Wild Dreams: A Friends to Lovers romance (Wilder Irish Book 12) Read online

  It wasn’t often that he and Gavin weren’t on the same page—after so many years of close friendship, sometimes it felt like they shared a hive mind—but it was obvious they were on opposite poles right now.

  Had Gavin really never sensed Oliver’s attraction to him? There had been times—brief moments—when he’d truly thought he’d given his feelings for his best friend away. Obviously he’d been wrong, a better poker player than he’d thought.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Gavin asked, his tone rife with shock.

  “I’ve always known you were gay. Knew it five minutes after you moved in here.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Oliver shrugged. “I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”

  “You expect me to believe you’ve been saving yourself for me? All these years?” Gavin asked.

  “I wasn’t saving myself. At least not on purpose. The truth is, I wasn’t sure about my own sexual preferences until…”

  “Until?” Gavin prompted.

  Oliver debated whether or not he should come clean about this particular little secret, and then decided it was time to put his cards on the table. “I saw you with Billy Newcome. That night we all went camping right after graduation. I woke up in the middle of the night, needed to take a piss. Saw the two of you in the woods. He was bent over and you were fucking him.”

  “That was almost two years ago.”

  “I know. Jesus. I knew I should leave, but I couldn’t walk away, Gavin. Couldn’t stop looking at…”

  “At what?”

  “You. I’d have given a million dollars to switch places with Billy that night.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  Oliver had wrestled with that same question ever since that night, but there wasn’t a simple answer. “We’re best friends, Gavin. Brothers. Besides, you were doing a lot of,” he finger-quoted, “‘nights out’ with Billy, and I was dating Lori Matthews.”

  “Both of those relationships ended a year ago.”

  “So you admit it was a relationship,” Oliver joked.

  “Ollie,” Gavin pressed.

  “Fine,” Oliver said with a rueful grin. “I don’t know why, okay? Come on, man. It’s not like it would have been easy to cross that line. We still live at home with our folks.”

  He expected Gavin to laugh, but he didn’t. Instead, he shook his head, not in denial, but as if he was trying to puzzle out something he’d missed. “You want me?”

  Oliver took a deep breath. There was a time for words and there was a time for action.

  This happened to be the latter.

  He and Gavin were about the same height, both of them well over six feet, so it was the simplest thing in the world to reach out, grab his best friend’s face, and kiss him. He ran his fingers through Gavin’s dark brown hair, gripping it in his fist. Gavin had started wearing it a bit longer since they’d graduated from high school, something Oliver teased him about, calling him a hippie.

  Gavin’s shock was brief, and the second he opened his mouth and started kissing Oliver back, it confirmed everything Oliver had always known.

  He and Gavin were meant to be. The two of them would find a woman, marry her, have kids, raise them together, and his dreams for the future wouldn’t seem so wild. They’d be perfect…just like what his parents shared.

  He pressed Gavin against the closed door to his bedroom, grinding his hips closer, needing him to feel his hard-on, to understand exactly how much he wanted him.

  They parted briefly, trying to draw in enough air so they could go back in. They were both breathing rapidly, but Oliver couldn’t resist this. Not a second longer. He resumed the kiss, tasting the beer on his best friend’s breath.

  Gavin reached for the knob and opened the door to his bedroom. The two of them backed inside, Oliver kicking it closed behind them. Neither of them was willing to break this kiss, as too many pent-up desires exploded free.

  Gavin reached behind his neck and tugged his T-shirt off one-handed as Oliver stepped back to watch. They’d seen each other naked at least a thousand times. They were brothers. They shared a bathroom and clothes.

  Oliver also knew he was the only person who’d ever seen Gavin shirtless. Not even their parents had, and though Gavin had told them he had some scars, he’d seriously downplayed them.

  Oliver couldn’t begin to imagine what their dads would do if they saw how bad the damage truly was. And their mom would definitely fall apart. Gavin had said as much to Oliver, begging him to keep quiet. Oliver had reluctantly gone along with it, so Gavin had successfully hidden his chest—wearing T-shirts even when they went swimming, claiming he sunburned easily—to protect their parents from pain that he’d suffered. It was so typically Gavin, and one of the reasons Oliver loved him so much.

