Contents

Not Another Bad Boy

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Thanks for reading!

Also by Devyn Morgan

By

Devyn Morgan

Copyright © 2015 by Devyn Morgan

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Chapter 1

I love dicks and assholes. Those cocky bad boys that just grab you by the collar in the middle of a party, fuck you in the host's bedroom, and then walk away without ever leaving a phone number really do a number on me.

Yeah, it's not the best way to go through relationships, but damn, when it's on, it's hot as fuck. Even the breakups make me horny. Somewhere in the back of my head, I imagine the make up sex while we're yelling at each other in the bars, hallways, or taxis.

Tom is so not a bad boy.

He wears cardigans and coordinated slacks. He walks his two little wiener dogs every night after dinner before settling in for a nightly glass of wine while watching the news to see what the weather will be tomorrow.

I think I love the dude, but I really miss being tossed around roughly by the bad boys sometimes.

"Come on, Parker. We have to leave now or they'll be sold out."

Muffins. That's our crisis of the morning, potentially sold-out muffins at the downtown farmer's market. Every Saturday when the weather allows, we trek down to the farmer's market instead of sleeping in or fucking in bed or just watching paint dry, and wait in line hoping to get cranberry high-fiber muffins. Not even full-sized muffins. Just the tops.

That's me in a nutshell these days.

I need a full-sized muffin, maybe something with chocolate chips that knows how to give me the roughage. Man, I'm losing my mind.

"Coming, Tom." I hang my head, grab the keys to the Prius, and trudge out the front door.

Tom hands me my windbreaker while trying to get me to hurry along. He knows I don't do windbreakers. It goes in the back seat. Hopefully, he'll forget it is there instead of making us clean out the car when we get back home.

Chapter 2

I really do love farmer's markets. I might miss the heat of the moment with the bad boys that I've dated in the past, but I have big enough dreams of being a yuppie that I can appreciate the array of colors and scents of a good farmer's market, and this one by our apartment in San Jose is a good one.

Tom threads his fingers through mine. He actually hums while we walk down the middle of the street. He occasionally pauses his song long enough to kiss my hand.

When he stops to literally smell the flowers at one of the street vendors, I half expect a bluebird to land on his shoulder and tweet along with him.

His idea of passion is underwhelming me today.

I let my eyes wander while Tom discusses planting cycles and fertilizer with the middle-aged woman wearing the skin-tight, white spaghetti strap top and full length, wildflower pattern skirt. I'll hear all the details later when we get home anyway.

There's less foot traffic than usual now that school is back in session. All of the college hippie wannabes are busy in classes or loafing around campus instead of looking for bong paraphernalia.

In a small alley between two buildings, a couple is making out in the shadows. The larger man has the smaller pressed against the building. The smaller man has his head tipped up to kiss the larger man's neck. The larger man nudges his knee between the other's legs, giving him something to grind against. Just when the smaller man hits a good groove, the aggressor removes his leg, grabs his boyfriend's hand and shoves it down his own pants.

The smaller man doesn't show any frustration about losing the leg to rub against. Instead he starts rubbing his man's dick with a frenzy that I recognize from my own romps in the alley.

My dick recognizes the heat of the moment and wants some heat for itself.

Tom kisses my hand again.

"Hey, what are you watching over there?"

My embarrassment at getting caught peeping causes color to rise to my face. As much as I wish we were the ones making out in the alley, I want Tom to figure it out on his own rather than me being forced to beg for him to take charge.

"A couple guys...."

"Isn't that Mauricio and Frankie?"

I squint to try to get a better view. Tom is right, though, I'm sure. He always notices things before I do. Just another reminder for me to get in for an eye exam.

"Let's go scare them," Tom says with a playful glee in his voice that gives me goosebumps.

Tom jogs while crouching. I follow at a more casual pace. Tom always fucks with Mauricio and Frankie when he catches them in public displays of affection. Other than holding hands and maybe kissing my knuckles, Tom thinks affection should happen in private.

Mauricio and Frankie are lost so deeply in their own little world that they don't notice us approaching until Tom taps Mauricio on the shoulder. Mauricio spins, his elbow smashing into Tom's temple. Tom stumbles.

A high pitched scream escapes my mouth.

"Shit. Lo siento, Tom."

Mauricio has a sexy accent. Words roll off his chest and nibble playfully on your ears.

He offers a hand to Tom while saying, "Why are you sneaking up on us, you fool? Why not just grab your own man and pin him to the wall?"

My heart races hearing the words. If only it were that simple.

"Damn, Mauricio. I didn't think you were the sucker punching kind of guy. I'll send you a text before I say hello next time."

Tom's lack of passion normally extends outside of the sexual realm. He's just as likely to avoid a fight as he is to avoid doing something wild in bed.

Frankie's phone starts beeping.

"Shit, Mo. We gotta get over to the theater. The show's about to start."

"Amigos. We'll check in later. Maybe get together for some vino next weekend at our place? Two Saturdays from now? Seven?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. It isn't really a question. When Mauricio asks something like that, he expects you to show up. It's just his polite way of making a demand seem like your own idea. Mauricio is one sexy motherfucker and a genuinely nice guy. They really do exist. I stop myself from imagining what kind of demands Mauricio must make in the bedroom by focusing on Tom's injury.

"You okay?"

I pull his hand away from his eye.

"No blood, but it might turn black. Let's go get some ice."

At the corner coffee shop, we order a baggie of ice and a plain black coffee for Tom and a strawberry fruit smoothie for me.

Tom collapses onto an empty chair at the table next out the front window.

"Man, that Mauricio is crazy. So wild and unpredictable."

I nod my agreement, trying to hide my approval of wild and unpredictable.

"You okay with us going to their place on that Saturday? I know you have a big couple weeks at work coming up."

I have a website that will be going live next week. We're behind schedule waiting for some work from the graphic designer. I've been testing the back end by using dummy placeholder images.

"We'll be fine as long as the artist gets us the fucking files."

Tom flinches at my profanity. He looks around the room to see if I've offended anyone else.

"Sorry, Tom. I'll be fine if we get the files. If not, the whole thing will get pushed to the following week. As long as it's done by then, none of the big bosses should stop to yell at us."

"That's great news, hon. I was hoping you wouldn't need to get stressed or work crazy hours.

That's Tom. Nine to five. Don't shake the routine.

He's an actuary. I literally don't know what that means other than he analyzes risk and decides how much insurance companies should charge assholes for dangerous things they do. Good old Tom. A buzzkill at work and outside of it.

"Here, let me see that eye."

I lean forward to move his hand away. My chest brushes against my smoothie, knocking it over. Strawberry smoothie splashes onto his lap and the cardigan.

Tom screeches and swats at the crushed ice, but not before it leaves a stain on his sweater and pants.

"Parker, watch what you're doing. You just ruined my clothes."

He makes an attempt to dab up the mess with a napkin. Unfortunately, my cup had been pretty much full.

"I need to get home, change, and see what I can do to save these." He's practically screeching. "Let's go."

Chapter 3

As soon as I unlock the door to our apartment, Tom pushes past me while frantically unbuttoning his precious cardigan. He struggles with the bottom one. With a whimper, he pulls both the cardigan and his t-shirt over his head in one jerky movement.

I feel like shit.

"Tom, I'm sorry. I'll buy you a new one."

"Kristen bought me this."

His sister. The one who lives all the way across the country. The one he has put on a pedestal since she's the only family member who is supportive of him being gay.

I flop onto the couch, but don't bother to turn on the TV. I deserve the silent punishment.

"What the hell was that all about back there anyway?" he yells down the hall between sniffles. "Between Mo and Frankie, and your clumsiness, I don't know if I can handle the farmer's market anymore," he says with a laugh.

There's a kernel of truth in his mock complaint, though. He can't handle chaos or surprises or uncertainty, and it is becoming a major issue in our relationship.

He's just too timid.

