Friction [Anthology]

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Friction Anthology ISBN # 978-1-907010-72-9 Cruising ©Copyright J.P. Bowie 2009 Maximum Exposure ©Copyright Jenna Byrnes & Jude Mason 2009 Yes! ©Copyright Kim Dare 2009 Sorry Charlie ©Copyright Ashley Ladd 2009 Heat of the Night ©Copyright SL Majors 2009 One Night Stand ©Copyright Cassandra Gold 2009 Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright August 2009 Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz, Michele Paulin, Christine Riley, Jessica Bimberg Total-E-Bound Publishing This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing. Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution. The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork. Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

FRICTION ANTHOLOGY

Cruising J.P. Bowie

Maximum Exposure

Jenna Byrnes & Jude Mason

Yes!

Kim Dare

Sorry Charlie Ashley Ladd

Heat of the Night SL Majors

One Night Stand Cassandra Gold

CRUISING J.P. Bowie

Dedication For Phil – always

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Alcoholics Anonymous: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc. Holiday Inn: Six Continents Hotels, Inc. Dramamine: G. D. Searle & Co. Corp. Dumpster: Dempster Brothers, Inc. Venetian Hotel: Venetian Casino Report, LLC Caesar’s Palace: Caesar’s World, Inc.

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Chapter One

I stood dockside in Port Canaveral, Florida, gazing up at the ship I would call home for the next six months or, perhaps, even longer. The smartly painted blue and white hull towered over me, its lower decks dotted with portholes, its upper decks with larger windows. As I craned my neck, I felt a quiet surge of excitement and anticipation course through my body. I could make out the white uniforms of the ship’s officers as they strolled back and forth on the topmost deck. I’d later learn this was called the bridge—but as I’d never been onboard a ship before, all of that jargon was still to be learned, along with the protocol and the expected discipline of life afloat, far from the laws and jurisdiction of mainland America. “So, what do you think, Adam?” I turned to look at the guy standing next to me, Tom Hathaway, the man who had hired me to manage the ship’s casino. “Very impressive,” I said, smiling at Tom. “I think that The Maiden of the Seas and I are going to get along very well. She’s just what I need right now—a lady who’ll help me forget all the shit that’s been going on in the last year or so.” Tom grinned. “Are you telling me you’re into ladies now?” “No, you know as well as I do, that’s not going to happen—at least, not in the way you mean. Although, after what Randy put me through, it might not be a bad idea to have a complete change of life, along with a new job, a new home…” “And pussy instead of cock,” Tom added, chuckling. “Well, if you’re really interested, I can fix you up tonight when we get back to the hotel.” I laughed, and smacked Tom lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t waste your time. I’m not that depressed.” I took another long look at the cruise ship. “When do we go on board?” “Tomorrow morning. There’s a crew meeting at nine o’clock, in the theatre.” Tom gave me a serious look. “Just make sure all the dealers are there, and without hangovers if possible. The captain’s a real stickler for the rules and regulations. Howard wants us all to make the right impression from day one.”

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Howard Marsden was the casino concession owner, a Miami attorney who I’d gotten on well with on our one and only meeting but was known to have a nasty temper if those he relied on didn’t come through according to his wishes. I nodded. “Let’s both keep an eye on them tonight. That hotel bar is a well known pickup spot. I don’t want to crimp their style, but you know these guys once they’ve had a few.” I was talking into the wind. After a couple drinks, Tom was just as likely to lead the way to where angels fear to tread—mainly the hotel bar filled with delectable ladies of easy virtue. I only hoped I could keep Tom and the young male casino dealers from getting too drunk and being unable to make the meeting in the morning. The hotel at Cocoa Beach was a lively place after five o’clock, the bar filling up early for happy hour. I spotted two of the dealers already leaning over the bar talking to the pretty bartender. “John, Jeff—a word please.” I beckoned them from the bar entrance. “Hey, boss.” Jeff Edwards, tall, broad shouldered and amiable, grinned at me. “Join us for a drink?” “Not right now, thanks. Listen guys—tomorrow we have an important meeting on board the ship. Howard’s going to be there, and the captain expects us all to be in attendance—no excuses. So please don’t get hammered tonight. I need you all to be on your best behaviour.” “No problem,” John Bowers said. Almost as tall as Jeff, the two had worked together in Vegas, and I was well aware of their reputation as ‘pussy-hounds’. They were both good looking guys with great smiles but as reliable as a broken alarm clock. I was still a little miffed that Tom hadn’t consulted me during the hiring process. John and Jeff were nice enough guys, but I could smell the trouble they’d cause a mile off. “Okay…” I tried to put away my fears. “Tell the other guys what I said. Tom’s taking a nap, but he’ll be down later to take you all to dinner.” “Cool,” John said. “Don’t worry, boss, we’ll be good boys—honest.” “Thanks. See you later.” As I walked away, I hoped that maybe this time they meant what they’d said. Why couldn’t I believe it? I went up to my room and took a long shower. The hot spray on my tense body felt good. It had been a long, couple days spent packing then flying first to LA from Las Vegas

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then on to Miami where Tom had picked me up and we’d driven to Port Canaveral, Tom yacking non-stop. Suddenly Randy and Vegas seemed a long way away, and as far as I was concerned, that was a good thing. The last year had been hell. Randy’s drinking had escalated to a frightening degree. He’d totalled two cars, including mine, and had only narrowly escaped getting a DUI. I had left him after one helluva row when he’d refused to get help from Alcoholics Anonymous. “I’m not an alcoholic,” he’d raged at me. Denial, thy name is Randy, I had mused on more than one occasion. Truth was, I just didn’t want to be involved anymore. I’d fallen out of love with Randy long before the last two incidents and had only stayed around in the hope that I could somehow help him get over his addiction. But you can’t help someone who doesn’t want your help. Towelling off, I studied my appearance in the mirror. At thirty-one, and despite the many sleepless nights I’d spent recently worrying about Randy, I guess I didn’t look too bad. My dark brown wavy hair had a stray grey strand here and there, and the lines at the corners of my blue eyes had deepened. Not quite crow’s feet, but getting there. Tom had told me there was a workout room onboard I could use. That would help keep my body toned and in good shape. No reason to go to pot—especially now that I was single again. I slung the towel around my hips and wandered across the room onto the balcony. It was a beautiful night. Mid-March in Florida was obviously a perfect time of year. The sun was just setting, flinging shards of crimson and gold across the darkening sky and onto the shimmering ocean below. “Beautiful,” I murmured to myself, taking in the view. “Ciao…uh, I mean, hello there.” I turned, startled by the voice so near it made me jump slightly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” I looked at the young man standing on the next balcony. Wow, what a honey. He was tall and slender. Late twenties, I guessed, tightening the towel around my hips with a selfconscious move. “That’s okay,” I said, smiling. “I was just admiring the view.” And I still am.

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“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The young man flashed me a smile. “Vittorio,” he said, leaning on the balcony rail and reaching across to shake my hand. “Adam Brenner.” The hand I shook was warm and strong, and the eyes I stared into were brown—and beautiful. “Vittorio,” I said. “Nice name.” “Italian. Vittorio Borghese. I just flew in from Milan yesterday.” “Oh—you’re on vacation?” Reluctantly, I released Vittorio’s hand. “Not really—although I think this job might be a pleasant change from the usual. I’m a ship architect. I’ll be sailing on one of the cruise ships to design some renovations.” “Really?” I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His good looks and sexy accent were definitely getting me interested. “I’m working on a cruise ship—The Maid of the Seas. It wouldn’t happen to be…” Vittorio clapped his hands together. “What a coincidence.” His face was wreathed in smiles. “That is the same ship I’m on. We must celebrate our meeting. Can I buy you a drink downstairs?” “It’s a date,” I said happily. “I’ll just go throw on some clothes, and I’ll meet you down there.” “If you insist—about the clothes, I mean.” Vittorio’s flirtatious laugh was infectious. “Uh…” I chuckled then said, “I think I’d better—just so I don’t upset the management.” Not wanting to waste any time, I ran inside, pulled a white T-shirt and blue jeans from my suitcase and dressed quickly, slipping a pair of sandals onto my feet. After a spritz of cologne and a quick look in the mirror, I headed for the door.

**** When I entered the crowded bar, it took me a little time to locate Vittorio. The first sight to hit my eyes was Tom and the dealers already involved in raucous laughter and obviously well on their way to having one bitch of a collective headache in the morning. Oh, well... “Adam!” I looked towards the call and saw Vittorio waving at me from a corner booth. God, but this guy is even better looking than I remember, I thought as I pushed my way through the

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crowd. He was also wearing a T-shirt, ice blue, that showed his nicely defined chest to great effect. “Hi.” I slid into the booth beside him. “You were lucky to get this seat.” “I used a little influence,” Vittorio said, touching my hand. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered us a bottle of champagne. I didn’t know your preference, but champagne seemed right for a celebration.” “I love champagne,” I said, smiling at the handsome man beside me. “I also love the idea we’re celebrating our first meeting.” “Our first date,” Vittorio remarked with a flirtatious wink. “That’s what you said it was.” “I did?” “Yes, I remember it vividly. ‘It’s a date,’ you said.” Vittorio poured the champagne into two glasses. “And now, Adam, our first drink on our first date. Saluti...” “Cheers.” We toasted one another before raising our glasses to our lips. I couldn’t take my eyes off Vittorio’s beautiful face as he sipped his champagne. Our eyes met over the rim of our glasses, and I felt a shiver of delight run the length of my spine and a definite hardening inside my jeans. I got even harder as Vittorio leaned in closer on the pretext of whispering something but instead kissed me under my ear. There was no doubt where this evening was going. The touch of Vittorio’s warm lips almost sent me over the edge. I wanted to jump him right there and then—but we were in a straight bar so… “What do you say we take this champagne up to my room?” I asked, my voice becoming decidedly husky with desire. Vittorio’s smile was captivating. “I say that is a wonderful idea.” I guessed our departure would go unnoticed by Tom and the dealers who were even louder than before. No doubt those guys were going to tear up the town—but right then, I couldn’t have given a toss what their fate might be. On the way up in the elevator, I had a sudden thought. “Uh, would you mind if we used your room? I have a nasty feeling there might be several drunks pounding on my door later.” Vittorio chuckled. “And we can’t have that kind of interruption, can we? My room it is.”

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**** Vittorio’s room was almost a carbon copy of mine with the same tacky floral bedspread, matching drapes and hideous painting over the bed—only in reverse. I couldn’t help shuddering. Any true gay man would have been horrified at this blatant lack of taste. “Awful, isn’t it?” Vittorio said, slipping the Do not disturb sign on the outside of the door. “Maybe I should offer my services after I finish work on the ship.” “They probably couldn’t afford you,” I remarked, watching as Vittorio poured the champagne into two plastic cups. He handed me one with a smile. “Well, sorry about the lack of crystal and ambience, but the company is infinitely better.” Vittorio tipped his cup at me with a seductive smile. We drained our cups then without another word, he began to unbutton my jeans. He gave a grunt of satisfaction as my hard cock sprang out from behind its denim constraints. Yanking my jeans down over my hips, he massaged my butt as he kissed and licked his way down my torso. He dropped to his knees and licked at the head of my cock, murmuring his pleasure as he lapped at the pre-cum that spilled onto his tongue. He looked up at me, smiling and licking his lips. “Molto bene,” he whispered before he slid down the length of my cock and took all of me into his mouth. Oh, but that felt good—better than good, and all I could think was, this is what you need right now, Adam—sex. I’ve always been a fan of sex. It’s probably the only act where you can get down and dirty and not feel that guilty about it afterwards. Getting in touch with your inner animal can be a great release—even better if your partner is into it, too. After the last disastrous attempt at it between me and Randy, I hadn’t even been close to a man, never mind having one suck on my cock. And this guy, Vittorio, was so hot. The only problem was the way his tongue was working me over would make me come long before I wanted to. I pulled him to his feet and delivered a scorching-hot kiss to his lips. He gasped into my mouth then pulled back slightly. “You are hungry for it, yes?”

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“Yes,” I panted. And I was—even hungrier than I’d known. We stripped each other of our clothes then fell on the bed, legs and arms tangled. I almost wrestled with him in my eagerness to taste and feel every part of his body. He was beautiful from his mane of black hair to the tip of his well-formed feet. I took it all in as my lust-filled eyes swept over his superbly defined chest dusted with dark hair and his perky nipples that looked like they were just waiting for me to dive on them. I didn’t make them wait a second too long. Vittorio groaned and massaged the back of my head while I licked and nibbled at those twin points of hard flesh. His groans turned to moans as I slid a hand down the length of his torso and gripped his thick, throbbing erection. He let me take control as I moved over him, kissing a trail from his chest over his hard stomach to his groin where his cock pulsed in my fist. His hips arched upward, and he breathed out a long sigh of satisfaction as I took him into my mouth. He muttered in Italian, and of course, I didn’t understand a word, but it sounded like he was really enjoying what I was doing. ‘Molto bene,’ I understood, and he said it over and over. The rest was Greek to me, but it sounded hot. He squirmed under me, pulling at my legs, shifting us into a sixty-nine position. As his mouth enveloped my straining cock, I groaned then sucked on him even harder, his musky masculine taste and scent making me lose control. I rolled on top of him, driving my cock deeper into his mouth, down his throat. He made happy gurgling sounds, his hips bucked under me, hard, twice then his semen flooded my mouth. I gulped it down greedily, holding him until the last drop was squeezed from him. My own orgasm built inside me, racing through my blood, my body stiffening from the onslaught. With a muffled groan, I climaxed, shooting into Vittorio’s mouth. He took it all with seeming relish as he massaged my butt cheeks like he was forcing my cum out of me. Whoa! Totally drained, I rolled off him, and for a time, we both lay there breathing heavily, my brain spinning dizzily, little pinpoints of light flashing behind my eyelids. Vittorio crawled up alongside me and flopped down on my chest. “Good, eh?” he murmured, running his tongue over my left nipple. “Very good,” I agreed. He had no idea just how much I’d needed what had passed between us. He jumped off the bed, chuckling. “More champagne, Adam, then you can fuck me.”

