Dirty Laundry E-Book

Heidi Cullinan

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 361

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

A Tucker Springs Novel Sometimes you have to get dirty to come clean. When muscle-bound Denver Rogers effortlessly dispatches the frat boys harassing grad student Adam Ellery at the Tucker Springs laundromat, Adam's thank-you turns into impromptu sex over the laundry table. The problem comes when they exchange numbers. What if Adam wants to meet again and discovers Denver is a high-school dropout with a learning disability who works as a bouncer at a local gay bar? Or what if Denver calls Adam only to learn while he might be brilliant in the lab, outside of it he has crippling social anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder? Either way, neither of them can shake the memory of their laundromat encounter. Despite their fears of what the other might think, they can only remember how good the other one feels. The more they get together, the kinkier things become. They're both a little bent, but in just the right ways.  Maybe the secret to staying together isn't to keep things clean and proper. Maybe it's best to keep their laundry just a little bit dirty. 

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Visit Tucker Springs

More from Heidi Cullinan

Readers love Where Nerves End by Heidi Cullinan

About the Author

By Heidi Cullinan

Visit Dreamspinner Press

Copyright

Dirty Laundry

By Heidi Cullinan

A Tucker Springs Novel

Sometimes you have to get dirty to come clean.

When muscle-bound Denver Rogers effortlessly dispatches the frat boys harassing grad student Adam Ellery at the Tucker Springs laundromat, Adam’s thank-you turns into impromptu sex over the laundry table. The problem comes when they exchange numbers. What if Adam wants to meet again and discovers Denver is a high school dropout with a learning disability who works as a bouncer at a local gay bar? Or what if Denver calls Adam only to learn while he might be brilliant in the lab, outside of it he has crippling social anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder?

Either way, neither of them can shake the memory of their laundromat encounter. Despite their fears of what the other might think, they can only remember how good the other one feels. The more they get together, the kinkier things become. They’re both a little bent, but in just the right ways.

Maybe the secret to staying together isn’t to keep things clean and proper. Maybe it’s best to keep their laundry just a little bit dirty.

for everyone who dreams a little harder for their happy ever after

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THANK YOU to Dreamspinner Press for giving Adam and Denver a new home and for the chance to finish polishing Dirty Laundry. Thank you to Sasha Knight for being the only editor I could imagine coming along on this ride with me, for helping me through this story and so many others. Thank you to Jan for your help in allowing me to understand Adam in ways I wouldn’t have otherwise been able to.

Thanks to my family, Dan and Anna, for their patience, love, and support, and as always thank you to my patrons for their emotional and financial dedication to my work. Thank you in particular to patrons Rosie M and Marie.

CHAPTER ONE

THAT ADAM Ellery found his true love in a dirty laundromat was pretty ironic, considering his rap sheet of neuroses.

He didn’t recognize his destined partner at first. The beefy, surly-looking cowboy in a white tank top had nearly been enough to send Adam running for cover. The only reason Adam hadn’t ducked out the second their eyes met was because Cowboy had been bent inside a machine when Adam entered, and by the time he’d emerged in all his bulky glory, Adam had already deposited clothing and money into a washer.

To be fair, Cowboy hadn’t so much as glanced at Adam twice. Adam would know because he’d barely taken his eyes off the man. He’d had to use the smaller table to sort out his socks and underwear, which meant he had a lovely view of the choose-your-communicable-disease bathroom, but he knew where the larger man was at all times, and most importantly, he wasn’t blocking Adam’s way to either exit. Adam tried not to watch too overtly, because if Cowboy caught him, Adam probably would give off the wrong signals.

Because Cowboy was cut.

Not handsome. He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t magazine-slick, not even close. But muscles? Oh, yeah. Normally Adam didn’t go for muscles because muscles scared him. Muscles could hurt him. Muscles had hurt him on more than one occasion. Muscles stood good odds of hurting him again. On Cowboy, however, muscles seemed acceptable, at least for simple viewing.

It wasn’t that Cowboy looked ready to make trouble so much as Adam wasn’t taking any chances. Adam’s anxiety, always ready to tip into overdrive, had sprung into high alert once it realized the two of them were alone, and now his internal panic machine was set on potential attack! mode whether he wanted it there or not. It didn’t matter that Cowboy hadn’t done anything more interesting than shift clothes from a washer to a dryer, or read magazines other people had left strewn about the booths and tables. Anxiety didn’t work that way.