How can I explain my need to be taken, not just made love to? The man wears cardigans. He won't understand my love of being on the receiving end of handcuffs, of being pressed against the wall with a strong man leaning against my back and his dick shoved in my ass.

I blush just imagining saying the words. He's too gentle, too soft, too pretty. He's my love cardigan. Me telling him that I need some filthy, stained, messed up fucking would hurt him as badly as I had hurt his actual cardigan.

I love him, too much to hurt him any worse than I already have. With a sigh, I head to him. I need to show I understand how badly I've hurt him, though. Even accidents deserve apologies.

I join him in the bathroom, wrap my arms around him and whisper, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. I know. You've told me. Just leave me alone so I can try to save this."

Pouty bastard.

The bad thing about living in a small apartment is there is nowhere to go when I want to give him the silent treatment. I hide under the blankets in our bed, but he'll find me as soon as he's finished pre-washing the sweater. He'll be calm and composed, and I'll still be pissed. He'll want to cuddle, and I'll want to take all my pent up energy and get fucked.

I bet Mauricio doesn't wait to calm down before going to fuck Frankie. I bet he grabs Frankie with his big strong hands and pushes him up against the dresser and....

My dick responds to my daydream. Rough, crude, and carefree Mauricio, covered with his tattoos and wearing his tank top highlighting his sculpted shoulders.

I pull down my jeans and underwear enough to free my dick. I turn to my side with my back to the door. My hand wraps around it, but all I see with my eyes closed is the back of Mauricio's head as he takes me completely in his mouth.

I flinch when I hear Tom clear his voice.

"Sorry about yelling at you. The stain came out just fine, but even if it didn't, it's just a sweater and it was just an accident."

No, I want to scream. That's not the way this should go. You need to stay pissed. We need to yell some more. We need to say some things that touch nerves. Then, you need to grab me....

I interrupt my own thoughts. I'm not that man anymore. I can't be that man anymore. Being angry and aroused isn't the basis for a relationship. Mediocre sex is definitely not the reason to ruin a perfect relationship.

"Hey, babe," I say. "Don't worry about it. It's already forgotten. Look how horny fighting with you got me, though."

I roll over and show him my swollen dick.

Caught off guard, he raises his eyebrows.

He's only wearing his coral-colored shorts. My dick twitches at the sight of his smoothly shaved chest and tight little muscles. He's not bulky, but regular trips to the gym keep him lean and sexy.

"Come here, babe. Let's have some make-up sex."

He rolls his eyes.

"Seriously, Tom. I need this right now."

I grab his wrist and pull him to me. He doesn't fight. He doesn't take control. He just lays down next to me with his arms straight against his side.

With a growl of frustration at my Nervous Nelly, I undo his fly and pull off his shorts. Tom is out of his comfort zone which leaves his dick limp. He wants to chat and cuddle and make sure everything is really alright emotionally before we check how we are doing physically.

I want to have an orgasm to clear my head so we can talk about how we're doing emotionally.

We're polar opposites too often.

I drop down between his legs and take him in my mouth. He touches the top of my head. I pause for a moment to see if he pushes me away. His hands don't move. With my tongue, I trace a circle on his dick. He hardens and fills my mouth. He grabs my hair. His hips thrust his dick deeper into my throat.

This is what I need; forced to suck his dick, demanded to service his needs, and then pounded until he gets his release.

Tom chooses this moment to further frustrate me. He lets go of my hair and grabs the headboard.

I trace my fingers along the inside of his thigh, his ticklish spot.

"Hey, knock it off," he says with a laugh.

He flips me to my back and hops off the bed. His hands wrap around my ankles before I can squirm away and like I weigh nothing at all, he pulls me to the edge of the bed with my ankles resting on his shoulder.

Fuck yeah, I think. Shove it in me.

He wraps his hand around my dick and gives me a couple slow strokes. I buck my hip against his hand. There's not much I like more than being fucked in the ass while staring into the eyes of the man jacking me off. All I need now is his dick to get inside of me. I grab my butt cheeks to spread myself, hoping he'll take the hint.

Instead, the bastard drops to his knees and licks my sack.

Don't get me wrong, I love having my sack licked. I also love the Whopper at Burger King, but if I have the choice between Burger King and a steak at an expensive steak house, I'm going to want the real meat.

Fuck me in the ass, I scream in my head.

"Come back up here and give it to me, big boy," I whisper to Tom.

Why can't he just understand what I need?

I don't dare tell him the perversions that I crave. Tom is too squeaky clean. He would run in a heartbeat if he knew what kind of things I really wanted him to do. After nearly a year together, he can't even just fuck me silly after a fight. What would he think if he knew I wanted to be tied up and spanked once in a while or told to crawl across the room just to lick his toes? What would he do if he knew I would climb under the table in a restaurant and suck his dick and swallow every drop that he shot into my mouth?

Tom could never be a part of any of that stuff.

Tom is a play with the balls, lick the dick, suck the dick until I come, and then gently fuck my ass until he comes while almost apologizing for inconveniencing me kind of guy.

"Are you sure you're ready? You haven't had your orgasm yet."

Always me first. Then a quick clean up before he busts his nut. It helps make sure the mess doesn't get on the sheets.

I show him my right hand. "Tom, I gave myself my first orgasm with this very hand. I can do it again. Let's go crazy. This is make-up sex."

"Right." He smiles.

Instead of plunging into my butt, though, he leans to the bedside stand and grabs the lube from the drawer. He returns with a healthy dollop on his hand. I sigh, but relax as he prepares for his gentle entry. Boring sex is still better than no sex at all, I try to convince myself.

One finger. Two fingers. Now he's finally ready to use his cock.

Finally, Tom pushes himself into me. I close my eyes and ride the gentle waves.

My own fingers that know my cock so well, and my own imagination that knows my desires so well, take over from there.

Instead of a cardigan, Tom is wearing a leather vest...and slamming into me...and demanding that I call him master...and flipping me to my belly...and pulling my hair so I see his reflection in the mirror...and slapping my ass.

My imagination does one fucked up thing in the heat of the moment. Instead of Tom, it's Mauricio grabbing my hips and calling me a dirty whore. It's Mauricio reaching around and grabbing my cock without losing the rhythm. It's Mauricio that squeezes the base of my dick to prevent me from coming until he does.

When I finally come, I pray that it's Tom's name that I scream, but the orgasm is so hard I'm not sure.

Chapter 4

Days pass with me talking less and less each day. Work colleagues notice. Friends notice. Tom seems to miss it completely, or just not care.

Fantasies of hooking up in bathrooms at bars flood my dreams. While walking through crowds, my head is on a swivel, hoping to catch someone checking me out.

 Something has to change, I tell myself each morning, or I will have to call the whole thing off and move on. It will be better for the both of us.

Then at home, Tom will do something amazingly small but touching. The other day on my night to cook, I fell asleep on the couch. Instead of waking me to have me get started, and instead of ordering takeout from somewhere, he made lasagna and served it with red wine. We ate out on the back porch with the dogs while he told me stories of fishing trips he used to take with his grandpa.

I need someone who can take the time to tell me those stories.

I need someone who can shove me against a wall, pull down my pants, and fuck me in a dirty bathroom.

I need someone who can send me texts saying he loves me just because he watched a pretty sunset and thought of me.

I need someone who can tell me to shut the fuck up and suck his dick.

I need Tom.

And I think I need someone else, too.

"Weren't you going to play basketball and have dinner with Mauricio tonight?"

Crap. I promised to meet Mauricio at the rec center. I used to play constantly growing up, but had let it slide as an adult. Mauricio has been bugging me to join him at open gym for weeks. Because I felt I needed more time away from Tom, I finally caved today when Mauricio called to ask once again.

Tom follows me as I scramble around the house. He tosses me shoes and keys. He finds my wallet in the crack of the couch. He kisses me as I rush out the door.

