This is an excerpt from L.B. Gregg’s story, Waiting for Winter.
Luke always thought he and Winter were the perfect couple—until the day Winter announced he was taking a new job and they were uprooting and headed for Germany. No discussion. No debate. For the first time in his life, Winter miscalculated. Badly. Now Luke is trying his best to move on with his life, but Winter is back in town and he’s set on digging their relationship out of the deep freeze.
Hero: Winter. Abruptly takes a new job in a new country. But comes back six months later, wanting his ex back. Intense and stubborn, he gets what he wants.
Hero: Luke. Breaks up with Winter when Winter decides to take the new job. Trying to move on with his life but it’s hard when Winter is back and wants to rekindle thing.
“You better be worth this.” I licked his Adam’s apple and cologne assaulted my tongue.
The driver upped the volume on the radio and almost prophetically, “Wrecking Ball” reverberated through the cab. We left Burlington’s car-choked downtown and climbed the hill toward UVM, following a long line of raw, red taillights. Student apartments faded, and Miley Cyrus shattered any illusions I had of getting through this night with my heart still intact.
Winter nibbled my jaw, and I wriggled to find a more comfortable position until his palm swept over my fly, caressing my crotch. “Wait. Not here. Win. The driver—”
“He doesn’t care. He’s seen it all before. Let me…” He rubbed my hard-on until my balls tightened into knots. His broad hand curled around my thick length, and my eyes rolled back. I fell languidly against the vinyl seat.
“I could make you come right here in the cab, couldn’t I, Lu?” Oh, he could. He had before. I nodded and slid inside his jacket to find the span of his shoulders. He murmured against my mouth. “I’m going to fuck you so hard when I get you home. I haven’t thought of anything else in weeks.”
Weeks, he said, as if he’d planned this. I’d missed him so much. The sound of his voice. The feel of his skin. The smell of his coffee brewing in the kitchen in the mornings. His shoes by the door.
Every thought blurred into the same fog that coated the windows until we were a chorus of ragged breath.
Light flickered through the cab’s back window, and the arrival to my house couldn’t come fast enough. I couldn’t come fast enough. I prayed I wouldn’t go off in the car, and the shame of wanting to come right there, with a stranger only a foot away, turned me on even more. I white-knuckled Winter’s suit jacket like I could slow him down. Who was I kidding? I wanted him to speed things up. “I don’t want to,” I lied. “Not here.”
“Yes, you do.” He bit me gently on the neck, and stars danced behind my eyelids. His tongue circled inside my mouth, and his hand scraped over my crotch. I was seconds from oblivion when a cough filled the sultry interior of the cab.
The driver coughed again, gaze straight ahead. “Uh. We’re here.” We were parked in front of a small Victorian house, overlooking Champlain College and the lake below.
Our house.
No. My house.
Winter shoved a fifty at the driver—which was a little Daddy Warbucks of him, but yeah, that worked for me too—and we fell from the car. His hand laced with mine, and we were somehow on the porch, his mouth on my neck, my shoulder, and then he was reaching inside my jeans, and I didn’t care whose house it was. I could barely unlock the door.
I didn’t bother with the light. I got him up the stairs, stripping my shirt and kicking off my shoes, and I backed him into my bedroom where he stripped off his jacket, shaking free of the sleeves. He yanked his tie, and it landed someplace, I don’t even know. Buttons flew.
Before he could say something overbearing or stupid or mood-slaughtering, I shoved him onto my bed and stroked the swell of his towering erection. So long. Too long since I’d felt anything that good. He groaned as I straddled him, licking his neck and tasting his collarbone. Salt. Spice. Everything nice. He was a playground of muscle and dark hair, and a feast for my eyes—and he was back in our old bed, his long body spanning the length of the mattress.
He shoved at my jeans, rolling me from his hips. “Take these off.” And worked the buttons until I was stripped bare, and we were free. The two of us, sliding together, skin on skin, like old times, the attraction between us defying all logic and, at that moment, skirting the hurtful past. We were Mr. Kendrick and his innocent young friend, frolicking naked again. Chemistry and the perfect friction of our bodies sparking inside my veins.
I really enjoyed this story and this anthology overall. Very much recommend. I’ll be reviewing at Smexy soon.
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