Between You and Me

By Willa Okati

Theirs is a love story that was only waiting to happen – and a future worth fighting for.

By Your Side: Seven years ago Matthieu fell in love with a man fifteen years his junior. Roman swore he wanted nothing more than to settle down with Matthieu. Matthieu tried to do the right thing, hoping Roman would forgive and forget him. But Roman’s never been good at taking “no” for an answer -- especially when he knows his partner really wants say yes, yes, yes.

Between You and Me: Quiet, reserved Daniel admits to being a “serial monogamist.” He’s holding out for forever. Ian, Daniel’s closest friend, falls in love at least once a week. Somehow, when neither of them were looking, Daniel stole Ian’s heart, and Ian stole Daniel’s. And they’re both smart enough to know that’s something worth fighting for.

In the Key Of: Teague seems set spending the rest of his life alone -- until he meets Julian online. Julian’s everything Teague is not: creative, impulsive, enthusiastic -- and commitment shy. When a voice on the phone and a face on the screen are no longer enough, can Teague convince Julian to take a chance on him in the real world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jan 19, 2019

Willa Okati

Willa Okati can most often be found muttering to herself over a keyboard, plugged into her iPod and breaking between paragraphs to play air drums. In her spare time (the odd ten minutes or so per day she's not writing) she's teaching herself to play the pennywhistle. Willa has forty-plus separate tattoos and yearns for a full body suit of ink. She walks around in a haze of story ideas, dreaming of tales yet to be told. She drinks an alarming amount of coffee for someone generally perceived to be mellow.

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Between You and Me

Willa Okati

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2019 Willa Okati

BIN: 008740-02825

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Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

315 N. Centre St.

Martinsburg, WV 25404

www.ChangelingPress.com

Anthology Editor: Karen Williams

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

Between You and Me (Box Set)

By Your Side

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Between You and Me

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

In the Key Of

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Willa Okati

Between You and Me

Willa Okati

Theirs is a love story that was only waiting to happen -- and a future worth fighting for.

By Your Side: Seven years ago Matthieu fell in love with a man fifteen years his junior. Roman swore he wanted nothing more than to settle down with Matthieu. Matthieu tried to do the right thing, hoping Roman would forgive and forget him. But Roman’s never been good at taking no for an answer -- especially when he knows his partner really wants say yes, yes, yes.

Between You and Me: Quiet, reserved Daniel admits to being a serial monogamist. He’s holding out for forever. Ian, Daniel’s closest friend, falls in love at least once a week. Somehow, when neither of them were looking, Daniel stole Ian’s heart, and Ian stole Daniel’s. And they’re both smart enough to know that’s something worth fighting for.

In the Key Of: Teague seems set spending the rest of his life alone -- until he meets Julian online. Julian’s everything Teague is not: creative, impulsive, enthusiastic -- and commitment shy. When a voice on the phone and a face on the screen are no longer enough, can Teague convince Julian to take a chance on him in the real world?

By Your Side

Willa Okati

Seven years ago, during a sultry summer by a lake, Matthieu fell in love with a man fifteen years his junior. Intelligent, passionate and talented, Roman swore he wanted nothing more than to settle down with Matthieu for the rest of his life. Matthieu couldn’t let that happen. The way he saw it, Roman had too much talent to waste with a small life and small dreams. He tried to do the right thing by severing all ties with the young man who commanded his passion, hoping that one day Roman would forgive and forget him.

That was never going to happen.

Roman has always known exactly who and what he wants -- who he loves. Now that he’s found Matthieu again, Roman’s willing to do anything it takes to prove it. He’ll use his body, his music, and all his wiles to show the older man that their love is as real as their passion, and that they are meant to be together. Matthieu isn’t easily convinced, but Roman isn’t easily bested. He’s never been good at taking no for an answer -- especially when he knows his partner well enough to be sure what he really wants to say is yes, yes, yes.

Prologue

Kind of early for you to be leaving the party, isn’t it? Especially when it’s your birthday they’re celebrating.

