Dirty Laundry: A Tucker Springs Novel #3

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, not really, just . . . looking. The world fell away until the only things left were Adam’s small body, Denver’s huge one, and the damp towels underneath his ass. Denver didn’t move, neither advancing nor retreating, just staring at Adam. Measuring? Waiting? Adam couldn’t tell. Something told Adam, though, that the next move was his.
    Fear kicked up at the idea, but it was dual-headed: fear of rejection, either in anger or disinterest—and fear of waiting too long and missing out on bringing that big body closer.
    He pushed his glasses back up onto his nose.
    Quit acting like you’re afraid of the world all the damn time .
    The worst part was, it was true. 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—in general, Adam was afraid. Of the uncertainty that went with absolutely everything about Planet Earth.
    He was still afraid of Cowboy. But for the first time in a long, long time, desire was keeping 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, Adam drew in a slow, silent breath. Then he let it out, shifted against the edge of the dryer, and pushed his knees open.
    Heat sparked in the back of Denver’s gaze, and his mouth lifted up at one corner into a slow, crooked smile.
    When the cowboy’s big hand rested on Adam’s thigh, the touch went straight to his cock, and his lips parted on a gasp. His other knee lifted slightly, eager for the other hand as his mind spun erotic scenarios faster than the speed of light. But the hand never came. Instead Denver stepped back and examined Adam critically again.
    “This you being grateful, or are you really wanting to play?”
    “Yeah,” Adam whispered. Play . He didn’t need a guidebook to get the double entendre in Denver’s tone. Adam wanted every tendre, double and otherwise, that Denver put on the table. Or under it. Or over it.
    Denver’s wicked half-smile faded a little. “You’re not doing this, are you, because you’re grateful I chased away the idiots?” When Adam frowned, he went on. “Don’t play because you’re afraid of them, or worse, of me. I don’t roll that way. I only want to play 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 last one. That’s why I’m playing.”
    “Good.” Denver’s countenance was full of promise as he nodded to 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 or not, but he didn’t care. He was fairly certain even folding Denver’s underwear would be erotic.

Denver really did have Adam fold his underwear, which was plain old tighty-whiteys. That part was dull as toast. What had the back of Adam’s teeth aching was that Adam’s pants were undone and Denver stood behind him, his hands deep inside Adam’s briefs—red and white striped—the whole time.
    Adam was still having a hard time with the idea that they were going to “play” in the laundromat . He’d assumed they’d quickly finish up their work here and move on to one of their respective apartments. Of course that in itself had sent him into a quiet panic-spiral, but he’d been caught up in the moment and had been determined to ride out the neurosis.
    Nowhere in his agenda had he seen himself folding underwear. While Denver fondled him. In the laundromat.
    With his glasses left on, at Denver’s insistence.
    Not that being fondled was bad. However, they were in public . While Adam found this very hot, it was also weird, and it felt a little dangerous.
    Which, Adam