Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 by J.K. Hogan Read Free Book Online

it…think about it and get back to him.”
    “Smart.” Patrick stood up and collected the empty beer bottles. Rich needed to relax a little, or he was going to stroke out, without a doubt. It was just being a good friend to do something to help him, right? He made his way into the kitchen where he discarded the bottles, then came back to stand behind the couch—behind Rich. “Then nothing’s going to be decided tonight, yeah?” he said, looking down at Rich.
    Rich raised those tired eyes to his face, meeting his upside-down gaze. “No. You’re right. There’s no use freaking out about it right now, when nothing’s going to happen tonight.”
    Taking a chance, Patrick rested his hands lightly on Rich’s rigid shoulders. “Mayhap you don’t need to think about it at all tonight.” He began slowly kneading the knotty muscles that rolled beneath the other man’s skin, waiting to see if Rich would tense up further—or push him away. “You’re so tense,” he whispered.
    Rich gave a drunken chuckle—drunk from exhaustion rather than the beer. “That sounds like a come on,” he slurred.
    Patrick laughed in return. “Maybe. I’m serious, though. It’s like you carry the weight of the world right here,” he said, digging his fingers in.
    Rich groaned and dropped his head forward, chin to chest, and Patrick’s cock jumped in response. “Just the weight of my world. But it’s enough.”
    Patrick hummed and continued working out the kinks. He wasn’t sure where he planned on going with this, but he was just enjoying the feel of baby-soft skin under his callused hands. “When was the last time you had a good massage?”
    Rich sighed, and his head lolled on his shoulders. “Oh, only never.”
    Patrick chuckled near his ear and delighted in the shudder he received. “How’s about we fix that, then? You game?” He turned his attention to the stiff tendons along the sides of Rich’s neck, pressing his thumbs down hard.
    Another rolling moan, another sigh, then a lazy nod. “Why the hell not? The world could end tomorrow.”
    * * * *
    Rich forced himself to relax. Why shouldn’t he give his brain a little mini-vacay? He was of a stressful nature—he had to constantly stress over work, over making enough money to keep himself in suits and expensive toys to remind himself he wasn’t homeless anymore, that he wasn’t going to end up like his mother. He stressed over the wrong people finding out he was gay, while stressing that he might just go mad from lack of companionship, or at least for want of a good fuck—and that was just the tip of the crazy-berg.
    Underneath it all sat his pent-up grief, anger, and guilt from his stolen childhood, cowering like a beast in the dark, a sleeping monster. That was Rich’s biggest, most constant fear—that one day he would no longer be able to contain it. What would happen then? Would he lose his mind?
    So all things considered, why shouldn’t he just let it go for one night? What was wrong with letting a big, burly Irishman take him in hand— heh —and drive the boat for a while.
    With that in mind, when he felt Patrick’s soft, slightly chapped lips brush the spot just below his ear, Rich didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly for better access and huffed out a sigh.
    Rich thought for sure when the guy sensed his surrender, he’d take it to the next level. But he simply eased back, sliding his hands down Rich’s neck to dip below the collar of his shirt. He started up that fucking heavenly massage again, forcing Rich’s muscles to bend to his will, and they obligingly turned to butter for him. It was almost better than sex, to feel his body willingly relax for once…almost.
    Rich faded in and out, in a fugue state of pure tactile bliss. His cock hardened almost lazily, tenting the fabric of his sleep pants. He was just too blissed out to be self-conscious about it.
    His eyes flew open when Patrick’s rough hands slid down inside his shirt