The corners of Roman’s eyes crinkled up when he smiled. Matthieu reflected, not for the first time, that he’d be a fine-looking man when he was old. Are you surprised? He cradled his guitar safely in his arms and scooted over to make room on the edge of the dock.

Matthieu chuckled. "Not really, cher. He toed off his boots before sitting beside Roman, the wood cool and rough beneath him. The night sky seemed to stretch on forever above him, black and smooth. Guess the shenanigans are more my thing."

And that’s why you’re here with me, not there.

Who says I didn’t come to take you by the scruff and haul you back?

Roman murmured to his guitar with soft notes. Because I know you’d rather be out here where it’s quiet. I know you.

Too sharp for your own good, aren’t you? And not wrong.

Looking at him, Matthieu wanted to rumple Roman’s hair; he wanted to laze the night away out here on the floating dock and take his leisure.

Take more than that, come to think of it.

He cleared his throat instead. Still. Party or not, it’s something to celebrate, being eighteen and a man grown. All that world out there you can burn through. As much freedom as you could want, and no one tells you what you can’t do.

They never could.

From what I’ve seen, isn’t that God’s own truth?

You tell me. Roman glanced sideways, puckish, at him. His fingers drifted across the strings of his guitar, playing random chords that might or might not become a song.

Bah. Matthieu intended to leave. He found himself lingering. There was more appeal to the quiet than the clamor, and Roman’s music… What’s that one called?

Don’t know yet. He lightly thumped the solid body of the guitar with his knuckles. But I will.

Always so sure of yourself, aren’t you?

About some things, yeah. I am. Roman’s sideways glance lingered, older and more thoughtful than eighteen. More knowing than men Matthieu’s age, than Matthieu himself, even with the fifteen-year age difference between them. Sometimes Roman made him feel ancient.

And sometimes he made Matthieu feel like a kid again.

Roman dabbled his toes in the water, flicking small ripples over across the tops of Matthieu’s feet. I’ve only been here a week, he said. Seems like longer.

It can, out here, Matthieu agreed. The swish of water made him almost sleepy. Time forgets itself around this lake.

Roman’s quiet laugh wasn’t as deep as Matthieu’s, but it had a certain something to it. A sort of charm.

Hey, now. What’s so funny about that? Matthieu splashed him with a small wave, a lazy, playful surge of water.

Everything. Nothing. Roman stroked the curve of his guitar, scuff marks and signs of wear and tear and all.

Matthieu hardly knew a six-string from a banjo, to tell the truth, but he thought the old instrument Roman favored wasn’t any great prize. Yet the music he could coax from her… He propped himself on his arms and turned his half-asleep gaze to the skies above him. Stars were just beginning to pop out in the deepening dark blue. Suit yourself, then. Lord, but he knew he should leave.

Yet he didn’t.

Just thinking that you’ve spent your life here.

Matthieu shrugged. Not all my life.

You grew up here.

I did, and moved away.

But you come back.

Would you listen to him? Matthieu knew without looking Roman would have jutted his chin, even if he smiled too. A born debater, that one. I come back for the summers because my sister lives here. You know Justine. Nothing means more to her than family.

Roman shrugged. Still. You come back. That’s the main thing.

For a few weeks in the summers. No more. Matthieu tilted his head back, toward the world behind them. I’ve got a life to be living. Work to be done. The company tells me where to go as foreman on construction sites, and I go.

Is that what you want to do for the rest of your life?

Matthieu wanted to look back at Roman. So much that he ached with it, but Lord, didn’t he have to be on his guard around this one more often than not? It was too easy to give in and let him have everything he wanted. Too tempting to claim the things Matthieu knew he should not let himself take from a boy meant for far more than wasting his nights by a lake.

It suits me well enough, he answered at last. It’s what I choose for myself.

Mmm. Roman plucked an idle trio of chords.

Matthieu didn’t strain himself trying to understand what the kid meant. Just waited for it. Roman always explained himself. Sometimes too distinctly for comfort, but still. He could be relied upon to be himself. For good or ill it was a rarer commodity in a man than one might think.