"Love you, Parker," he says as I dive into the car.

"Later," I reply.

The gym is fairly empty. There are seven men on the far end of the main court. Mauricio waves me over and introduces me.

"Parker played ball in college," he tells his friends.

"Division 3. I was a backup guard."

"That's better than any of our sorry asses," one of the men replies. "I was cut from my varsity team junior year."

"Same," another says while shaking my hand. "Take it easy on us."

It's been a few years since I played, but it's a bit like riding a bike. It isn't long before I find my stroke again and they can't stop me one on one.

With the next basket, my team will win. Mauricio hands me the ball and gets into defensive position. I fake to my left and dribble to my right. I get the step on him and head to the open basket. Right as I jump for the layup, Mauricio's arms wrap around me and drag me to the ground. I land softly on my stomach thanks to Mauricio helping brace my fall.

He collapses on top of me. With a laugh he says, "Foul."

We're all exhausted after several minutes of running around like crazy. He makes no effort to move. I feel his legs against mine and his muscular chest against my back. His arms are on either side of me. I am completely trapped.

I struggle to roll over, but that makes it worse. His crotch presses against my belly. Thoughts flash through my head of things that should not happen at the gym with a man who is already in a long term commitment. Especially while I'm still with Tom.

I swallow. The weight of my relationship with Tom is suffocating me even more than Mauricio.

With a smile and a wink, he stands up and pulls me to my feet.

"Shoot the free throws and end this thing. Put us out of our misery."

I only need to make one free throw. Distracted by Mauricio's wide smile and flirty wink, I nearly airball the first shot. The laughter of even my own teammates helps me regain my composure and swish the next one.

I collect high fives, slaps on the ass, and chest bumps from the group before Mauricio and I head to the showers.

Mauricio strips with his back to me. I can't help but stare at his wide shoulders and tight ass. His legs are sculpted from years of heavy lifting at the gym. He has a giant skull tattoo on his left shoulder and a myriad of other tats covering the rest of his back. I could spend hours just trying to identify all of the images.

"I didn't know you had tattoos."

He looks over his shoulder like he doesn't know what I'm talking about. "Yeah, I went through a phase back in high school and right after. Some were for the gang I used to run with. Some were from just depression stuff. My dad died when I was a sophomore. Fucked with my head. I made some bad decisions. Got lucky to get away from the gang shit before getting charged with anything more than a little marijuana possession. Very lucky considering the shit we used to do."

"Oh, you were a bad boy, huh."

He flashes me that smile again. "Yeah, I guess. Not that it did much for me other than help me get laid. Shit, that was back before I knew I was gay. The first time I ever fucked a man was in some shitty bathroom at this biker bar that used to let us bangers in. I had just turned eighteen. Some dirty, older biker thought he was going to get to have his way with me. I turned the tables on him, though, and showed him what's what."

I turn away to avoid staring at his muscles and tattoos while listening to his bad boy stories. He's everything I crave. He strokes every weakness I have.

"How are you and Tom doing these days?"

"Excuse me?"

Is he hitting on me? Is this going to happen here in the showers right now? Will I have any hope of saying no?

"Sorry to pry, but Tom says you've been a little quiet. He's worried about you. Is something going on at work that you haven't told him about? If so, just tell him. He's a great listener."

What's going on here? This seems to be drifting very far from a shower fuck.

"Frankie and I were talking about you guys the other day. We can't have you breaking up because we were planning on you being our best men when we get married in a few months."

I'm literally dizzy. I want to restart this night and just stay home on the couch with a beer.

"Hey, I'm going to skip dinner," I start to say. "Wait, did you just say...?"

A smile erupts across his face. He holds his finger up to me showing a wedding band he must have had stored in the locker.

"I couldn't wait until the big day to start wearing it."

"Holy shit, Mo. That's amazing. Congratulations. We'll be there."

I don't add that I can't promise if we'll still be together.

"I must have told Frankie enough times that he better make an honest man out of me before I give up on him and elope with you. He must have finally felt threatened and finally asked me."

I feel sick to my stomach. Had I really had a chance at Mauricio? He is such a flirt with everyone that you can never tell when he is serious or not. Am I imagining a look in his eyes hinting at what could have been?

"When are you and Tom going to be ready? Double wedding maybe? We could wait a couple months if you needed."

"Mo, I'm not feeling well. Must have eaten something that disagreed with me. I'm going to have to skip dinner and head home."

"Really, amigo? Want me to drive you?"

"No. Go home and kiss Frankie for me. Congratulations to the two of you."

I grab my bag and head home without bothering to change out of my sweaty gym clothes.

Chapter 5

The invitation arrives in the mail the next day.

"Hey, check it out," Tom tosses the card at me. "Mo and Frankie are getting hitched."

"Yeah, I know," I say without looking up from the book I'm reading.

"What? You knew and didn't tell me?"

"Oh god. I'm sorry. It just totally slipped my mind. I came home a little sick yesterday and then just forgot about it."

Tom musses my hair.

"My poor little scatter brain. Is work going okay? You seem a little, I don't know, off. What can I do to help?"

Wipe all the stuff on the table onto the floor and fuck me right here, I imagine myself replying.

"No. Work is fine," I lie. Things have gotten worse with the project this week. "I must just be in a funk. Maybe I just need a shake up."

Tom looks at me skeptically.

"Hon, you know you can tell me anything. Don't try to handle whatever is going on by yourself."

I wrap my arms around his waist. With me sitting and him standing, the hug hides my face against his stomach.

"It's the truth," I say. "Work is fine. I've been thinking a lot about needing to go wild and shake things up in a big way, though. Maybe hearing about Mo and Frankie got me jealous that I don't have something big going on to look forward to."

Tom pats my head.

"My poor baby. I know what you mean, though. Hey, I know what we need to do."

Has Tom finally figured out what I need? Is he going to take charge, make demands of my body, maybe spank me for giving him the silent treatment recently, or, dare I dream, something even wilder?

"Chris Isaak is coming to San Fran this weekend. Let's drive up Friday and scalp a couple tickets. We'll sit wherever we get lucky enough to find seats."

Wild. Crazy. Sigh.

"Yeah, that sounds great."

Chapter 6

The next night, I drive us to San Francisco after work. The drive is fairly quiet, but that's easily blamed on me needing to pay extra attention in the traffic.

We end up at an all-day-breakfast diner for dinner before the concert.

Tom sits down in the booth opposite me.

As soon as the waitress takes our drink order, Tom asks, "How's work?" as if hoping that I will blame all of my problems on my job.

I know that answering that I don't want to talk about it will ruin the night before it even starts. Besides, what else are we going to talk about?

Taking a moment to breathe deeply, I am able to see the kindness in Tom's question. None of the assholes I was with before Tom ever gave a shit about my job or even asked if I had one.

"Rough. I wake up every day now, hoping that I've overslept. I check my phone every five minutes to see if I have a new text or something to distract me, but I never do. When I go to the bathroom, I go to the one furthest from my desk just to have a few more seconds away. Every time I get a new email, I flinch, expecting it to be from my boss saying he just realized I haven't done a single bit of work this week. They don't seem to care, though. Maybe they've got their own shit going on. It's like this at the end of all of my projects the last couple months. I'd quit, but each time I sit down to work on my resume, I instead end up refreshing the same websites over and over, hoping they have published something new in the last thirty seconds."

Tom silently endures my outburst. When I'm done, he doesn't immediately start up with his own complaints. He leans back with his hands crossed behind his head to let my words sink in.

"Wow, that's rough, Parker. You've been sitting with the weight of that for the last couple weeks and I didn't even notice. I'm so sorry, hon."

No immediate suggestions to fix the problem, just sympathy and apologies for not helping.

I love Tom so much because of moments exactly like this. He can listen. It's amazing how rare that is in the world these days. I don't even know if my last boyfriend even knew that I had a job. It never occurred to him to ask for anything other than for me to get into bed quicker.