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I sat up, watching him pour the champagne. He really was a handsome hunk, all sleek and smoothly muscled flesh under olive skin darkened by the sun. The mere sight of him made my cock stir, stretching along my thigh in expectation of his offer. He handed me my plastic glass. “Saluti, di nuovo,” he said, grinning and showing his lovely white teeth. “Cheers, again.” “Cheers.” I threw back the champagne and looked up at him expectantly. He knelt between my legs and took my cock in his champagne-cooled mouth. His tongue swirling over my cock head brought me to immediate and rigid attention. I fell back on the bed, still holding the empty glass and let Vittorio’s mouth work its magic. He was good—better than good really. He was a pro who knew exactly what he was doing, where to touch, how much pressure to exert—all the things guaranteed to bring me to a boil, really fast. I sat up and pulled him up into my arms, teasing his earlobe with my teeth. “You have a condom?” “Si.” He wriggled out of my arms and reached for his toilet bag on the nightstand. I took advantage of his facedown position to dive on his butt, licking and nibbling at the round cheeks while he squirmed with pleasure under me. Without rolling over he handed me a condom and a tube of lube, I guess indicating he wanted me to go for it. I sat astride his thighs and leaned over him, licking his ear while I lubed him up, stretching his tight hole with my middle and forefinger. Once I’d got on the condom, I pulled him up by the hips, and pushed forward, entering him with one long stroke. He moaned, the muscles on his back quivered as his body shuddered under me then he reared up, pressing his back against my chest, squirming down to impale himself all the way to the root of my rock-hard erection. With one hand, I teased his nipples while the other slid down the length of his taut torso to find his throbbing cock. I pumped him slowly, matching the rhythm I’d begun as I thrust deep inside him. He muttered again in Italian, in between turning his head so he could reach my lips for some sloppy kissing. I’d liked to have known what he was saying, but it could wait. A fine sheen of sweat covered both our bodies as we rocked together. He leaned forward and, using the headboard as leverage, pushed his ass hard against me, taking all of me inside him. “Ah, si, Adam,” he moaned. “Fuck me. Let me have it all.”

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I grasped his hips and let him have it all, ploughing into him like there was no tomorrow. “Oh, yes, right there…” He flung an arm around my neck, his lips searching for mine, changing the angle of penetration slightly. His intense groan told me I’d grazed his sweet spot. His ass rammed into my crotch, grinding over my cock. I pulled back, almost completely out of him then pushed back in, giving it to him, hard and fast. His body arched upward, and he fell back against my chest. I held him pressed to me as he came in great jolting spasms, taking me right along with him. Our joined bodies bucked and shuddered in the throes of orgasm, Vittorio letting loose with a string of Italian I could only hope were words of praise. We collapsed on top of one another, our sweat slicked bodies completely spent. “Wow,” I murmured, my lips pressed to his ear. “That was intense.” “Si, yes, it was…intenso and hot.” I chuckled and rolled off the bed, heading for the bathroom to dispose of the condom and clean up a bit. When I got back, Vittorio was lying on his side, looking for all the world like a Roman god come to life. As I stood over him, he reached for my cock and tugged on it playfully. His smiled was wicked. “You don’t think I’ll let you off so lightly, do you?” I leaned over him and tasted his luscious lips. “I was hoping for seconds,” I murmured against his mouth. He pulled me down on top of him. “And thirds…”

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Chapter Two

I woke next morning, in my own room, with a distinct feeling of apprehension. I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. The meeting was at nine, and I definitely needed at least two cups of coffee before then. I stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As I vigorously soaped myself, I thought about the hours I’d spent with Vittorio and how fantastic that time had been. Vittorio was pure sex. It seeped out of every pore on his body like an intoxicating and sensual honey. I had never met anyone quite like him, and even if we hadn’t gotten into ‘getting to know you’ I had figured he was single. Amazing to think that he wouldn’t have some equally god-like man at home in Milan, but he’d seemed very much into what we’d been doing, and that was most definitely a good sign. After drying off, I shaved quickly then called Tom’s room. No reply. Shit. Surely, he didn’t end up in some stranger’s room last night, too ploughed to remember where he was. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. How Mara, his wife, put up with it, I would never understand. I hunted through my wallet for Tom’s cell number then punched in the numbers. “Hello?” “Tom, it’s Adam. Where are you?” “Fuck if I know. Oh, wait…some hotel or another.” I heard the mumble of voices, one a woman’s. “Okay, I’m at the Holiday Inn.” “Tom, the meeting’s in less than a half hour. I suggest you get yourself in gear and get over to the ship soon as you can. I’ll try and round up the guys.” “Good luck with that. Just go to the meeting. I’ll get there, don’t worry.” I hung up and groaned. Howard, the concession owner would just love this. I dressed then went down the hall to the room Jeff and John were sharing. I noticed that Vittorio’s door was open, and the maid was already in there cleaning up. Too bad he didn’t think to wake me before he went downstairs, I thought. I rapped on the guys’ door, and got what I expected—no reply. I banged on the door. “Come on, guys. It’s Adam. We have to go.”

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Silence. I rattled the doorknob then banged on the door again. More silence. “Shit.” I got the same response at each door. The guys were either still out somewhere or dead to the world. Either way, I would get it in the neck from Howard and, most likely, from the captain. Now I really needed that coffee.

**** When I arrived at the ship, I asked for directions to the theatre from a fresh-faced young man in a white uniform. “I’m Adam Brenner, the casino manager. There’s a meeting…” “Oh, yes. I can take you there.” The young man beamed at me and held out his hand. “Carl Moyer, Assistant Purser. I was just on my way down there myself.” He touched my elbow, steering me towards the elevator. “You’re American, eh?” “Uh, yes. Aren’t you?” “Yes, but they usually hire British casino staff. They’re supposed to be more reliable.” “Oh, yeah?” I couldn’t really argue that point at the moment since so far I was the only casino staff member to show up. As Carl and I entered the theatre, I was heartened to smell brewing coffee, but on seeing Howard’s frowning visage, my heart sank. “Where’s Tom?” Howard asked in a less-than-friendly tone. “He’s on his way,” I replied. “I guess everyone was celebrating their last night on dry land,” I added lightly. “Well, they fucking better show up,” Howard snapped then strode off still frowning. “He’s a bit of jerk,” Carl remarked. I nodded. “I don’t really know him that well, but I’m beginning to feel glad he’s not sailing with us after this first trip.” “I’ll leave you to it then.” Carl gave me a sunny smile then left to join some of the other staff. I presumed they were also pursers. I looked around for Vittorio’s friendly face and saw him chatting with one of the officers. I hesitated, trying to attract his attention. Wait, did he just ignore me? I walked over to get a coffee injection then hovered by the entrance looking for any sign of Tom and the others.

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I groaned as someone announced, “The meeting will commence, ladies and gentlemen. Please take a seat.” Howard signalled to me, making it clear that I should sit next to him. With a last look over in Vittorio’s direction then at the entrance hoping Tom would show, I went to sit by the stone-faced Howard. “Good morning.” The speaker, a tall distinguished man in an immaculately pressed white uniform trimmed with gold braid, stood before us. “I am Captain Borghese, and I would like to welcome you all to this inaugural voyage of The Maid of the Seas.” Borghese. Wasn’t that Vittorio’s last name? I took a quick glance over to where Vittorio sat, arms folded, looking like he was falling asleep. “I would like to introduce the ship’s officers to you, and after that I would like each department head to stand, introduce yourself and tell us a little about your previous experience. We are to be working very closely together onboard this vessel, and I would like us all to get along with one another.” He then introduced his officers, and I had to admit they were a handsome bunch, pretty and pristine in their gleaming white uniforms—all Italian, with names I knew would take me some time to remember. “Before I ask you to introduce yourselves, I would like you all to meet my son, Vittorio. He will be with us on several cruises, redesigning some of the older parts of the ship.” Vittorio stood, treated everyone to his dazzling smile and a cheerful “Ciao!” before sitting down again. I wondered if Vittorio was deliberately avoiding meeting my gaze. Maybe he was a little embarrassed by his father’s introduction or maybe he was a tad hung over—or maybe this was all my fertile imagination. “As you may know,” the captain continued in his accented English, “The Maid of the Seas is not a new ship but has been extensively refitted and is extremely sea-worthy.” That’s nice to know, I thought, glancing behind me for any sign of Tom or the dealers. Nothing. “The ongoing improvements to the theatre, ballroom and restaurants will be under the supervision of my son, Vittorio. Now…” The captain cleared his throat. “The Chief Purser will introduce his crew members to you.” For the next fifteen minutes or so, Howard and I sat smiling and applauding as the heads of each department stood and introduced him or herself. The hotel manager, a blond-

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haired Englishman named Paul Peterson, Bonnie Rapier, a buxom American was the gift shop manager, and Clive Robinson, also English, the food and beverage manager. Then it was my turn. Howard grunted, “You’re on your own,” so I stood and looked around the assembled crew with a self-conscious smile. “Hi, I’m Adam Brenner, the casino manager. Sorry, I can’t introduce you to my team. They seem to be MIA this morning.” One or two sniggers came from the crowd, but the captain caught my attention with an imperious wave of his hand. “Where are they, Mr. Brenner?” “Still asleep, I expect,” I replied as easily as I could. I didn’t want this to turn into a fullblown confrontation in front of everyone on my first day. “They were partying hearty last night and—” “This is unacceptable,” Borghese snapped. “Mr. Marsden,” he directed his angry gaze at Howard, “I’ll make no bones about this. I told the cruise line owners I objected to an American casino crew on board my ship. I’ve had problems with their lack of discipline before on a prior command. I will not have the same problem on this ship. Already they have shown a lack of respect for my authority by not showing up as instructed. Make sure they understand that at the first sign of trouble, I will have them escorted off the ship at the nearest port of call. Have I made myself clear?” “Abundantly clear,” I said before Howard could reply. “We will talk with the dealers when they show up. Is that all?” Borghese gave me a cold look but nodded. “Yes, that is all. Just make sure your team understands that while they are onboard my ship, they will conduct themselves according to my rules.” I bit back the retort that lingered on the tip of my tongue. This pompous ass is going to be a royal pain—and he’s Vittorio’s father? Jeez. Instead, I sat down without a word. Howard plonked his overweight frame heavily onto the seat beside me with a disgusted grunt. The leather cushion hissed in protest under his weight. “Just for the record, Adam,” he muttered. “I don’t like being talked to like an errant kid in front of a bunch of strangers.”

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“Who the hell does?” I hissed. “The guy’s a jackass. If he keeps this up, I’ll be glad to be escorted off the ship at the nearest port of call.” “He’s the captain—” “No kidding. I think we all got that point, loud and clear.” “Adam, Tom told me you were the best man to look after my business.” “And that I’ll do, Howard, but I’m not going to be dictated to by some flunky in a white suit. Last time I looked, this was still America.” “But when you’re at sea, he’s in command.” “Howard, you make it sound like we’re in the Navy. This is a cruise ship, for Chrissakes.” “Just don’t lose your cool with him. I have a lot of money invested in this casino concession.” I sighed. “Okay, I’ll play nice with the captain.” Or at least the captain’s son—but I wonder why Vittorio didn’t mention his daddy was in command? I looked up as a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “Tom. Where the hell have you been?” “Sorry, man. Got a bit shit-faced last night.” “Gee, what a surprise.” “Tom.” Howard’s face was even stonier. “We can’t afford to fuck up this early. You know I have a lot of money riding on this venture.’ “I know, I know, and I’m sorry,” Tom said, easing himself onto a seat next to me. “Fuck, but my head hurts.” “I suppose the guys were with you?” I asked. “Yeah, all except Miss Prim-and-Proper.” “Who?” “A chick I hired at the last minute. Name’s Cindy. Good dealer and doesn’t drink, smoke, or do lines...” I chuckled. “Well, I guess I should be grateful for small mercies.” “Lines?” Howard asked, staring at Tom quizzically. “Uh...” I didn’t think it was a good idea that Howard should know ‘doing lines’ meant snorting cocaine. “She’s not into letter writing, I guess.” Tom coughed out a laugh. “Good one, Adam.”

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Howard rose to his feet, his bulk towering over me and Tom. “Well, I’m going to my cabin. Just make sure tonight is a success for us all.” “Okay, Boss, no worries,” Tom said, standing. “Adam, we’d better go find out which cabin you’ve been assigned. I’ll be sharing it with you on this cruise.” Great, I thought, just great. I looked around the theatre for a glimpse of Vittorio, but he was deep in conversation with his father—the captain. Another great. And why the hell had he made such a point of ignoring me? Maybe he thought I was a lousy lay. Maybe all that Italian he’d been vocalising while we were fucking hadn’t been words of praise after all!

