On Solid Ground Read online

  From the first moment I met him, I was drawn to him on a physical level. I can’t lie and say he hadn’t been the fucking hottest man I’d laid my eyes—or my hands—on in quite some time.

  But the more I got to know him, the more exposed his brokenness became, the more drawn to him I became. The clearer his imperfections grew, the deeper my attraction. And now, today, with the exposure of his goodness, I feel tied to him somehow—in a way that I can’t put to words.

  So when I get to work, the shop in a buzz of pre-opening procedures and general good-hearted banter, I lock myself in my room and let my drawings say what my words can’t.

  Only the loud banging from Ty pulls me away from my work an hour later. “You whacking off in here or something?” Ty jokes, peeking his head into the cracked-open door.

  “Fucking hysterical.” Closing my sketchpad, I slide it into the open drawer. The thought of rubbing one out real quick did cross my mind, but I thought better of it. “How you feeling?” I ask, genuinely concerned about him.

  “Fine. Been a while since I got the wind knocked out of me like that, but I’ll live.” Ty rubs a hand over his bruised ribs, wincing a little. “Thanks for the free drinks though. So where’d you guys go?”

  “None of your fucking business,” I snap.

  “Whoa! Someone’s got their panties in a bunch, huh? You must really like him,” he mocks like a petty high school kid.

  With the exhaustion of the last week weighing on me, I sink into the chair and let out a loud sigh of frustration. “Yeah, I do.” Scrubbing a hand through my beard, I feel the tingles of a smile begin simply thinking about Dax. “But it’s the worst possible fucking timing ever.”

  Leaning against the counter, Ty folds his arms over his chest. “Yeah? Why’s that?” The mock playfulness is gone, replaced by seriousness.

  “Well, let’s see,” I huff sarcastically. “Nikki’s in rehab. I’ve just been locked in a two-week battle with her and Child Protective Services over Violet who’s now living with me. Starting something new with a guy I don’t know, who has a shit ton of his own issues, it just doesn’t seem like the most stable thing to do right now.”

  “Now that you mention it, where is she? You didn’t leave her with that moth-ball smelling neighbor of yours did you?” He’s half-joking, half-worried. Old Mrs. Adams is related to Nurse Ratchet somehow, I’m sure.

  “No, she’s with Dax.” Ty laughs, almost uncontrollably. “What’s so funny, asshole?”

  “You are, dickweed.” He finally calms himself enough, and I smile at the fact that his fit of laughter caused his bruised ribs more than a little pain. “Here you are telling me all the reasons now is not a good time, yet he’s the one you leave your niece with. Sure, he’s got issues, my ribs can attest to them, but you still took care of him when he flipped the fuck out. Maybe it’s not the best time in your life or his, but there’s something there whether you want to acknowledge it or not.”

  The bell above the door rings out, announcing the arrival of the first customer of our jam-packed night. “Think about it. Just because it doesn’t seem like it’ll work, doesn’t mean it won’t.”

  On that little gem of advice, Ty walks out of the room, greeting his first clients, yelling back at me that mine are here as well. Though the night is crazy busy, Ty’s words echo in my head as the tattoo gun vibrates in my hand.

  Both exhausted and exhilarated from a long night, I close up the shop a few hours later, anxious to get home and see how well Dax survived. I should have called him, but I honestly didn’t have a free minute. He would have called me if something went wrong, so I let myself stay focused on work, choosing to believe him that he’d be fine.

  As I slide the key into the front door, light flickering from the television in the living room window, an odd feeling settles around me. Someone’s waiting up for me. That’s never happened before. Sadly, I’ve never had someone to come home to. Especially when I was a kid. Most parents would leave the porch light on, signaling they’re waiting up for their kid to come home. It was the exact opposite in our house. Fuck if the porch light even worked half the time. Then by the time Mom died, I was the one waiting up for Nikki to come home. More times than not, she never did.

  Pushing back those feelings of failure, I enter the apartment as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake anyone up. Some fairy princess movie is playing on the screen and Dax is sprawled out on my couch. Violet is curled at his side, wrapped in her favorite blanket, her stuffed dog tucked under her arm. Tonka lifts his head when I step into the room, letting out a loud bark.