With all the kindness that Tom shows me every day, I feel like shit that I've been considering breaking up with him.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom to hide a tear that threatens to roll down my cheek.

He's almost everything that I need.

Chapter 7

Tom has always been a huge Chris Isaak fan. I never have understood the fascination myself. I mean he's pretty and brooding, but the music doesn't reach me. I'm a little too metal, I guess.

Tom's kindness at the restaurant has completely flipped my mood, though, and when Tom sings the songs, I grab his hand and sing along with him. Having them on frequent loop at the house has drilled the lyrics subconsciously into my head.

I haven't felt this loose in weeks. Screaming the lyrics to the choruses feels like it's clearing out bad shit that has been stuck deep down in my soul. I'm swaying with the crowd, feeling part of something larger than myself. I'm not looking for some dark place and random stranger to fulfill some urge. I'm not thinking about leaving Tom. I'm having one of the moments where you really believe that you are made of atoms that have been bouncing from sun to sun over billions of years, atoms that are shared with your neighbor, and that everything in the universe is good.

"Hey, I thought you didn't like Chris," Tom shouts in my ear.

"Guess he's grown on me. He's cute, too. You better keep an eye on me," I joke playfully.

He squeezes my hand and lifts it to give it a kiss.

I want this man more than anything right now. I grab his cheek to pull him toward me for a kiss. He must be feeling my mood, too. He bends towards me, taking charge. I close my eyes, purse my lips and wait for him.

Instead, he plants a kiss on my forehead and returns to singing.

The song ends with a dramatic sudden silence. The crowd screams. I scream, too, but not for the song.

My frustration threatens to ruin our evening. I'm about to slap Tom if I stay, so I slide past him, heading toward the aisle.

"Where you going?"

"Piss and a beer."

"Can you grab me one?"

I nod and sprint up the stairs.

The bathroom is empty. I splash cold water from the sink onto my face to flush away the tears.

"Fuck," I shout.

A large, drunk man stumbles in through the door and nearly falls against the urinal. He's wearing a flannel with the sleeves torn off. His bicep is covered with tattoos. They look familiar, but I can't place them.

He glances over at me when he starts peeing.

"Hey, you," he says. "I remember you. You suck dick like a champ. Let's head into a stall when I'm done here and you can do it again?"

It comes to me in a rush. I've fucked this man in a bathroom stall before. Well, gave him a blowjob at least. I don't remember all the details because of how much I must have been drinking that night.

The tattoo that I recognized is a ship. There are a ton of others covering the rest of his body. I remember asking him if he had been in the Navy. He hadn't. He just got the tattoo because it made other sailors think he had which, he claimed, made it much easier to get laid by sailors.

Despite being a piece of shit as a human, he hits so many of my buttons that I find myself wanting to join him for another round of bathroom stall sex. His tattoos, his cocky attitude, his ability to tell me exactly what he wants and willingness to do the nasty shit practically in public.

I actually take a step toward the stall before stopping myself.

What's wrong with me?

"Sorry, not tonight. I'm seeing someone now."

The guy dramatically looks around the bathroom.

"I'm not seeing anyone but you. Are you dating yourself tonight? If so, you can do that while you blow me. If I remember right, you like a good spanking. I can help you out there while we're at it."

I blush, remembering him taking me over his knee in the stall that night. He's right, though. I do like a good spanking, despite barely remembering what a spanking feels like these days.

"Not tonight, dude."

All I want tonight is Tom. He's the rock that can help me through my darker moments. He's the one that will stay around when things get tough. He's the stability that I crave more than the random encounters with men who only want me when their dicks are hard.

I ignore the man's shouts for me to come back as I run out of the bathroom. I collide into a security guard.

"Whoa, slow down there," he say, catching me by the shoulders to prevent the two of us from falling. "Everything okay?"

I glance back over my shoulder just as the man exits the bathroom. He gives me a small nod but passes without a word.

"Yeah. Everything's fine. I just want to get back to the show. I don't want to miss my favorite song."

"Which one's your favorite?"

"Um...well..." I can't think of the name of a single one of Chris Isaak's songs. "The one...the fast one. Sorry, I gotta get back to my friend."

The guard lets me go. He wanders away, shaking his head. In his mind, I'm a weirdo, but a harmless one. I'm something he can ignore. Any of my problems are no longer a concern of his, just like all the other men except for Tom.

Tom slides over to my seat so I don't have to squeeze past him. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me tight.

I want to kiss him, maybe slide my hand down his pants and feel his dick grow larger against my hand, but Tom wants to listen to his favorite singer.

Maybe this is the compromise that I have to make.

I kiss his cheek and then shout above the music into his ear, "Let's fuck when we get home."

He turns with a start. I nearly laugh at his wide, shocked eyes.

He nods emphatically.

When the next song ends, Tom pushes me toward the aisle.

"What are you doing? He'll be back for an encore."

"Come on, let's go. I want to get out of here."

My balls start to tingle in anticipation. Tom wants to rush away from his favorite musician's concert to take me home and fuck me. Maybe he's seen me compromise and he's coming to meet me halfway. I can practically feel his hand slapping my ass already.

Very few people are leaving at this point in the concert, so we get out of the stadium very quickly. As soon as we hit the highway, though, it is a sea of red taillights from an accident somewhere up ahead.

After about twenty minutes without moving, my eyelids start to droop. I don't even fight it. It's been a long day. I could use a little cat nap before wild sex.

Chapter 8

I wake up slightly hungover in bed at home. Tom must have carried me up to bed. He's such a weirdo. Like it would have bothered me to wake up and walk into the house, knowing that we were on the way to cap off the evening.

He must be brushing his teeth. I can taste the beer on my breath. I roll out of bed to join him so that I'm not the only one with skunk breath.

The room seems too bright, bright enough that I shield my eyes from the light until I realize that it is the sun.

The morning sun.

Tom carried me to bed and let me sleep instead of bothering to wake me for the nightcap. He did it because he's a good guy. What's it going to take to make him realize that I need him to be a bad boy every now and then?

There's a note on the dining room table.

Went to store to get groceries. There's bagels on the counter and the cream cheese you love in the fridge.

I'll probably be back before you even wake up.

Love, T

I can't deal with him returning. He'll be all chipper, singing and dancing while making me coffee and putting away the groceries.

I throw on some clothes, toss a toothbrush in my backpack, and run out the door. I manage to escape before he returns. He has the car, so I just walk.

Eventually, I realize that I've wandered to a used bookstore next to a coffee shop I used to hang out at between boyfriends before I met Tom. I used to buy some old paperback with tons of pages bent down. Then, while drinking coffee, I would read the book, focusing on the pages with the bent corners, and try to imagine whether the reader had stopped there or had marked the page to read again later. I could spend hours reading, imagining some unknown reader's life and enjoying books I would have never picked up in a million years on my own.

I pick up some paperback because the cover has a sexy man without a shirt on it, and head to coffee shop.

A few hours later, I'm wondering why the reader stopped reading the trashy romance novel about a bad boy bouncer and his insecure boyfriend right when the characters were about to have sex. Had her husband--in my imagination it's a woman reading the book--come in right then? If so, had he swept her off her feet and they went on to have their own romance novel sex?

Or had the reader been someone like Tom? Someone who loved getting right up to that moment, sharing all the intimacy, getting all her nerves firing and craving sweet release, and then just wanted to pause everything to cool it down and regain control of where her desires were carrying her.

I hope she at least rubbed one out. I hadn't even had the chance for that last night since Tom hadn't woken me.

A new text makes my phone buzz. He must have heard me cursing at him.

"Miss you. Hope you're having fun. Don't forget. Wine with Mo and Frankie tonight."

I don't reply. I already know that I'll be home in time to muscle through the get-together at their house tonight. I'm already recognizing that I love Tom too much to run away from him. My future will be full of trashy bad boy novels and Internet porn for the times when I needed more than Tom is willing to give me.