Relaxing as much as he could, Adam hurried about his business, and nothing happened except he ran out of quarters and had to go around the corner to the coffee shop and get change. He also got a latte, despite knowing the caffeine would wreak havoc on his nerves. He used the toilet there too, because it was a single-stall unit and much cleaner than the one next door.

When Adam returned, Cowboy was gone, and six frat boys occupied the laundromat in his stead.

None of them were older than twenty-two, and that was probably pushing it. They acted twelve. Three of them were definitely drunk, and two were possibly high as well. They weren’t as big as Cowboy, but they were bigger than Adam.

Unlike Cowboy, they noticed Adam right away, and they didn’t ignore him. They leered, and their evil smiles promised nothing but trouble—for Adam.

You don’t have to be such a victim. Adam could hear his ex’s lecture as if Brad were standing in front of him. If you act like a scared rabbit, they’ll treat you like one. Ignore them and act like you don’t give a damn about them. If you keep painting a fucking target on yourself, looking like you expect to be harassed, you will be.

Brad had brought up Adam’s cowardice and his penchant for panic in the presence of potential conflict many times, and Adam had done what he could to correct his deficiency. It just never worked. He wasn’t sure if he was too old to learn, if the bullying had started when he was too young, or if he was stupid. Sometimes he thought it was because he was nothing more than a rabbit. On the male evolutionary ladder, he occupied the bottom rung, where he had to survive by constant vigilance and the ability to hop the hell out of danger at a moment’s notice.

According to Brad, Adam’s problem was that he was mentally ill. Technically this was true, but even Adam’s mediocre therapist would argue clinical anxiety was more complex than that. Brad’s insistence in making Adam’s illness a blanket excuse had become a red flag of warning, which had led to their breakup and Adam moving out.

It had also indirectly landed Adam in this laundromat, his clothing held hostage by a pack of drunk frat boys.

Adam did his best to ignore these intruders the same way he had Cowboy, but this time his laundromat companions were entirely focused on him. The frat boys leaned on the table where Adam had left his basket of folded socks and underwear, and one of the guys giggled at Adam’s electric-blue hipster briefs which, like so much of him, screamed gay. The frat boy made eye contact with Adam, and Adam froze at the door of his dryer, trying not to look scared.

With an evil grin, the boy murmured something to the others. As his buddies turned their smirking, stoned-out gazes to Adam, the instigator pulled out the electric-blue briefs and tossed them in the air. Adam would have crawled into the dryer with his damp clothes if he hadn’t thought they’d turn it on and barricade him inside.

They threw around his briefs, his club shirt, and his Ten Reasons You Shouldn’t Bug an Entomologist tee. “Look at this shit,” they said, laughing.

One of them leered at Adam, dangling his underwear just out of reach. “This yours?”

Adam knew better than to answer. They were teasing him, but they weren’t hurting him yet, and they might not hurt him at all if he played his part in the game well. If he was lucky, he’d just lose a pair of underwear and a few of his favorite shirts.

He didn’t want to think about being unlucky.

“You wear this freaky blue shit, huh?” They snickered in unison as the frat boy snapped the briefs near Adam’s cheek and one of them bumped Adam’s shoulder. “What color you wearing right now?”

Adam did his best to stifle his flinch, pushed his glasses higher up his nose, and hunkered deeper over an ad circular. He was well past potential attack! and firmly into attack mode engaged! which ironically made him so much calmer. That was the thing about anxiety. It always knew an attack was coming. It was the absence of danger that made it uneasy. Once its point was proven, it tended to settle down.

Just ride it out, he told himself. Keep calm and ride it out.

“We’re talking to you, fag,” one of them said.

When Adam continued to ignore them, they took his glasses. Right off his face.

Okay, that was a little more than he could ignore. He had a backup pair at home, but he couldn’t drive without them. “Please.” Adam reached out to take them back, then stopped himself, knowing that would make it worse. He’d been in this position before. It was time for him to beg. It wouldn’t do any good, but it was the only role he had in this play. “Please give me my glasses back.”

“Show us your underwear first, freak.”

The nervous flutter in the pit of Adam’s stomach turned into sick fear. “Please,” he whispered.

His fear only fueled them now. “Strip, faggot.” Someone shoved at his shoulder again. With a sick heart, Adam realized he’d soon be removing his clothes. He only hoped this was where it ended.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Adam startled, but so did the frat boys. One of them swore, and all of them staggered back, parting from their circle around Adam’s table, allowing him to see the newcomer.

Cowboy.