  Dax jumps from the couch and Tonka charges at me. “Tonka. Stay,” Dax’s startled voice commands, halting the dog before he leaps on me. “Come. Sit,” he continues, calling the dog back to sit next to him at the couch.

  Violet stirs at his side. How she’s managed to stay asleep up to this point is a mystery to me. But as she rolls over, her stuffed animal falls from her arms. She realizes she’s alone on the couch and she cries out, “Mommy! Mommy! I want my mommy!”

  Immediately moving to her side, Dax quiets her cries before they get too out of control. “Shh, it’s okay.” He pulls her on his lap, brushing a gentle hand through her wildly untamed hair. Tonka leaps on the couch next to them, resting his snout on her tiny leg. Between Dax’s soothing words and Tonka’s silent encouragement, Violet relaxes. A few moments later, she’s yawning and can barely keep her eyes open.

  Finally asleep, Dax lays her on the couch, Tonka lying alongside her. Dax stands, pressing a finger against his lips. We walk into the adjoining kitchen where he sits in a chair, resting his elbows on the table. After grabbing two beers from the fridge, I hand him one and slide into the seat next to him. “Thanks,” he grunts, before taking a long, hard chug.

  “Rough night?” He shoots me the side eye, forcing me to laugh at the way his face is twisted up.

  Pinching his finger and thumb together, he says, “A little bit.” A long swig of his beer lets some relaxation set in on his shoulders.

  “She’s really taken to you though. Tonka, too. Can’t believe you’ve only had him the day. I swear that dog was going to go for my jugular when I walked in the door.”

  “It was probably the tea party that bonded us forever. Or maybe it was the nail salon.” He holds his hands up, palms facing toward him, showing me the pink sparkly tips.

  Nearly spitting out my beer, I can’t stop laughing.

  “Yeah, really funny.” Even though his words sound like he should be angry, the half-smile on his face totally gives him away. “I’m sure Chloe has some remover at home.” He looks down at his watch. “I should get going,” he adds, taking the final swig of his beer.

  “Thanks for tonight,” I say as I awkwardly reach into my pocket for some money. “Here,” I hand him a wad of bills. “I don’t know what the going rate for a babysitter is, but this should cover it.”

  He shakes his head, letting out an angry huff of laughter. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Tossing the money down on the counter, he pushes back in the chair, letting it screech along the floor. Tonka picks up his head from next to Violet, but Dax tells him to stay.

  “Listen, Dax,” my words sound lame. He must be able to tell what’s about to follow. His body language is screaming Please, tell me more, in the most sarcastic of voices. Despite the non-verbal warnings he’s shouting at me, I continue. “I really appreciate what you did for me tonight. For Violet, too. But now is just not a good time for this.” I motion between us as Dax curtly nods at me, pretending to agree with what I’m saying. “Take this.” Holding out the money he tossed on the table, I step closer to him. “I’m sorry, man. Maybe we can still be friends.” It’s the lamest line in the history of lame lines, but I say it anyway.

  His long fingers wrap around my hand. He pulls the money out of my palm, then turns my hand over, holding it in his. “I didn’t stay here for your money,” he whispers. There’s hardly any space between us. With a gentle force, he tugs my arm
toward his face, twisting it so that the part of my palm, where thumb meets wrist, is right near his lips. Keeping his eyes focused on mine, there’s something unnamable in them. If I had to take a guess, I’d call it anger mixed with desire. His teeth sink into the meaty flesh, lightly, only nibbling, but hard enough to leave a small sting—over which he quickly works his lips and tongue. “I stayed for this,” he says against my skin, tracing over the lines of a tattoo with his tongue, traveling up my arm.

  “Dax,” I plead—to stop or go on, I’m not sure at first. Looking over his shoulder, I see Violet lying on the couch. That’s when I decide it’s to stop. He needs to stop. “Please,” but of course the word comes out more like begging. “We need to stop,” I finally manage.

