links on the sink’s counter.
“Are you coming into the living room? It’s nice outside. I could move everything to the balcony,” Dallas asked.
“Before I come out, are you dressed?”
“I am.” Dallas’s husky laugh told a different story.
Greer peeked around the corner to see if he was telling the truth. Dallas’s wonderland of a chest was bare. His bottoms were the joggers he’d worn today. Greer noticed the condoms and the bottle of lube in his lover’s fist, which of course, tightened the connection they shared. He grinned and decided to match his mister, quickly disrobing his dress shirt.
“Let’s go, Romeo.”
Chapter 32
The cool night breeze held none of the usual balmy warmth of Houston. The stars twinkled above as Dallas bent with his forearms resting on the railing and a half full cocktail glass in his hand. The ice clinked against the crystal as he took a hearty swallow, sucking down the smoothest whiskey he’d ever tasted. He’d had enough to drink this evening that the burn of the liquor was a distant memory.
He could get used to such a posh life. Downtown Houston was mesmerizing at night. The city lights hypnotized with their brilliant sparkle. Perhaps the whiskey helped build the allure. Greer’s strong hand came to the base of his back, gliding a coercing path up his spine. His touch as comforting and warm as always. Tonight, he could add persistent to the long list of Greer’s good qualities.
Greer stepped close, reaching for Dallas’s hand. His hip rested against the railing and his head angled in such a way to better see Dallas’s face.
“Stop avoiding and tell me,” Greer whispered huskily.
“You have to have figured it out by now,” Dallas said vaguely, refusing to let the worry of home destroy the ambience Greer had created.
The large balcony, twenty stories in the air was a cozy setting with a crackling faux fire pit and a soft, modern instrumental playing quietly in the background. Greer’s additions, the delicious bite-size foods, the alcohol—enough for twenty men—and the plush pillows and coverings set the romance mood perfectly.
Greer lifted Dallas’s palm to his lips, kissing him before stepping away.
With each passing minute in Greer’s precious company, every fiber of Dallas’s being had tied itself to Greer. His spirit tangled with Greer’s spirit, hoping to never be parted. Greer had captivated his soul, and it refused to ever be untethered from him again.
What more needed to be known?
“Here,” Greer murmured. He held a piece of bread slathered with something sweet and savory on top.
For the last hour or so, Greer had plied Dallas with alcohol and food. It had worked. Dallas was loose and relaxed with his belly full. He took the offering by leaning on one arm and opening his mouth. Greer’s smile was enough to have him sucking the morsel into his mouth, bringing the tips of Greer’s fingers inside with the bite.
“My guess is that your parents don’t approve.”
Dallas chewed and swallowed, taking Greer’s hand in his, threading their fingers together. “That’s an understatement.”
“Skye told me a story about when you two were younger. It led me to believe there might have been some form of conversion therapy.” Greer gave Dallas room. Not a lot, but he also didn’t crowd him. Greer’s concern was evident in his worried brow and serious stare.
“Not like the horror stories. I wasn’t physically abused by the programs they put me in or taken off to work camps like so many I’ve heard about. That’s where my mother drew the line, but it was still enough to…” Dallas stopped speaking and lifted the glass to his lips, remembering the months he’d spent inside the church, listening to the scriptures damn something he had zero control over. The bible verses they chose to focus on condemned him for his most basic desires. “The mental shit and the shame can be just as crippling.”
His physical abuser hadn’t come from outside the family but inside. His father never believed Dallas could get past his “defects.” Anytime life got tough, Dallas was his father’s punching bag. To this day, the smell of Miller Light had his back tensing, preparing for the blow and envisioning the humiliating trail of bruises he’d have for days to come. They represented the embarrassment Dallas posed to his family.
Even as Dallas had grown broader and stronger than his father, he hadn’t stopped the physical abuse. He’d let it happen. How fucked up was that? He had so much regret.