Free Talker by Amy Lane Page A

gulping in the back of my throat to keep your
    monster down, adding another finger to the one in your ass,
    squeezing the base of your dick enough to make my hand
    cramp.…”
    Talker | Amy Lane
    66

    “G waaaaahhhh.…” Brian hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t. He’d
    had a whole other agenda planned, and Talker had derailed it with
    his secret dreams, spil ed out into the air between them like Brian’s
    come had spil ed out into his pants.
    O n the other side of the stall, Tate made a satisfied sound. He
    hadn’t come—but he sighed and it sounded happy. A small part of
    himself had obviously been gratified by making an anonymous
    stranger happy in a way no one had ever done for him.
    “How you doing, brother?” Tate asked. “Because, not to rush
    you, but I’m thinking someone else is going to want to use that
    stall.”
    “We’re not through yet,” Brian managed, his vision stil black
    from his orgasm. He pulled fruitlessly at his shirt—it might be able
    to cover the front of his pants, but he wasn’t going to want to go
    anywhere else but his car.
    “I don’t need any—”
    “No.” He found a part of him was angry—that was good. It kept
    his voice rough, and Tate hadn’t recognized it yet.
    “But I don’t want to—”
    “It’s my turn, dammit!” Brian snapped. “I listened to you—now
    you need to listen to me!”
    “Brian?”
    Shit. “So my dream boy has just made me come in his mouth,
    and I’m flying high, right?”
    “Seriously, man—is that you?”
    “But no one has taken care of him yet, and that’s my job.”
    “Jesus, Brian, what the fuck are you doing here?”
    “Because he’s my dream boy, and I keep him safe. He’s told
    me that, right? That I keep him safe? Wel , how am I going to keep
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    him safe if I just leave him there, on his knees like that? So I pull
    him up, and I wipe his mouth on my sleeve, and I kiss him.”
    Tate’s voice suddenly broke a little, like Brian had crushed the
    last strong part of him. “Brian, this isn’t fucking funny.…”
    “No, Tate, you’re right. I’m totally fucking serious. Now I’ve
    been tel ing you this for months, and you haven’t wanted to listen,
    but dammit, you’re going to listen to me now, okay? I sat in here
    and I heard you.…” And now Brian’s voice broke. “I heard you tel
    things to someone you thought was a total stranger, and it was shit
    I’ve been dying to hear you say to me… to do to me, and now
    you’re going to get that back, you hear me?”
    “Brian.…”
    O h G od. He sounded so lost, so sad. Brian had to make this
    right. He had to make this right. If he never had the words again in
    his life, he had to make this right.
    “So, I was kissing him,” Brian said, remembering where he left
    off. “I’m kissing him, and his eyes are open, because he can’t
    believe how tender I am, how badly I want to kiss him, and my
    hands are shaking and I put them on his cheeks, frame his face,
    and I make him stay there and feel my mouth and my tongue, and
    when he closes his eyes… then I know I’ve got his fucking
    attention.”
    He paused then and took a breath. “Are your eyes closed,
    Tate?”
    “Just go away.…”
    “F uck you. No. I’m staying. Because my dream boy’s eyes are
    closed, and he’s final y fucking listening to me. And oh G od… it’s
    everything I’ve been dreaming of. I’ve kissed other boys, trying to
    see if I wanted them as much as I wanted my dream boy, and they
    were nice and all, but they weren’t him. I just want him.”
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    “O ther boys?” Tate sounded faintly indignant, and Brian took a
    little heart—you couldn’t be broken beyond repair if you were a little
    bit jealous, right?
    “But all I did with them was kiss them,” Brian soothed. “I’ve
    never gone as far with a boy as I’m going to with my dream boy.
    You know what I’m going to do with my dream boy?”
    “I have no idea.” And Tate didn’t. He