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Chapter Three

My initial fear that I might get sea-sick seemed unfounded as the ship slipped smoothly through the ocean on its way to Nassau in the Bahamas. The casino had been lively since it had opened when the ship was three miles out, with some slightly inebriated passengers ready to throw away their money on the tables and the slot machines. The dealers, looking amazingly fresh despite their earlier catatonic state, worked well with a professional air, and I began to feel that maybe, just maybe, this would turn out to be an okay gig after all. The captain had passed through earlier, smiling benignly on his passengers, but giving me and the dealers, except for Cindy, the one female dealer, a superior stare. Well, he’ll just have to get over that attitude, I mused, as I watched the still-handsome older man walk slowly away. Of Vittorio there had been no sign, and I figured the guy had been happy with just the one night of sex. Maybe he had a boyfriend in Milan he’d been unwilling to talk about. I hoped not. One thing I can’t stand, it’s a cheater. Oh, well… Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but feel a vague twinge of disappointment. “Ready for a break?” Tom was at my elbow, his eyes looking slightly unfocussed. “I’ll take over here while you get something to eat.” “Thanks.” Tom’s coke habit worried me. I could only hope that he cooled it while he was onboard. “I’ll grab a quick bite.” “Take your time,” Tom said airily. “I can handle it.” I nodded then left the casino, running down the curved ‘Grand’ staircase that led to the restaurant level. The cruise staff had a reserved area off the main dining room in the Tropicale Restaurant. At this time of night, it was almost deserted, the gift shops being open for business and the entertainment in full swing. Paul, the hotel manager was seated at one of the tables. He gave me a smile and indicated I should sit with him. “Bit of a rough start for you this morning,” he observed in his clipped British accent. I grinned. “You could say that, but I just know the captain and I are going to be fast friends.”

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Paul chuckled. “He’s a silly old bugger and a bloody lush. Absolutely full of himself, but fortunately, this is his last command. He’s retiring in three months, thank God.” “You’ve worked with him before?” “You mean served with him, don’t you? Yes, I have, and we’ve never seen eye to eye. And watch out for that son of his—a backstabber if ever there was one.” “Really?” My stomach sank at Paul’s comment. “He seems very nice.” “Well, he’s not, I can assure you. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him here again after the mess he made on one of the other ships he ‘renovated’. His old man had to have pulled a lot of strings to get him this job. Talk about your bloody nepotism.” “Wow…” I was kind of glad the waiter showed up at that moment to take my order. “Oh, I’ll have the salmon, please.” “Anything to drink?” “A glass of Chardonnay.” “Try the Sauvignon Blanc instead,” Paul said. “Excellent vintage.” “Oh, okay. I’ll have that instead.” “Bloody hell. Speak of the devil.” Paul looked over my shoulder with a sour expression. “Well, I’ll be off. See you next time, chum.” He rose without another word and left the dining area. I looked over my shoulder to see what had pissed him off. “Hello, Adam.” “Vittorio…” Looking up into the Italian’s sunny smile, I found it hard to believe what Paul had said about him. He was just so darned attractive, and the memory of what we had shared the night before—and into the wee small hours—was enough to give me the beginning of a hard-on inside my briefs. “Sorry, I haven’t been to see you earlier,” Vittorio said, sitting beside me and touching my hand lightly. “I have had a hectic day.” “I’m sure.” I returned his smile. “Actually, it’s been a bit of rough day all around.” “Yes, my father was not very nice to you this morning.” “Why didn’t you tell me the captain is your dad?” “I didn’t think it important.” “Really? I would’ve thought it might just have cropped up at some point in our conversation.”

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Vittorio gave me a sly smile. “I was not thinking of my father while you were fucking me, Adam.” “Well okay, I’ll give you that one. So, are you busy later?” “Unfortunately, I’ll have to make an early night of it. I have a morning meeting with the Staff Captain and the engineers who will be making the improvements I have designed. Your casino is open so late…” “Two o’clock.” I shrugged. “Well, maybe tomorrow night?” “Maybe…” Vittorio touched my hand again. “I’ll come to your cabin.” “Uh…I’m sharing it this cruise with my boss, so…” Vittorio smiled. “Would he like to watch—or maybe join us?” “I doubt it,” I said, chuckling. “He’s terminally straight.” “Any man can be tempted.” “You think so? I’d like to see you try with Tom.” Vittorio’s lip curled in distaste. “He’s not attractive enough for me to try.” “Right.” I felt a sudden surge of relief as I saw the waiter headed our way carrying my dinner. Why did I have this urge to be alone? “Ah, food…” “I will leave you to enjoy it.” Vittorio stood and rubbed my shoulder. “Later.” “Um, yeah.” I sighed as I tackled my food. I just couldn’t seem to forget Paul’s earlier warning or the one word that stuck in my mind—backstabber. Had it just been sour grapes on Paul’s part, or was there a hidden dark side to Vittorio?

**** Later, after I had closed the casino and Tom had stowed the night’s takings in the safe, I wandered out onto one of the upper decks. I’d refused Tom’s invitation to join him and the guys for a drink in the disco, preferring to spend some time on my own after the hectic night in the casino. Howard might have been pissed earlier, but his chubby face had lit up with satisfaction as he’d read the figures I’d prepared for him at the close of the evening. Now, standing at the deck rail, feeling the warm breeze on my face, I breathed in the clean salty air and felt I might just get used to this life. Randy, and all the problems he’d brought to the table, seemed a long way off both in miles and in my mind. Having sex with

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Vittorio had felt like the break I’d needed to rid me of the often sad memories I harboured at times. Once Tom and Howard were off the ship and attending to business on shore, I had a feeling I would settle quite nicely into this laid back kind of life. All I had to do was make sure the dealers toed the line. I was suddenly aware of the soft sounds of guitar music being played nearby. I turned from the rail and walked slowly towards the source—a small bar decorated with a Hawaiian motif, bamboo walls and ceiling and lots of palm trees. The bar was empty save for a young man with dark-blond hair seated on a stool, totally immersed in his music, his fingers bringing a sweet Latin melody from his guitar. I climbed quietly onto a stool at the bar to listen, impressed with the guy’s obvious musical ability and very cute look. He was younger than me. I guessed him to be in his midtwenties. I applauded as the final chords died away. He looked up, startled, staring at me through pretty hazel eyes. “Oh hi...didn’t know I had an audience. I thought you were all gone.” I slipped off the stool, walked over to the podium and held out my hand. “Adam Brenner, I’m the casino manager. You play very well.” “Thanks.” He took my hand in a warm grasp. “Brett Jarvis. Welcome to my bar.” “Your bar?” Brett grinned, showing white even teeth. “I’ll be playing guitar here nine to one every night we’re at sea.” “Very nice. I’ll have to stop by to listen when I get a break from the casino.” His grin changed to a warm smile. “That would be cool. Say, would you like a beer? The bartender left me a couple chilling in the fridge.” “I’d love a beer.” He jumped off his stool and went behind the bar to retrieve the beers. I couldn’t help but notice that young Brett had a very cute butt, nicely showcased by the khaki chinos he was wearing. Is he gay? I wondered. My gaydar has never been reliable, and right then, I couldn’t be sure. Still, he seems like a nice guy, and this is a very pleasant way to wind down the evening. “So…” Brett’s smile was shy as he handed me a beer. “Casino manager…isn’t that usually a Brit’s job?”

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I chuckled as we settled back down on the barstools. “That’s what I hear, and this morning, the captain made no bones about the fact that he doesn’t like Americans running the casino.” “Or Americans in general, from what I understand,” Brett said. “Jim, our cruise director, told me to watch out for him. Apparently, he thinks we’re a sloppy lot and lack discipline.” “Well, he certainly can’t complain about your guitar playing,” I remarked, clinking his beer bottle with mine. “Cheers, by the way.” “Cheers and thanks.” We chugged our beer then shared a smile. “Play something for me?” I asked gently. “Sure.” Brett picked up his guitar. “What would you like to hear?” “Something soft and sweet, and romantic.” “Okay.” Brett’s fingers ran nimbly over the strings, and I closed my eyes letting the lilting cadences wash over me like a soothing balm. Just what the doctor ordered, I thought. A late night serenade being played by a sweet-looking young guy. When the last notes of the plaintive melody died away, I murmured, “That was beautiful. What’s it called?” He smiled. “I don’t know. I just made it up.” His eyes met mine as he added, “I think I’ll call it ‘Adam’s Tune’.” For a long moment we gazed at one another, and I had an almost overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss Brett’s full lower lip. “That is so nice of you.” “Hey guys!” We both turned to stare at the doorway where a tall, uniformed security guard was standing. “Sorry, but I gotta lock up here.” “No problem,” Brett said, sliding off his stool. “We were just going.” No we weren’t, I thought. But it was probably just as well we did. We walked out onto the deck together and finished our beers by the rail, gazing out into the moonlit night. “Well, it was really nice meeting you, Brett,” I said finally. “Tomorrow, we’re in port in Nassau,” he told me. “Maybe we could go for a drink? There’s a really cool pub there called the Green Shutters.”

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“Sounds good, but let me get back to you on that. The casino owner and the guy who hired me are onboard, and they just might have business to discuss.” Brett looked away. “Oh, okay.” I touched his arm. “No really, I’m not giving you the brush off. This weekend, I figured I’d be tied up with them—and, believe me, that wasn’t supposed to sound kinky. They’re the ones paying my salary, but after they leave on Monday, I’m all yours.” Brett chuckled. “I’ll remind you of that—after they leave.” He stifled a giant yawn. “Wow, I guess this day is catching up on me. I flew into Orlando this morning from San Diego, so I haven’t really had any sleep in a while.” “Then, off to bed with you, young man,” I teased. “Are you playing tomorrow night?” “Yeah, just for an hour after the midnight buffet.” “I’ll come by then.” Again, I was tempted to lean in for a kiss, but just then a couple of passengers strolled into view and stood near us at the rail, taking in the romance of the moonlight on the ocean. “G’night, Brett,” I whispered. “’Night. See you tomorrow.”

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Chapter Four

I hadn’t expected Tom to actually show up in the cabin we were sharing on that weekend cruise to Nassau, but I was awakened in the wee small hours by him stumbling about in the dark, bumping into my bunk and sprawling on top of me amid a cloud of beer fumes. “Tom, for Chrissakes, get off me!” “Oh, sorry,” Tom giggled then burped. “I thought you were pussy for a minute.” His hand slid over my bare chest. “You feel nice.” “You’re drunk as a skunk,” I muttered, switching on the light. I blinked at Tom as he sat on the edge of my bunk looking back at me with bleary eyes. “I fucked that Cindy,” he slurred proudly. “Got her panties down in record time, my boy. Man, she is one little raver. Who knew?” “So she’s not so prim and proper?” “Well, who can resist the Tomster? Plus, I told her she could have your job.” “What? Tom, you son of a—” “Just kidding. Well, I mean I did tell her that, but of course, I was lying.” I fell back on my pillow. “Tom, you are completely without ethics or scruples or morals or…or…” “All of the above, I know. I’m a shit—but I’m a good fuck!” “I wouldn’t know.” He leered at me. “Well, roll over, and I’ll show you.” “Tom, get on your own bunk and go to sleep.” I glared at him. “I suppose the other guys are all in the same shape as you?” “Worse.” He stood up unsteadily then flopped face down onto his bunk, fully dressed. “’Night. You sure you don’t wanna fuck?” “Goodnight, Tom. Yes, I’m sure.” Jeez.

****

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Next morning, after I’d showered and slipped on a tee and a pair of shorts, I left the comatose Tom on his bunk and went up on deck in search of coffee. It was the start of a beautiful day. The sun shone out of a brilliantly blue sky and the ocean was like glass apart from the waves created by the ship’s prow. “’Morning, Adam.” I glanced at the man standing next to me at the coffee urn. “Hi, Carl. Beautiful day.” The assistant purser smiled. “Glad to see you survived your initiation by fire—you know, the wrath of Borghese.” I shrugged, adding cream to my coffee. “Oh that. I’ve been around my share of bullies. He doesn’t bother me.” “Good but just a word of warning. Once he takes a dislike to someone, or something, he’s like a terrier with a bone. I overheard him tell one of the officers that he’s going to do his level best to get ‘the Americans’ off his ship.” “All the Americans? That’s a bit of a tall order, isn’t it? What about you guys?” Carl grimaced. “He just meant the casino crew.” “Well, he’s going to have a problem with that,” I said. “Howard Marsden signed a sixmonth contract with the cruise line owners—so, tough shit Captain Borghese. We’re here for some time.” “Good luck then.” Carl gave me a tight smile and left. I watched him go, wondering just how much credence I could put on what Carl had told me. It sure seemed as though the dealers and I were not top of the popularity stakes. I found a chair in the sun and sat down to enjoy my coffee. I just couldn’t let all this discord upset me. I had six months onboard the ship and damn if I wasn’t going to enjoy it—every day. “Adam.” I looked up at the growly voice and saw Tom glaring at me and looking thoroughly washed out. “’Mornin’, Tom. How’s the head—again?” “Awful.” He plunked himself down beside me. “You know, you hurt my feelings last night.” “I did?” I couldn’t resist a dig. “I’m surprised you can remember anything at all about last night.”

