No Sacrifice Page 22

  Rhys pulled off his cock when Patrick opened his mouth. He reached down to grab Rhys’s hand and stop him. “Um… I… I’m… not sure I want to do that.”

  Rhys raised his eyebrows. “You’re telling me this now?”

  Patrick scowled. “There are other things we can do, you know.”

  “Yeah, but why not this?”

  “Because I don’t. That’s enough.” Patrick frowned.

  Rhys appeared to consider it. “Is this because of Sound Boy?”

  Patrick’s frown deepened. “It doesn’t matter why, Rhys. I don’t want to.” Patrick left off the with you.

  Rhys growled, and Patrick pulled him in, kissing him. Rhys didn’t respond at first but then melted slowly into the kiss, eventually removing his finger and settling onto Patrick again. When he pulled away, Patrick reached up and pushed a few sweaty curls back. He swallowed, and for one brief moment, as he looked into Rhys’s eyes, he wished Chance wasn’t in the picture. Because right then, he knew he could have fallen for Rhys. “This is still good.” He gave a half smile. “Really fucking good. Let’s not fuck it up, okay?”

  With a nod, Rhys dove in and caught Patrick’s lips in a kiss that stunned with its power. It was hard and deep in a way the others weren’t, and it hit Patrick forcefully, what was behind it. He could taste the jealousy and wished, for that one moment, he could do something about it. But he couldn’t—his heart, he now knew, belonged to someone else, whether they wanted it or not.

  In an attempt to salvage the situation, he thought to try something he’d read about in his research. He broke the kiss and grabbed the lube. He dumped some in his hand and coated Rhys’s cock with it, then shifted just enough to line his up and wrapped his still-slick hand around both, running it over them together.

  “Shit… that does feel good…,” Rhys whispered.

  Patrick reached up with his clean hand and cupped Rhys’s face, leaned in, and kissed him again. They moved together, both thrusting into his hand, and he felt Rhys’s join his around their cocks.

  And despite the break and Rhys’s jealousy, Patrick knew he was going to come very soon. As they moved, rubbing their cocks together, he felt the orgasm screaming up on him. When Rhys buried his face in Patrick’s neck and moaned his name, he knew he was right there. “Oh God, Rhys… I’m… fuck, coming….”

  Rhys lifted his head just as Patrick’s climax hit. His eyes slammed closed, another “Fuck” came out as the pleasure flew through him. It was hard, stealing his breath and yanking the cum from his balls. Just as he coated his chest with it, Rhys let a loud grunt out, and he felt another hot splash on his chest.

  Patrick lay there, his heart pounding, fighting for breath and coherent thought. Rhys kept his face buried in Patrick’s neck, and Patrick felt light kisses over his skin. He turned his head and left his own kiss on Rhys’s temple, his hand still buried in the curls.

  Rhys finally looked up, and there was a longing on his face that caused Patrick’s breath to hitch. He swallowed, again wishing his heart wasn’t already spoken for, and closed his eyes when Rhys’s forehead rested against his own. “I think we’ll be able to handle this,” Patrick whispered.

  Rhys nodded but didn’t speak just yet. He tilted his head and kissed Patrick once more. This one was almost as hard, almost as thorough as the earlier kiss that clued Patrick into Rhys’s mental state. It was still there—the want, the need, perhaps with a bit of determination in it that Patrick fought hard against.

  They broke apart, and their eyes met and held for a long moment. Patrick was a little desperate to get the situation back to a place he could navigate. “So, uh, should we….”

  Rhys looked disappointed but nodded. With another kiss, he shifted until he was lying on the outside of the deep couch, facing Patrick. He settled Patrick against him, then paused, snatched up his underwear, and swiped them over Patrick’s chest, cleaning most of the cum off. He tossed them aside and lay back down, wrapping his arms tightly and nuzzling Patrick’s neck. “You know, I was never good at this part,” he murmured.

  Patrick slipped his arms around Rhys and laid his head against the top of Rhys’s. “What part?”

  “After. I’m usually dressed and out the door in about five minutes flat.”