  Now—as always—Oliver’s heart lurched painfully as he looked at the evidence of too many fucking years of abuse. He felt as if he could map the scars on Gavin’s chest, his back, his upper arms, all left there by a cruel woman who knew how to wound where no one would see.

  He recalled the first time he’d seen Gavin without a shirt. His foster brother had been living with them for just over a year.

  Gavin had seen the inside of too many foster homes, too many group homes, and he’d shown up here at fifteen with a chip the size of Texas on his shoulder, certain this house would be like all the others—temporary.

  That first year had been the longest of Oliver’s life, and he was ashamed now to think of the number of times he’d begged his parents to send Gavin away. His parents had refused time after time, insisting that Gavin needed to be with them.

  When he looked back, Oliver realized getting sent away had been Gavin’s intention as well. He’d been attempting to beat all of them to the punch, and his cruel, cutting comments to them, his bad attitude, his failing grades, the things he stole or destroyed, were all his way of hurting Oliver and his parents before they could hurt him.

  Oliver thought back to the night he’d busted into Gavin’s room after discovering the hundred bucks he’d been saving all summer—earned by mowing lawns in the neighborhood—was gone. He’d been fully ready to kick the shit out of Gavin until he gave it back.

  He’d caught Gavin unaware, in the middle of changing his clothes, his back turned to the door. The fist he’d drawn as he’d stormed into the room vanished when he saw the round, puckered scars left from cigarette burns and the thin white lines covering his back, drawn from what Gavin later admitted had been broken beer bottles.

  And while his anger had vanished, Gavin’s had erupted.

  It was the first and last time he’d ever seen his foster brother lose his temper.

  He’d shoved Oliver hard, screaming at him to get the fuck out. Oliver had held his ground, asking, “Who the fuck did that?” over and over as Gavin kept shoving him away. For every step he was pushed back, Oliver closed the distance, moving closer, demanding again, “Who the fuck did that?” until all the rage, all the heat, seeped out of Gavin, and he dropped down onto his bed.

  Oliver had never seen a sixteen-year-old boy look so exhausted, so utterly defeated.

  He’d sat down next to him, and while Gavin would only say it had been his mother, the walls between them began to crumble that night. They’d remained there for hours, sitting side by side, as silent tears streamed down Gavin’s cheeks. Hell, Oliver had shed more than a few tears of his own that night.

  Oliver reached out now and, for the first time ever, ran his fingers over Gavin’s chest, touching more burns, his heart aching as he thought of the little boy who’d been terrorized by the woman who was supposed to love him, take care of him.

  Gavin gripped Oliver’s hand, flattening it against his pec, letting him feel the racing of his heart. Their gazes locked. Mom insisted no one who didn’t know them would realize the two of them weren’t related by blood, given their similar features—both had brown hair and dark brown eyes—and builds.


  Unlike Oliver, who’d shaved just before his date, Gavin was sporting a sexy five-o’clock shadow that showcased his chiseled jaw. Oliver longed to lean forward and nip it with his teeth.

  “Take off your shirt, Ollie.”

  Oliver loosened the tie he’d donned for his shitty date, and then unbuttoned his shirt. Like him, Gavin didn’t seem capable of keeping his hands to himself. He ran his hand over Oliver’s bare chest, then gripped his waist, pulling him back to continue the kiss.

  Oliver grasped Gavin’s upper arms, digging his fingers into the tattooed muscles there, keeping him close when it felt like he might pull away. Gavin had started getting tattoos the second he’d turned eighteen, his attempt at mitigating the damage, hiding the scars.

  “Ollie,” Gavin murmured, shaking off his grip. “Pants, now. This is gonna take all night if I have to tell you what to do step-by-step.”

  Oliver grinned. “Smart-ass. Apparently I have something to prove to you.” Oliver reached for the waistband of Gavin’s lounge pants, pulling them down. He wasted no time taking Gavin’s cock in his hand, stroking it with a firm grip.