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“Well, for some reason I remember this—you spurned me last night.” I squinted at him. “I spurned you? What the hell are you talking about?” “You could have had me last night. That’s the closest I’ve ever come to wanting sex with another guy—and you told me to fuck off.” “I did not tell you to fuck off. You were a hundred and seven sheets to the wind, and you didn’t know what you were saying.” “But haven’t you ever wanted to have sex with me?” I looked at him in amazement. Did he really know what he was saying? “Tom, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. We’ve worked together for five years. I’ve known you, Mara and the kids for even longer, and never in all that time have you ever shown one bit of interest in me—at least not in that way. What the hell has gotten into you?” “Nothin’…and not you obviously.” “Tom, for crying out loud, cut it out, or tell me you’re joking.” “Okay, I’m joking.” He laughed out loud. “What? You think I really meant it?” “Well, you had me worried for a moment or two.” “Worried?” He dropped his voice to an almost whisper. “Are you telling me that you wouldn’t want to have sex with me—if I wanted to, that is?” I sighed. “Listen Tom, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I want to jump into bed with every guy I see.” He affected a hurt expression. “I’m not every guy, Adam. I’m your friend.” “Will you please not start this again? I’m gay, you’re straight and married, and as far as I’m concerned, never the twain shall meet. Okay? Besides, I don’t know how much of a friend you are, leaving me to face the captain and Howard on my own yesterday.” “I said I was sorry.” “Fine, but we have to maintain some kind of professionalism. One of the pursers told me Borghese wants us off the ship.” “That son-of-a-bitch,” Tom snarled. “Howard will sue if they try to break his contract.” “I’m sure we’re okay for the six months,” I said. “But I wouldn’t bet on getting an extension after that. Now, can I get you some coffee?” I shook my head in wonder as I poured him a coffee and refilled my own cup. What was it with straight men that made them think they were so irresistible to gay guys? Well,

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not this gay guy. I began to think that if I’d told Tom the truth—that I didn’t fancy him at all—he might just have burst into tears!

**** When I met up with Howard and Tom later, it was obvious Tom had told the attorney about Borghese’s threat. The casino was closed while we were in port so the three of us had dinner off the ship in a restaurant on Paradise Island. I could hardly believe the prices on the menu. Vegas had gotten expensive in the last five years, but Paradise Island was even more ridiculous. I was glad Howard had announced in advance that dinner was on him. “So, that fuckin’ blowhard wants to wreck my chances of making a bundle before I retire, does he?” Howard ranted as he swallowed his third cocktail of the evening. The fat man’s face was ruddy with anger, and I found myself hoping he wouldn’t have a heart attack and fall face down on the tablecloth. “Well, if we show them we’re just as reliable as the British casino concessions, we shouldn’t have any trouble,” I said, trying to soothe his ruffled feathers. “We just have to make sure the dealers don’t piss off the captain.” “That’s your job,” Howard rasped. “And yours, Tom. Maybe you should stay on for a week or two just to make sure everything is okay here.” Oh, God...please no, I groaned mentally. “Can’t do it, Howard,” Tom said immediately, much to my relief. “Mara’s out of town as of Tuesday so I have to look after the kids. Don’t worry. Adam can handle the dealers. They don’t know yet what a tyrant he can be.” “Really?” Howard fixed his stare on me, and I knew what he was thinking. Can a fag really control all those crazy kids who want nothing more than to get drunk and get laid every night? I chuckled. “Look, Howard. They’re like kids in a candy store right now what with all these lovely young ladies strolling about in bikinis. They don’t know which way to look first, but they’ll get used to it. They’ll settle down, and if they don’t, after the first one gets his ass fired, believe me, they will.” Howard grunted and threw back the rest of his cocktail. “I hope you’re both right.” He signalled the waiter over. “Another Manhattan, and let’s eat, guys—I’m starved.”

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I left them later, not wanting to join them at the gambling tables. One thing I’d learned from working in the gaming business, gambling was for suckers. I took a cab back to the ship and wandered up to the bar where I knew Brett would be playing. The sound of gentle guitar music wafted in the still night air as I climbed the stairs to the upper deck, and I smiled, remembering how Brett had sweetly named one of his compositions for me. I stood in the doorway of the bar, looking at Brett over the heads of the mostly attentive crowd, as he played a slow and sensuous bossa nova. He really is a cutie, I thought, watching his dark-blond head bob up and down to the rhythm of the melody. As the tune ended and the audience applauded, I moved over to the bar and ordered a beer. Finding an empty stool, I sat down, looking forward to talking with Brett when he took a break. “Adam, there you are.” The hand on my shoulder squeezed gently. “I’ve been searching the ship for you.” “Hi, Vittorio.” I looked up at the handsome Italian and smiled. “I had dinner with Howard and Tom over at Paradise Island.” Vittorio pouted. “Oh, what a pity, I was going to ask you to join my father and me for dinner earlier.” I almost choked. He must be joking. That’s the last thing I’d want to do. “I hardly think I’d be welcome at dinner with your father, Vittorio,” I said, quietly. “He’s made it quite clear to his officers that he wants me and the dealers off his ship.” “Oh, surely not. Who told you this?” “Just about everyone I’ve spoken to,” I replied, not wanting to name names. “Don’t worry, I don’t hold it against you. I’d loved to have had dinner with you—but not with your dear old dad.” Vittorio frowned. “He’s very nice when you get to know him.” “I’m sure he is, but I don’t think he wants to know me so please don’t go inviting me to have dinner with him. Or, if you don’t believe me, ask him first, and see what kind of response you get.”

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Vittorio’s frown deepened, but I was listening to Brett’s announcement that he was about to take a short break. I wondered if he would come over to join me when he saw Vittorio standing there, but just then one of the pursers walked over to us. “Mr. Borghese, you have a telephone call at the Purser’s office. It’s your wife. She said she’s been trying to contact you all evening, but your cell keeps going to voicemail.” The silence that fell between us was almost deafening. I wasn’t quite sure who was more dumbfounded by this bit of news—me or Vittorio. His eyes did a full right turn away from mine. “Grazie,” he muttered at the purser, his face turning all shades of red. “I’ll be right there.” He had the grace to look embarrassed as he continued to avoid my stare. “Sorry, I must go.” “I just bet you must.” I gave him the look of death. “Your wife? You’re just full of horse shit, aren’t you?” Vittorio fled without another word. “Hi, Adam...” Brett’s sweet face smiled at me. “Tell me something, Brett,” I growled. “Are you married, and is your father onboard this ship?” “Excuse me?” I gave out a half hearted kind of laugh. “Sorry, that wasn’t the way I intended to greet you. This has been a very illuminating time for me.” I gave myself a shake. “Like a beer?” “Please.” His fingers touched my arm lightly. “What’s wrong, Adam?” I ordered two beers then put my lips close to Brett’s ear and whispered, “Nothing that couldn’t be fixed by you telling me you’re gay, and that you’ll love me forever with a passion you can’t control.” He looked startled for a moment, then he chuckled, and his eyes twinkled as he replied, “Well, you’ve got one part right. The other I don’t know about—yet.” “Would you like to find out about the other?” “Very much.” “Then I promise I’ll sit here like a good boy, wait for you to finish your next set and not get drunk.”

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“Good.” Brett’s smile was sensual and seductive. “Because I want you to remember it all, in the morning.” “Will there be a test?” I teased. “You can bet on it.”

**** Brett’s cabin was tiny and without a porthole, yet to me as I held him in my arms and took his lips with mine, it felt like the most romantic place in the world. The kiss was long and sweetly passionate. Our lips and tongues moved together, probing, caressing as if we’d done this time and time again, instead of this being our very first kiss. One I’ll definitely remember in the morning, I thought, tightening my arms about Brett and grinding my hard cock into his crotch. His erection pushed back against mine as I slipped his hands over the round swell of his bottom, pulling him in closer. “Mmm…” His lips vibrated on mine as he voiced his pleasure. “You kiss good.” “You’re good to kiss,” I murmured. And he was. His mouth tasted sweet, his lips were warm and moist under mine, his tongue by turn gentle then fierce in its probing. This was so different from the other night with Vittorio. I told myself not to rush this. It felt so good just to have Brett in my arms and to stand there kissing him over and over. As much as I wanted to tear his clothes from him and ravish him, go down on him and taste his cock, I found myself totally into just taking our time. In fact, it was Brett who murmured with impatience and started pulling at my shirt, freeing it from the waistband of my pants and slipping his hands inside, stroking my torso, his thumbs gently rubbing over my nipples. I let him strip off my shirt, nuzzle me and lick me until he had every nerve ending in my body tingling with desire then I did it all for him. Slowly, teasingly, smiling into his eyes, I unhooked the top button of his chinos, unzipped him then slid my hand inside, gently squeezing his erection through the soft cotton of his briefs. His pants fell about his ankles, and I tugged down his briefs, letting his cock spring free. “Sweet,” I murmured, falling to my knees to claim my prize. He uttered a little gasp of pleasure as I took the head of his long slender cock between my lips and sucked him in, my

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tongue lapping at the hard flesh as I pulled him into my mouth. I took it all in down to the root, ‘til my nose was buried in his springy, sweet-smelling pubic hair. “Oh yes,” he whispered, running his fingers through my hair. “That feels so good…so good…” I cupped his balls in one hand while the other fingered the crack between his butt cheeks. He squirmed himself down on my middle finger, riding it up and down, while little whimpers of delight escaped his lips. His pre-cum pooled on my tongue, and I swallowed it down, relishing the tangy taste. I gazed up at him as I sucked. His slim torso was arched back showing every lean muscle and sinew under his smooth, faintly tanned skin, hairless but for the thin treasure trail of blond down that ran from his navel to his crotch. I released his cock and licked my way up that trail burying the tip of my tongue in his navel before sliding up to take each of his tiny nipples between my teeth, bringing squeaks of ecstasy from him. I kept my finger inside him, letting him continue to ride it as we kissed, our tongues slipping in and out of each other’s mouths, licking and probing as he clung to me. “You gonna fuck me?” he panted, pulling his mouth from mine. “Your wish is my command,” I managed to gasp. “Good, ‘cause I want you inside me like you wouldn’t believe.” We shucked off the rest of our clothes, and in two seconds, I had him flat on his back on his bunk, his legs in the air as I burrowed between them, bathing his hot hole with my tongue. “Oh, Jesus…Adam…” His moans and his obvious delight at what I was doing were turn ons I couldn’t begin to resist. I went deeper, his moans became louder, his body shuddering as he clutched at my head and gasped, “Oh, God…oh…Adam, I’m coming…” And he did, showering himself with his semen. I raked my tongue over his small tight balls and up to the head of his cock, licking at the vestiges of his orgasm. He gazed at me with a kind of adoration. “That was so incredible. No one’s ever done that for me before.” “They didn’t know what they were missing,” I murmured, nibbling on his juicy lower lip. My erection nestled between his thighs. “I still want to fuck you.”

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“I still want you to,” he said. Reaching behind himself, he opened the tiny drawer by his bunk and produced a condom packet and a small tube of lube. “I got these at the gift shop onboard…this afternoon.” I smiled and raised an eyebrow as I rubbed his nose with mine. “Expecting company, were you?” “Hoping.” He kissed me, slipping his tongue between my parted lips, getting me so hard I was fairly fumbling with the condom as I tried to keep the kiss going. His legs went back up over my shoulders as I lubed him up then pressed forward, the head of my cock pushing past his brief resistance. His breath shuddered in his chest as he took me in, his hands reaching up to stroke my hair, a smile of complete bliss on his lovely face. God, but he was so adorable. I felt a momentary twinge of regret that the latex sheath stopped me from getting the full effect of fucking him. I knew he’d feel like hot silk inside, and just the thought of that got me even harder and quickened my strokes, causing him to moan and whimper with pleasure. “Oh Jesus, Brett,” I whispered. “It feels so good inside you.” Sweat beaded on my forehead as I moved over him to a sensual rhythm I could feel all the way through my body. He wound his arms around my neck and raised himself up for a long, long kiss that had us both moaning into each other’s mouths. I knew I couldn’t hold back much longer, and I gripped his rock-hard erection in my fist, pumping it to match the rhythm our bodies moved to. His tongue swirling in my mouth, his hands gliding up and down my torso, the heat we’d created between us, all brought me to an explosive orgasm that wrenched a cry of delirious joy from me. It was echoed by Brett as he stiffened in my arms and released a torrent of hot cum that coated both our chests and splashed up under my chin. I collapsed on top of him, holding him pressed tight to my body as his lips kissed my ear, and he whispered, “That was hot.” Yes, it was hot. Brett was hot, and I couldn’t quite believe how lucky I was to find someone as sweet and loving as him. He curled up into my arms, kissing my jaw, rubbing my nose with his, and just being his adorable self. I sighed with happiness. He yawned and fell asleep in my arms.

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I must have dozed off too, for when I awoke I had a crick in my neck. His bunk was just way to narrow for two. I didn’t mind but looked forward to the time when Tom was off the ship and I had my cabin all to myself—to share with Brett.

**** Sunday and the day at sea on the return trip to Port Canaveral meant the casino was open all day. The weather had suddenly turned foul, the sea choppy, and many of the passengers had taken to their cabins feeling unwell. Despite that, the casino was busy. I had opened all the tables with Tom and me taking turns to relieve the dealers on their scheduled breaks. I found it hard to concentrate, my mind still full of thoughts of Brett and the sweet time we’d spent together. Even the heaving of the carpeted floor beneath my feet as the ship was buffeted by angry waves couldn’t quite dispel the pleasant memories of Brett’s smooth body and passionate kisses. The groans of the players at my table as I turned over my cards to reveal blackjack made me smile. I’d done a deal of groaning last night myself but for very different reasons. I looked up as I swept in the losing hands. Vittorio stood a few feet away, staring at me. What the hell did he want? The revelation that Vittorio had not a boyfriend in Milan but a wife had at first pissed me off. Brett had done a lot to help me out of that frame of mind, but seeing the Italian’s handsome mug with those big brown eyes now full of apology made me want to spit. Surely, he didn’t think I might still be interested? If he did, he was going to be disappointed. Cheating on a boyfriend would have been bad enough—but a wife? Vittorio was a creep, without a doubt—a gorgeous-looking creep, but a creep nevertheless. I glanced at my watch and noticed it was almost five. The casino closed for two hours from five to seven. “Last hand, ladies and gentlemen,” I announced. “Place your bets, please.” After I’d closed the table, Vittorio came over and sat down. I raised an eyebrow. “Table’s closed, sorry.” Vittorio gazed at me sadly. “I want to apologise for last night,” he said quietly. “Apology accepted.” “Then can I see you later?”