  Patrick stared down at the part of Rhys he could see. He didn’t think for one minute it was really the “rehearsal” that was keeping Rhys there. His heart pounded as he tried to figure out what to do. What could I say to something like that? He finally settled on saying, “Well, glad you’re not this time.”

  “Yeah?” Rhys asked, looking up.

  Patrick met his eyes and nodded. Even if he didn’t have feelings for Rhys, he wouldn’t have liked the man taking off five minutes after they were done. “Yeah, I am.”

  Rhys looked at him for a long moment, then smiled. This wasn’t the grin he used on screen. This wasn’t the one he used to charm people. It looked a lot more honest than that, and Patrick felt horrible. He had to make it clear. “Rhys, I… we’re friends, okay? Right?”

  The smile slid off Rhys’s face, and he dropped his eyes as he nodded. “Yeah.”

  Patrick only felt worse. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But, that’s all we are.”

  Rhys paused and looked up at him again for another long moment. Something passed behind his eyes that Patrick couldn’t decipher, and then he nodded. “Okay.”

  Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s okay.” Rhys smiled again, and Patrick blinked. “Really. So… let’s see….” He reached up and pushed Patrick’s hair back, tilting his head. “I don’t know the lines exactly yet, but I believe we’re teasing each other.”

  Patrick nearly got whiplash from the shift in mood and subject. It took him a full minute to figure out what was happening. “Yes. I know there was something about Nadir teasing Cyrus about his skills in bed.”

  Rhys grinned. “Yes! That’s right, and Cyrus leans in….” Rhys did, as well. “Then whispers something about proving he’s able to scatter Nadir’s wits with a kiss.”

  Rhys kissed Patrick, and Patrick struggled to keep his head on task. When they broke apart, he shook his head. “And when they stop,” he said, his voice sounding much more breathless than he would have liked, “Nadir complains about it being unfair that Cyrus is so good at that.”

  “Mm hmmm, but….” Rhys placed a finger under Patrick’s chin and tilted his face up. “He reminds P—uh, Nadir that he is just as good at it.” Patrick did not miss the slip, but before he could process that, Rhys was kissing him again. When they pulled back this time, he smiled. “Then Cyrus has trouble, himself. There’s more lines I haven’t learned yet. Then I get up and show millions of viewers my ass.”

  Patrick chuckled. “Well, it is a nice ass. I’ll say that much.”

  Rhys grinned. “Thank you. I can say the same for yours.”

  “Thanks,” Patrick said, grinning too. “I’m glad I don’t have to show mine… yet, anyway. Though if Jack gets his way, there’ll be very little left to the fans’ imaginations about either of our bodies after that scene.”

  Rhys’s grin faded a little. “Yeah, I know. In some ways, I wish I hadn’t agreed to it.”

  Patrick tilted his head. “Why?”

  “A few reasons,” he said cagily. “One being that I’m not sure I want to set the precedent that I’ll take my clothes off for money.”

  “Well, yeah.” Patrick wondered about the reasons Rhys didn’t give, but he didn’t push. “I wish I hadn’t agreed either. I’m afraid, though, that they would have just replaced us. And… I definitely would not want to do these with someone else.”

  “It’d be more difficult, no doubt.” Rhys looked up at him again, then settled in against his chest, and they fell silent for a couple of minutes. Rhys ran his fingers lightly over Patrick’s stomach, and Patrick held Rhys without moving, his mind a mess. “I guess I should go. I think we’ll be okay with these,” Rhys said but made no move to get up.


  Patrick nodded. “Yes, I think we will. I still think we should talk to Jack about letting us guide some of this.”

  “Yes, definitely. I think it’d look a lot more natural if he did.” He shrugged a shoulder. “We’ll see.” He kissed Patrick again, then finally sat up. “I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  Patrick sat up with him, watching Rhys collect his clothes. “Yeah, I don’t think you’d look too good as a Smurf.”

  Rhys snorted and located a sock under the edge of the couch. “Me either.” A moment later, after gathering the rest of their clothes, they stood by the door. Rhys reached up and ran a thumb over Patrick’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  Patrick didn’t try to pretend he didn’t know what Rhys was talking about. “You’re welcome. Thank you.”