Every summer for a few weeks, Roman said, stroking his guitar strings in a way that drew Matthieu’s attention to the grace and strength in his fingers. He might be young, but he had a man’s hands. Clever, supple, skilled… A collection of seven days plus seven days plus seven days. By my count you’ve only been here for one. You’re not staying longer this year?

Seven days. Matthieu shook his head. Hard to believe he’d only known this young man for a week. Seven days by a cluster of lake houses with the smell of grilling forever in the air and the sultry sunlight baking them all brown.

Seven days to fall for him. Head over heels.

Best I be going early this year, he said. Safer for all of them. He only had so much restraint, and he’d used most of it already, keeping on his guard against this beautiful, confusing man.

Get through one more night, then send Roman on his way to live the life he deserved and put this summer behind him. Might not be what he wanted, but it’d do. Matthieu knew how to make do.

Still. No need to be rude either. Eighteen. It’s a hell of a good age. Matthieu plucked up a leaf that’d fallen from the trees above the dock and sent it spinning into the lake. Your life starts with this summer. Don’t waste it, eh?

Believe me, this summer isn’t something I’m ever going to forget. Ever.

Lord, I shouldn’t be sitting this close to Roman out here by ourselves. Too easy to be tempted, and whether Roman liked parties or not, Matthieu could smell one celebratory shot of whiskey on his breath.

Roman seemed unaffected by the liquor, except for the depths to which he looked inside himself, lost in thoughts that emerged as a scattering of slow chords. Matthieu had seen it before. Some of his best music came from that place, plucked from his heart.

He could watch Roman like that for hours. Might have, if the boy hadn’t slipped on the strings and broken a chord between notes. At that, he grimaced and ceased playing altogether.

Last thing Matthieu wanted was for Roman to stop being happy. The desire to comfort the boy made him unwise, usually. What’s going on in that head of yours? Matthieu kept his hands to himself. No easy task. "Enlighten me, cher."

He thought Roman might have gone slightly pink, though it was hard to tell in the dim reflections of moonlight off the lake. I like that you do that, he said, awkward for once in his life. "Call me ‘cher,’ I mean."

Just habit. Don’t take it personal.

You don’t call anyone else sweet names.

Yeah, well. Matthieu paddled his feet in the water, enjoying its silky, cool swish. He could feel Roman looking at him. He’d been doing that more often than not lately. Thoughtful, like he was measuring him up. Matthieu broke the silence by rubbing the scruff on his jaw. Time for a shave. And a change of topic. Not that he’d call himself a master of conversation, more apt than not to throw out a hook and see if someone bit. If not back at that party, where would you rather be? he asked Roman.

Roman’s answer was immediate. Right here.

Tsk. Only the young could make up their minds like that, snap, so easy. I meant if this dock wasn’t here. Then where would you be?

Easy. Roman looked forward, as if to the future. At a café. Somewhere like New York. Chelsea maybe. Or San Francisco. Or a small town in the middle of nowhere. Someplace where the lights are soft and the room’s small, but there’s people grouped and people alone, drinking espresso and listening. Everything’s… full… with words and music.

He warmed to his topic as he went on, growing animated and plying the strings of his guitar again, the notes both lighter and calmer. The kid came to life when he talked about his dreams.

Keep on going. It’s a good story. Where are you in all of this, sitting in the crowd?

No. I’m on stage. It’s a small stage, just big enough for one person at a time. It’s just me, playing whatever I want.

Yeah. That was how it should be, but better. Ignorant of music’s finer points or not, even the deaf, dumb, and blind would have to confess that Roman’s gifts were made for more than playing at cafés. He’d see that himself, sooner or later. Probably sooner. Matthieu remembered being that age and how he’d known what he wanted only to change his mind a day later.

He missed that sort of conviction, truth be told. Even if it was fleeting.

Bah. Matthieu slapped his hands on his thighs, muscles bunched in preparation to rise. Then what are you sitting around here for? Go make your dreams come true.