He sauntered in from the side door, ambling toward Adam with a slow, steady gait that made his hips roll enticingly in his beat-up jeans and was punctuated by the clip-clop of his equally worn cowboy boots. The closer he got, the more he slowed down, giving the frat boys plenty of time to take him in. Best yet, Cowboy didn’t look pissed. He looked irritated.

When he glanced at Adam, however, that irritation melted away. “You okay, boy?”

Eyes wide, heart pounding, Adam nodded. Holy crap. None of Adam’s fantasies had involved a muscle-bound, cowboy-hat-wearing avenging angel before, but they would now.

Initially thrown by Cowboy’s entrance, the frat boys recovered. “We’re just messing around, old man,” one of them murmured.

Cowboy said nothing, only stared at the boys. His gaze lingered on the one holding Adam’s glasses.

The one holding Adam’s glasses took a step back.

One of the others, though, had apparently decided six frat boys outranked even Cowboy’s muscle, because he tossed his hair out of his eyes and took up a stance. “Did we pick on your boyfriend, honey? We’re sorry.”

A few of the frat boys giggled. The others shrank away from Cowboy.

Something bounced against Adam’s hand. When he looked down, his glasses lay beside him on the bench. With a relieved gasp, Adam swiped them and put them on. Lifting his gaze, Adam saw Cowboy now stood one beefy arm’s length away from the ringleader. His expression up to that point had remained cool, but now Cowboy’s face split in a nasty grin. The other frat boys shrank into the corner, whispering various panicked expletives under their breath. The ringleader tried to keep his cool, but Adam could see his facade cracking.

The laundromat went silent as Cowboy ran a thick, gnarly finger down the frat boy’s chest.

“Don’t be jealous. You want my cock, little boy, all you gotta do is bend over.”

The frat boy sputtered, swore, and swung.

Cowboy blocked the blow, grabbing Frat Boy’s nuts. “Tell your buddies to give the man his clothes back.”

Frat Boy yelped in pain as Cowboy’s grip tightened. “Fuck—do it,” he cried, and seconds later Adam’s clothes came sailing and landed on the tabletop.

Cowboy jerked his head in a curt nod. “Good boy. Now all of you apologize. And just so it’s clear, you’re getting this one shot to do it without your pants in a long, hot cycle in the washer and your dipshit asses waiting outside until they’re done.”

Adam kept rigid, head spinning, as the frat boys came up one by one and murmured terrified apologies before speeding like bullets out the door. The ringleader was last, making his apology on his knees before the table, hair held tight in Cowboy’s grip. Then he was gone as well, leaving Adam frozen in place with his mouth gaping open, alone with his rescuer.

Cowboy tipped his hat, turned around, and walked away.

Adam stared after him, unsure of what he should do now.

Outside of a flicker of irritation in his jaw, Cowboy gave no clue he’d routed six men and saved Adam’s pathetic hide. He simply went to his dryer, pulled over an empty cart, and began folding his clothes. He made no eye contact with Adam, not until Adam got his spinning psyche under control and was able to walk up to his rescuer, nervous hands tangling in front of his belly. As Adam shoved down the last of his panic, Cowboy stopped folding and waited for Adam to speak.

“Thank you,” Adam managed at last.

Cowboy acknowledged him with a jerk of his head. “Not a problem.”

He resumed folding his clothes.

Adam stood beside his cart, watching. The need to keep talking to the stranger burned inside him, but the man wasn’t making it easy. When Cowboy stopped folding again and leveled that cool hazel gaze at him, Adam stuck out his hand, trying not to let it or his voice tremble. “I’m Adam Ellery.”

Cowboy accepted Adam’s hand, closing it in his warm, rough grip. “Denver Rogers.”

Their hands lingered a moment before coming apart once more. All Adam could think of was how no one had ever rescued him before, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. Offering to buy the man something to drink seemed appropriate, so he gestured toward the coffee shop. “Can I get you something? As a thank-you?”

Denver stopped folding and searched Adam’s face. Eventually he shook his head.

This time Adam was glad the man had turned away, because he was blushing in mortification. Rescued and then rejected. Well, what do you expect? He rescued you out of pity, not as a come-on.

Adam murmured another thanks and went in search of more of his laundry, gathering up the basket the frat boys had been messing with and adding it to his stash at his table by the door. On the way past his remaining washer, he saw it had finished, so his next move was to switch it to a dryer.

Something perverse and obstinate made him use the one next to Denver. It also encouraged his mouth to flap again, much to his surprise. “Do you live around here?”

