break point: a m/m romance novella Page 6

  My eyelids lower and soft moans leave me at the pleasure.

  I tip his head back adoring the sight of his pink lips wrapped around my flesh and those pretty eyes of his watering. My palm on his head guides him to take me down deep, to the base. He chokes on my dick but doesn’t stop sucking on it. Slobbering away. Eventually my hips helplessly move, propelled by the tingling in my balls. My fingers hold onto his ears and soon, I’m plunging into his delectable mouth, fucking it hard, like it owes me money.

  He gurgles on my cock, places his hands behind him and leans against the sofa.

  My heart thunders in my chest when we shift and I find a more advantageous angle, aiming for his tonsils, sending my dick right down to his guts. I go deep, balls and all!

  One wet hot hollow tunnel.

  I plow into his face.

  He grunts with the rhythm. He chokes. He slobbers all over my dick until his face is a mess and my dress pants are ruined with stains the drycleaners will undoubtedly have hell getting out of them.

  I pant.

  Still fucking.

  The stroke grows feverish. Desperation is ripe in my balls. The shaft of my dick is stiff as fuck.

  A terrible wail rips from me.

  I hold onto his ears, pounding into his chin, attempting to impregnate his soul.

  He sucks in a breath.

  And that’s when I explode.

  It’s primal, soul-stirring, fucking memorable.

  He chokes violently but I don’t stop plowing into his face. I don’t let him go or allow him a reprieve for air. Only keep going.

  It’s an asshole move. One Channing would call “being a man”. Primal instinct drives me on.

  I pour everything down his throat with every savage thrust. The rest lands on his lips, his nose, his forehead…He’s a beautiful cum-covered mess with red ears. Unsteady on my feet, I back away, stunned at myself and maybe even a little repulsed at my own lack of consideration for another. Had he taught me this? I pull a handkerchief from my pocket and toss it to him. It hits him in the face then tumbles down to land right in his hands.

  “Thanks.” He nods.

  I pack my junk away, still out of breath and make my way back over to where he remains on his knees. I caress his cheek with my thumb. “I have somewhere I have to be later so you can’t stay long, I’m really sorry.” I dip down and kiss his lips, hating that it will be the very last one I put there.

  “I understand.”

  I’m sorry we can never be. We are complicated. When is anything in life ever not?

  Channing covers his hand with my own.

  Slowly, I extract mine from his grip, missing it already. “Okay, I march out of the room.”

  channing

  AFTER CLEANING MYSELF UP, I head for the den, following Rupert. “So, this is home?”

  “Yes, for now.” He heads toward the kitchen.

  Why haven’t I left yet?

  We fucked. I run. That’s the way it always goes. Yet, I linger.

  Oh, must I forget…we didn’t fuck.

  He

  fucked

  me…

  in the mouth.

  Viciously.

  Quite a difference, isn’t it?

  I came here to fuck him and somehow ended up on my knees. Go figure.

  Walking around a little more, I count the boxes which are piled up against the wall—exactly twelve of them all sealed shut. “I only realized about a week ago that I really know nothing about you.”

  Pulling open the Sub-Zero, Rupert glances over his shoulder and smiles. “There’s nothing to know, Channing. Besides, there’s no reason for us to really talk like that. It doesn’t offend me that you’ve never asked about my life.”

  I stand straighter. “And you’ve never asked about mine.”

  He shuts the refrigerator door and faces me. “Would you like for me to?”

  Yes.

  “No.” I smile.

  “Good then…”

  It’s still early afternoon so the day is still ripe.

  When will I see you again?

  With a breath, I look around. “So tomorrow then, same time.”

  Rupert drags a hand through his hair. “Actually, no, we can’t anymore.” He strolls toward me.

  No?

  He gives me that look…you know the one someone gives you right before they deliver the news that your grandmother has just died. His palm touches my cheek. “This was fun, Channing, but honestly, we can’t keep doing this. It isn’t fair to either of us.”

  Is he cutting me off?

  Preparing to ghost me?

  “I’m happy to continue coming to the club to play you on the court, to help your game get better.” He smiles. “But all the rest will have to stop.”

  “I-I-I—” I’m lost for words.

  I’ve been drop kicked in the stomach.

  Rejected like an ATM card withdrawal on an insufficient account.

  “We’re different.” He leans in close. “I care for you.”

  I care for you too.