I finish the book at four. I'm starving and queasy after five large coffees and one huge cookie. Wondering whether I'll get to stay home if I throw up while getting ready for our date, I pack up and start the march back to our apartment.

Chapter 9

Mauricio and Frankie both yell for us to come in when we ring the doorbell.

They are shuffling around the kitchen, moving pots from the oven and pouring the contents into serving bowls like well choreographed dance partners.

"Hola, amigos." Mauricio says without turning to look at us. His entire focus is on making sure the sauce gets in the bowl without splashing onto his white button-up shirt or his white pants.

"Perfect timing," Frankie says. "Have a seat at the table. We'll be there in a second. Mo's almost got this dinner beaten into submission."

Tom and I return their greetings and sit at the table.

"So, what have you boys been up to today?" Mauricio asks, finally able to focus on us while carrying bowls to the table.

"I did some grocery shopping and some laundry. Just a light chore day."

"How about you, Parker?" Mauricio asks.

"Yeah," Tom says turning toward me. "What were you doing today?"

Frankie and Mauricio look at each other as if Tom's question indicates some deeper problem that they have been expecting.

I blanch under their accusing stares.

"Nothing much really. I went downtown to this used bookstore I used to go to, picked up a book and read it next door at the coffee shop."

"Oh, that cute little place you used to go to back before you and Tom hooked up?" Mauricio asks. "I haven't heard you mention that place in a long time. I thought it closed down."

Fortunately, Tom doesn't hear the accusation of betrayal in Mauricio's words.

"That sounds nice. We should go down there tomorrow."

"Next weekend, baby," I say. "They're closed on Sundays."

Tom squeezes my shoulder in agreement and places his napkin on his lap. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

Frankie sits down, but Mauricio stays standing behind his chair.

"Parker, why don't you come with me and help pick out the wine?"

"Seriously? You know I don't know a thing about wine."

"Exactamente. I just want to make fun of you watching you try. Come along."

Frankie and Tom start talking about last night's concert while Mauricio and I walk to the wine fridge.

Mauricio opens the door and asks under his breath, "Are you fucking around on Tom? Tell me the truth. No bullshit. If you are, Frankie and I will help you sort this all out."

"What?" I say with a quick glance back at the table. "No. I really was at the coffee shop reading. We had a great night last night, but things fell apart when we got home. No biggie. I just didn't want to spend the day walking around the apartment with Tom today. I needed a day alone."

Mauricio stares at me with his deep brown eyes. I'm glad that I am telling the truth. I would have cracked under that stare.

"Bueno. I believe you, but something's going on with you guys. How can we help?"

I grab something red from their wine fridge without even reading the label.

"I think we're just in a funk," I say.

Mauricio shuts the door.

"Mierda."

Tom is standing right behind where the door had been. His face has gone pale.

"A funk?" he asks with his voice cracking.

Chapter 10

I have no reply. I want to tell him I love him. I want to scream at him for not taking care of my needs. Instead, I'm stuck staring silently at my boyfriend who just wants any kind of answer.

 "What are you trying to tell me?"

The near whimper in his voice and the hurt showing on his face tear at my heart. If he wasn't between me and the door, I would run away and never look back. It would be so much easier than dealing with talking about these emotions.

"Tom, let's go home and talk. I don't want to do this here."

"Why not? Maybe this will be what we need to get out of our funk. That's what you called it, right? A funk. Maybe we should air this funk out right here in front of Mo and Frankie."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustrated at my careless words with Mauricio. Why couldn't I have just stayed silent like I have been doing all along?

"And this after last night," Tom shouts while returning to his seat at the table. "Out of the blue, I make plans for us to jaunt off to San Fran to see a concert. I thought we had a great time, too."

"I did, Tom. It was really nice."

"But too dull. Too blah."

"No. The concert was great, but...."

My hesitation tells Tom all he needs to know. He pounds the table, making the dishes jump.

Frankie lets out a little scream before covering his mouth. Mauricio hurries to his side. All three of them glare at me, the bad one.

"But, what?" Tom screeches.

I consider telling him again that I don't want to talk about our relationship in front of our friends. Really though, what do I have to lose? That's not the right question. I have a ton to lose. A man who loves me is a rare gift even if he completely misses with everything that I crave in the bedroom.

Am I being petty? Most likely.

Will I regret this if it blows up in my face? Most definitely.

At this moment, though, it all feels as inescapable as gravity.

I look to Mauricio, hoping he will tells us to shut up and stop ruining his party, or just to get the fuck out of his place.

There is deep concern in his eyes, but he makes no move to kick us out or stop the discussion. With a flick of his fingers, he waves me back toward Tom to deal with our problem.

When I turn, a breadstick hits me in the chest.

"What's the matter, Parker? Tell me what's the matter."

"What the hell?"

I've never seen this side of Tom. He is almost always completely composed, especially when it comes to our difficulties. We've only had one real fight that both of us participated in and he never even raised his voice. I don't even know what that fight had been about. It only lasted a few seconds. His calmness and desire to listen to my complaints deflated all of my energy.

His wave of pent up anger appears to be ready to crash over me.

"Open that mouth of yours and just tell me what's wrong. What do you want from me? What have I done wrong to you?"

I rush to his side and drop to my knees. Looking up into his eyes, I say, "You haven't done anything wrong. You've been an amazing, loving gentleman from the moment we met."

"Then what's the problem? I don't get what's going on. You think we're in a funk? And you decide to tell Mauricio and Frankie before talking to me?"

Frankie interrupts. "He said nothing to me. I heard from Mauricio."

Tom pounds the table again, silencing Frankie.

"What do you need, Parker? What is so important that you need to rush to Mo to tell him all about it?"

"Tom. Calm down a little."

Our roles have reversed. That's normally the line he uses on me when I'm complaining irrationally. I feel bad stealing Tom's go-to conversation calmer when he's completely justified in his anger.

"I didn't tell Mo anything until right there in front of the fridge. The funk I was referring to is just sex. No big deal...."

"No big deal?" He jumps away from me and circles the long way around the table to avoid me. He leans against the kitchen counter.

"I'm not good enough in bed and that's so not a big deal that you rush off to talk about it with our friends? What's wrong? Is my dick too small? Do my teeth scrape your dick when I blow you? You know, you're not so great yourself sometimes. You just lay there looking like you'd rather be doing laundry."

Frankie can't stop himself from gasping. Mauricio rushes to comfort his finance.

Tom's words hurt me deeply.

"Trust me, I'm not thinking about laundry. That's your fetish."

Shit. I'm not controlling the words pouring out of me. This cannot end well, but now that I've seen the spark, it looks like I'm going to burn this mortherfucker down.

"The only reason I just lay there is because I'm waiting for you to kick it up a notch. I keeping waiting for you to man up and fuck me like a man. Maybe tie me up, spank me, shove me into an alley and push me to my knees."

Tom throws the bottle of wine at me. I easily dodge it. The bottle explodes on the marble dining room table. Wine flies everywhere, on the wall, on the carpet, all over Mauricio's white clothes.

I try to diffuse the situation "Let's go..."

"How far do these perverted desires of yours go? Group sex? Picking up strangers when I'm out of town? Fucking men when you say you are reading books and drinking coffee?"

"Tom, I would never cheat on you. I just wish we could spice it up in bed but I couldn't find a way to tell you. I'm glad it's out. Let's talk this through. We can work this out."

"Fuck this. We're done. You're clearly not happy and I'm not going to start doing weird shit just to hopefully keep you around. What happens when you get bored again?"

Before anyone can say another word, Tom has slammed the apartment door closed behind him.

"Lo siento," Mauricio finally says, breaking the silence a couple minutes later. "You can stay here as long as you need, of course. I feel like this is partly my fault."