Roman laid his hands flat on the guitar, one on the body and one on the flank. Can I ask you something?

No harm in it, he guessed. They’d move on to music and looking toward the future; safer topics, those. Speak your piece.

"You think it’s worth dreaming about impossible things and chasing those dreams? I mean, do you think things that shouldn’t, could happen?"

Matthieu rubbed the stubble on his chin, giving himself time to think. Maybe he’d grow a beard. He’d lived enough to know the answer to that one, but if anyone could best the odds of a world that rolled in nobody’s favor, he knew it’d be Roman. I wouldn’t put anything past you if you put your mind to it, he said at last. Why?

Roman lit up from the inside out, a low roll of fire that illuminated the something rare about him that’d captured Matthieu from the moment they said hello. Because of this.

He was so close. Too close, whiskey scenting the inches of air between them. Matthieu tasted it on the young man’s breath as Roman turned toward him and drew him along in his wake.

His first touch, a light stroke of guitar-calloused fingertips over Matthieu’s cheek and down his throat, scraping over stubble, shook Matthieu’s promises to himself to pieces. Because if anything’s possible… then this must be too.

Matthieu found the strength to stop him. Somewhere. Somehow. One last time. The brat was strong in limb and body, but Matthieu had worked construction since he was younger than Roman, and no one could ever call him a lightweight. He wrestled free of those eager caresses and planted his palms flat on Roman’s chest. Don’t push me, boy.

Roman wouldn’t be stopped, and he laughed as he straddled Matthieu, one knee to either side of his hips. He pushed Matthieu onto his back, then paused there, balancing himself, fighting back, asserting himself, all three at once.

By God, he was beautiful. Something a little more than human, as Matthieu had thought he’d be when he couldn’t stop himself from imagining Roman this way.

And yet… Matthieu could see the tiny hints that gave his uncertainties away: the way he caught his lower lip between his teeth to bite the plump flesh, the tiny shiver in the thighs that bracketed him, and the flashes of pleading that made him squeeze his fists.

A stronger force of nature Matthieu had yet to meet, but by God if Roman didn’t make a man want to take care of him too.

I know myself, Roman said quietly and in a way that could never be mistaken for a lie or a bluff. "I know I want this. Anyone else would be a poor substitute. So don’t you tell me I don’t know what I’m doing, and don’t you dare tell me I don’t want you, because I do."

Damn him for his insight. He wanted to reach out and take hold of Roman, and that rascal knew it.

Roman’s smile turned sleek and predatory. He reminded Matthieu of his music: beauty and fire woven together into something that would so overcome a man as to make him reckless about the scars. I’m not a virgin. You’re not the first man I’ve had sex with.

Hasn’t happened yet, boy.

"No. Call me cher. It sounds right. I want to hear it again. Don’t want to stop hearing it."

He moved, only a little, sufficient to prove himself knowledgeable enough to settle himself on Matthieu. To nestle the temptation of his pert little ass against Matthieu’s groin. Leaving nothing to doubt, not for either of them.

Roman began to rock into him, hard, without grace or finesse but with all the power with which he played his six-string. He pressed Matthieu’s arms down to his sides and stretched himself atop Matthieu inasmuch as he could. Close enough to kiss, to tease -- to drive him mad -- with kittenlike flicks of his clever tongue across Matthieu’s lips.

Now tell me you don’t want this, Roman whispered. He undulated somehow, a flowing wave that dipped and rose. Tell me you don’t want me too.

I told you not to push me, Matthieu said. He no longer meant it, and Roman knew that full well.

Roman’s lips curved maddeningly, reminding Matthieu of a satisfied cat. I am. I want to. I will.

He pressed those sweet lips to Matthieu’s neck, biting kisses down to his shoulder, dancing his hands over sides and hips. Each sinuous twist of his body brought them closer together, the clothes that separated them chafing more by the moment and his body demanding to be free of them.