  “But, I can’t fall in love with you, Channing.”

  I already have.

  “It’s just too complicated.” He frowns.

  I agree.

  I fight back my tears hating that I’m being pushed away from one of the nicest guys I’ve probably ever met. When have I ever paid much attention to the ‘nice guy’—the guy who usually doesn’t get all the dudes—the guy who usually gets stomped on by people—the guy who is probably the perfect guy for me?

  “Friends?” His hand lowers. Then he extends it in a handshake.

  I almost burst into laughter.

  Is this how being dumped feels?

  I’ve done away with plenty of people. No one discards me though—ever.

  I can’t breathe.

  Why does this hurt so much?

  It’s only been a month…In the span of a month, I’ve become a chump!

  Hit. Recover. Hit. Recover.

  Rupert’s expression is contrite. “Besides, now you can go and take care of that boyfriend of yours properly…”

  I squint. “I’m sorry, what?” I’m pulled from my nonsensical thoughts.

  “Didn’t you say you have a boyfriend?” He rubs a palm over the stubble on his cheek.

  “Yeah.” My response leaves me on a choked breath.

  “And you love him?”

  “Yeah.”

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  This is complicated.

  Love.

  Emotional purgatory.

  Lust absolute.

  Now, nothingness.

  “Good then.” Rupert smiles. “It’s been nice…” His blue eyes flicker up to mine. “You should go and give him everything you’ve got.”

  In this weird as fuck moment, maybe he’s absolutely right.

  Rupert has already waltzed away from me and is now sitting at his desk, perusing through papers. I stand motionless for more than just a beat feeling like shit. He gives me a sideways glance.

  “Well, I’ll be seeing you around then.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He sends me a humble smile. “Remember, we’ll always have tennis, Channing.”

  Sweet.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Smiling, I head for the door, twist the handle and disappear.

  rupert

  A WEEK LATER…

  I’d finally purchased a home. A place high in the Hollywood Hills that some three-piece-suit wearing-newbie-real-estate-agent had told me was one of the hottest properties on the market at the moment. That morning, I waltzed around the large and modern space and nodded my acceptance even though I was focused mostly on my cellphone, texting and fielding phone calls. I offered on the home which allowed me to exit The Beverly Hills Hotel and within a few days I was moved in to the new home and managed to get furniture delivered. Although I haven’t seen them yet, I was told my neighbor to the right of my new bungalow is Russell Brand and to the left it’s Robert Pattison.

  As
if I care....

  I am a man who lives in Hollywood and who doesn’t belong in Hollywood.

  Perhaps, I should attempt to start fitting in again.

  Smoothing the lapels of my suit jacket, I feel extraordinarily confident tonight, in a way I haven’t before. After that conversation we had a few weeks back, I’ve been looking forward to seeing him.

  I follow the GPS directions provided, pull over and park on a tree-lined street in a quiet neighborhood. Tonight, the sky is clear, the air is warm and the crickets chirp. It’s perfect for a relaxed dinner with wine and lots of laughter.

  My heart pounds wildly in my chest and my palms are sweating just a bit.

  This is good.

  This is what I should be doing.

  I truly now wonder what kind of man he is, really.

  Stepping out of the car, I clutch the white tulips in my hand tightly. I’d been told they’re his favorite. So instead of buying one, I purchased a dozen just to be on the safe side.

  Marching up the stone path, I ring the doorbell and wait while listening to the music which floats from the house.

  The door opens. “Rupert.” He pulls me in for a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Is it?” Pulling away, I scrunch my face.

  “Of course.” Another hug follows accompanied by a few slaps on the back.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.” He smiles.

  Reaching out, I shove my fingers into his hair and press a kiss to his cheek. “I just wanted to say—”

  He holds a hand out. “Can we talk about it later?”

  I dip my chin to my chest. “Of course we can.”

  channing

  I’VE HAD A WEEK to collect my shit, and trust me when I tell you, I’ve felt like utter shit.

  My days have been filled with classes at the country club and my nights have been spent staring at my cellphone. Guilt consumes me. But mostly wonderment does its job. The rejection. The hurt. The zero answers to my questions. Eventually, I learned to live without the closure and have decided to pour everything into what I have instead of chasing after everything I don’t need.

  I’ve been working on my game literally—on and off the court.

  I’d say maybe both are improving.