I growl at Mauricio. What an asshole! It is all entirely his fault. Sex was boring, but if he hadn't made Tom and I talk about it, everything would have stayed fine. Boring and fine. Just like most marriages as far as I can tell.

Tom is gone by the time I run to the parking lot. I can't go home and I can't go back to Mo and Frankie's. I walk until I find a cab that takes me to a hotel for the night. After getting my key, I head straight for the bar across the street.

Chapter 11

Three drinks later, a hand pats my shoulder.

"You should slow down a little, youngster."

"Don't wanna."

The hand spins my barstool, forcing me to face the stranger. He's probably fifty years old, old enough to have gone to school with my dad for sure. He's wearing a white t-shirt with a tattered collar. He has a cigarette tucked behind his ear. He has a tattoo of what is probably a wolf on his bicep, but it gets chopped off by his sleeve.

I almost reach out to lift the sleeve to see the rest.

"Don't want to slow down, eh? All right. Bartender. Another two of whatever he's drinking and two tequilas for me."

He slaps my back.

"If we're not going to slow down, might as well get fucked up for real. Know what I mean?"

I nod at the stranger.

"Name's Allen. How's it hanging today?"

"Hey, Allen. Parker. Shitty."

He sits on the barstool next to me.

"Ah, one of those kinds of days. Man, I had one of those a few weeks back. My boyfriend of fifteen years up and decided to wreck my motorcycle and get himself killed. Fucking bad day, that was."

I stop in the middle of my beer.

"Shit. So sorry."

"I've already cursed him out as much as I plan to. I've already cried about as much as I reckon I'm gonna. I bought a new hog today and decided to get back on the market. Life's short. Time to get back on the horse, right?"

"Giddy-up."

I clink my bottle against his shot glass. We both finish before banging them back on the bar.

"I just got in town yesterday. I'm in the hotel across the road. Moved up from Texas. Plan to start apartment shopping tomorrow. Some say I'm running away from problems. I say I'm running toward opportunity. What brings you to this dirty little bar?"

"My ex. We broke up about an hour ago."

"Sorry to hear that, my young friend."

His hand gently squeezes the back of my neck before pulling me in for a hug.

The bartender takes away our empties, shakes his head at us, and moves to the far end of the bar to watch the ball game on TV.

"So, what did your asshole do? Hopefully nothing as dramatic as throwing himself under a semi."

"No. He just, well, it's kind of personal."

A single, loud bark of a laugh escapes him. "Personal, that's a good one. Son, we're strangers here. Probably never see each other after tonight. I'm like a free therapist. A therapist who's buying you drinks."

We clink drinks again. I take a swallow before continuing.

"I like it rough, and dirty, and in places where I might get caught."

His eyebrow arches in surprise and interest.

"You don't say. Today is your lucky day."

His hand slides up under my shirt and slowly rubs up from my belly button to my nipple. He gives a firm pinch and says, "I like it rough and dirty and wherever you want to do it. It wasn't coincidence that the two of us ended up in this bar."

His hand drifts down. His fingers try to inch into my waistband.

I drop my drink. The glass doesn't break, but the beer spills all over the floor.

I know that I've lost Tom for good, but it is too soon to pick up this man in a bar even if he sounds like everything I've been missing. Once enough time passes, I'm sure I'll be begging guys like him to pay attention to me, but for now, I just wish it were Tom touching me like this and saying the words I want to hear.

His hand drops further and wraps around my erection. I moan. I really want rough bar sex, but not this way. I want it with Tom, not some stranger. I jump from the stool and run out the door.

Instead of returning to the hotel and risking meeting Allen again, I flag another cab and ride back to Mauricio and Frankie's place, hoping they will still take me in for the night.

Chapter 12

Mauricio and Frankie say nothing when they let me into the apartment. I accept the hug from Mauricio while Frankie gets linens for the couch. I excuse myself for a quick shower to get a few private minutes to cry. I pretend to sleep on the couch until they go to bed. Sleep eventually overtakes me.

The next few days pass with very few words exchanged. I go to work and take comfort grinding through the isolated routine. Every time my phone beeps, my heart pounds with excitement that it might be Tom, but it never is.

He's moved on.

I'll have to do the same eventually once I figure out how something like that works when you're really in love.

It's easy to move on from a one night stand, but Tom is no one night stand. He has been there for all of my problems since the day we got together. I'm half-tempted to call him to discuss this new problem of getting dumped by my boyfriend because I don't have anyone else I trust to lean on in these situations.

Mauricio wakes me on Thursday by ripping the blankets off of me.

"Vamanos."

I grunt and roll away from him. He will not be denied, though. With a tug on my shoulder, he dumps me to the floor.

"Is there a fire?"

"No, amigo. I'm just tired of watching you mope about all day. You need to get your body moving. Let those endorphins run free in your body. We're going to the gym."

"What time is it?"

"Five."

"Morning, Parker," Frankie says, chipper as hell, but he does hand me a travel mug of coffee, so I let it go.

A deep sniff from the mug goes a long way toward waking me up for real.

"Fine. That's a good idea. Gym. Let's go lift some weights."

"Now you're talking," Mauricio says.

He helps me to my feet and shoves me toward the door before I can change my mind. Frankie hands me a duffel bag with my workout gear in it and gives me a peck on the cheek on our way out.

At the gym, I push and pull on the weights, quickly breaking into a sweat that starts to flush away the bad mojo that I've been drowning in. Mauricio spots me when we are at the bench press, but otherwise leaves me to my silent thoughts. My mind empties. I even start to dance to the gym's techno music during my rest breaks.

A little over an hour later, we are back at the front door of the apartment. Mauricio stops me from grabbing the doorknob.

"Hold on. I need to tell you something. It might make you mad, but it's something I need to get off my chest. Why don't you sit down?"

He points to a nearby bench.

He sits next to me and starts a nearly silent ramble of Spanish as he tries to get his thoughts in order.

"Bueno. You are a good man. So is Tom. You are both clearly very good for each other. Because of him, you are no longer banging random strangers. Because of you, he is much more spontaneous. Anyone can see that the two of you love each other very much, too."

We watch a bus stop, pick up passengers across the street, and drive off again before he continues.

"You need to talk to him. He needs to talk to you. You are both being stupid right now. The longer you stay stupid, the harder it will be to fix, until the wall is so tall and so deep that you will be blocked from each other forever. Es todo."

Mauricio gives me a brief hug before disappearing inside the apartment, leaving me alone with my thoughts that start with, What an asshole, and eventually fade to, I wonder what Tom's doing today.

Chapter 13

The farmer's market opens at ten, but I'm wandering the street at nine. I need to find Tom, but I can't handle the thought of having the conversation at our apartment. The weight of our past and my silence, reflected in every familiar painting and pillow, would smother me. 

In the fresh air of the farmer's market, maybe I'll have a better chance of not chickening out.

Tom is nowhere to be seen, though. I buy two churros and a coffee when the market opens. I eat the first and hold on to the second as a peace offering to give Tom if I see him. There are still no men wearing cardigans to be found in the sparse crowd, though.

Out of habit, I check my phone to see if Tom has texted. No new messages. In fact, I have to scroll down to even see the last time we texted. It was from back before the concert.

I swallow my pride and start typing a new one.

<At the market. Can you come? I want to talk.>

I can't send it, though. Instead, I take a tentative sip from the coffee to see if it is cool enough to drink. Right as the coffee tips into my mouth, two hands grab my shoulders. Startled, I spill the coffee on my chest. I jump to my feet and drop the cup to the ground as if I can flee the scalding water, but it is everywhere. I pull the shirt over my head to escape the hot, wet mess.

"Parker, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Jumping away and screaming is not exactly how I wanted to get back in touch with Tom. I want to yell at him, but even in my panic, I realize he didn't do anything wrong.

"Shit, dude. You scared the hell out of me. I'm fine. More scared than damaged. Well, by the coffee at least."