  Rhys closed the distance and kissed him again, pushing him against the wall. Patrick fought to keep his hands to himself and not encourage Rhys further. He managed to, but Rhys didn’t make it easy. He obviously put everything he could into the kiss, and it took every ounce of fortitude Patrick had to resist it.

  When they broke apart, Rhys cupped Patrick’s face. “I’m better for you than he is. I could be everything you need, give you everything you need. Let me prove it.”

  There it was, out in the open. “Rhys, I….” He swallowed, took a deep breath, and shook his head. “I love him.”

  “You could love me.”

  Fuck. There he was again. Did he lie? He could love Rhys, he knew that after what they’d done, and that was part of the problem. But if he said as much, he’d just lead Rhys on, make it worse. He said nothing, hoping Rhys would take his silence as refusal.

  Rhys nodded. “I see. Okay.” He dropped another light kiss on Patrick’s lips, then stepped back. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Okay. See you.” As Patrick watched Rhys open the door and start down the stairs, he had a nasty feeling this wasn’t over. He tried to put it out of his mind as he went for a shower. He didn’t think he could face Chance with Rhys’s cum and scent all over him.

  But it was definitely time to see Chance.

  Chapter 13

  Chance sat on the couch next to a dozing Avery and watched him sleep. Cars played on the TV, though Chance didn’t pay a bit of attention to what the tow truck and racer were doing. He had eyes only for the little one next to him.

  He was a beautiful child, and Chance thought again about how much the want to be part of Avery’s life had taken over. In the weeks since they’d come back to LA, Chance realized he’d fallen in love with Avery almost as much as he had Avery’s father. He could see himself being a daddy to the little boy, and he’d realized with an ache so sharp it nearly tore him up that if Patrick ever walked away from him, he’d miss the child almost as much as the father.

  Avery seemed to be almost as attached, which only made Chance fall harder. Avery fell asleep on Chance’s chest every time they were together. He seemed to take every opportunity he could to sit in Chance’s lap, and Chance soaked up every minute of it.

  Chance brushed a few blond curls away from Avery’s face, pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, and spread it out, tucking it under Avery’s chin, then stood. He headed over to his tiny galley kitchen and pulled a coffee cup out of the cabinet. After starting the coffee, he turned around to wait for the brew, and as he did, his eyes went unerringly to the poster over his bed.

  Patrick smiled down at him from it. Chance had spent countless sleepless nights looking at it, thinking about what it would be like to know Patrick Tearney, to be friends with him. He’d never, in all those nights, dared to imagine being in love with the man, much less have Patrick’s love in return. But he had fallen in love—fallen hard.

  And now Chance was babysitting the man’s child while he was in his own apartment having sex with another man. Chance wondered, not for the first time that night, when he’d completely lost his mind. Because he must have, to agree to this—worse, he’d offered.

  He’d spent the better part of the last three hours—when he wasn’t entertaining Avery—asking himself this over and over. He’d done his damnedest to try not to imagine what was going on, but his brain had other ideas. He’d seen way too much, thanks to the time he’d spent on the set, to not be able to imagine the two of them together. He could see them very clearly in his mind’s eye, kissing, touching, and more.

  The coffeemaker gurgled behind him, and he turned around, giving his attention to the brew he didn’t really want. He mixed it anyway, lifted the cup to his lips, and proceeded to burn them because he wasn’t paying enough attention. Cursing himself softly, he set the cup back down, closed his eyes, and banged his forehead on the cabinet a few times, trying to get himself together.

  He turned away, letting the coffee sit, and crossed the room. He looked down at his piano but knew without trying that he wouldn’t get a full bar out without screwing it up, based on his state of mind. His eyes, then, were drawn once more to the poster, and he stared into Patrick’s face. What am I going to do?

  Before he could formulate any kind of answer, a knock sounded on his door. Chance spun around and stared at it for a long moment. As he’d never really spent enough time there to get to know any of his neighbors, it could only be one person. He glanced at the clock, noted it was still relatively early—earlier than he’d expected Patrick—and frowned. He couldn’t believe they were done already.

