Breakfast Included, page 7
“Well . . .” Reno dragged out and smirked. “I believe there is a rule about mistletoe that is wise to obey.”
Tate leaned closer. “Indeed, there is.”
Reno closed the gap and pressed his mouth to Tate’s. His lips were both soft and firm, and the hairs of his beard tickled Tate’s chin. Desire rushed through his veins, and he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over Reno’s and sliding his tongue along the seam of his lips. Reno opened, and his tongue twined and twirled with Tate’s in a slow dance that sent a cascade of excitement tumbling over his skin.
A throat cleared, and Reno pulled back—eyes shining, lips moist and curved into a sexy smile, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Tate covertly adjusted himself.
“Hot,” Grady said gruffly and walked down the bar to serve another guest.
“Jeez.” Tate picked up his drink, still panting from that moment of very much not G-rated PDA. He motioned for Reno to lift his as well. “Cheers.”
Reno clinked his glass.
“Cheers,” Reno repeated and took a sip. His eyes rolled back. “Mmm . . . This is heavenly.”
Tate nodded. The drink was light and refreshing with a kick of vodka—which was exactly what he needed to distract him from the indecent moan that had escaped Reno’s throat. Tate wanted to be the one to make him moan like that.
“Come on.” Tate put his drink down and reached for Reno’s hand. He craved the physical connection. “Let’s dance before you play.”
The music was upbeat with a quick tempo. Reno moved his hips in perfect rhythm with the beat effortlessly while Tate tripped over his own feet. But it didn’t matter, not with the way Reno was looking at him like he was the greatest dessert on the planet. Tate swallowed thickly and had to fight back springing a full-on erection in the middle of the dance floor for all to see.
With a teasing smirk, Reno spun around and ground his backside against Tate, his ass sliding over Tate’s aching cock. Jesus. The man was going to kill him.
Tate wrapped his arms around Reno’s middle and held him tight as they swayed. Reno dropped his head back and angled himself to kiss Tate’s jaw. Then he pushed away, slipped out of Tate’s embrace, and danced a couple of feet away. Far too many feet for Tate’s liking. Reno gave his body a slow perusal, paused at the bulge in his pants, and beamed as he danced back. He leaned in close.
“Think about Grandpa’s false teeth floating in a dirty glass of water,” Reno whispered in his ear.
“Ugh!” Tate laughed and pushed Reno back. That was a visual he didn’t want, but the effect worked like a bucket of cold water. “That was cruel.”
“It’s working though, right?”
The song ended, and Clark, who had been their speed-dating host, took the stage with a microphone in hand.
“Good evening, everyone,” Clark greeted. “Circumstances aside, I hope you’re all enjoying your stay here.”
Clark’s greeting was met with cheers and a few whistles before he continued.
“We have a special guest tonight who will be taking the stage to play the piano for us all. Where are you, Reno?”
“Right here!” Reno waved. He gave Tate a quick kiss and then made his way through the crowd to the stage.
Reno hopped up and stood beside Clark, smiling, and Tate’s heart did a funny little swoop in his chest at the sight. Reno hadn’t put any product in his hair, so it hung loose over his forehead—the strands glittered red and blue and golden under the colorful festive lighting. The sparkle in his eyes was visible all the way across the room, and his smile . . . Talk about melting hearts with a smile. For all that Reno didn’t want fame, he looked right at home up there under the spotlight. Like a rock star.
“Reno Pierce, everyone,” Clark introduced him with a wave of his hand and passed the mic to Reno.
The crowd clapped while Clark left the stage, and Reno got himself settled behind the piano. He adjusted the microphone and after running a quick scale on the keys, asked the audience for requests. Without hesitation, Reno began to play, song after song, completely in his element, and Tate was mesmerized.
He’d been attracted to Reno back in the day, even though he’d never allowed himself to admit it—until that night at the party when he’d found Reno coming out of the bathroom and kissed him. It had been impulsive, reckless, but he didn’t regret it for a second. It was his actions after that he regretted.
