Demming by Avril Ashton
Eighteen
Another knock on his door. For someone who made it clear he didn’t want to be bothered, he’d been getting a lot of visitors lately. First, there’d been his mother, then his brother, both of them dropping by to check on Demming.
He’d just gotten dressed after a shower and here again was another insistent knock.
Demming heaved a sigh and went to answer the door, frowning when he saw who stood there.
Emmanuel Asamoah leaned heavily on a cane, expression grim, while a young man hovered nearby. “Well? Am I being invited in?” When Demming’s gaze flicked to the anxious guy at Senior’s side, the older man waved a hand. “Frank is my assistant. He can wait outside.”
Demming jerked and stepped aside. “Yeah. Come in.”
Frank’s eyes widened. “Sir, I don’t think—”
“Wait outside, Frank,” Asamoah barked.
Demming waited until the older man entered then closed the door and led the way into the condo. He almost asked if the other man needed assistance, but Asamoah didn’t strike him as the type to accept help, plus he didn’t appear to need it. He’d lost a lot of weight and the close-cropped hair on his head was now all white where it’d been black before. Hart had mentioned the effects the stroke had on his father, but seeing it up close was…jarring. Demming motioned for him to take a seat but remained standing himself. “What can I do for you?”
“I hear you’ve been carrying on with my son. And no, he didn’t send me. He doesn’t know I came.”
Demming glared at him. “I’m not carrying on with him. We are—we were—in a relationship.”
“And is that how you got him to sell you the property? My son isn’t like me. He’s better. Did you prey on his good nature?”
Anger flared, but Demming sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he dropped into a chair. He’d ask the same thing if the roles were reversed. “I don’t give a damn about the property.”
“Then what do you care about?” Emmanuel challenged.
“Hart! I care about Hart!
“If that is indeed the case, why aren’t you together?”
Demming leaned back. “He told you about that?”
“He’s a mess.” The other man eyed him up and down. “And so are you, I see.” Silence persisted for a moment before he spoke again. “He says you made him happy.”
“He made me happy.”
The older man rolled his eyes. “Then why the hell are you apart?” he asked loudly. “Fix it already. I don’t like seeing my son heartbroken.”
“Wait, so you want us together?” He didn’t expect that.
“I want whatever my son wants. Whatever makes him happy. He tells me that’s you.”
Fuck. Emotion tightened Demming’s throat. “I didn’t—I kept things from him.”
“And maybe he did the same, but you won’t know unless you have a conversation.” Asamoah huffed. “You young people always think you know shit but won’t lower yourselves to truly talk. To actually listen.”
He was right. This Emmanuel Asamoah was nothing like the man Demming had interacted with in the past. Maybe his illness had thawed out his coldness. Or maybe Hart had something to do with it. “I-uh—” Demming cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have blamed you for my father’s death. The way I lost him—my grief built you up as the villain because I needed somewhere to put the blame. I hated you because you were convenient and you became the scapegoat for everything that went wrong with my family—” His voice cracked. “It was unfair of me.”
“No, you were right. I blamed myself, too.” The other man swallowed. “Which was why I couldn’t face you.” He met Demming’s gaze squarely. “It was wrong of me to do the things I did just to get what I wanted. I am sorry for the part I played in the loss of your father. Hart was right. Things need to be put right. Hopefully, you gaining ownership of the property can be the first step in that direction. From what Hart tells me, you’ve done Arthur proud.”
Demming glanced away to hide the emotion that swept over him so suddenly. That was all he’d wanted from Asamoah, he realized. An acknowledgment of the part he played. A genuine apology. “Thank you.”
“Now…” Asamoah struggled to his feet and Demming offered him a hand up, which he actually took with a nod. “Fix things with my son, and don’t you even think about breaking his heart. Don’t let the cane fool you. I will fuck you up.”
Demming swallowed a snort. “Yes, sir.” He helped the other man to the door and followed him and Frank onto the elevator, feeling lighter than he’d been in a long time.
He waited until the end of the day, when he was sure Hart would be home, to go over to his place in the city. But as he got off the elevator on Hart’s floor, Hart came barreling out the door, clearly distracted because he had yet to notice Demming.