“Few streets over.”

“Me too. The Park Place Apartments across the highway. I just moved in.” He gestured at the laundromat. “This is my first time without facilities on-site. Well, I have them, but I found out today they’re very dirty and in questionable condition. So here I am.”

Denver nodded and went back to his clothes.

Adam kept talking, because he was nervous and starting to panic, and it was either talk or go fetal at this point. “I’m a grad student at Eastern Centennial. Entomology. Bugs. I want to learn more about pollinators. I started with bees, but now I’m into moths. You wouldn’t believe how much the world would change without them. No food, no flowers—wow, I should really stop talking.”

By the end of his babble, he was blushing scarlet, but just when he was considering climbing under one of the laundry tables, Denver glanced up with a reassuring grin. “You’re fine.”

“Not as fine as you,” Adam said before he could stop himself. Then he melted into the wall, half falling into his dryer and knocking his glasses sideways. “Oh God.” He held up a hand and shook his head as Denver regarded him with surprise. “I’m sorry. Really. I just—”

His voice died as Denver came around his dryer door and stood in front of Adam.

Denver’s hard gaze made Adam want to run screaming and spread his legs at the same time. He was half in the dryer and trapped between Denver’s door, his own, and Denver himself. Three million pounds of hot, beefy cowboy bore down on him, not saying anything, not glaring, just… looking. Adam stared back, unable at this point to do anything else.

The world fell away until all that was left were his small body, Denver’s huge one, and the damp towels underneath his ass. Denver neither advanced nor retreated, only continued to stare at Adam. Measuring? Waiting? Adam couldn’t tell. Something told Adam, though, the next move was his.

He pushed his glasses back up onto his nose.

Quit acting like you’re afraid of the world all the damn time.

Adam was always afraid. Afraid of what might happen. Afraid of what had happened. Afraid of rules broken or bent sideways, of things being out of place, as if this might invite the world to fall in around his ears. Afraid of not having control. Afraid of what people knew about him just by looking at him. Afraid of what they might find out. Afraid of what they thought of him, what they might do to him. Adam was afraid of the uncertainty that went with absolutely everything about planet Earth.

However, right now with Denver in this laundromat, desire kept pace with fear. It wouldn’t take but a little shove to put it in the lead.

Remembering the way Cowboy had handled the frat boys, reminding himself how Cowboy hadn’t asked for anything for that service, realizing that Cowboy was waiting for Adam to give full permission even now, Adam drew a slow, deep breath. Then he let it out, shifted his weight back farther into the dryer, and pushed his knees open.

Heat sparked in the back of Denver’s gaze, and his mouth quirked into a slow, crooked smile.

When Denver’s big hand rested on Adam’s knee, the touch went straight to his cock, and Adam’s lips parted on a gasp. His other knee lifted slightly, eager for Denver’s other hand as his mind spun erotic scenarios faster than the speed of light. But that hand never came. Instead Denver examined Adam critically.

“This you being grateful, or are you wanting to play?”

Play. The simple pressure of that hand on Adam’s knee made him hard. He nodded. Realizing he needed to give more clarification, he whispered, “Play. Except I don’t really know what you mean. It just sounds… good.”

That half smile came back, making Adam want to whimper. “It means I’m going to tell you what to do and you’re going to do it.” The smile dipped a little. “Not because you’re grateful I chased away the idiots. Not because you’re afraid of me. But because it makes you hot and because I’m promising you I’ll make you come so hard you won’t be able to stand.”

Adam was pretty sure he couldn’t stand now. “Th-that sounds good to me.”

Denver’s smile was wide and full of promise as he nodded at Adam’s dryer. “Finish loading your stuff. Then you’re going to see to mine.”

Adam couldn’t tell if there was innuendo in that last part, but he didn’t care. He was fairly certain even folding Denver’s underwear would be erotic.

CHAPTER TWO

DENVER REALLY did have Adam fold his underwear, an endless supply of plain old tighty-whities. What had the back of his teeth aching was while Adam folded, Denver’s hands skimmed beneath the unbuttoned waistband of his briefs, mapping the surface of his ass and hips.

Adam still couldn’t get over that they were making out in the laundromat. He’d naively assumed they’d finish up their laundry and move on to one of their respective apartments to have sex. That thought in itself had sent him into a quiet panic spiral, but before he could begin psyching himself up for that battle, Denver had undone his zipper, complimented his red-and-white-striped underwear, and stuck his hands down it. Then he’d told him to start folding.