Reno was cute then, but he’d grown into a stunning man and a beautiful human being. Tate kicked himself mentally for not being strong enough back then. Maybe they would have had all these years together if he’d accepted himself and come out.
But then, maybe they’d needed the time to grow on their own, so they’d be ready for each other to meet again someday. Like randomly at a speed-dating event in the mountains, where an avalanche trapped them together. He grinned and found Reno staring back at him with a grin of his own, as if Reno could hear his thoughts. Or maybe he was thinking the same thing.
People continued shouting out songs for Reno to play, and he obliged every request effortlessly. Some were popular songs, some were obscure, someone even requested a classical, and of course, there was a good dose of Christmas carols where the whole crowd sang along. But no matter what was thrown at him, Reno played it like a pro. Tate had always known his talent for music was well beyond the average kid’s abilities. Ricky had proudly stated that his brother was a prodigy to anyone who would listen. Tate didn’t know what it took to be a prodigy, but he did know Reno could play multiple instruments, could compose, teach, and had one of those ears that could hear something once and it would be locked in his magical mind forever. And he sang on top of all that . . . He was sheer brilliance, and Tate wanted nothing more than to bathe in his light for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to spend another day without Reno beside him.
His breath caught. Light bloomed in his chest and trickled out along the winding trails of his veins, and every nerve ending tingled and sparked. His head spun as his future flashed before his eyes—a future with Reno in it.
The realization hit him like an avalanche, and the rightness of it knocked him off-balance. He turned, pushed through the crowd, and hustled over to the bar. He crashed his chest up against the edge and panted like he’d just run a marathon.
Grady gave him a funny look. “What’s up, man?”
“I need something,” Tate said, breathless.
“To celebrate or forget?”
“Celebrate.” Tate frowned. “Hopefully.”
Grady smiled and slapped a hand on the bar surface. “I have just the thing.”
He turned to one of the small fridges behind the bar and pulled out a tray of red and white shots. He grabbed one, hesitated, and grabbed a second before returning the tray.
“Santa hat Jell-O shots.” Grady slid them across the bar to Tate. “Strawberry Jell-O spiked with vodka and topped with whipped cream and a fresh strawberry ‘hat.’”
“Wow,” Tate exclaimed. “Those look too good to drink. Or eat, I guess?”
“Bottoms up, my man,” Grady said with a lopsided grin.
Tate snorted and ate the half strawberry on top before he swallowed the first shot back in two gulps. “Oh my god. That is amazing. You’re brilliant, Grady.”
Grady puffed his chest out. “And don’t you be forgetting it.”
The music stopped, and Tate turned around to see if Reno was done, but he was still at the piano. Reno was taking a sip of a drink someone had sent over—another mistletoe martini, it looked like. He was watching Tate over the wide rim of the glass. He smiled, and Tate damn near melted to the floor right there. Tate wasn’t too embarrassed to admit he may have even simpered. He was done for. Totally and irrevocably gone on that man. He raised his second Santa hat shooter to Reno, wrapped his lips around the small glass, and shot it back.
Reno cleared his throat and into the microphone said, “I’d like to play a song now for someone special. Someone who meant a lot to me in my early life and still does.” Looking right at Tate, he said, “This one is for you, babe.”
Babe.
Reno began to play, his gaze steady on Tate as he caressed the keys. Tate’s knees weakened. It only took a couple of bars for him to recognize the catchy toe-tapping beat by Jason Mraz. It was playing at the party the first time they’d kissed.
And when Reno reached the chorus and sang, “I’m yours,” directly at Tate, he felt like the ground had fallen away and he was sailing down the mountainside on a cushion of powdered snow.
Reno played a couple more songs after that and then wished everyone a Merry Christmas before he excused himself. He grabbed a large glass that had been sitting on the top of the piano, now filled with bills. He stepped off the stage, slid through the crowd to reach Tate, and stood there looking at him for a second, unsure.
“Did you like it?” he asked with a note of vulnerability in his voice.
“You were amazing,” Tate whispered, his own voice raw with emotion. There weren’t enough words to describe how much he liked watching Reno play. “I loved it.”
Reno raised the tip jar. “Let’s find Bryan. I want him to donate this to the local LGBTQ center.”