Demming stood and waited until Hart lifted his head and saw him. His eyes went wide and he rushed to him, closing the distance between them in a couple of strides.
“Sawyer!” Hart clasped his face in both hands. “Are you okay?” His hands trembled against Demming’s face. “I’m sorry about the way I acted. I was so selfish.”
Demming wrapped his arms around him and just held him. The ache inside loosened enough for him to take gulps of air into his lungs. Breathing had been so fucking difficult without Hart.
Hart stroked his back as they stood in the middle of the hallway. “Are you okay?”
“Now, I am.” He inched his head back. “One of my men died on the job.”
Hart gasped. “What? I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t know if that call would be welcomed.”
Hart closed his eyes briefly and when they reopened, they shimmered. “I really fucked up, didn’t I? I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. I have no excuse other than stupidity.”
But he wasn’t the only one who needed to apologize. “I’m sorry for keeping things from you,” Demming told him. “I’m so used to not having to explain myself to anyone that I didn’t even think you’d need a warning or have the need to know about my plans. Dropping it on you the night before was fucked up and I’m sorry for that.”
Hart shook his head. “I wasn’t truthful about what I was feeling.” He blew out a breath. “I didn’t want you to go. I wanted to beg you to say, but I couldn’t do that so instead, I got angry and used your actions to push you away.” He laughed humorlessly. “Very mature.”
“Hey.” Demming cradled his face in his hands. “We messed up, but we won’t let it happen again. Right?” He searched Hart’s eyes.
“No.” Hart gazed up at him so tenderly. “I missed you, Sawyer.”
Demming trembled in his embrace. “Fuck, I missed you, too. So fucking much.” He kissed Hart, desperately licking into his mouth, in search of that taste he’d missed so much.
Hart clung to him, nails digging into his back, meeting him stroke for stroke before finally breaking away to take Demming’s hand and tug. “Come inside.”
They crashed together the minute the door closed behind them. Demming couldn’t stop kissing him, touching him. He’d been starved and now that he had Hart back in his arms, on his tongue, he intended to overdose on him. Already brick-hard behind his zipper, his cock throbbed, aching for the promise Hart broadcasted with every grunt, every jerk of his hips.
Demming shoved him up against the closed door and dropped to his knees, yanking at Hart’s jeans, undoing them before shoving his face into the other man’s crotch to inhale him.
Fuck, he smelled so good.
Demming’s hands trembled as he grasped Hart’s throbbing dick and brought it to his mouth. Hart fisted his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he bucked into Demming’s mouth, sliding deeper before Demming was ready. He was far from a pro at giving head, but he liked having Hart in his mouth, liked hearing the sounds he made as he spilled on his tongue. Hart seemed to like it too, so Demming sucked on him with zero finesse, just a whole lot of hunger and saliva.
Hart fucked into his grip, plunging into his mouth, making his eyes water and burn, but Demming kept going until Hart yanked on his hair, tugging his head back. Demming peered up at him and found the other man’s eyes wild and unfocused.
“I need you inside me.”
Demming shot to his feet, staggering, grabbing Hart by the front of his shirt and tugging him over to the couch. He was manhandling the other man, but fuck, he couldn’t help himself. Everything inside him had melted into lava and it burned uncontrollably. It’d been too damn long since he’d had Hart and he couldn’t wait, couldn’t slow down.
Fuck being gentle.
Hart seemed to be of the same mindset, too, because his jeans dropped to his ankles.
Demming bent him over the couch, one hand fumbling with his own jeans, fingers of the other sliding down Hart’s crack, dipping into his clenching hole.
“Mmm. Lube,” Hart gasped. “Sawyer, get the lube.”
Shit. Demming glanced around wildly. “Where—” Then he remembered Hart’s couch had a secret compartment in the middle where he’d put lube and condoms the last time Demming stayed over. He moved forward, almost falling to his knees with his jeans all jumbled at his feet. He tore them off with a curse, quickly retrieving the lube and condoms then returning to Hart, who waited with half his body flung over the back of the couch.
Ass in the air, eagerly waiting for him.