  “Fuck,” Gavin whispered as Oliver dropped to his knees in front of him.

  Oliver gave him a wink, then took the head of his dick into his mouth. While he’d never given a blowjob, Oliver wasn’t a stranger to receiving them. He knew what he liked, and even what he’d always wished for from women who—lacking a penis—never seemed to fully understand exactly how to suck a guy’s dick.

  Oliver gave Gavin the kind of blowjob he’d always wanted, and given the way Gavin’s fingers gripped his hair, the way he thrust his hips back and forth, the way he said Oliver’s name over and over, it was apparent he was hitting the mark.

  “Goddammit, Ollie. It’s too good. You need to slow down or—”

  Oliver wasn’t fucking slowing down. He took Gavin deeper, swallowing his dick, as he reached lower to fondle his balls, then stroke his perineum.

  Gavin cursed as he came in Oliver’s mouth. “Motherfucker! Jesus Christ. Ollie. God. Dammit.”

  Oliver held him in his mouth a few moments more, even as Gavin’s cock softened. Releasing him with a pop, he rose slowly, pulling Gavin to him for a long, heated, passionate kiss.

  “Lube’s in the drawer,” Gavin said, turning toward his nightstand. He grabbed it and a condom, handing both to Oliver, who tossed them onto the bed so he could take off the rest of his clothing.

  “Bend over the edge of the mattress,” Oliver said, stroking Gavin’s ass as his friend assumed the position.

  Everything between them felt so natural, so right. While it was his first time—their first time—there was no hesitance, no reticence, no second-guessing.

  They were meant to be together.

  Oliver squeezed some lube on Gavin’s anus, working it in slowly with one finger, then two. He was in no hurry. If he could make this night last a year, he’d do it.

  Gavin wasn’t feeling quite as patient. “Jesus, Ollie. Put the condom on and get on with it. I want you inside me.”

  Oliver chuckled but gave in. Maybe his self-control wasn’t that great either. Once he’d covered his dick—with the condom and more lube—he placed it at the entrance to Gavin’s ass.

  Gripping Gavin’s hips, he pressed forward slowly, steadily.

  Holy shit.

  This felt like heaven…and for a moment, he was actually light-headed. “Jesus,” he whispered. He’d never experienced anything like this. Gavin’s ass was so tight, gripping his cock like a glove.

  Gavin dropped to his elbows, groaning with pleasure, overwhelmed as well.

  Once Oliver was seated to the hilt, Gavin lifted his head and looked at him over his shoulder. “I want it hard. If you hold back, I’ll know it.”

  Oliver nodded, words beyond him right now. He withdrew until just the head of his cock remained lodged within and then he gave in to his primal urges, taking everything he wanted, then grabbing more. He fucked with wild, reckless abandon, confident in the fact that Gavin wanted the same.

  They clawed at each other like beasts, pounding together in a way that should have hurt but instead felt like fucking paradise. Gavin shoved backwards, meeting every single one of Oliver’s thrusts.

  It was brutal, ruthless, even violent.

  Oliver came first, his body jerking, as if he’d been electrocuted.

  Gavin, lost in his own need, didn’t seem to even realize he’d come as he kept shoving back, kept fucking himself on Oliver’s dick.

  Oliver’s fingers tightened as he tried to stop the motion. He couldn’t fucking take any more. It was too good…too much.

  He reached around Gavin’s waist and gripped his cock, jerking him roughly until Gavin exploded, his come splashing over the bedspread.

  Neither of them moved for several minutes, still connected as they gasped for breath. When he felt his strength begin to return, Oliver pulled away, locking his knees in an attempt to remain upright. Removing the condom, he tossed it in the trash can.

  Gavin pushed up as well, twisting to sit on the edge of the bed. He glanced over his shoulder at the stained bedspread and smiled. “Oops.”

  “Come on.” Oliver reached out, pulling Gavin up to stand next to him. “We’ll sleep in my bed.”

  They crossed the hallway to Oliver’s room together, pulled back the sheets, and crawled in.

  Gavin shifted closer, kissing him once more, their gentlest, calmest kiss of the night.