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“No, thanks.” “But I want to explain.” I locked up the table. “I’m busy right now, Vittorio,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I have all these tables to count down, and quite honestly, I’m not interested in an explanation. You are married—end of story.” I shrugged and abruptly turned away from him. Tom had been watching us through narrowed eyes. “What’s he want?” he asked as Vittorio pushed himself away from the table and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the casino. “Isn’t he the captain’s son?” “Yes, he is. We had a drink the other night, and he was asking if I was free later.” “You fuck him?” “Tom, that is none of your business,” I hissed, appalled that he would ask me that in front of the dealers. “And I certainly don’t want to discuss this in front of the other guys. Now, let’s get the tables counted, shall we?” Any further discussion was stalled when Tom staggered and fell against me as the ship gave an almighty heave and roll. “Shit, looks like we’re in for a bad one,” he muttered, gripping my shoulders. I shook him off and strode over to look out through the large windows that flanked one side of the casino. I was shocked to see water swirling over the outside deck. Man, if the waves were reaching this high… “Hey Tom, look at this.” Tom and the other dealers joined me at the window. The sky had turned an ominous greenish-black, the clouds heavy with rain. Jeff and John exchanged worried glances while Cindy, looking greenish, ran from the casino. “How could the weather change so fast?” John asked, his nose pressed to the glass. “It was blue skies and sunshine this morning.” “This happens all the time,” Tom said, like he knew what he was talking about. “We’re in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean so you have to expect this kind of thing.” I wondered where Brett was, and if he was prone to sea-sickness. I should go check on him. “Well, I guess they’ll tell us if there’s any cause for alarm,” I said. “Let’s finish up here and take a break.”

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**** Later, I ran below and tapped on Brett’s cabin door. “Come in,” said a weak voice. I opened the door and slipped inside. Brett, lying on his bunk, smiled wanly up at me. “I think I’m sick,” he said, stating the obvious. I sat by him on the bunk. “You poor thing,” I sympathised, kissing his cheek. “Can I get you anything?” “You could shoot me then my suffering would be over.” I chuckled and stroked his forehead. “You’ll be okay. If it’s any consolation, nearly all the passengers are in the same boat, so to speak.” “It isn’t.” He tried for a smile. “But I’m glad you came by, Adam.” “Do you have some Dramamine handy?” “I took it already. Didn’t work.” “It will. Just give it a chance to kick in.” Brett yawned. “I have to work later.” “I think the Dramamine is taking effect. You should try to get some sleep.” “Would you come by and wake me? I have to be in the bar at nine.” “Sure.” I bent to kiss his cheek again. “But if this storm keeps up, I don’t think you’ll have much of an audience.” “Wake me anyway.” He yawned again. “Okay. I’ll come by about eight to see how you are.” “Thanks, Adam.” I kissed his lips and left. I climbed the stairs to the Purser’s deck and saw Carl on duty at the counter. “Hey,” Carl greeted me. “You don’t get seasick?” “I guess not. This is my first time on a ship so I didn’t know what to expect. You seem to be all right.” “I’m fine, but I’ve been doing this for five years.” Carl chuckled. “We’ve cancelled the first sitting in the dining room—just made it all open seating, and that’s if anyone shows up. The smell of food doesn’t go well with mal de mer.”

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“That’s a nice way of saying ‘puking your brains out’.” I left him and went on up to the staff dining room. Vittorio was sitting at one of the tables. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said gravely. “That’s nice.” I sat down opposite him and picked up the menu, studying it intently. “I want to explain.” I sighed and lowered the menu. “What’s to explain? You’re married. I’m not interested in married guys.” “We’re getting a divorce.” “I’m sorry.” Vittorio reached for my hand. “But don’t you see, caro? I’ll be single, free to live my life the way I want.” I pulled my hand away. “I thought you were already doing that. Look,” I locked eyes with him. His expression was one of longing, but I wasn’t about to weaken now. “I just came out of a shitty relationship that went on for far too long. I have no intentions of hooking up with a guy who cheats on his wife or anyone else. There’s an old saying—‘Once a cheat, always a cheat’. Sorry, Vittorio, but I’m not interested. The other night was great, but—” “But there will be other great nights,” Vittorio blurted. “No, there won’t. Well, not between us, anyway.” Vittorio’s face darkened. “You are refusing me?” I smirked. “Refusing you? Yesterday, I was spurning someone, now I’m refusing.” “You can joke about this?” Vittorio sputtered, his eyes growing cold with anger. “I’m sorry, Vittorio.” I leaned back in my chair. “We’ve only known each other a few days, we’ve had sex once, and really, I’m making this easy for you. Your father, the captain of this ship, doesn’t like me. What do you think he’d say if you told him you and I were having some kind of relationship? Does he even know you’re gay, or bi-sexual, or whatever you are?” “Dio, no… He must never find out.” “Well, that’s just one more reason why I have to refuse you, Vittorio. I came out of the closet a long time ago, and I have no intentions of getting back in.” I looked at his handsome

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face, now angry and sullen, then picked up the menu again. Without another word, he rose from the table and left the dining room. “Jesus,” I muttered to myself. Three days on this ship and I’d had enough dramas to last a year. The one bright spot had been meeting Brett. I just hoped he wasn’t hiding some deep and dark secret! “Hey, pardner.” Tom beamed at me as he slipped into the seat Vittorio had just vacated. “I just talked with the Chief Purser who tells me there will be no entertainment on board tonight. That includes us. So, what d’ya say to joining me and the guys in the disco bar?” “No thanks.” “Oh, come on, Adam. Might help to loosen you up a little.” He winked at me lewdly. “No, thanks—and cut out the innuendos. You were joking, remember?” Tom stuck his lower lip out. “You never come drinking with me anymore.” “Because you drink too much,” I told him, “and so do Jeff and John. I’m just not into that ‘getting shit-faced syndrome’ you guys seem to love so much. Putting up with that while living with Randy was enough. I like a beer or a glass of wine now and then, but bingedrinking is not for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either, Tom. Not at your age.” “My age?” He gave me an affronted look. “I’m only five years older than you.” “And you have a wife and kids, and should act more responsibly.” “Shut up, Adam,” Tom growled. “You sound like my fucking father.” “And you don’t pay any attention to him, either,” I said, chuckling. I looked up at the waiter hovering by the table. “Just the chicken quesadilla and an iced tea, thanks.” “I’ll have the same,” Tom muttered. “But, with a beer.”

**** I was glad the entertainment had been called off because of the storm. That meant Brett wouldn’t have to put on a happy face when he felt more like throwing up. I decided I’d let him sleep some more so I waited ‘til closer to nine before going down to his cabin. When I tapped on the door, I got a surprising “Come on in” instead of the sickly voice I expected. Brett was standing in the middle of the cabin, naked but for a towel round his waist. “Hi. Just got out of the shower.”

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“You don’t have to work tonight.” “I know. One of the pursers came by to tell me, but I’m feeling better so I thought I’d shower, just in case I had any gentlemen callers.” “You get a lot of those?” “Scores, hundreds, actually.” He grinned at me. “But you’re the first one tonight.” I pulled him into his arms and kissed his neck, savouring his fresh-from-the-shower, damp skin. “You smell good,” I whispered. Brett placed his hand on my crotch. “You feel good, but you have on way too many clothes.” “Why don’t you take them off me?” “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Brett said, unbuttoning my shirt. “I’m so slow at times.” “Slow?” I trailed my lips over his smooth jaw. “Not a word I’d use to describe you.” He chuckled as he slipped off my jacket then my shirt. “I’m really a shy guy,” he said, kissing my neck. “It’s you who’s making me lose my inhibitions.” “I’ll help you lose some more,” I murmured, pulling off his towel and revealing his rising erection. “Mmm…” I took his hot throbbing cock in my hand and pumped it gently. He fell against me as the ship lurched suddenly. I tightened my arms around him, we kissed, and before you could say ‘land ho’, we were at it full force. As the cabin floor rocked and rolled, so did we, and later he swore he’d never felt anyone so deep inside him as I was that night.

**** Eventually, the storm began to subside while I, nestled in the narrow bunk holding a sleeping Brett in my arms, was content to listen to the thrum of the ship’s engines and the occasional creaking of metal and wood as The Maid of the Seas ploughed its way back to port. It had been quite a day, I mused, and tomorrow I could wave Howard and Tom goodbye— not with any sadness. I’d have my cabin all to myself and could have Brett sleep over with me. I could ask my cabin steward to have the two bunks pushed together to give us more room for lovin’. And, hopefully, Vittorio would take the hint. Could I have made it any

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plainer I was no longer interested? Maybe he’d find someone else to set his sights on. A handsome guy like that shouldn’t have any trouble hooking up. I just wished I wouldn’t keep remembering what Paul Peterson, the hotel manager had called Vittorio—backstabber.

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Chapter Five

Two weeks went by without too many problems, except the usual ones encountered in a casino. Grumpy customers, pissed at losing their money—as if someone had held a gun to their heads and demanded they play cards until all their money had run out. Howard’s mandate didn’t include extending credit to washed-out punters so ‘Sorry’ was all I could tell them as sincerely as I could. Brett and I had been seeing each other every moment we could, and I had to admit those were the best parts of the day for me. We’d explored Nassau together, wandering through the Straw Market on Prince George Dock, finding the English pub, the Green Shutters, and the beaches at either end of the island. The dealers, after I’d given them a firm pep talk had settled down, and so far had managed to stay out of trouble—at least, as far as I could tell. Brett enjoyed scuba diving when we spent the day at the ‘out’ island we visited every cruise, and had been taking lessons from Ed Constanza, one of the dive team pros. Ed had recently taken on a new dive instructor named Andy Remick, a handsome blond hunk who was an immediate hit with all the ladies. Ed told Brett taking Andy on had given his business the best boost it had ever had. After seeing the long line of young ladies at the concession counter all eager to learn how to dive, I could see what he meant. Andy was friendly as well as easy on the eye and he would join Brett and me on port days, either going for a pint at the pub or tagging along to Cable Beach where we would grab some rays and suck down a Bahama Mama or two. Andy was straight as far as I could figure but seemed to really enjoy our company. When I asked if he’d left a wife or girlfriend at home, he told me he’d sworn off getting involved with any one girl. “Safety in numbers,” he said. “I’d just like to play the field for a time.” He never did say much about what he’d done prior to coming on board The Maid of the Seas. I was feeling pretty contented until a crew meeting called by the captain. He had asked the cruise line owners to attend, and after introducing the men as Mr. Al Oppenheimer and Mr. Edward Blaise, the first thing out of his mouth was a litany of complaints about how

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badly the casino was being run and how he had forewarned of this. I listened, my jaw tight with anger as Borghese informed everyone present that he personally had received passenger complaints on a daily basis. “That’s simply amazing, Captain,” I interrupted, standing up. I shrugged as I continued. “I’m in the casino every single night we’re open, and I haven’t received one legitimate complaint. My dealers are courteous, despite having to take rudeness from some of the passengers. If you’re talking about people griping that they’ve lost money—that’s a different story, and frankly not something you should be concerned with.” “I beg your pardon.” Borghese puffed out his chest as he glared at me. “I am concerned with what goes on in every corner of this ship. When people complain to me of the casino manager’s rudeness I have to take appropriate action.” “Then your first step should have been to talk to me about this in private,” I rasped, “rather than to try to humiliate me in front of the entire crew. You have made it quite clear from the very beginning that you disapprove of ‘the Americans’ running the casino. Well, that’s your hang-up. I suggest we ask the cruise line owners if they object to Howard Marsden, who incidentally pays a large sum of money every week for the privilege of running the casino, if they object to Howard’s choice of casino manager and dealers.” “You see?” Borghese turned to the two men sitting behind him. “His arrogance knows no bounds.” Al Oppenheimer, a big robust man with greying hair, pulled himself to his feet. “Well, Captain, what you see as arrogance, I see as a man defending himself, and rather well, against something that he is totally right about. This should have been discussed in private.” “Hear, hear!” I looked over at Paul Peterson who had uttered his support. He was sitting behind Vittorio who turned and gave him a cold stare. Well now, I mused. The sides are being drawn up... Borghese looked stunned. “But Mr. Oppenheimer, I am in charge of this ship—” “Yes, you are,” Oppenheimer agreed. “And I suggest you carry on with this meeting. We have other business to discuss, so we’ll consider the matter you raised noted, and we will deal with it in private so as not to waste the time of the other departments.” He looked over at me. “Can you give us some of your time after we’re finished here?” “Certainly,” I said, sitting down.

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“Well done,” someone murmured behind me, but I couldn’t tell who it was. The meeting progressed with restaurants, gift shops, the Pursers’ office, cabin services all being discussed and changes suggested. I sat in silence, my mind racing as to just what I was going to say to the cruise line owners. Borghese was out to get me fired, no doubt of it—and he still could—even though Howard had signed a six-month contract. There was no guarantee that it had to include Adam Brenner as manager. If the captain was successful in getting me axed, what I would miss the most was not necessarily the job—I could get a job back in Vegas—but Brett. Damn, I was really going to miss him. The thought of that made me feel sick to my stomach. I stole a sideways glance at Vittorio and didn’t miss the smirk on his face. That son-of-abitch. How could someone that great looking be such an asshole?

