Jingle Bell Roc

6

My Little Strummer Boy

Jack made me stupid. He made me crazy. He made me fall in love.

And drinking beer and getting tanked was not a smart way to deal with my heartbreak. He eventually left my landing. He left the building. I watched from my window as he walked down the road, the streetlamp's glow a halo over his downcast head.

He left my life.

Jane—on the other motherfucking hand—wouldn't get the hell out of it. Phone calls, texts, voice mails. Ignore, ignore, ignore. No matter how much I turned a blind eye to her incoming messages, I couldn't get out of working the biggest night of the year—New Year's Eve.

I certainly didn't make a big fuss out of getting ready for work that night. I barely stood under the shower long enough to soap up and run a toothbrush across my teeth. The leathers and T-shirt I pulled on before I was completely dry, and a hand-rake made do for a brush through my hair.

It didn't matter how much I wanted to hate Jack, I searched him out the second I took the ticket and checked the ID of the last person in line and headed inside Mosh. Up on stage, Jack was beautiful as ever, and so goddamn untouchable no matter the number of times I'd kissed him or held him. Just a wanderer, who already had the love of his life and maybe used me for a little bit of solace because I would've given anything to him.

Pain washed over me in a choking tide of sadness.

Maybe I should write some fucking song lyrics too.

As I cruised through the crowd in the overheated, overflowing room, the lights dimmed further. A spot hit Jack, and he sat alone in the middle of the stage on a stool. He focused on his hands working the acoustic he almost never played in here, strumming out a few haunting notes.

When he began to sing, his voice—passionate, guttural, all the things I loved about it—cut through the roaring club noise and arrowed right inside of my chest. I stood stock-still as he lifted his face, peering through raven black hair straight at me.

I fell back onto a barstool when the force of his searing song swirled inside my ears. He got to his feet, on the edge of the stage, his fans going insane below him. He didn't look anywhere but at me.

The lyrics made my heart slip and slide inside my chest. Made my teeth ache, my eyes well. It wasn't a rock anthem but a love song. A ballad, to me. He sang so surely, voice hungry and deep. How the sun climbed through my window while we lay in bed and he watched me sleep. How he wanted to be the sunlight on my skin and in my heart. The light on my face, like the light I poured into his soul.

I rubbed a hand over my mouth and tried to swallow. I couldn't tear my eyes away, not when he sang of the way I kissed him—full of every longing he'd ever felt. Every longing only I eased. My fingertips pushed into my thighs and I wet my lips when he jumped off the stage. The crowd screamed like ear-bashing banshees, slowly parting in a sea of black leather and denim as he swaggered through them.

With the final notes from his Hagstrom, his warm lips brushed my ear. The last line wasn't sung, it was whispered for me alone. "This is how I tell you I love you, Brian Beef Carroway."

Aside from his soft panting breaths, I couldn't hear a damn thing through the rush of blood pounding through me. He ignored the fans bringing down the house on all sides of us and pulled me out of the seat. Ushering me through the club, he yanked me into the hallway and through the doors to Jane's empty office.

I wanted to touch him so badly I had to ball my hands into fists to stay away from him.

"Whose name did you ask for at the hospital,

cher

?"

His endearment made me lose focus. "Huh?"

"Whose name, goddammit?"

"Cotille."

Fuck

.

"You were lookin' for me." He ranged closer, his breath sliding across my throat.

I couldn't let him touch me. I'd crumble to pieces.

"But I wasn't the patient." His lips parted so close to my mouth.

"No shit. I got that from the way you climbed on top of the man in the bed."

Asshole, asshole,

asshole

.

"His name's Cotille."

"Congrats, bastard. So glad you have a loving partner. Can I go now before I have a moment?" I shoved my palms against his shoulders, pushing him away. I made for the door.

"He's my brother!" Jack shouted. "Jesus, you

are

thick."

Stopping halfway to the door, I turned to look at him. "What?"

"My brother, Brian."

"What?"

"Justin . . ." Jack framed my face in his hands. "My little brother, the one I told you about. He's got leukemia. I brought him here for the best hospitals. Been bunkin' in his room except when you took me in."

Instant shock rattled through me. My head reeled back, out of his grasp. "Your . . . Justin? Jesus Christ! Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was barely holdin' it together before you came along. You were the only thing that made me stop thinking about him dying." He hit me with a shy smile growing broader. "The bone marrow transplant happened last week—that's where I was. Not fuckin' around or bein' a player. I think he's gonna be okay."

Grasping Jack's arms, I hauled him against me. I snatched his lips between mine. His gasps and hungry growls I swallowed.

I curled my arms around him and held on. "You best tell me everything from now on. Or else I'm liable to lose my mind."

"Can do." Lifting his head, he teased me into another kiss.

"You're coming home with me, by the way."

He grinned at my total body-lock on him. "I gathered."

"And you're done for the night."

"Thought so,

beb

."

If he called me

beb

one more time, Jane's desk was not gonna be off-limits. I was tempted to lift him up so he could wind his legs around my waist and I could carry him out of the club in full view of everyone.

I managed to make do with lacing my fingers through his. Finding Jane, I said, "We gotta go."

"'Course. Your first night back since you ducked outta here, but that's fine. Go on. Go make up with your Cajun thrill, I s'pose the place'll still be standin' tomorrow." She winked and waved us off. "Least someone likes dick around here." I heard her grumble.

"I gotta get my stuff." Jack tried twisting his hand from mine.

Not happening. Yeah, we'd get his stuff all right, and then it was staying at my place.

In the truck, I clenched his hand tight enough to break bones, but I couldn't let go. Once I stopped outside my apartment, my head fell forward. My shoulders hunched. I shuddered with the sort of full-body silent sobs no one ever wanted a witness to.