So Adam had. Now here they were.

It wasn’t that being fondled was bad, but it was unnerving to have it done in public. While it was more than a little hot, it also seemed dangerous. What surprised him was that this particular kind of danger made him feel sexy. He’d never had someone hold his ass like this before. He’d never folded someone’s underwear while they held his ass. So wicked, especially with all the windows. What if someone saw? What would they think of him?

Why was that fear so… delicious, almost as yummy as Denver’s roving hands?

The only fly in the ointment was that even turned on, Adam was nervous. What if someone came in? What if they called the police? What if he was arrested and he ended up playing fold-the-underwear with someone who wasn’t Denver? What if his advisor found out? Would public sex do something to his teaching assistantship? Would he be able to get a job? Would getting felt up in a laundromat inadvertently lead to him living on the streets, starving and exposed, selling his body for sex, which meant he would contract a disease and die?

“Turn your head off,” Denver drawled. He sounded amused. Patient. Kind. “Unless I’m doing something you don’t like?”

God, no. “I just—I don’t want to get caught.”

The hand on Adam’s hip tightened. “You’re already caught.”

Was he ever. “I mean, I don’t want to be arrested.”

“Cops don’t usually patrol laundromats.” Denver’s fingers dipped into Adam’s crack as his other hand tugged the briefs farther down. “I got you. Just do as you’re told and stay relaxed. I’ll make sure you have a good time.” He pressed against Adam’s opening. “And that you don’t get arrested.”

Denver’s words didn’t do half as much for Adam as that finger did, especially once it disappeared and came back cold and slippery with lube. Adam wondered briefly where the hell that had come from, and then he moaned and fell forward onto the folded laundry as Denver pushed inside.

Relax. Do as you’re told. The words echoed inside Adam, loosening the chains of his mind even as they bound his body. Adam let out a breath and spread his legs wider on a sigh.

“That’s right.” Denver massaged Adam’s left ass check with one hand, pulling it aside as he fucked deeper with his other. “Don’t worry about who’s watching. I’m watching, and that’s all you should care about. I’m caring about everything else for you. But I sure am watching you, baby. I’m watching my finger go into your ass, watching you. Are you going to open wider for me?”

Moaning, Adam nodded and tried to spread his legs, but the briefs kept him trapped.

“There’s a good boy. Sweet and eager. You want me to open you more? That what you want?”

Whimpering, Adam lifted his ass higher. “Please.”

Laughing low, Denver pushed a second finger in alongside the first, patting Adam’s ass in approval as he flexed and took the digit eagerly. “Look at you. You really did want it.”

“I really want it.” Adam felt feverish, wiggling against Denver’s fingers. It had been so long since he’d been fucked, and it had never been like this. Nothing had ever been like this.

“Honey, I’m gonna give it to you, don’t worry.” He fingered Adam gently, still kneading his cheek with his other hand. When Adam shuddered, Denver ran his thumb along the stretched pucker of Adam’s ass. “This is just teasing you, isn’t it? Want me to stuff you a little more? You gonna take my cock next, sweet thing? You gonna moan all over my clothes while I fuck you? Right here on the table where everyone can see?”

Adam whimpered and clutched at the folded laundry, straining for the last remnants of self-control. “I’m messing up your things,” he rasped, then groaned and arched his back as Denver twisted his fingers.

“Yep. You’re going to make my laundry dirty, baby. You’re going to come all over it.”

Shutting his eyes, Adam surrendered. When Denver tugged Adam’s pants to his ankles and shoved more clothes underneath Adam’s ass to lift it higher, Adam didn’t have a single care about who might see him behaving this way, he only made sure Denver could arrange him the way he wanted. When Denver withdrew his fingers to pull Adam open wide, Adam relaxed the muscle so Denver could gaze into him as he liked.

He was Denver’s to do with what he wanted right now. He was nothing else.

“You’re a good, obedient boy.” Denver held Adam open a few seconds longer, then thrust his thumb inside, turning it as he pumped it in and out. “This is a fine ass you have here too. Real nice. You mind if I give it a few slaps?”

I’m going to get spanked in the laundromat. Adam’s voice barely worked, and his asshole flexed in eagerness. “P-please do as you like.”

“Such a good boy. You’re going to get a reward later. Though maybe you’re one for whom spanking is a reward?”

Adam had no idea. He’d never been spanked before.

He gasped as the first slap fell on his cheeks. They weren’t awful, but they jolted him, getting his attention. They kept coming, sharp and hard, slap, slap, slap. Oh, but it stung a little now, the flesh getting warm. Too warm. Adam wiggled.