**** Brett found me sunning myself on the aft deck reserved for employees. “I heard what happened at the meeting,” he said, sitting on the side of the chaise lounge I was lying on. After my meeting with the owners and a sniping Captain Borghese, I figured I needed to get away and fume quietly on my own. Still, I was glad Brett had come looking for me. He ran his hand over my bare chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to support you.” I took his hand and held it pressed to my lips. “Thanks. I wish you’d been there just so I could have seen your sweet smile.” “How did it go with the owners?” “Okay. It’s hard for them to go against the captain they hired to run their ship, but I think they could see there was some prejudice there. Anyway, I’m not fired—at least not yet. They’re going to have a meeting with my bosses next week, so I’m reprieved ‘til then.” “What will you do if—” “Hey…” I put a finger on Brett’s lips to still his question. “Let’s not get gloomy. Al Oppenheimer, one of the owners, was really great. I think he’ll support my opinion that Borghese is just nit-picking, and we should just get on with our jobs.” “God, I hope so.” He leaned forward and kissed me. “But if they let you go, I’ll go with you.”

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“Brett, you can’t give up your career for me,” I said, although I was touched by his offer. “It may never even come to that. I’m pretty sure Howard and Tom don’t want to start looking around for another casino manager at this stage of the game. Besides, according to Paul Peterson, this is Borghese’s last cruise. He’s supposed to retire in three months.” “Good riddance.” I grinned. “And so say all of us.” Brett tweaked my left nipple. “I’m getting horny sitting here looking at you all naked and oily.” He massaged the bulge in my swim shorts. “Like me to take care of that?” “Like I need to be asked twice.” I sat up and held him, kissing the smooth skin below his chin. “Let’s go below, me hearty, or is it me hardy?” Brett giggled. He had to love me to appreciate that lame joke. “Aye, aye, cap’n.” He leaned in, and we rubbed noses. “You can shiver me timbers and drop your anchor in me any time.” Laughing like idiots, we stood up holding one another, but our idyll went in the Dumpster when we turned to find Vittorio staring at us, a malicious gleam in his eyes. “So, you refused me for this?” he rasped, gesturing at Brett in a dismissive manner. “No.” I cursed mentally seeing the shocked look on Brett’s face. “I refused you because you’re a married man who cheats on his wife.” I gripped Brett by the arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Brett jerked his arm free and stared at me through glistening eyes. “You were with him?” “Just one night, Brett.” “Jesus, how many other one nighters did you have before me?” “None.” I reached for him again. “Look, we don’t want to talk about this here. Let’s go to my cabin and—” “No! I don’t want to talk about this here or anywhere, for that matter. Talk to him instead.” As Brett turned away and started down the steps to the deck below, he jerked his thumb at Vittorio. “Maybe he’s still interested.” Vittorio met my furious stare with a smirk. “Not very understanding, is he?”

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“Fuck off,” I snarled. I ran down the steps after Brett hoping to catch up with him before he made it back to his cabin, but the deck was crowded with passengers watching pool games, and I lost sight of Brett as I tried to push my way through the crowd. Whoa, I told myself. Maybe I should just let Brett calm down a little before trying to talk to him. Right now, he might be too pissed to hear any of my weak-sounding apologies. Not that I’d done anything wrong, really. The night I’d spent with Vittorio, I hadn’t even known of Brett’s existence. Still, I could understand his dismay at finding out about it the way it had just happened. I should have told him about it, if just in passing. Damn. I glanced at my watch. Almost time to open the casino, anyway. I’d catch up with Brett during the dinner break. Maybe by then he’d be willing to listen...

**** I spent the next three hours on tenterhooks. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the table games, the vision of Brett’s hurt expression kept appearing before my eyes. I took over at the roulette table for a while, hoping that might help me keep on track, and for a time it did, but I was glad when I could ‘blow the whistle’ and announce, “Last hands, ladies and gentlemen. The casino re-opens at seven.” I toyed with the idea of knocking on Brett’s cabin door to see if he was more in the mood to listen but decided against it. I didn’t want to perhaps end up trying to talk to Brett through a closed door—too many prying ears behind too thin walls. Sighing, I went below to my cabin and showered then changed into my tux ready for the evening shift. Maybe Brett would be in the dining room. Not the perfect place for a makeup conversation, but generally, everyone was too busy yacking about their own problems to notice ours. My heart sank as I noticed Brett’s absence from the room. The dealers had commandeered their usual table and yelled at me to join them. Even though I didn’t much feel like putting up with their straight banter, I sat with them—any port in a storm! Jeff was in fine form, regaling us with his latest exploit in ‘babedom’ as he put it. “Man, she is sweet—barely legal I’d say. Her folks are on the cruise with her. Dad thinks she’s in bed right after the midnight buffet, and so she is, with me.”

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“Jeff, be careful,” I warned. “I don’t want to sound like a party pooper, but dads don’t like to think of their daughters getting into bed with strange young men.” “And they don’t come any stranger than Jeff,” Cindy said, rolling her eyes. “Oh, you’re just mad ‘cause Tommy-boy left you high and dry,” Jeff growled. “Tommy-boy is a married man,” I reminded them. “Look, we’ve had this talk before. I don’t want to spoil your fun, but you have all got to be careful. The first whiff of trouble—a complaint from a parent, or some girl not wanting to get off the ship at the end of the cruise because she’s madly in love you with one of you, and the captain will be on my case quicker than you can say ‘dick’. So let’s play it smart, shall we?” As I got up from the table, I had the distinct impression they all wished they hadn’t asked me to join them. Paul, and Clive, the food and beverage manager, were leaving at the same time and invited me to join them for a drink in the main bar. I accepted just so it would fill in time before I had to open the casino and take my mind off Brett—fat chance, but worth a try. Paul and Clive were nice guys, and had taken my side in my ongoing battle with the captain. Paul was straight and married but had that slightly fey manner a lot of British men seem to project. Clive was a radical queen and made no attempt to hide it. “You look like you need cheering up, love,” he remarked as we settled ourselves in one of the side booths. He’d brought me glass of wine from the bar. “Borghese still being a cunt, is he?” I’ve never used that word to describe any woman I’ve ever known, and it always surprised me when used on a man, but I’d noticed the Brits said it a lot—even to describe inanimate objects. ‘Cunting thing’ was used to describe practically anything that didn’t work, and was said many times at the meetings—much to Captain Borghese’s displeasure, of course. “Well, we’re not exactly hitting it off, but I just have a case of the blues,” I replied. “Brett Jarvis, the guitar player,” Paul told Clive. “Oh…” Clive looked at me with big eyes. I stared at Paul. “How the hell did you know that?” “I overheard Vittorio telling one of my maître d’s. Sorry chum, but the gay network on board this ship is active twenty-four-seven.”

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“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “Shit, I don’t want Brett to know we’re the subjects of gossip on the ship.” “Too late for that, I think,” Clive said, sipping his wine. “Vittorio’s a vicious queen under that smooth and charming Latin exterior. He’s lovely on the outside, but—” “Yeah, well Paul did tell me he’s a backstabber.” “And not in a nice way,” Clive said, giggling. We all chuckled. “Definitely not in a nice way.” But I was worried, and after I left Paul and Clive, I wanted to find Brett and make things right with him. If any of this got back to him, he’d be devastated. I looked at my watch—no time to go looking for him. I had to open the casino. Already there were would-be punters sitting at the tables, anxious to pit their skills against Lady Luck. I bumped into Andy, the dive instructor, on my way to the casino. He looked at me strangely. Oh, oh, I thought, he’s heard about my one night of lust with Vittorio. Probably thinks I’m a shit… “Adam, can I have a word with you?” he asked, taking my arm. “Sure…” I followed him out onto the deck and over to a quiet corner near the lifeboats. “What’s up?” “I need a favour,” he said. “Tomorrow when we dock in Port Canaveral I might be in for some trouble.” “What kind of trouble?” “My, uh…wife called me. She said she’d be waiting with the cops to arrest me.” “Arrest you? What for?” “I haven’t been paying her alimony or the child support she was awarded.” I looked at him in amazement. Another guy who’d never mentioned he was married— and this one was a deadbeat dad to boot! “Well, what is it you want me to do?” I asked warily, hoping he wasn’t going to ask me to float him a loan. “Well, I’ve noticed you usually leave the ship with the other dealers when we get to Canaveral.” “Yeah, we usually go out to Merritt Island for lunch.”

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“Well, I was thinking, if I got in the middle of you guys, maybe I could get through without her seeing me.” “Oh, I don’t know, man…” I didn’t like this one bit. Being complicit in his scheme to cheat his wife and kids out of the money he owed didn’t sit well with me at all. “I don’t know if I want to get the guys mixed up in this.” I knew they probably would go along with it. They all liked Andy and would want to help him, but I still didn’t like it. “Let me think it over,” I said, finally. “Sure, but don’t take too long. We’re in port, day after tomorrow.”

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Chapter Six

About midnight, I asked Jeff if he’d take over for me while I went to the restroom, then I ran like hell to the bar on the upper deck where Brett played to his late night crowd. He usually took a break around then just as the midnight buffet was opening up. I hoped he’d listen and meet me later after the casino closed. I got lucky. The bar was quiet, and he was just about heading out on his break. “Brett…” He looked my way, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of relief on his face then he frowned. “What do you want?” “To talk to you—later. Just give me a few minutes when I get through tonight. Please?” His eyes studied me for a moment or two then he said, “Okay,” and the breath I’d been holding while waiting for his answer escaped in a long sigh of happy relief. “Great,” I said and meant it. “Here?” “I’ll be waiting.” I just wished he’d smiled, but I guess that would’ve been asking a lot at that precise moment. “See you then,” I said and hurried all the way back to the casino, feeling a lot better than I had earlier. Jeff was glad to see me come back. “That captain guy was here looking for you.” “So, didn’t you tell him I was taking a leak?” “Yeah but he seemed kinda agitated.” He looked over my shoulder. “Oh, oh, he’s baaaack!” “Mr. Brenner.” Borghese’s smooth, accented voice gave me the creeps. Now what? I turned and gave him a small smile. “Yes, Captain, how can I help you?” “A word with you, please. Away from here, if you can spare the time.” Oh, oh... He was being way too polite. I joined him outside the circle of tables, and he ushered me outside the casino onto the wide landing at the top of the ‘Grand’ staircase.

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It wasn’t until I was face to face with him that I realised he’d had a few too many. Paul had told me earlier that Borghese was a lush, but I’d never seen any sign of it ‘til now. “Your lady dealer…” Borghese swayed slightly as he spoke. “She is very attractive, no?” “Yeah, she’s cute.” He frowned. “More than cute, Mr. Brenner. I feel you do not have an eye for the ladies. She is una bella ragazza!” “Okay.” I looked at him as he continued to sway. “And your point is?” “Why, I would like you to introduce me to her, of course.” “Oh…right, I see.” Was he joking? The guy was old enough to be Cindy’s father—on the other hand, some girls like older men, and Cindy might just like the idea of the Captain escorting around in her spare time. Hmm… This just might get him off my back. “Well, Cindy gets a break in about ten minutes,” I told him. “Why don’t I bring her into the bar where you will just happen to be?” He beamed at me as though we were old buddies. “I will be waiting,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. Well, if I’d known pimping was going to make us friends… “Hey, Cindy.” I sidled up to her table when I got back to the casino. “How’d you like to meet Il Capitan?” I asked quietly so the guys at her table wouldn’t hear. “You mean the old guy in white who keeps leering at me?” she asked over her shoulder. “That’s the one.” “Sure. He might ask me to have dinner at his table one night.” Somehow, I doubted that. “When you take your break, I’ll introduce you.” “Cool.” I was glad she thought so. It made me feel less guilty. If she’d turned up her nose or gone “Ew,” I’d have told Borghese no can do. He was still swaying slightly, but he beamed at us as I escorted Cindy into the bar. “Captain Borghese, I’d like you to meet Cindy Horner, our ace dealer.” I made the introductions then stepped aside, not knowing if I could stomach watching him put the make on Cindy. When you don’t like someone, just about everything they do sets your teeth on

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edge. Like the way he bent over her hand to kiss it. Ugh. As I left the bar, I could hear Cindy giggling at something he’d said. Way to go, Cindy. The rest of the evening went without incident. Cindy came back from her break saying Borghese was going to wait ‘til we closed shop then take her for a drink. “He’s kinda cute, really,” she said. “He’s kinda drunk,” I told her. “Just be careful.” “Okay, Dad.” She grinned at me. “I’m always careful.” Yeah, like she was with Tom. **** As I climbed the steps to where Brett said he would wait for me, I felt a cold rush of apprehension. What if he didn’t want to listen and told me to go to hell? What if he wasn’t even in the bar? What if…what if…? I could drive myself crazy with what ifs. He was standing at the deck rail, drinking a beer and gazing out across the moonlit ocean. The bar was dark and locked up, and there was no one else around. “Hey,” I said softly. He turned and gave me a long searching look as if he was trying to remember what it was about me he liked. “Hey.” He held out a beer bottle to me. “Thanks.” I took a long chug from the bottle then smiled at him. “How was your evening?” “Busy. Tips were good.” “That’s good.” This small talk would drive me nuts in two seconds. I took a deep breath. “Brett, I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For what? For…for not telling you about Vittorio—for spending the night with him.” “How was it?” “How was it?” “Yeah—let’s see, on a scale of say, one to ten—one being awful, ten being oh, my god, Oh My GOD! How was it?”