"I really messed you up, didn't I?" He reached for the seat lever then slid into the tight space he created, straddling my lap and holding me until I calmed down.

"I love you,

cher

. You're so gorgeous and generous, and . . .

goddamn

but you are filthy sexy hot in bed and I'm glad no other man knows it but me." His kiss was a tender flutter against my lips. "Might even get me to church on Sunday to give thanks for that."

The kisses became less tender, more hot. More about the need to touch, skin-on-skin. His hand between us opened my pants.

"What are you doing?"

"Reaffirmin' my feelings for you."

"Something's firm—" I broke off with a moan when Jack took us both out. I inhaled and shut my eyes.

The feel of hard flesh under silky skin and the rough material of jeans framing our erections was sinful. In my truck on the side of the road made it even more wicked, and so much better. He attacked my neck with teeth and tongue, driving me into a crazed, shivering mess.

The instant he lifted out my balls and rapped his cock against them, I came. He bowed over me, sending milky ropes over my pubes and dick, laughing with the last half-breath he had left.

I laughed with him. "New Year's Eve spunk."

"That's good?" He swiped some into his mouth and made a sloppy kiss of me.

"Better than Jack jizz for Christmas," I murmured.

"

Bien

. It

is

good. What do I get to do for your birthday? Which is when, by the by?"

"February fourteenth. And you get to come in my ass."

"St. Valentine's

bébé.

Shoulda known." His sexy grin flashed at me in the dark.

Inside the apartment, I was done with the pleasantries, like coming all over his hand and stomach. "Do you have keys?"

He dug a plastic key ring from his backpack. "These are for the unit back in N'awlins where my stuff is stored."

Temporary, always temporary

. "I can't keep doing this easy come easy go shit, you know."

"I know."

"So what happens when Justin gets the all clear?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm not leavin' again, okay?"

I pulled a spare set of keys out of the kitchen drawer.

"What's that?"

"The truck and the apartment." I added the storage unit stuff to the bunch and handed them back. "You stay here. You use my ride if you need to. No more sleeping in a frickin' chair in a hospital room and no more secrets."

"You're bossy."

"I'm about to get a whole lot worse."

"I think you just want me for your sex slave."

"It's not just about the sex." Head hanging, I placed my hands on my hips.

"I know." The way his indigo eyes shined said maybe he was in it for the long haul.

"Good."

The guitars could stay in the living room. That was fine, Jack needed easy access. And I hoped he'd sing to me after he fucked me, like he usually did. But the backpack was getting emptied out.

I took it into my bedroom and tossed it onto the bed. Pointing at it I said to an amused Jack. "Unpack."

"Where?"

I hastily emptied two drawers and shoved hangers aside in my closet. "Here."

He ambled to his backpack and started pulling out stacks of clothes. Notebooks. Pencils he fiddled with . . .

I tackled him against the dresser, tugging his shirt up and off. On my knees, I licked the strong ridges of his abdomen, laving the twin muscled dents that led under his jeans to his cock.

"I thought you said unpack?" He went that breathy route, the one that made incredibly hard.

"I am unpacking." I slipped the button fly open, hot male meaty erection slapping into my hand.

"My cock." He chuckled then gasped. "I'm movin' in."

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna tell your folks?"

"

Mm hmm

." I slid my lips up and over his cock, filling my mouth.

He tugged my hair. "Your brothers and sister?"

Skimming up his body, I pressed him to the dresser. "Yes."

"What if they can't handle it?"

"Don't care." I nuzzled his neck. "Either they'll accept me or they won't, and I'll deal with it when the time comes."

"

We'll

deal with it."

I couldn't control my smile because that hit me just right. "Baby."

"You got any idea what it does to me when you say that?"

I shook my head before going for his neck and chest and shoulders with my teeth. I groaned, "Please, baby."

There was barely any time for prep let alone poems or love songs before Jack had me undressed and folded almost in half on top of my dresser. It was just the right height. Amen to that. His cock burrowed in. The thick head, red and swelling, popping in, popping out. His tongue popped out in concentration too and I tucked it into my mouth the same moment he pulled my ass open and plunged deep inside.

Then it was fucking. The dresser banged into the wall. My balls drew tight. His hands held me wide open and his eyes never left mine. The feel of his cock inside me—bare, hard, huge—made me claw at his hips. Slower, hotter. A roll, a grind. A chuckle when he pulled all the way out and pushed all the way in three times in a row. Jack's sinewy back flexed beneath my palms. I took his butt in both hands, making him increase the speed of his thrusts.

He held off, forearms carved in muscle straining beside my head. "Not yet. It's like my first time with you. Don' wanna come yet."

One huge rolling wave of intense pleasure surged through my body. I came the next time he entered me.

"Yeah,

cher

, yeah . . ." Hot jets punctuated the stutter of his hips. He shredded my lips between his teeth before he shouted the house down.

Jack filled me. So tight, so hard, so . . .

complete.

Taking a deep ragged breath, he slid out of me and we fumbled together for the bed.

His lips got even softer after he orgasmed. A bonus for me as I licked him and snacked on him. "You're moving in."

"I'm movin' in."

"You'll still sing to me?"

"Long as you cook for me."

Goddamn.

The New Year's Eve countdown began. 10-9-8. Another year over. 7-6-5. The most amazing year ever starting with a Christmas Eve kiss and ending with Jack Cotille as the best gift of my life.

"Four-three-two-one," he rushed. Then he was on top of me, tackling me with the ferocity I loved.

I nipped the salty-sweet skin of his neck. "Still got that mistletoe?"

The End

Thanks very much for reading! Happy holidays to all...