Demming wasted no time putting on the condom and slicking up, pushing two fingers into him.
Hart hissed. Demming kissed his nape, digits plunging in and out of him.
“Now.” Hart threw a hand out, nails digging into his flank. “Now, Sawyer.”
Clearly, Hart knew what he wanted so Demming gave it to him, removing his fingers, lining up his dick, and plunging in. They froze as one. There was nothing tighter than Hart. Nothing hotter. Demming’s balls churned and his chest heaved as he struggled to breathe. When Hart pushed back on him, Demming moved.
Stroking in and out.
Hart moved with him, taking him deeper, hole tight and punishing. Demming couldn’t keep his eyes open, couldn’t hear shit over the thudding of his heart and the rush of orgasm already so close to the surface of his skin.
“Touch yourself,” he bit out. His jaw hurt from clenching so hard. “Make—Come. Come for me.” Because he was already there, already coming. Fuck. It’d been too long. His stamina was for shit.
Hart groaned his name as he jerked himself, ass clenching, hips rolling, pulling Demming over the finish line.
He came with a grunt, face buried in Hart’s nape, hips snapping, and before he could breathe, Hart’s orgasm pulled another one from him. They writhed together, bodies shaking, breaths harsh and loud.
Bent over Hart’s back, Demming clung to him since his legs were useless and the rest of his senses hadn’t returned online yet.
Hart’s palm glided over his right hip. “Round two in my bed?”
Demming huffed out a laugh. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
* * *
Bryce’s bandhad their first gig.
A church fair, but it was a paying gig and he’d invited Demming and their mother to come. So Demming went. He took Hart too.
A date.
He introduced Hart to his mother on her birthday, during an intimate dinner at the house. There, Demming told her about his plan to gift her Larchmont. The property belonged to him now, but in name only. He’d hired a management company to oversee it because as he’d come to realize in the end, it had never been about the property. But, he was glad he’d taken the actions he had. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have met Hart.
In the six months since they’d made up, Demming had only one job, and it had taken him away for less than a week. But this time he’d been sure to tell Hart what was happening from start to finish. It made it a little easier on Hart, who’d taken to spending time with Demming’s mother during his time away.
He and Hart also had regular dinners with Hart’s parents and that was going surprisingly well.
He’d decided to take some time just to be with Hart. To be with his mother and support his brother. The other members of his crew had taken it surprisingly well, maybe because they all had relationships of their own, people they didn’t want to leave for an extended period of time as they’d done in the past.
Now that he wasn’t leaving the country or running off somewhere on a job, Demming had started working for Renzo Vega as an in-house consultant of sorts. Renzo hadn’t batted an eye when Demming told him he wouldn’t be taking any jobs that would take him away for long periods of time. Clearly, with a relationship of his own, Renzo understood wanting to remain close. He paid Demming exorbitantly for fucking around, and though he did it mostly not to get bored, it wasn’t a bad gig to have.
Hart’s issues with Russell Properties hadn’t made it to court. The other company dropped the suit and Hart was able to move on, hiring a company that meshed well with his ideals. His project was already underway and Demming had never seen him so excited.
Their relationship was stronger than it’d ever been. Every day Demming found himself falling deeper in love with Hart.
As if he’d heard Demming’s thoughts, Hart appeared, holding out a drink with a grin just as the emcee up on stage announced Bryce’s band. “You ready to see your brother do his thing?”
Demming took the offered drink and threw an arm around Hart’s shoulder, drawing him close. “I am.”
He’d listened to Bryce’s band a few times and they were pretty damn good. Turned out, Bryce wasn’t just an amazing drummer. He could sing too. Which he was doing today. He remained in college, maintaining decent grades, while he put all his extra time and energy into the band. An investment that was starting to pay off.
Demming especially liked the look in Bryce’s eyes as he stepped up to the mike, gaze searching the crowd and finding Demming and Hart and then their mother, who stood a ways off, chatting to a female friend.
Demming nodded at his brother. Bryce winked and started singing.
Demming kissed Hart’s temple without taking his eyes off the stage as he murmured, “I love you.”
Hart touched the small of his back. “And I love you.”
* * *
Thank you for reading Demming!
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