  When he opened the door, it was to another surprise. Patrick’s hair was wet, as if he’d been in the shower, and, unbidden, the image of Patrick and Rhys under the water together flashed into Chance’s mind. They’d showered together. That certainly had nothing to do with rehearsal and did not bode well, to Chance’s thinking.

  He shook it off and forced himself to consider Patrick closely. The man looked… nervous. A frisson of fear went down Chance’s spine, and Chance knew in that moment he didn’t want to hear what Patrick was going to say. “Uh, come in,” he managed to spit out and moved back. When Patrick stepped in, he closed the door and immediately turned to the coffeemaker for something to do with his hands. “Want coffee?”

  “Er… sure,” Patrick said, and Chance forced himself to focus so his hands didn’t shake.

  “Did it go well?” he asked, then cursed himself. He didn’t really want to know, didn’t want to hear it. Yeah, it went great. We’re going out. I think I might even love him! I—

  “Chance?” Patrick asked, interrupting Chance’s internal panic.

  “Hmm?” Chance couldn’t turn around, too afraid of what might show on his face.

  “We… we need to talk.”

  Oh shit. Chance dropped the coffee, grateful it was a self-contained K-Cup and couldn’t spill across the counter. Please don’t tell me this. Please don’t tell me this. “Uh, okay.” Chance heard the slight shake in his voice and nearly growled out loud over it. He gave up on the coffee and gripped hard at the counter. There was a noise in his head he was having trouble hearing over. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to force himself to calm down a little. It took him a full minute to realize Patrick had said something. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, turning around.

  Patrick looked, if possible, more nervous than he had when he’d come in a minute ago. “I said… I didn’t fuck him.”

  Chance blinked at him for a moment, at a complete loss. The words didn’t seem to correlate to the behavior. Why would Patrick be nervous if he didn’t fuck Rhys? “Uh….” came the very unintelligent reply. He shook his head again, trying to clear the noise. “You… you didn’t?”

  Patrick shook his own head. “No. Well, we did… stuff. But… I didn’t want him to actually fuck me. And you were right. That’s what he wanted.”

  Chance couldn’t quite put the pieces together. They didn’t? He wrestled with his brain, trying to gather his thoughts and make sense of all of it. “Why not?” slipped out before he could think it through.

  “I didn’t want him.”

  Chance finally mana
ged to really look at Patrick, despite his pounding heart and state of mind. His hands were balled and crammed in his pockets, he was hunched a bit as if to protect himself from something, and he didn’t seem to be able to look right at Chance. “You… didn’t?” Chance asked. Don’t get your hopes up. It doesn’t mean he wants you.

  “No. I….” Patrick cleared his throat. “I….” He looked up, and Patrick’s dark eyes finally met Chance’s own. “I wanted… someone else.”

  His pounding heart had to be loud enough to be heard by the sleeping Avery. Chance was sure of it. He shouldn’t ask. He didn’t want to know the answer. But he couldn’t stop the word, keep it in, for anything in the world. “Who?”

  Patrick hesitated, eyes moving over Chance, and Chance held his breath while he waited for the answer. When it came, it was so quiet he almost missed it. Almost. But not quite.

  “You.”

  At the word, his breath left him in a whoosh! And he felt light-headed. “Me?” He couldn’t believe it—was afraid to. Maybe he’d wake up and find out he was still sitting with Avery on the couch.

  “Yes, you. I…. Chance, I….” Patrick’s mouth snapped closed, and he fidgeted.

  Chance couldn’t bring himself to say anything at first. He was staring at Patrick, trying desperately to assimilate this and convince himself he was awake, that it was real. “Why is your hair wet?” he blurted. He hadn’t meant to ask—it wasn’t his business, anyway—but he couldn’t get the image of the two of them in the shower out of his head.

  Patrick’s cheeks turned red, and he dropped his eyes. “I… I didn’t want to come here with his smell on me.”

  Chance’s eyes widened. “Oh. I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, not my business,” he mumbled, dropping his own eyes and shuffling his foot. He really shouldn’t have asked, but the answer was better than anything he could have imagined.

  “It’s okay. I can imagine what you thought.” Chance heard him take a deep breath. “Go out with me.”