“You want me to stop?” Denver’s thumb grazed Adam’s asshole midblow. “Or you going to let me tell you when we stop?”

The stinging was driving Adam crazy. He wanted it to end. But if he spoke up, would the spell break and he’d be nervous again? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to find out.

He also didn’t know that he actually minded the way his ass was burning. He wanted to find out about that too.

Adam shook his head, then realized this answer was unclear. “I… you tell me when.”

He’d spoken so softly and mostly into the underwear that he worried Denver hadn’t heard him. The next thing he knew, though, Denver had stopped spanking him to lean over Adam’s back and tuck a rolled pair of underwear into his right hand.

“I’ll tell you when, but if you change your mind, let go of those briefs. I’ll stop right away. This way if you want to whisper stop or no while I spank you, you can do that too, but I won’t stop. Sometimes that’s fun. All depends on what game you want.”

Adam’s head spun with the possibilities Denver lay before him. “I’ve never done anything like this.”

“I can tell. But you’re not afraid of it at all. Turns me on.”

Adam couldn’t breathe.

Then, before he could even think of how to explain to Denver how wrong his perception was about him, the spanking resumed, and Adam went quiet.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Denver kept moving back and forth in rhythm, shifting where the blows fell slightly, but since he kept them raining down, it didn’t take long for the same patches of skin to receive repeated strikes. Stings became burns, and Adam began to whimper as well as wiggle. His glasses shifted askew, not falling, but no longer of any use to him. Adam could imagine what he looked like: a debauched nerd. A debauched nerd spread over a pile of laundry with his pants down so he could get his ass spanked.

The mental image made him moan.

Denver’s answering growl was like a panther’s purr. “You giving me a line, telling me you never done anything like this before? Because you sure do like your ass spanked, don’t you.”

Apparently so. Adam struggled to reply to Denver’s question. “I… wouldn’t lie to you.”

“No, I don’t think you would. I also see you’re still clutching that pair of underwear pretty tight. Don’t feel like letting go yet?”

Adam wouldn’t let a whole pack of frat boys pry that pair of briefs from his hand. “No, sir.”

The spanking paused briefly as Denver pushed a finger into Adam’s hole, then withdrew. “Such a well-spoken young man. I better treat you nicely. And by nicely, I mean that I’m going to spread these legs open wider and spank you a little harder.”

Oh God. “Yes, sir.”

When the blows resumed, Adam’s thighs were open so wide he had to bend his knees and lift his feet. His hole gaped slightly, and he could feel the breeze Denver’s strikes made with his big arms against Adam’s trembling pucker, so intense now that Adam yelped each time. It was almost too much. Except it was only almost. Spanking made Adam harder than he’d ever been. Even as his overloaded nerve endings trembled, he couldn’t stop pushing his ass into Denver’s hands. He felt like a dirty whore begging for more.

He’d never been so content in his life.

When the spanking stopped and Adam cried out in protest, Denver laughed, a wicked sound. “You aren’t what I expected at all.” Before Adam could figure out how to respond, something squirted, and then Denver’s fingers were at his ass again, cool and slippery. Three of them this time. They pushed inside roughly, a blunt invasion made sharper because of the spanking.

Grunting, Adam pressed his stomach into the table and bore down, relaxing to let Denver’s fingers in as quickly as possible so he could do what he pleased here as well.

He was rewarded with a thrust and a guttural sound of approval from his lover. “Don’t you look a picture, ass in the air in a laundromat, cherry red from a spanking while you get fingerfucked by a guy you just met. Humping his laundry.” The fingers pushed deeper as Denver moved them inside Adam, making a squishing sound. Adam groaned, and Denver began to fuck in greater rhythm. “That’s right. Let me hear you make noise. If you want my cock inside this ass, make noise while I finger you. Tell me how much you like this. Give me all them big college words.”

The heat from the dryers was nothing compared to that coming off Adam’s face. Being asked to speak had lifted him out of his sexual haze, and though part of his brain still screamed in pleasure, part of it now cataloged all the ways this was wrong, wrong, wrong. What in the world was he thinking, letting a stranger—a big, muscle-bound stranger—fingerfuck him and spank him and tell him to make more noise, and in public? This was insane. This was crazy.

This was so freaking hot Adam was nearly melting from it. For once in his life, even his anxiety was turned on. It had been exactly as Denver promised: nothing else mattered except that he do as he was told. And he wanted to keep doing it. He wanted to do what Denver said. He wanted to tell him how much he liked this.

