Where The Heart Is: A Bay City Paranormal Investigations story

“Are you always this easy?”
In spite of Sommer’s teasing smile and the twinkle in his eye which made it clear he wasn’t serious, a cold, ugly feeling curled in Dean’s belly. He didn’t know whether to label it shame, or simple loneliness. Both tended to thrive on years of one-night stands, of scorching but ultimately unfulfilling sex.
Either way, he didn’t like this black, empty ache which overtook him from time to time. Strangely, no-strings sex provided both the cause and the cure. He’d learned that lesson long ago, and he intended to apply it now.
Plastering on the smile which turned men and women alike into putty, he took both of Sommer’s hands and pulled him toward the bed. “Does it matter? I’m easy now, for you. So use me.”
The smolder in Sommer’s eyes flared into a blaze. Without another word, he grasped the hem of Dean’s shirt and pulled it up. Dean lifted his arms to let the cotton slide off. Sommer tossed the garment aside. His gaze raked down Dean’s body.
Heart pounding with anticipation, Dean watched Sommer watching him. Moonlight poured through the thin crimson sheers half-drawn across the big bay window, bathing the room in shimmering red-tinged light and throwing soft shadows across Sommer’s face. Furniture loomed in the periphery of Dean’s vision, and from the corner of his eye he saw a closed door on the other side of the room, but he couldn’t be bothered to look away from Sommer long enough to notice much else. Except the bed, of course. A fourposter, he noted with delight. He wondered if Sommer had any restraints.
Sommer moved closer, dark eyes boring into Dean’s. “Please tell me you’re a bottom.”
A shudder ran through Dean’s body. “Oh yeah,” he answered, his voice sounding weak and shaky in his own ears. “I’ll top if I have to, but I’d rather get fucked than do the fucking.”
“Good. Because I don’t bottom.” Sommer’s mouth quirked into a wry half-smile. “Can’t relax enough for it not to hurt.”
Dean wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he said nothing. Instead, he undid the buttons of Sommer’s shirt. He spread the fabric so he could caress the bared skin. Coarse, dark hairs rasped against his palms and the pads of his fingers, drawing a soft moan from him. Finding one hard little nipple, Dean gave it a gentle pinch.
“Oh fuck,” Sommer gasped, his back arching. One hand clamped onto Dean’s shoulder, the other grasping him by the hair. “Bite it.”
Heat shot through Dean’s groin. He yanked the shirt down, forcing Sommer to let go of him long enough for the garment to slide down his arms to the floor. Letting Sommer push his head downward, he dug his teeth into the nipple he’d just pinched and gave it a tug. Sommer groaned, his fist tightening in Dean’s hair. Picking up Sommer’s cues, Dean bit harder, sucking and pulling. Sommer cursed and trembled and clutched at Dean’s hair hard enough to hurt. Humming his approval, Dean drew back to lick the bit of abused skin before switching his mouth to the other nipple. Sommer tasted clean and faintly salty with the sweat of desire, and Dean wanted to lap it all up.
He was so caught up in the feel of flesh bruising between his teeth, Sommer had to literally push him away. Sommer’s nipple came out of Dean’s mouth with an audible pop, and Sommer hissed. Dean straightened up, his gaze meeting Sommer’s. The intense desire there made him quiver inside.
“Take off the rest of your clothes,” Sommer ordered in a voice husky with lust. “Then lie down on the bed, on your back.”
Dean hurried to obey. He toed off his sneakers, undid his jeans and wriggled them down to his knees. Plopping onto the edge of the bed, he pulled his pants and socks off in a tangle of fabric. He hadn’t worn underwear, as he’d hoped for an encounter of the hot sex kind with Sommer. Judging by the look in Sommer’s eyes, it had been a good move.
Naked, Dean slid to the middle of the king-sized mattress and lay back, arms stretched languidly above his head, and gave Sommer a sultry smile. “What do you want, Sommer?”
Sommer licked his lips. “Spread your legs.”
Dean did as he was told, opening his thighs wide. He loved the way Sommer stared at him, like his body was a ripe, juicy fruit unexpectedly appearing before a man starving in a desert. His pulse raced, and he could smell the musk of his own lust. The part of his brain still functioning wished Sommer would stop