  “No, you need to listen.” He drops my arm, resting his hand on my hip, pulling me up against his hard and ready body in one swift motion. Through the rough fabric of our jeans, I can feel his dick resting hard against my own. “Don’t tell me to leave, not when you feel like this.” He pushes his cock against mine just to prove his point.

  “The timing’s for shit, though. With Nikki and Violet,” my ramblings are unanswered as Dax’s lips are busy attacking my neck, dancing along my bearded jawline.

  “As if I’m in the best place ever.” His warm breath sends shivers over my skin, as he traces the outer shell of my ear with just the tip of his tongue. “My life’s for shit. I walked out on my family, moved all the way out here to figure out who the hell I am.” Pulling away from me, his eyes scan my face, darting between my lips and my eyes. “Turns out, I’m not so sure that I like what I’ve found.” The sadness weighs so heavily on his words, they drop to the floor between us, leaden weights of truth.

  Turning his head away from mine, he hides his eyes. But on some primal level, the level on which I feel we’re connected, I know there’s frustration there. Cradling his jaw, I pull his face back to mine. “I like who you are,” I declare softly.

  Tilting my head, I indicate the small balcony attached to the kitchen. When we step outside, the humid sea air-laden breeze washes over us. Dax and I rest our elbows on the railing, facing out to the ocean. “Maybe you’re right. I should just go and maybe we can be friends.”

  I don’t know why, but I can’t spit out any words. It’s his brokenness again. He’s right here next to me—vulnerable and open—and like some kind of asshole, I’m pushing him away saying how it’s just not good timing.

  He pushes off the railing to walk back inside—and probably away from me for good. The reality that there’s no reason for us to meet up again makes my hand reach for him, pull him back to me and keep him close, if even just for this one night.

  But as soon as I touch his skin, I know it’ll never be for one night only.

  He feels it too, because in two seconds flat, he’s pushed me up against the four-foot wall of the balcony, locking me in place with his strong arms and even stronger lips. Wedging his thigh in between my legs gives me some kind of relief against the mounting pressure of my dick. “Dax,” I moan into his open mouth.

  “Just shut up. Let me have this. Just let me have this and then we can tell ourselves all the lies about how it’ll never work.”

  There’s no arguing with his logic, especially as his fingers work nimbly at the button and fly of my jeans. As he kicks apart my legs, he accidently knocks into the small barbeque, making it topple over in a loud crash.

  The sliding door of my neighbor’s balcony quiets us. We slide to the cool concrete floor, hoping not to be caught by old Mrs. Adams. “Who’s out there? What are you doing?” she calls out into the dark in her shaky, old-lady voice. I have to say, I’m surprised she’s even awake. I laugh to myself thinking it’s more likely that she’s awake for the next day than it is that she’s still up from the night before.

  “She can’t see us down here, can she?” Dax asks, resting on his elbow next to me.

  “No. She’s blind as a bat during the day time. Now, she’s as blind as a blind bat.”

  My stupid joke gets no reaction. Even in the pitch black of the night, I see his eyes widen. “Good,” he snickers, resuming his fumbling with my pants.

  “Dax,” I protest lamely.

  Determined to either prove me wrong or shut me up—or both—he ignores me completely. I have no choice but to lift my hips and let him slide my pants down to my ankles. With a quick flick, I toe off my shoes. Looking up at him as he kneels between my spread legs, I revel in the astonished look on his face.

  Wasting no time, he wraps his hand around my dick, stroking it, alternating between soft, longing caresses and hard, demanding pulls. “You’re fucking huge,” his voice takes on a mesmerized quality, as if watching my dick disappear into his palm is actually hypnotizing him. “And this,” he circles his thumb over my piercing, “is pretty much the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Lost in my own need, I push up into his hand. “Fucking shit. Your hand,” I groan.

  “Wait until you get my mouth,” he taunts, continuing to jerk me in unhurried strokes.

  “Oh, fuck.” He’s building the anticipation amazingly, bringing me close to the edge before backing off, letting me calm just enough, before pushing me there once again.