Matthieu might still have walked away if it hadn’t been for Roman’s lips tickling beneath his chin and his warm, whiskey-scented breath on his jaw, or when Roman whispered, Please…

Matthieu shut his eyes tightly.

Don’t say no. Roman slid back to rest on Matthieu’s thighs. He rested his palm over Matthieu’s cock, hard and ready and wanting him. Let me?

He didn’t wait for an answer. With a touch almost as skilled as that which coaxed music out of a battered old guitar, he eased belt and button and zipper out of the way. He bent, pressing his lips to a swath of bared skin. The point of his chin brushed Matthieu’s cock, driving him too close to the point of no return -- as if he wasn’t already all but there -- but that was nothing compared to the sensation, the wildfire he kindled, when he wrapped his calloused palm around the width and then stroked his length.

Please, he whispered, his kisses wet and openmouthed. Moving farther down Matthieu’s torso. Never letting go. Let me have this…

God, oh God. Matthieu dug his hands into Roman’s hair and pulled. If you start the music, you better be prepared for the dance. He hissed at the touch of a warm, wet tongue tip on his cock.

Mmm. Music’s been playing for days. Waiting for you.

Matthieu expected Roman to carry on. To seal his sleek mouth around Matthieu’s erection and suck him down. Last thing he figured on was his hand shaking, even for a second, and for Roman to roll off him onto his back on the dock.

Maybe it was instinct that guided Matthieu to roll with him, or maybe it was just the last threads of the ties that held him back fraying loose and snapping free. Didn’t matter. Where he went, Matthieu followed and found himself on top now with Roman beneath him.

My God, his face… Matthieu stroked that beautiful face, no more able to help himself than he might have chosen to stop breathing.

Roman parted his kiss-pinked lips and moistened them with the sweep of his tongue. A flush spread from his cheeks, down his neck, and even below the loose collar of his T-shirt. The younger man’s chest rose and fell with a ragged rhythm that spoke more about his state of mind than the thick length trapped between his legs.

It would take a saint to resist this temptation to sin, and Matthieu was no saint. Once. It could happen just once, and when he’s had his taste, he’ll be content.

Even if Matthieu wouldn’t be. If he let himself give in, just once would never be enough for him.

No one to blame but yourself, he said, tracing the tension in Roman’s neck, his shoulders, his chest.

Roman laughed. He caught Matthieu by the cheek, scraping his palm against the stubble, and skimmed past to knot his fingers in Matthieu’s hair. I know.

And Matthieu could fight no more. He wanted. Wanted with a hunger that, once given a peek outside its cage, could not be pushed back down. Wanted ever more when he let himself taste Roman’s plush, parted lips and lick his way inside, and wanted most of all when Roman moaned and pushed closer, when he wrapped his strong, slim arms around Matthieu and clung to him as if he would never let go.

Matthieu pushed him flat. His turn now; if he was going to let himself have this, then by God he would have it all, every last bit Roman wanted to give. And Roman did. Eagerly. Hungrier for it than even Matthieu had thought he would be, all but writhing in his efforts to help free him of his T-shirt and jeans. No underwear; he was either careless or hopeful or too much of both.

Didn’t matter, not right now. Not when Roman’s cock, sturdy and sleek, slapped wetly against his stomach when Matthieu laid him back down. Roman curled one hand into a loose fist and rested it by his cheek; he reached for Matthieu with the other and slipped his hand teasingly beneath Matthieu’s shirt to caress his skin. He said nothing for once, but he didn’t have to. He only looked at Matthieu, waiting. Letting him know it was his turn now. Asking him. Begging him.

When he compared himself to the sleek, lithe fitness of Roman’s body, Matthieu felt almost ashamed to shed his clothes. This part of the dock was sheltered enough that no one else would see, but by God, next to this young man in his prime he felt as old and worn as saddle leather.

Roman didn’t seem to think so. He watched Matthieu eagerly, almost aquiver, visibly aborting every impulse to reach out and touch. God, he said as he exhaled a deep breath. His lips parted. He devoured Matthieu with his stare, appreciative in so many ways.