"Oh, thank God. I thought we were going to need to rush you to the hospital."

"Nope. I'm good."

It's true. I am good now that I am standing next to Tom again. This is where I need to be. The confusion and pain of the past days washes away. Somehow, it gets replaced with an awkward silence instead of the hugs and kisses that I hoped for.

"So, um," Tom runs his hand through his hair. "You look good."

Tom is wearing a bright red cardigan which makes me smile. The dorky sweater isn't nearly as dorky when he's wearing it.

"You look good, too. That's a new one, right?" I ask while taking the opportunity to run the back of my hand across it. "Mmm. Very soft."

Tom blows out a large gust of air.

"We really need to talk, you know. We can't just fall back into the routine without airing out whatever is going on here."

I laugh. Tom frowns and turns to walk away.

"Hold on, Tom." I grab his hand and pull him back. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm agreeing with you."

I show him my unsent text.

"I'm just nervous because I just can't screw this up. I need you too much. We have...."

Tom cups my cheek and kisses me hungrily on the lips, silencing my rambling.

When he breaks away, he says, "I need you, too. We'll figure this out, but that starts with you being able to talk to me. As much as I want to, I can't read your mind. What am I not giving you? Tell me. I may not be able to give it to you perfectly right away, but I will work like hell to do it as well as I can."

This is the moment. I open my mouth, but no words come out.

"Fuck," I say under my breath. "Why is this so hard?"

"Let's walk. Maybe that will help."

Tom grabs my hand. We walk about a block in silence. I barely notice the flowers, fruits and necklaces that I normally love to gawk at. Thoughts are flying through my head so quickly that I can barely acknowledge them before they are gone. The only thing that sticks is, I need this man.

With each passing step in silence, I am further convinced that I am going to screw this up. I am going to lose Tom with my silence. It will be even worse if I open my mouth and tell him what I want him to do to me. He'll know what kind of kinks and desires I'm too afraid to admit, and I'll still lose him.

I need a bad boy, but I not able tell the man that I love that I need him to be my bad boy. I just need him to be a bad boy.

Tom stops. "Enough. Shit or get off the pot. Open your goddamn mouth and talk."

His words jar me. Tom doesn't talk like that. The rough words reach deep down into me, touching things that I haven't felt since we've been together.

With my eyes closed, I manage to say, "I need you to be firmer in bed. Rougher. I need you to talk dirtier." The words start to pour. "I need you to be more aggressive in public. I need you to demand, push me into position, pull my hair and...."

I open my eyes to see his reaction. He hasn't run away. I blush, realizing what I've just said.

"And what, Parker?"

"Well, I guess that's mostly it. I was way too wild before we met. I didn't know what love was. I just fucked. Part of that scene is raw and rough and dangerous, to be honest. I don't want the danger anymore, but I miss the thrill. Have you ever fucked in an alley and had to stop in the middle so passing cops didn't notice you, and then started up again as soon as they were gone, practically daring them to come back?"

Tom's face finally went pale.

"Sorry. That's too much."

"No." He shook his head emphatically. "Nothing is too much. You can tell me anything. I don't know if I'm up to that quite yet, but I guess I can see the appeal. I can try to meet those needs as long as you work to help me understand how to do it."

Goosebumps erupt on my arms. Tom has heard my basest desires and barely flinched.

Tom frowns. "But, that's not going to quite work, is it?"

My goosebumps turn into cold chills that dance down my back. It was too much for him. This is where he runs away. He will break me when he leaves.

"It won't work if you have to tell me what to do and then I do it. You need me to just tell you to do wild things, right? That's the thrill? Being at the mercy of someone else's whims. Someone who knows you so well that he can take care of his own needs and your own at the same time?"

I nod. "That's definitely a big part of it. I want to know I'm making you happy which will make me happy."

Tom frowns. "That's going to take some getting used to. We'll work toward it, okay?"

My heart skips a beat. I stare with my mouth open.

He pushes me against the side of one of the vendor stands. His hands on my chest pin me against the wall. His lips suck on my neck. The hippie selling free-trade sweaters at the stand gives us the thumbs up while wandering over to an old lady feeling one of the sweaters. She and her friend are staring right at us.

"Tom, maybe we should go...."

"Right here, Parker. I want to kiss you right here."

My erection strains for freedom against my jeans. Parker's lips move to my mouth. I forget about the old ladies. They'll survive. I'm not sure if I will.

Tom's hands are everywhere. One is teasing my nipples, making me very happy to not be wearing a shirt. The other feels my bulge and then dives inside my pants to wrap around my dick.

"Tom, too much. I mean this is perfect, but too much. I'm not going to last much...."

Then his hands and mouth are gone. A smile covers his face.

"That was fun. I think I could get used to this. Let's go home. I've got some plans."

Holding hands, we run through the farmer's market and back to our apartment. I don't want to ever let go of that hand again.

Chapter 14

I can tell things are going to be different when Tom kicks his shoes off and just leaves them where they fall in the living room instead of lining them up just right in the entry closet.

Tom pins me against the front door so he can kiss me again. I can get used to him pinning me against things, his body telling me that I can leave when he says he's done with me.

My hands grab the hair on the back of his head. I don't ever want to let him out of my grasp. I just want to hold onto him until we get into the bedroom.

Tom has different ideas though.

He spins me around. My face presses against the small glass window on the top of door. A neighbor passes on the sidewalk out front walking his dog while Tom reaches around my waist, unzips my pants and pulls them and my underwear down to my knees.

I know the the dog walker can only see my face if he bothers to look, but I feel completely exposed anyway. Finally, Tom is pushing buttons the way that I have always craved that he would.

"Oh, is that for me?" he asks wrapping his hand around my dick.

"Yes, sir."

"Sir," he says with a laugh. "You're not going to call me sir."

Shit. I knew this was too good to be true.

I bend to pull up my pants.

And then it hits me. Literally. Tom's hand smacks my bare ass, making me fall forward against the door.

Stunned, I try to grab my pants again.

Tom's hand is too fast and too strong. Another smack to my ass freezes me, making me moan.

"You like that? Is that what you've been needing?"

"Yes, sir."

I need this and so much more but it definitely seems like we are on the right path.

With the third spanking, I flinch at the pain. My butt cheek is already starting to heat up. I am sure Tom is getting a great view of his handprint turning bright red on my pale skin.

"Not sir," he says again. "Something different. Master? No. My Lord? Yuck, not that either. How about Boss? You'll call me Boss tonight and I'll decide if I like that."

I swallow. Tom is taking control of me, but tailoring it for his own preferences. He isn't doing this to fulfill my fantasy. He's making me do this to fulfill his fantasy, and that is really what my fantasy has been all along. I need a strong, confident man to take charge, spank me when needed, and take what he needs.

"I'm going to give you ten for holding back on me for all these months. Back up, lean forward, and press your hands against the door."

In this position, I'm even more on display, despite barely being able to open my legs because of the pants.

Tom surprises me by not spanking me first, though. Instead, his thumb presses against my asshole, drawing a little circle that makes my knees turn to jelly and my dick twitch.

If only we had some lube handy, I'm sure Tom would push his thumb into me. Maybe he'll rush to the bedroom.

Tom doesn't go anywhere, and he doesn't leave my asshole alone. Instead, he pushes into me and then it is gone before I can adjust, relax, or even tell whether it hurt or not. The surprise at his boldness forces my head to turn and look at him.

For the movement, I receive a heavy blow to my other butt cheek.

"I didn't tell you to turn around. Now ten for holding in the secret this long. Stand still. I don't want to waste time with any more spanking than I need to do."

He steps to my side, facing me, and wraps his left arm under my stomach like he is planning to hold me up. When his right hand lands the first time, I realize that I might need that support when I'm done.

"Count them out."

"One...Boss." I remember to call him Boss at the last second and probably avoid an extra spanking.