He wanted to go back to the sensation of not having any fear.

No fear. When was the last time he could say he felt that way? He was afraid when he was asleep—his dreams were nothing but anxiety nightmares. He was on such powerful meds he had to have sleep medication, and even with that he was still afraid. He’d lost the only boyfriend he’d ever had to fear. Until he’d moved to Tucker Springs, he’d had to see a psychologist twice a week to manage the burden of living life. Now he went every other week, and honestly, it was less than he should be going.

Right now with Denver, the only emotion Adam knew outside of being turned on beyond his wildest dreams was being so overwhelmed with relief he wanted to cry.

Denver’s free hand ran down Adam’s back, finding his spine through his shirt. “Let go, Adam. I told you: you’re safe. Turn off your head and let go, because I’ve got you.”

Adam drew in a slow, shaky breath. He held it for a moment.

Exhaling so hard he went boneless, Adam let go.

Everything was gone now, everything but sensation. People might have come into the laundromat; Adam wouldn’t have known. All he knew was Denver and what Denver told him to do: tell Denver how good he made him feel.

“It’s tight.” Adam clutched his safety underwear and shut his eyes as he attempted to vocalize his feelings. “It’s a tight pressure, and it hurts a little, but I like it. I like the sting on my ass where you spanked me. I’m sad that’s over. I keep wishing you’d do both. Fingerfuck me and spank me at the same time.”

Denver’s free hand cupped Adam’s left ass check. “I can do that for you.”

“I don’t want to tell you what to do. I like that you’re telling me everything. I like not thinking. I like that everything about what you’re doing to my body is what you want. If it’s something that I want but you don’t want it and I don’t get it, that almost makes me feel more peaceful.”

Something hot and wet closed over the place where Denver’s hand had been. His mouth, Adam realized. “Boy, you’re just trying to turn me on now, aren’t you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just doing as you asked me to do. Telling you how much I like this. Am I doing it wrong?”

“No, I’d say you’re doing it about right.”

“Okay.” Adam let out a sigh, relaxing again and riding the waves of Denver’s thrusts into his body. “Should I keep letting you know how I feel?”

“Tell me how my finger feels inside your ass.”

“Very tight and slightly painful, as I said. There’s a lot of pressure.”

“I’m thinking about pounding these fingers harder. What do you think about that?”

“Please go ahead, if you’d like that.”

For some reason this made Denver swear under his breath, and Adam worried for a second, but then the thrusts were so hard and fast Adam cried out each time, keen, high-pitched gasps as tears spilled down his cheeks.

He couldn’t push back any longer. He could only lie there and accept what Denver gave him and clutch tight to the rolled-up briefs. When Denver added a few sharp slaps to his left ass cheek, the noises that came from Adam’s throat sounded like they belonged to an animal.

He wasn’t aware of Denver’s fingers leaving him, only that one moment Denver was pumping into him and the next he’d hoisted Adam away from the table to roll one nipple between his fingers, nudging his cock into Adam’s gaping ass.

“Relax,” Denver told him as he entered him, tugging at Adam’s pebbled nipple the entire time. “Hold still. I’ll fuck you good and let you come.”

Nodding, Adam lifted his chest a little so Denver could get a better grip on him there, but other than that, he didn’t move at all.

Adam sighed out loud, a long, staccato exclamation as his cowboy claimed him. Denver’s penis was thick as a post, as beefy as the rest of him, and just as perfect. Adam focused on how that cock felt inside him, nudging against his prostate though not quite stimulating it. Whimpering, he tried to thrust back, but Denver clamped a hand on the back of his neck and held him in place, forcing Adam to take his cock at Denver’s pace.

Adam liked that hand on the back of his neck almost as much as he liked the fat cock inside him and the fingers against his nipple, so much so that when Denver took the hand at his neck away, he couldn’t help crying out, “Please, keep it there.”

The big hand returned, thumb stroking the edge of Adam’s hairline, fingernails ghosting over Adam’s skin. Then the grip was back, pushing him down, pinning him to the table.

Adam relaxed and let go again.

That was all there was, Adam captive in Denver’s grip as Denver plunged in and out of Adam’s body. When he went deep enough to scrape Adam’s prostate after all, Adam moaned and gasped, remaining absolutely still while his cowboy let go of Adam’s nipple to slap at his ass some more, squeezing the reddened flesh until Adam cried out.

Adam never wanted it to end.