That turned the tide, Matthieu thought. It couldn’t be helped, how a man reacted to that sort of look aimed his way. Being wanted made a man want more in turn, always did, winding him tighter and past the fine edge where control snapped and pure animal need took over.

Roman’s skin tasted as sweet as his kisses, as sweet as the sound he made when Matthieu lay half atop him with his cock snugged tight in the crease between Roman’s hip and thigh. As sweet as his groan when Matthieu gave in to an urge he hadn’t even known he possessed and took one dusky brown nipple between his teeth and sucked.

He kept Roman down with one arm tight over his chest when he cried out and arched up, and when he fought to get closer still. To turn on his side and rub his needy cock against Matthieu’s. Easy to tell all that from not just half-formed words and pleas, but from the urgent way Roman shifted his body and his almost animal strain toward Matthieu.

For a moment, Matthieu thought maybe that would be enough, but no, God no. More. He took Roman’s chin between thumb and forefinger and held him firmly to get his attention. You wanted this, he said, hearing himself, hoarse as if he’d shouted for hours. You came down here so sure of yourself I know you brought some gear.

Roman licked his lips and sighed in something that sounded like a mix between praise and thanks. Yes. My jeans. He wriggled. Back pockets. Wriggled again, the tip of his cock only just able to bump Matthieu’s thigh. Hurry.

Matthieu slapped Roman’s hip, chiding him. He didn’t expect Roman to gasp or to shudder, or to dig his nails into Matthieu’s flesh and for a dollop of wet warmth to escape his eager cock.

Hurry, he’d said. Matthieu would have torn those jeans apart from stitching to rivets if it would have helped him get the goods sooner. A packet of lube, not a small one, still warm from Roman’s body heat. One condom in the pocket with it. Another in the pocket next to it. Another in the hip pocket.

He waved the selection at Roman, who laughed at him without shame for either of them. On the contrary, he plucked one of the packets free and tore it open with his teeth. Enough practice there to do it without shredding the latex.

Less practice when he took Matthieu by the hip to hold him steady, though his hand still shook finely, and rolled the condom down his length. He pulled Matthieu atop him while Matthieu, stunned, made no move. Roman raised his strong legs to clamp against Matthieu’s sides, bringing him close enough for Matthieu’s cockhead to nudge the small furl that could -- would -- let him in.

No going back now. Not even if he’d wanted to, and Matthieu still knew he should, but he couldn’t.

Roman came apart so beautifully in his arms, yielding to anything Matthieu wanted. Biting his lip and nodding when Matthieu breached him with his fingers, breathing when ordered to, letting himself be opened. So eager for this that he demanded it before he was ready, legs locked behind Matthieu’s back and his hips rolling up in a steady, needy tempo.

Now, Roman begged, demanded, ordered between kisses that they’d somehow fallen back into, Matthieu as gone as him now. They kissed with a hunger and thirst for more and still more, pushing each other hard with every press of mouth to mouth. Their kisses tasted of summertime and sweat and the faintest traces of whiskey.

Roman squeezed Matthieu, ankles digging into the small of his back. He could barely draw a deep breath, but still he pleaded, nudging Matthieu as close as a man could get.

And then. Then, with both his hand and Roman’s to guide him, Matthieu slid in that opening still too small for his girth. It was almost painful; it was a taste of heaven he had not thought he’d ever know. Roman’s nails scored deep, but he breathed deeper still, slow and steady, visibly forcing himself to relax, to conquer the limitations of his body with the strength of his desire, and to let Matthieu in.

Matthieu would have tried to take it slow, but there was no slow with a wildcat playing his every nerve with more skill than his guitar. He could only follow the song through to its conclusion. Roman slid his cock, slick with precum, fast through Matthieu’s hand and strained toward him; he tossed his head to and fro, rolling it against the dock.

They were kissing again, though the angle made it almost impossible and made Matthieu’s neck ache. It was more than worth a little pain to swallow down Roman’s moans and gasps, to hear and taste them in time with the jerks and shudders