  “Okay. So maybe you are bi,” Gavin joked.

  Oliver erupted in laughter, the two of them shaking the bed for several minutes, neither capable of pulling themselves together without cracking up again.

  Finally, they managed to settle down, both lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling. Oliver reached out and grasped Gavin’s hand.

  “We’re on our way,” Oliver said, his heart too full to hold in his feelings.

  Gavin glanced in his direction, his eyes curious. “On our way?”

  “To our future. Now all we have to do is find our bride and we’ll be there.”

  “Bride?” Gavin’s sudden stillness should have been a warning sign, but Oliver was flying too high from everything they’d just shared. So he foolishly kept talking, pounding the nails into his coffin, one after the other.

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s definitely not Vivian, but that doesn’t mean the perfect woman isn’t out there for us. We just have to find her, and then…then we can have a life just like our parents. We’ll have a houseful of kids and dogs and cats. We’ll take over the construction company when Justin and Killian and Dad retire. The three of us will grow old together, sitting on the front porch, surrounded by grandkids. I’m going to tell all of them the meaning of their names, just like Pop Pop does. I can see it all so clearly, Gavin. Our future begins tonight. It’s ours for the taking—and I can’t wait.”

  “Ollie.” If Gavin’s expression hadn’t told Oliver he’d just fucked up, his tone certainly did.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want that. You gotta know I don’t want that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know what kind of relationship your parents have.”

  “Our parents,” Oliver corrected, something he did constantly. Even after five years, Gavin couldn’t quite accept or believe that he was truly a part of this family.

  Gavin ignored him. “I can’t do—”

  “Of course you can,” Oliver insisted. “Is this because of your mom? This isn’t you worrying that you’re like her or anything, is it? Because come on, you know—”

  Gavin shook his head. “I know I’m not like my mother. I’d never hurt a child. Ever. That doesn’t mean I want one.” Gavin stood up, and Oliver sensed he was trying to pull away, seeking to put distance between them. After everything they’d just shared, Oliver hated it, but he resisted the need to pull Gavin back into the bed, knowing his foster brother didn’t respond well to pressure, to being forced into anything.

 
“You’d be a great dad,” Oliver offered lamely.

  “Jesus, Ollie. You don’t get it. You didn’t grow up like I did. You’ve spent twenty years as a Collins and it’s skewed your vision, blinded you to just how fucked-up and shitty the world really is. I’m not bringing a kid into it. Not ever.”

  “Gavin—” Oliver started.

  “No. Stop and listen to me. And then think. Think really hard. Do you think you could be happy in a relationship with just the two of us? You and me. No kids. No wife.”

  Oliver didn’t reply. He couldn’t. “I love you, Gavin.”

  Gavin gave him a sad smile. “I love you too, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I…” Oliver dug deep, tried to find the words, but he couldn’t say them. Couldn’t lie to his best friend.

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  Oliver felt the first spark of panic, aware of just how badly he’d misread everything.

  “It’s okay,” Gavin continued, the sad look in his eyes, breaking Oliver’s heart. “It’s okay, man. You just forgot one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Unlike you, I’m not bi. I’m gay. I could never be part of a relationship like the one Sean, Chad, and Lauren share. Never. And it wouldn’t work for you any other way.”

  “Maybe…” Oliver started, but he stopped short because he knew Gavin was right. Oliver longed for a threesome, a true marriage of three hearts. Him as the lynchpin, with a boyfriend in one room and a girlfriend in the other, wouldn’t work. And he wanted kids, wanted to be a dad more than anything in the world.

  Gavin sighed, then he bent down and kissed Oliver. This wasn’t a prelude to more. This kiss was a goodbye. Pure and simple.

  “I’m glad I was your first,” Gavin said. “You’re always going to be my brother, my best friend. Tonight didn’t change that.”

  Oliver swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat, wishing he could find something—anything—to say.

  “Night.” Gavin walked back across the hall to his bedroom.

  Oliver sat in his bed for hours, staring at the closed door to Gavin’s room, fighting for an answer. A way.