"Two, Boss," I grunt.

By the time I get to ten, I'm breathing rapidly and fighting back a tear. My ass is on fire. I've practically collapsed into his support arm. I need the spanking to end so I can catch my breath, but I want it to go on forever.

I'm loving every second of Tom taking control.

Tom finally spins me around. He nibbles on my lip.

"How's that ass feel?"

"Good, Boss. Hot. Sore."

He smiles. "I bet. You took it well. Let's give it a break for a minute."

His hands press down on my shoulders, leaving no doubt that I'm expected to drop to my knees.

Tom tosses my dirty shirt that has been draped over his shoulder onto the couch. Who is this strange man who apparently no longer has a fear of stains?

His pants quickly join them. Spanking me has clearly turned him on. His fat, swollen cock is bouncing in front of my face. He rubs it against my forehead, cheek, and finally, my lips.

"What do you want, Boss?" I ask, making sure that I am looking him in the eyes.

"Your pretty lips wrapped around my dick."

"Yes, Boss."

I don't bother with subtleties of teasing him with my tongue. I grab the base of his dick with one hand and start sliding his cock into my lips. I can't take my eyes away from his erection which seems fuller and stronger than normal.

Am I having that effect on him?

He pulls my hair to drag my eyes back where they belong. We smile at each other before I start bobbing back and forth on him.

He breaks the eye contact first. Despite him giving the orders and me being on my knees, I still have some ways of exerting some control.

"Parker, that's...No, stop."

He pushes my face away.

"What did I do wrong, Boss?"

"You almost made me come too soon, you naughty monkey. I want to come in your ass tonight. Hurry to the bed. We need the lube."

I do my best to not look disappointed.

Please not the one finger, two finger, cock routine again.

Tom does not give me any time to pout or complain. He pushes and spanks me down the hallway. I am swatting at his hands while running full speed by the time we get to the bedroom. We are both laughing.

This definitely feels different, but my body still tightens when we enter the bedroom. Everything in our past tells me this is where we go back to our routine, vanilla and boring.

Then Tom pushes me onto the bed and starts rapid fire spanking me.

"I told you to hurry to the bed. Not to hurry and stop at the bedroom door. Follow directions, Parker."

Just as quickly as they start, the spankings end. I hear the bedside stand drawer open, hear the lid unscrew, but I don't feel the one finger.

Instead the jar of lube lands by my face.

"Up on the bed. On your knees."

The urgency and need in his voice reach places in my heart he has never reached before.

I need to help my Boss. He needs a release that only I can give him. He needs me.

"Yes, Boss."

Immediately after I get in place, Tom is behind me and then inside of me. No fingers to loosen me up. No warning that he is about to enter. He just takes me with his entire length. He doesn't hesitate to give me time to adjust. I hear the smack of our bodies each time he slams into me.

I scream his name.

He spanks one cheek and then the other. "Boss. I'm Boss tonight."

I can't say the word because I can't catch my breath.

Tom's grunting incoherent things at me and fucking me harder and faster than I've ever been fucked before.

His guttural scream is followed by him thrusting even harder three times before stopping completely inside me while he shoots load after load into me.

I'm still hard, but I'm exhausted and want to roll over and sleep. This has been an emotionally and physically demanding morning and I haven't been sleeping well anyway.

My Boss has other ideas.

He flips me over onto my back. With grunts and fingers pointing, he gets me laying on my back with my head by the headboard.

His eyes are still wild. He's still wearing his t-shirt and pink cardigan. In the heat of the moment, he never took them off. He removes them both now.

He pins my hands against the headboard and ties me to it with a figure eight and knot made out of the cardigan.

"Baby...Boss, I'm tired. We can..."

He shoves the t-shirt into my mouth, but immediately removes it and tosses it to the side. "Potato. If you need me to stop, say potato."

Like I would ever need you to stop.

"Ahh. Here we go," he says, straddling my legs.

He starts stroking my dick. Despite my exhaustion, my dick is still hard as a rock. His hand tightens firmly and he relentlessly jacks me off. His hand is a blur. With my hands tied and his weight on my legs, I can't even writhe or buck against his hand. I'm completely at his mercy.

A finger from his free hand enters my ass and starts massaging my prostate. His fingers on my dick tighten even further.

A grunt as I come all over my belly and chest.

Instead of rushing off for a washrag, Tom collapses onto me, trapping the mess between our bodies.

"Did I do it right?"

"Boss, that was perfect. That's why you're the boss."

We kiss. He rolls me over and spoons me.

"Potato?"

We both laugh.

"No idea. I just needed some way of making sure you were safe."

A bad boy who keeps me safe. Isn't that everyone's fantasy?

We fall asleep, messy, sticky, and together for good.

Chapter 15

After doing many circles around downtown and finding no spots, I drop Tom off in front of the shitty little gay bar with a row of motorcycles parked in front on the sidewalk. It takes me another five minutes until I finally find a spot.

Somehow, Tom commands attention sitting on the barstool wearing his baby blue cardigan and pale green slacks.

He has changed a lot in the last few weeks, all of it in good ways. He has some kind of magic bad boy trapped down underneath all that pastel. Anybody that can trap as much bad boy under such pretty boy clothing is someone to pay attention to. You never know when guys like that are going to snap, but when they do, it's going to be amazing.

He's fucking gorgeous, and powerful, and all mine.

Every head is turned watching Tom as if not really believing he is in their bar. Everyone else is wearing leather jackets, black metal band t-shirts, steel-toe boots and other rough, macho gear.

Tom hasn't noticed me yet.

The bartender approaches Tom and taps the counter. "What'll you have?"

"What kind of red...no, beer. Something from the tap. Two of them. My boyfriend will be here in a sec."

One of the burly, bear-of-a-trucker looking dudes wanders over from the pool table.

"'Sup, twink. Why don't you come over to my table and keep me company for a while until I'm ready to take you home."

Shit. This is a horrible idea. We should be home sipping wine and telling corny jokes with our tame friends or changing into our snuggly pajamas.

I'm starting to realize the reality of taking our bad boy games outside of the privacy of our own apartment. These guys won't just wander into another room like our dogs do when we get frisky.

My mind starts flailing for ways to get out of this mess that don't involve either calling 9-1-1 because one of us needs rushed to the hospital or sucking some stranger's dick in the middle of the bar.

Tom, however, just ignores the monster.

"Parker. You found a parking spot."

He hops down from his stool and pats the cushion, saying, "Have a seat. I ordered beer already."

He turns to see if the bartender has returned yet.

Meathead grabs Tom and spins him back around. "I was fucking talking to you. I said you need to come over here with me until I'm ready to take you home."

"Are you fucking serious?" Tom shouts at the jerk. "I understand the macho charade and I get that some people fall for that shit. But if your entire game revolves around being a gross pig and making demands of sex, I bet you go home alone pretty often. Well, that and your bad breath. Get the hell out of here before I take care of this in a way that maybe you'll understand a little better."

Parker pulls a gun from somewhere under his cardigan and holds it steadily at the bully.

The bully is frozen in place, barely breathing or blinking for several seconds. His first move is to drop his hands to the crotch of his blue jeans which has a dark spot of piss that is spreading down his legs. His next move is to turn and run out of the bar.

Laughing and catcalls that mock him as he passes ends the silence that I had not even noticed swallowed the room.

The bartender sets our beers in front of Tom. Tom drops a twenty on the bar, chugs the first, and then the second. He uses the sleeve of his cardigan to wipe the foam from his mouth.

That's going to leave a stain.

"What do you say we go home and handcuff you to the bed board?"

"Fuck yeah, my bad boy. Let's do it."

Bad boys come in all shapes and sizes. Some carry baseball bats when times get tough. Some carry guns. Mine happens to also wear cardigans.

But he's my bad boy.

The End

Thanks for reading!

Thank you for reading Not Another Bad Boy. I hope you enjoyed it!

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