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“Brett…” I gaped at him. I couldn’t believe he’d really asked me that question. “Brett,” I said again, weakly. “I don’t know how to answer that.” “What—you’re afraid I might ask you to compare?” What the hell? I stared at him, experiencing one of those rare moments in my life when I’m actually speechless. This wasn’t going the way I’d expected. Where was he going with this? Wait…did I just see a hint of laughter in those innocent eyes of his? Did his lips just twitch? The little fucker was pulling my leg. Okay, two can play at this game… “Well, now that you ask,” I said airily, “if I was going to compare the two of you, I’d have to give the edge to…” I faltered, not really wanting to play this game. All I wanted was for Brett and me to be on the same page again, holding one another, kissing—and everything else that comes after. Brett smirked. “So, are you going to keep me in suspense all night?” “Okay, let me put it this way. Vittorio and I had sex—sex that was just what I needed at the time. You and I—I like to think of what we had that first night as making love, sweet, passionate love that blew my socks off.” He giggled. The son-of-a-bitch giggled then he threw himself into my arms, almost knocking the wind out of me. The touch of his lips, the feel of his lithe body once again in my arms was enough to send me over the edge. “You brat,” I breathed in his ear. “You just wanted to see me squirm, didn’t you?” “You’re still squirming,” he said, pushing his crotch into mine. “Feels good though— nice and hard.” “So you’re not mad about, you know…Vittorio?” He leaned back a little and looked me in the eye. “I was mad at first—jealous, I suppose, that you’d had him before me. My ego was ruffled. And of course, I kept wondering how I measured up against him. He is pretty amazing to look at, while I’m—” “Adorable,” I said, nibbling on his plump lower lip. “Flatterer.” He kissed me back and smiled. “It was kinda fun though to see you lost for words for a moment or two—Mr. Cool and Sophisticated Casino Manager, just a little shaken up.”

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“Hmm…” I narrowed my eyes, hoping to look somewhat threatening. “I think you need a little disciplining.” I slipped my hand down to his butt and delivered a stinging slap to one of his round cheeks. He writhed against me, his breath warm on my ear. “Oh yeah, spank me…” Well, here was a side of him I hadn’t yet explored. I grinned and rubbed his butt where I’d spanked him. “I think we’d better go below, don’t you?” “Yeah.” He gave me a long, languorous kiss. “You ready to have your socks blown off again?” “I’m ready.”

**** Kissing Brett was something I just knew I would never get tired of. His lips were a work of art, most beautifully formed, the top curving into a perfect cupid’s bow, the lower, plump and delectable. I liked to savour that lower lip, nibbling on it gently, brushing it with the tip of my tongue, making him whimper softly as his tongue tried to push past mine and enter my mouth. We could do this forever it seemed, while our hands undid buttons and zippers then stroked and caressed warm bare skin, bringing us both to a fever pitch of excitement and desire. I let my hands stray over Brett’s sweet bare butt, spanking it gently while he wriggled his hips, grinding his erection against mine. “Mmm,” he murmured. “I could take more of that.” “Really? I hadn’t figured you for the S and M type.” “I’m not—well, not the hard-core stuff anyway. I’m more the S and T type.” “S and T?” I chuckled. “Sounds kinky. What the heck is it?” “Slap and tickle. It’s a Brit expression. I had an English boyfriend once who told me that’s what they call sex over there—except he took it a bit further. You know, slapping and tickling.” He poked me in the ribs for emphasis. I jumped. “Oh no, you don’t,” I muttered, grabbing his hand.

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“Aha, ticklish, eh?” he hooted, pulling me down onto the bunk. He lay on top of me and started tickling me like mad. “Stop it!” I yelled, rolling him over and pinning his arms down. “Yes, Brett, I’m ticklish. And it’s a sure-fire way of killing my hard-on.” “Aw, well we can’t have that, can we?” He smiled up at me sweetly. “Brat,” I whispered, lowering my head to kiss him. He opened to me immediately, and there I was again, lost in the sweet sensations his lips could bring me, making me harder than a steel pipe. “Put it in me,” he murmured, encircling my waist with his legs. “That was the plan.” I reached for my supply of lube and condoms. “We should get tested,” he said, stroking my face gently. “Yes, we should. There’s a clinic on Merritt Island.” “Tomorrow.” “Right, tomorrow.” I kissed him as I rolled the condom over my aching erection. He raised his hips so I could lube him up and gave me a Cheshire cat smile as I entered him. “Oh, yeah…” His sigh of complete contentment said it all. “I love you,” I told him as I sank balls deep, inside him. His smiling eyes met mine and held me in their gaze for a long, long moment. “I love you, too,” he said. “Now fuck me, lover. Fuck me.” And I did, pumping in and out of him with rapid strokes until his eyes glazed over and rolled back in his head with ecstasy. I lowered my head so I could lick his chest and nibble on his nipples. His body heaved and bucked under me as he came with a moaning shout, his ass muscles contracting around my cock, ripping my orgasm from me in jolting spasms. I collapsed on top of him, crushing him to me until our trembling bodies stilled and our breathing returned to normal. Later, as we lay still wrapped in one another’s arms, I told him about Andy wanting me and the dealers to cover for him in Canaveral. “But you’re not going to, are you?” he asked, stroking my chest. “I don’t want to. There’s something scuzzy about it. Makes me wonder if he’s the nice guy we all think he is.” “I’ll ask Ed what he thinks,” Brett said, licking my left nipple.

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I shivered and felt myself get hard again. “Yeah, I wonder why Andy didn’t ask the dive team to back him up.” Brett’s hand slid down over my torso and found my growing erection. “Mmm…there’s more of you guys,” he said, bringing my cock to attention. “You’re probably right.” His lips met mine and that was the end of that conversation.

**** The following morning, I stood on the deck staring at the outline of a space shuttle on the launching pad at Cape Canaveral. In about an hour, we’d be disembarking, and Brett and I would take a cab over to the clinic at Merritt Island. I wasn’t nervous about being tested, and neither, it seemed, was Brett. He’d told me he couldn’t wait for the time we could dispense with protection, and he could feel my hard flesh inside him for real. Just the thought of that was making me hard. I had half-heartedly agreed to let Andy hide in our midst as we left the ship, mostly because Ed had said his divers would join us, providing even more cover for the deadbeat dad. I got the impression that Ed didn’t approve of this either, but was going along with it just so he wouldn’t lose a competent employee. Carl joined me at the rail. “I hear there’s to be an arrest made at the dock when we get in,” he said. I glanced at him, startled. “An arrest?” “Yeah...we got a message from the customs officials. They, and the police, will be checking everyone, passengers and crew, as they get off the ship.” “Wow,” I muttered, and thought, Customs and police for a man who hasn’t paid his alimony on time? Seems a bit over-the-top. “What did this guy do?” “No idea. I don’t even know if it is a man or a woman.” He lowered his voice. “Keep this under your hat. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. See you later.” “Yeah, later.” Something about this was really starting to worry me, and more than ever, I didn’t want my guys to be mixed up in it. As we pulled into port, I saw at least half a dozen black and whites lined up dockside.

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No way, no way. Something’s really wrong here. I ran down below and searched for Ed. He was in conversation with some passengers, but excused himself when he saw me waving at him like an agitated monkey. “What?” He looked pissed. “Have you seen all those cop cars on the dock?” I whispered. “No way can it just be he’s behind on his alimony!” I took his arm and hustled him out on deck. “What the…?” He fairly goggled at the sight of so much police presence. “I’ll tell him not to get off—” “Are you nuts?” I hissed at him. “If they don’t find him when we get off, they’ll search the ship. You want to get mixed up in that? It’ll mean your licence, Ed.” “Damn,” he muttered, looking unsure of what to do next. “Look,” I said. “Andy knows the score. If he gets arrested, you can’t make it your problem, too.” Ed grimaced. “You’re right. We said we’d do him this one favour—after that, he’s on his own.” I took another look at the police cars. “His wife must be awful mad at him.” **** We waited until the passengers had disembarked and filed their way through the watchful stares of the police and custom officials. John and Jeff were hyper with excitement as we walked down the gangway trying to look as nonchalant as we could. We hadn’t gotten ten feet when we were surrounded by cops—cops with drawn guns. Holy crap! Brett grabbed my arm. “Adam? What’re they doing?” We found out in one second flat. The cops headed straight for Andy. “Andrew Sutherland,” one of them barked. “You are under arrest for—” Chaos followed those words. Andy roared at the top of his voice and took off like a bullet, racing across the dock, the cops in hot pursuit. We all stood gaping at one another like fools. What the hell? Of course, they caught him. The ass ran the wrong way—not that it would have mattered—but charging straight into a ten foot high chain fence is not the way to

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escape from armed cops. We watched as he was thrown to the ground and cuffed, then led none too gently towards one of the waiting cars. “Where’s his wife?” somebody asked, as the police cars left the scene. We found out later Andy had no wife and no children. He wasn’t wanted for tardy alimony payments. He was a serial killer, responsible for the deaths of seven women that the authorities knew of, up and down the Florida coast. To say we were all a bit subdued that day at lunch on Merritt Island is to put it mildly. “I just can’t get over the fact we had brewskis together,” Jeff said, in between giant bites of his burger. “He seemed like such a cool dude. Man, who’d have thought?” Who indeed? There was a lesson for all of us there somewhere, but I didn’t want to be the one to start pontificating at that moment. Really, the only one of us who might have been in any danger was Cindy. Apparently, Andy only killed women. I shuddered as I looked across the table at her. Fortunately, the only danger she’d had to face was trying to avoid Captain Borghese falling on her in a drunken stupor. Brett and I left them in the restaurant. Despite all that had happened, we decided we’d still pay a visit to the AIDS clinic. We were in and out in an hour with instructions to come back in a week for our results. After the experience with Andy, my problems with the captain seemed miniscule in comparison. In any case, he backed off from harassing me and the dealers, and Cindy started sporting some nice pieces of jewellery. Coincidence? I think not. We all stayed for the duration of our six-month contract, except for Borghese, of course. He was duly replaced by a new captain who liked Americans just fine. I have to admit, by the end of the six months I was ready to work on dry land again—and so was Brett. We’d both been given a clean bill of health and we’d talked about him moving to Vegas with me, so that’s what we did. Tom found a new casino manager to replace me. The guys I’d rented my condo to had left it a pigsty, so for the next couple of weeks Brett helped me repaint, shampoo rugs and get the scratches off the wood floors—in between bouts of hot sex of course. He got himself a nice gig at the Venetian Hotel, and I’m back at Caesar’s as pit boss. Life is good. For a variety of reasons, I’ll never forget those six months onboard The Maid of the Seas. The captain—how could I ever forget him? I still can see him crying his eyes out on his last

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night afloat. I’d like to have kicked him in the pants, but being the gentleman that I am I shook his hand and wished him bon voyage. His son, Vittorio, had left even sooner, his designs not coming up to par with what the new owners wanted. Paul and Clive had a good chortle over that. I tried to feel a little sorry for him, but if Vittorio was true to form, he probably found someone to soothe his ruffled ego real fast. Then there was Andy—but I’m sure it’s not every cruise ship that harbours a serial killer. That had to be a one off! Best of all, of course—Brett, who turned out to be the man I’d been searching for all my life. Even though I think my friend Tom is scum, he’s still welcome in our home. After all, Tom, as he constantly reminds Brett and me, was really the one who brought us together— and for that, I’ll always be grateful.

About the Author J.P. Bowie was born in Scotland and toured British theatres in numerous musical shows including Stephen Sondheim’s Company. Emigrated to the States and worked in Las Vegas, Nevada for the magicians Siegfried and Roy as their Head of Wardrobe at the Mirage Hotel. Currently living in Henderson, Nevada.

Email: [email protected] J.P. loves to hear from readers. You can find his contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totalebound.com.

Also by J.P. Bowie My Vampire and I My Vampire Lover The Set Up Summer Bliss Ride ‘Em Cowboy Fabulous Brits: Under the Law Duet in Love Personal Trainers Halloween Angel A Present Christmas Naughty Nooners: Lunches in Laguna The Officer and the Gentleman Blood Resurrection

MAXIMUM EXPOSURE Jenna Byrnes & Jude Mason

Dedication For those who love to watch, and of course, for those who love to perform.

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Coors: Adolph Coors Company National Geographic: National Geographic Society People: Time Incorporated The Sentinel: News Publishing Company Vogue: Advance Magazine Publishers Inc.

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Chapter One

Rob Jenkins climbed into the back seat of the yellow cab and took the first deep, calming breath since he’d gotten off the plane in Chicago. Collecting his suitcase had been a nightmare, as the crowd of meandering travellers at Midway Airport seemed determined to get in his way at every turn. All the time he’d been dodging kids and dazed adults hurrying from one place to the next, he’d had Max on his mind. Their fights, the lack of intimacy plaguing them of late and his own refusal to play naughty with the man he loved. He shifted uncomfortably, remembering the last time Max had tried to get him to ‘show off his goods’. They’d been at one of the local clubs, drinking and partying it up after a long week of work, when Max slid a hand into Rob’s pants, giving his cock a stealthy squeeze. Of course, Rob had gotten an erection. But fear of discovery and ridicule had cooled his ardour almost immediately. Max had been upset, and the evening had ended with them in silent accusatorial anger and frustration. The cabbie interrupted his thoughts. “Where to?” he asked in a heavily accented voice. Rob looked up and saw the man’s dark eyes in the rear view mirror. “The Mason Arms on Michigan Avenue.” He knew the ride would take about twenty minutes in good traffic. He’d thought about the flight from Indiana, the taxi ride and his other plans a million times before finally deciding to join his lover. Being away from him for the whole two weeks of Max’s conference seemed like a bad idea right now. “You attending that big software convention at the Arms?” The cabbie made small talk as he pulled into traffic, smoothly accelerating. “Meeting a friend.” Rob wasn’t in a talkative mood and hoped his clipped reply would shut the guy up. It did, and Rob fell back into his thoughts about Max and the argument they’d had before Max had left—another misfired sexual episode, another denial on Rob’s part—a fiasco extraordinaire.