Denver took Adam’s cock in his hand, stroking it in time to his own thrusts, urging Adam toward his release. Adam followed that electric sensation, letting Denver tip him over the edge. He shuddered and spent against the clothes beneath him, trembling in aftershocks as Denver pulled out, took off the condom, and shot all over Adam’s back.

Adam lay there, ass bare and sore, glasses dangling from one ear, shirt covered in spunk, as Denver’s belt buckle clinked. He didn’t move even when a damp, warm washcloth—bless you, laundry—trailed over his backside and between his legs, cleaning him up.

“If I’d known I was giving such a sweet bottom a spanking, I’d have brought along lotion.”

With effort, Adam drifted from his haze. “There’s some in my bag. In the side pocket.”

This time when Denver reappeared, it was to smear cool CeraVe all over Adam’s stinging flesh. It felt amazingly good, and Adam couldn’t help but purr.

Denver smoothed a hand up Adam’s spine, massaging with a soothing, gentling touch. “I found the bottle of water you had in your bag and put it beside you on the table here. I want you to drink it once you’ve rested for a minute.”

Adam was content to lie there being touched for as long as Denver wanted him to, but eventually the gentle caress against his skin went away, drawing him back to reality. Denver helped him sit up, easing him onto a pile of clothing as his reddened ass protested, and handed him the bottle of water.

When Adam straightened his glasses and attempted to get dressed, he faltered. That his legs didn’t seem to want to bear him up didn’t help, but that wasn’t the problem. When Denver tugged Adam’s pants back into place, the real world came back with them. It dawned on Adam what he’d done, how he had behaved. What he’d allowed a stranger do to him, how much he had exposed himself in ways that had nothing to do with being fucked in public, with how far he had strayed from safe with Denver.

How empty he’d feel if it never happened again.

“Hands up,” Denver murmured, and like a child, Adam lifted his arms, letting Denver strip the semen-stained shirt off his body, pulling the neck wide to keep his glasses from getting smudged. When Denver came back with his Top Ten T-shirt, Adam allowed himself to be dressed.

Denver looked down at him, searching Adam’s face, and Adam stared back up at him, unable to do anything but beg Denver silently not to make this the end of their encounter.

Eventually Denver nodded at the table full of mangled, semen-soaked clothes. “You messed up my laundry, boy.”

The edge to Denver’s tone should have tempted Adam to be afraid, but somehow it only made a thrill race down his spine. He dipped his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll wash them for you again if you like.”

“I’m out of quarters.” He caught Adam’s chin.

Adam met his gaze. “Yes, sir.” He wasn’t even sure what he was agreeing to, he just knew he agreed with whatever Denver said.

Denver released Adam’s chin and ruffled his hair. When he started to gather his semen-stained clothes into an empty basket, Adam realized his cowboy planned to leave without so much as an exchange of phone numbers.

“Wait.” Adam put his hand over the top of the basket, screwing up his courage and looking Denver in the eye. “I still have quarters. I want to wash your dirty laundry for you.”

Denver frowned at the dirty clothes. “I gotta get to work, so I can’t stay.”

Get to work? Adam glanced at the clock on the wall, which read nine thirty. “Where do you work?”

“Lights Out.”

A gay bar, the one for the locals instead of the ones that were part of the college club scene. The gay bar Adam hadn’t been to because he didn’t do bars without the rest of the Bug Boys as backup, and since he didn’t live with or hang out with them anymore, he couldn’t go to a bar at all.

He ignored this problem, too eager to continue this encounter. “I can finish them for you and get them to you later. When you get off work, maybe.”

Denver looked amused. “I get off at two thirty in the morning.”

Something in his tone made Adam swallow his offer to hang out until then. “Oh.”

His cowboy regarded him with a clear-eyed gaze that burned into the back of Adam’s brain. It made Adam want to fidget and freeze all at once. Mostly he clung to his yearning, wanting more than anything to prolong this encounter, to get back to that place where he wasn’t afraid, only hot and wild and free.

Denver held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Digging into his pocket, Adam passed it over, watching as Denver punched at the screen for some time before giving it back.

“Give me a holler if you want company at the laundromat again sometime.” Picking up the basket of clothes, he winked at Adam as he headed for the door.

CHAPTER THREE

DENVER ROGERS thought about the cute grad student all through his shift, and as he went to bed, and again when he passed the Park Place Apartments on his way to the grocery store.

Park Place Apartments, where Adam had said he lived.

It worried Denver, this preoccupation.