Tate nodded, and his heart flipped over at Reno’s kindness and generosity. Words escaped him, so he leaned forward and kissed Reno with everything he felt in that moment.
“You taste like strawberry,” Reno said when the kiss finally ended. He ran his tongue over his lips. “I wonder if you taste the same in . . . other places.”
Tate groaned. “Hurry up and find Bryan so we can get out of here.”
“Right.” Reno was having trouble forming full sentences, but he was on a mission now. “Yes.”
Reno weaved through the crowd while the blood in his veins thrummed with excited energy. He found Bryan standing by the bar, talking with Grady, and slammed the tip jar on the counter harder than he’d intended. Both men’s heads snapped to him, their eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Sorry,” Reno said sheepishly. “I gotta go. Bryan, please give this to your local LGBT center. And thank you again for letting me play.”
“Thank you, Reno,” Bryan started, but Reno didn’t hear if he said anything else.
He spun around and crashed into Tate, who he hadn’t realized had followed him to the bar. God, he was gorgeous. Reno could not wait a single second longer. It wasn’t humanly possible. He needed Tate fiercely. Alone and naked and sweating and flushed. He grabbed Tate’s hand.
“Come.”
Bryan and Grady’s knowing laughter echoed behind him as he dragged Tate out of the event room and across the lobby. His free hand was on the handle of the large glass door that led outside when Tate tugged him back.
“We need our jackets,” Tate said with a wince.
Reno cursed under his breath. He looked outside, back where they’d just come from, and outside again. They could make it, right? It wasn’t that far, and they could warm each other up. He trembled, picturing their bodies writhing together.
Tate laughed. “You stay here. I’ll go get them.”
“Run,” Reno growled.
Reno stepped outside while he waited for Tate to return and welcomed the cold blast of air. That was exactly what he needed to temper the raging desire pounding inside his body.
The doors swung open, and Tate spilled out. He tossed Reno’s jacket at him and kept walking. Reno shoved his arms into his jacket sleeves as he walked. He fell into silent and determined step beside Tate. The snow had all but stopped, the path had been cleared, and the walk to the cabin wasn’t all that long, but to Reno, it felt like an eternity. His breath puffed out before him, fragile silk clouds on a chilly night, and led the way.
He noticed colorful lights on a few of the cabins and briefly thought that he and Tate should put lights up on theirs too. Nah. He’d rather spend whatever time they had left stranded in bed with Tate. Surely, they could survive on eggs and toast for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for however long it took the crews to clear the roads.
Finally, their cabin came into view, and Reno picked up the pace.
Tate overtook him on the front porch, shoved the door open with enough force that it banged against the wall inside, and started kicking off his shoes while struggling out of his jacket before Reno fully cleared the threshold. He smiled, charmed that Tate was as eager as he was to get horizontal. Or vertical. Or whatever. The position didn’t matter so long as they were naked.
Reno kicked the door shut behind him, and Tate was on him. Kissing him with frantic need as he clumsily helped him out of his jacket.
Reno chuckled into Tate’s mouth. “Let me.”
Reno yanked his arms free, and his jacket fell to the floor without care. His boots were off without any recollection of physically removing them. The only thing he could think of was Tate in his arms. Tate kissing him. Tate scrabbling at him, hands grabbing his back, his neck, cupping his face, his ass.
Reno held Tate tightly but nudged him backward.
“Bedroom,” he gasped. “Now.”
“Bossy. I like it.”
Reno grabbed at Tate’s shirt and started unbuttoning it as Tate swooped in for another powerful kiss while they stumbled toward the bedroom like a couple of drunks. The shirt fell to the ground, and Reno worked open Tate’s pants. Tate pulled Reno’s shirt up and over his head, and he growled his complaint at the interrupted kiss. Free of his shirt, Reno dove back in for Tate’s mouth. He couldn’t get enough. Tate tasted sweet like strawberry but with a sharp bite from whatever alcohol had been in the shooters. He chased Tate’s tongue, wanted to crawl inside with him. To lose himself in the one man who’d starred in his every erotic dream since he was a kid.