  “Now it’s my turn.” There’s a dual edge to his words—one that promises pleasure, one that threatens repayment. In thrashes of heat, his tongue traces hot lines up my thigh, along my hip bone, across my stomach, stopping only to nip at the flesh of my stomach. As one of his hands runs up my shirt to tweak my nipple, the other wraps tightly around my dick, pulling it closer to his mouth. With teasing licks, he uses the tip of his tongue, running it from base to tip, over every ridge and vein, flicking it over the pierced tip, making me shiver with need.

  “Just fucking suck it already,” I beg after a few more passes of his torture.

  A sexy grin appears on his face as he nods, dipping it close to my dick. “Yes, Sir,” he responds with as much seriousness as he can muster. The salutation makes me grow another inch in his hand before he takes me to the back of his throat in one smooth motion.

  This is most definitely not his first blow job. No one is that good at sucking dick without some kind of practice.

  Holding my hips in place, he bobs up and down, over and over again. “Oh, fuck, Dax,” I call out, thrusting my hips up into his face despite the firm grip in which he currently has me locked.

  With a loud pop, he releases my cock from his mouth, extending a hand to me. “Get up,” he demands. “I’m busting up my knees out here and I want to finish this off right.”

  Who the fuck am I to argue with that, especially when I’m a few minutes away from an orgasm I’m sure to remember for a good long time.

  “Walk behind me,” he instructs as we step back into the kitchen. “I’m sure you don’t want to scar her for life if she wakes up.”

  Carefully, and surprisingly quietly, we tiptoe into my room. “Where the magic happens,” I spread my arms to the side—MTV Cribs style, putting my pig-pen of a room on display.

  “Maybe you ought to include a maid in on that magic,” he jokes, pushing me down onto the bed. In a fluid motion, he grabs his shirt from behind, pulling it over his head and tosses it on the floor. Following suit, I chuck mine next to his. Sitting naked on my bed, waiting for him to join me, watching him walk toward me like he’s hunting his prey, the sexual tension grows thicker by the second. The heat of his body radiates off him as he stands between my legs. When I reach for his fly, he swats my hands away. “Let me.” There’s a hint of teasing in his words, one that makes me gladly sit on my hands as he strips for me.

  The dim light of the beach did not do him justice. His body is literally a work of art—sculpted, chiseled, designed to utter perfection. His dick juts straight out from his body, bobbing under its heavy weight, begging for some kind of attention.

  “Now?” I ask, eyeing his waiting cock.

  A subtle nod is all I need before taking him into my mouth. “Fucking he
ll,” he moans, wrapping his strong hand around the back of my head, guiding me over his body in controlled, smooth motions. When his legs start shaking, I pull him down to the bed.

  “Everything about this, about us, is screaming at me that it’s not right,” I confess, in between hard kisses.

  “Why’s that?” He bites my lip.

  I chuckle, a disbelieving sound. “You’re you. As straight-laced as they come.”

  Rubbing his thick erection up against my own, he laughs. “Nothing about this is straight. And didn’t someone once say something about opposites attracting or some shit like that?”

  “It’s just not–”

  “Just shut the fuck up already.”

  And if I had any plan of continuing to talk, Dax stops them completely with his mouth, his tongue plunging in and out, promising of something much more.

  Even in the limited space between our bodies, we both stroke each other with a frenzied need. “Condoms? Lube?” he asks, licking down my neck.

  “Drawer.” I reach to the side table and pull out what we need.

  “You okay down there? Or did you want to–”

  “I’m fucking perfect right where I am.”

  With that, he rolls the condom down his shaft, drenching it in the lube. With his slickened fingers, he probes at my ass, just an inch at a time. Pressing against his touch, I help him in stretching and readying me.

  “Dax, now.”

  When he attempts to roll me over, I resist. If we’re just going to have this one time, I’m going to look him in the eyes and remember it. A sad look passes over his face and he shakes his head at me, resigned, but he doesn’t try to roll me over again.

  Hooking my leg into the crook of his elbow, I’m open and exposed—ready for him in every way. His cock pushes against my ass and quickly the pain recedes, vanishing completely before turning into the most pleasurable pressure ever.

  “Holy fuck, Beck. So hot. So tight.” His legs give out under his weight and he falls on top of me, dropping my leg and leaning his elbows on either side of my head.