  In between that, I’d been reviewing reruns of the Andre Agassi and Pete Sampras match during the Australian Open in 2000 that it had been insisted I watch. The match was filled with tension. Nevertheless, just like the technical architect Agassi is, he methodically picked apart Sampras’ game plan and walked away with a win after being embroiled in an almost seven-hour match.

  The replay had taught me something about my technique on the court and in my life too, as maybe everything that had happened in the last few weeks had.

  Just because you fight for something doesn’t mean you deserve it.

  Complicated shit, right?

  However, it’s nothing but the truth.

  I know the general population doesn’t believe that you can love two people at once, wholly, completely, but I beg to differ from experience. I know it also popular opinion that love cannot develop from lust. Not sure I believe that one either. Problem is, I’m still figuring it out…

  Blame it on my youth.

  Running a hand over my jaw, I laugh.

  Honestly, my posture sucks. My shoulders aren’t as high, possibly weighed down by guilt, and my chin isn’t tipped as far back as I think it usually is. All new.

  Now, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror peering into my reflection’s eyes that at one time had looked empty. These days they look more full, as if life has bloomed behind them, and the content of my heart at one time had spilled out of each one of them. Yeah, I cried more than once for what I had lost. But I also was well aware of what I still possessed, and I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t fuck it up any more than I already had even if I hadn’t admitted to it.

  I love Harper.

  And at one point in time I had loved Rupert too.

  It’s complicated.

  Did I say that already?

  “Channing, get down here!” The voice cuts into my daydreaming then laughter echoes.

  Groaning, I leave the bathroom and bound down the stairs, then I freeze, taking slow steps when I reach the last five of them.

  “I thought this would be really cool.” Harper’s warm fingers curl around my arm yanking me closer. He faces the new guest who’s just arrived and who hasn’t stepped over the threshold as yet. “Do you remember when you told me you’d met a man, some rando, named Bartholomew?”

  Huh?

  A severe scowl hits my features.

  Harper laughs.

  But it isn’t what I’m focused on.

  My gaze drifts beyond to wide eyes fixed on me which are as blue as the Pacific Ocean. They’re filled with an emotion I’ve seen before—confusion, shock, fear, regret…

  What in the ever-loving hell is going on?

  My heart thumps away in my chest when I look at those damn eyes.

  God fuck, it’s still there.

  I sense danger.

  What is he doing here?

  I crumble on the inside at Harper’s bright hopeful smile when his gaze swings to mine, but still, manage a brittle grin.

  “So, do you remember?” Harper faces our new guest again.

  Just because you fight for it doesn’t mean you deserve it…

  “Um, y-y-yeah, of course.” A loud breath follows our guest’s admittance.

  “Channing, isn’t this funny?” Harper cracks up laughing. “I didn’t say anything at the time.”

  Louis Armstrong’s “When You’re Smiling” drifts from the stereo.

  Except only Harper is smiling. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

  I hang onto Harper’s every word which hasn’t been spoken yet, waiting to be let off the hook, hoping there’s some reasonable explanation for the intrusion tonight. Starved of air and feeling a little woozy, I wait, and I wait, and I wait.

  Rupert looks at us, but mostly glares at me, brows bent in a perfect V—an expression which tells me he knows nothing more than I do currently.

  Harper grins then presses a kiss to my cheek, one so full of the love I don’t deserve. “Welllll, I figured since Rupert has already met your father, Channing, that tonight would be a great night for you to meet mine.”

  Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

  -THE END-

  Thank you for reading!

  If you would consider leaving an honest review on Amazon or Goodreads, it would be greatly appreciated.

  about the author

  Lover of words. Poetry glutton. Cynic. Idealist. Art collector. Lip gloss addict. Wife. Mommy. Daddy’s girl. Music fan. Book whore. Beach bum. NERD. Madwoman. Water rat. Wine drinker. Bermudian. Las Vegas resident-wannabe. Hopeless romantic.

  I'm an independent author who had this crazy idea during one very, very hot summer to start writing books and I haven't stopped. I'm loving the ride and I appreciate all the readers who take the time to enjoy my stories.

  I live on the small sub-tropical island of Bermuda in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with my husband and two children. If you can't find me here on the beach, you can bet your G-strings I'm in Las Vegas!

  Love is what keeps the world spinning! XOXO

  Follow me on Instagram @ authordayadaniels

  I love hearing from readers! Feel free to email me with questions and comments @dayadaniels@yahoo.com

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