They crashed into the bed, and Tate pulled Reno down on top of him as he fell backward. Reno kissed Tate’s mouth, his chin, and nibbled down his throat to his collarbone as Tate heaved beneath him. Reno eased back and slid his hands slowly over Tate’s chest. He twirled his fingers in the fine red hairs that dusted Tate’s pecs and abs. His mouth watered as he soaked up all that masculine beauty on display just for him.
“You are gorgeous,” he whispered reverently.
“I was thinking the same of you,” Tate panted.
Reno shifted so his body dropped between Tate’s legs, and he kissed a trail down Tate’s stomach. He followed the lead of his hands as he roamed lower and lower. Tate bucked and moaned when he wrapped a hand around Tate’s cock, hot and silky and so hard. Slowly, he slid his hand up and down. He almost laughed in disbelief. Marveled that this was really happening. That he was in bed with Tate Boylan. The man of his every teenage fantasy and the man who still appeared regularly in his dreams. Never in a million years could he have seen this coming.
Every single dream paled in comparison to the real thing. The very real sounds of Tate’s needy breath and raw groans emanating from deep within his chest, and the unique smell of his soft skin, and the taste of his lips . . . and his cock—salty and bittersweet and heavenly—as Reno took Tate into his mouth.
Tate garbled unintelligible words, and his fingers found purchase in Reno’s hair as Reno caressed Tate’s length with his tongue. He swirled and sucked, brought Tate to the edge and held him there. He eased back and let Tate’s cock slip from his mouth with a pop, which earned a colorful curse. Reno smacked him playfully on the stomach.
“Please tell me you top,” Reno rasped.
“I top,” Tate replied, his voice reedy and rough. “And bottom.”
Reno groaned at the thought of being inside Tate. But first he wanted to be filled by Tate, owned by him . . . “And you have supplies?”
“I have supplies.”
“I want you so bad, you don’t even know,” Reno all but whined.
Tate laughed, low and husky. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”
Tate tugged on Reno’s arms, encouraging him to crawl back up his body, and kissed him like a starving man. He rocked them and easily flipped Reno over so he was on his back and looking up into Tate’s gorgeous hazel eyes. Desire thrummed through him.
“Stay right here,” Tate ordered.
He jumped off the bed and dug into his overnight bag, which had been sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. He rummaged around for a minute and then stood with a victorious arm raised in the air, a packet of condoms and lube held tightly in his fist.
He jumped back on the bed and straddled Reno. “How do you like it?”
“Any way you want, as long as you fuck me,” Reno replied, and he meant it. This was Tate. Though they’d never been together, he knew Tate would be a considerate and caring lover. Reno had complete trust in him. He didn’t know why, since just last night, he’d panicked that Tate would leave him again. But right now, all those fears seemed silly.
“I don’t want to fuck you,” Tate whispered, and before the words had a chance to cut through Reno’s lust haze, Tate added, “I want to make love to you.”
Reno stared up at Tate, and he felt it. He saw the warmth and adoration swimming in Tate’s eyes, and he knew right then Tate was going to be a part of his life from now on. His heart pounded faster, and bliss flooded into his chest and spread throughout his body as emotion overwhelmed him. His vision blurred, and he blinked away the tears of joy that had gathered.
“Then love me,” he croaked.
And Tate did. Reno writhed and bucked under Tate’s hands, completely under his spell, under his control. Tate had become the composer and Reno his instrument. He played Reno like a maestro, plucking all his strings, hitting all the right chords, somehow knowing exactly what notes to play and how long to hold them. Tate’s body engulfed him, held him, rode him, filled him, and Reno’s every nerve sang in ecstasy as the delicious tension in his being increased as he raced toward climax.
Tate’s hand, hot and firm, wrapped around Reno’s throbbing cock and pumped up and down as he pumped in and out of Reno.
“Come for me, baby,” Tate growled. “Come for me.”
Reno shouted as his vision whited out. His body exploded, blew apart, and Tate held him through it all, kept his pieces together until he floated back down to earth, thoroughly and completely undone.