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He shuddered. He knew something had to change. Max needed those risqué moments Rob kept denying him. They’d been together for six years, long enough for things to become a little dull sometimes, but they could get through it. Spontaneity wasn’t always an option when they both worked long hours, Max on computer software development and Rob on photo shoots. He also knew the roadblocks he’d tossed in the way added to the tension, and he regretted each and every one. I’ll do better. The cab jerked to a stop then lurched ahead, dragging him back to the present. Rob glared out the window just as the cab pulled into the long, curved driveway leading up to the front of the Mason Arms. His stomach clenched. Max. The taxi slowed to a halt before the grand entrance. “Here ya go, mister. That’ll be twenty-three seventy-five.” The man put the car in park and spun to face Rob. He smiled, showing off jagged teeth and a scar running from his left eye to his chin. Rob shuddered, wondering if driving a cab was that dangerous. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small roll of bills. Peeling off two, he handed the man thirty dollars. “Keep the change.” The smile got wider. “Thanks.” He nodded as Rob climbed out, dragging his bags behind him. A few minutes later, Rob stood at the reception desk, camera case over his shoulder, suitcase by his feet. He waited for his room key, again thinking about Max. If he were more sure of himself, he’d have chosen to stay in Max’s room. As it was, he’d decided a room of his own might be safer. There was a slight chance Max might not be happy to see him. Rob prayed that wasn’t the case. He looked at his watch and sighed. He’d get settled first, then he’d find Max. “Here you are, Mr. Jenkins, room three sixteen.” The tall, slender clerk handed him a swipe card. “Thank you.” Rob accepted it and grabbed the handle of his suitcase. “Enjoy your stay with us, sir,” the clerk said. Even before Rob turned away, the man looked at the next person in line.

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Rob strolled to the elevators, absentmindedly noticing the lush décor of the place. Black and gold dominated with the occasional splash of colour breaking it up. Large, vivid prints dotted the walls, mostly scenes from exotic places he’d be able to identify if he tried. He’d been on photo shoots in many different parts of the world and had many of these same types of shots in a portfolio at home. Rob fidgeted. Where is Max right now? And how is he going to react when he sees me? The elevator doors hissed aside and he entered, wheeling in his case. He pushed the number three button. When the door opened a minute later, he stepped out. At the end of the hall, he stopped and swiped the key card in the lock. He let himself inside and glanced around, admiring the spacious room. A cabinet caught his attention. He opened it then smiled when he saw the assortment of liquor displayed. A large bowl of mixed fruit and munchies sat on the lower shelf, and a small fridge nestled underneath. “Sweet,” he murmured. He dropped his camera case and the key card on the bed and went to check out the balcony. When he took a step outside, he saw it went right around the corner. His smile broadened. Great view. Max’ll like this. He returned inside, found the phone and dialled the hotel operator. When a woman answered, he asked, “Could I have Max Armstrong’s room, please?” “Certainly, sir.” Rob waited and counted four rings. Max must be out. He looked at his watch again before setting the receiver down. Close enough to dinner time to go down to check out the restaurant. And, I could use a beer. Before leaving, he hung up some of his clothing and tossed his toiletry bag into the bathroom. Ready at last, he slung his camera bag over his shoulder, grabbed the key and headed out. When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, he was met by a crowd of people milling in the lobby. He had to push his way through the throng. About halfway across, he spotted the sign he’d hoped to see and veered to the left. He searched for Max among the inhabited tables in the sparsely populated restaurant. Nothing. The bar drew his attention, and he wandered towards it, beer still in mind. He settled onto one of the stools, sliding his elbows across the polished surface.

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A handsome, young bartender approached, glass in one hand, cloth in the other. He wiped the counter then began polishing the glass. “What can I get you?” he asked in a low drawl and set the polished tumbler down. “Beer, whatever you’ve got on tap,” Rob answered. “Coors all right?” The man slung the rag over his shoulder and retrieved a mug. “Yeah, just as long as it’s cold.” Rob looked into the mirror behind the bar, checking the door for newcomers. “Do you want me to run a tab for you?” The frosted mug sat on a coaster in front of him when he looked back. “Can you have it put on my hotel bill? I’m staying here, room three sixteen.” Rob took a sip of the cold brew. “Sure can. You got your key with you?” Rob produced it. The man swiped the card through his register and handed it back. “Got it.” He moved along the bar. Rob again checked out the mirror. Max—tall, good-looking, his tightly curled black hair shining in the soft light of the bar. His group of half a dozen men talked and laughed as they headed for a corner table. Rob’s heart lurched. His palms were suddenly clammy, and he again wondered at the wisdom of his plans. It was Friday, and he knew Max wouldn’t be required to attend meetings all weekend. They were two hundred miles from home, which made it a perfect place to take the leap he feared so much. But, am I ready? Even after being together for six years, he’d never let Max completely bowl him over with the fetish the man craved. Yet, the idea did excite him, he had to admit that. He downed the rest of his beer and watched his lover and workmates settle themselves around their table. All of them were dressed in suits, but they’d pulled their ties off and unfastened at least one or two buttons at their necks. They were all relatively young and seemed ready to party. “Another?” asked the bartender, who’d become busier as the place filled with members of the convention coming out of meetings.

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“Yeah, thanks,” Rob replied and hunched forward, his thoughts in turmoil. How to approach Max? The question preyed on his mind. “Here you go.” A clean, frosted mug replaced the empty. “I’ll put it on your tab.” “Good. Thanks,” Rob replied, absentmindedly. He looked again at Max’s table and took a sip of fresh beer. It tingled and burned its way down his throat. Three women joined Max’s group but only for a few short minutes. When they rose, three of the men did, too, until just Max and a couple of others remained. “Now or never,” Rob muttered and got up from his stool. Beer in hand, he turned and walked towards Max. His knees felt like rubber, and his stomach churned. The camera case seemed enormously heavy. To his surprise, his cock stirred and thickened in his trousers. When he reached their table, Max, along with his two companions, looked up. “Rob, what the hell?” Max gaped for a brief moment then smiled. “I thought I’d surprise you,” Rob said and cringed when his voice broke. “Surprise?” Max said in an incredulous voice. “Well, you sure as hell managed that.” The fellow sitting to Max’s left shifted to another chair. “Here, join us,” he said and smiled. Rob really wanted to say something to Max alone, first, but saw no way to do it without sounding incredibly rude. So, he weaved around the empty chairs and sat beside his lover. “Thanks,” he said and put his glass on the nearest coaster. Max leaned close and whispered, “What the hell are you doing here?” Rob turned and said in a low voice, “I wanted to see you. Can we talk somewhere?” His lover’s dark eyes met his and held his gaze. “Is everything all right?” “Yes, fine. Honest,” Rob reassured. His belly did flip flops. In a few minutes he’d spill the beans and pray he wasn’t being a jerk. Max stared at him a moment longer then nodded. “Okay.” To the others, he said, “Steve, Dean, give me a minute.” The man who’d given Rob his chair said in a loud voice, “Take your time. Business is officially over for the evening. Let the drinking begin!”

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Rob gazed at the wiry beanpole of a man wearing glasses. He seemed friendly enough. The other guy, to Max’s right, didn’t look as happy. The handsome fellow with thick, blond hair and a cleft in his chin wore a small scowl, and an ugly pair of mirrored sunglasses hung from his front jacket pocket. Before Rob could decide what to make of the guy’s attitude, Max rose and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. “Back in a few,” Max told the others and headed for the bar, Rob in tow. When they were out of earshot, he slowed his pace. “Now, what’s going on?” Rob stood facing Max, his heart in his throat. He looked around, making sure no one was within hearing distance. “I wanted to spend some time with you. Can we sit at the bar for this?” He wasn’t sure he could discuss something so personal in the middle of the room. Yet, if his plan came together, a lot more would be out there. “Sure.” Max again grabbed Rob’s arm and dragged him to the end of the bar. The room still wasn’t anywhere close to crowded so they had a certain amount of privacy. He pushed Rob onto a stool and perched on the one beside him. “Okay, what gives? Middle of a business trip and you show up? Just doesn’t happen.” “Yes, I know.” Rob glanced around. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. The two men Max had been talking with were busy yucking it up, totally ignoring them. He looked into Max’s face and took a deep breath. “Max, I love you. I know I’ve been a real jerk about…well, your fetish or whatever you want to call it. I’m here to try and change that.” Max’s eyes widened. “You mean…” “I mean, I have a game in mind.” Rob cocked his head and tried to look sexy. “If you’re interested.” Max blinked and opened his mouth as if to speak. He closed it again and swallowed. He looked around then back at Rob. “What brought this on all of a sudden?” Before Rob could reply, he added, “What game? Why now?” “It’s not all of a sudden. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Our last fight put the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. So ‘why now’? Why not? We’re far enough away from home to be pretty sure if anyone does see what’s going on, it won’t hurt either of us. Right?” Max nodded. “Yeah, as long as you don’t count the several hundred software people here. Many of whom I know.” He looked around the room. The crowd had grown.

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“True, but we don’t have to stay in the hotel.” Rob reached out and slid his hand around Max’s neck. He ached to pull him close, to take the kiss he so desperately wanted. Just thinking about it sent chills down his spine and started his cock throbbing. “Actually, the possibility of getting caught is part of the thrill, isn’t it?” Max smiled warily. “And the game? What exactly have you dreamed up?” “I know you like to tease me in public.” Max nodded. “Yeah, and when I do, you get weird, and we fight.” “I know.” Rob released Max and gritted his teeth, determined to get through this. “Will you let me talk for a minute?” Max remained silent for a moment then said, “Yeah, sorry.” “I thought we could have a little competition over the weekend. I have to be back in town Sunday night, so that’d leave us tonight and all of Saturday. My flight for Sunday isn’t until four in the afternoon, so we’d have until, say, noon.” “Noon Sunday. And what is this competition?” Max looked dubious. “We’d see who could make the other come in public.” Max gaped. It seemed to take him a moment to get his thoughts together, but at last he asked, “And if someone sees us?” “As long as we’re left alone, and we’re not going to get arrested, we carry on with whatever we’re doing.” Max reached out and grabbed Rob’s hand. “I’m not sure you understand what you’re suggesting.” “I’ve given this a lot of thought. Believe me, it wasn’t easy for me to come here. I just know you’re worth it. Our relationship is too important to let it slip away.” “Now you’re being ridiculous.” Max shifted on the stool, looking uncomfortable. He fidgeted and glanced around and avoided meeting Rob’s gaze. Rob squeezed the hand Max tried to pull away. “Look, I know you love me. That’s never been our problem. It’s just me…trying to wrap my mind around this thing you wanted. What the hell. Do or die.” Max grinned suddenly, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s not like you’re going to die, you big dummy.” He leaned forward and slid a hand up Rob’s inner thigh. “You’ve always taken yourself way too seriously. It’s a little bit of harmless fun.”

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The bartender approached. “Get you boys anything?” Max’s hand dropped away. “No, thanks.” Rob shook his head. “Thanks.” He watched the man turn and wait on another couple before he gave Max a knowing nod. “See how easy it is to get caught? You always think I’m paranoid.” Max chuckled. “As you said, all part of the thrill, my dear. So, you never told me. What does the winner of this competition receive? Better be something good.” “I thought, maybe, a weekend of pampering. Breakfast in bed, massages, blowjobs on demand, that sort of thing.” Rob waggled his eyebrows. “Sounds intriguing. Providing I say yes, when does this thing start?” “Oh, you’ll say yes. If I know you at all--and after six years, I think I do--you’ll jump at this opportunity. I’m ready whenever you are.” The words were out, and his stomach hit the floor. At least, that’s what it felt like. Yet, his cock pulsed, and a thrill of excitement made him shudder. Max glanced at the table where his two friends continued drinking. “I should make my apologies. We’d planned to have dinner.” “If you’d rather go with them, I can hang out in my room.” Rob extended the offer, knowing Max would never accept it. “I didn’t say that.” Max stood and adjusted the waistband of his slacks. “You got a room? In this hotel?” Rob shrugged. “Yeah. I thought it might be for the best. I don’t know about yours, but mine has a huge balcony.” “The company paid for mine, so it’s pretty bare bones. We might have to check out that balcony. Come on.” Max strolled over to Steve and Dean. He pulled some cash from his wallet and tossed it on the table. “You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen. I just had an offer I can’t refuse.” “Aw, no!” the man with glasses complained a little too loudly. “We were going to dinner! Bring him along. The night’s young.” His voice carried, and Rob winced. “Better slow down there, Steve,” Max said. “Dean, you’ll make sure he gets back to his room okay?”

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“Yeah.” Dean studied Max intently then nodded towards Rob. “Or I suppose he could always come to dinner with us. The more the merrier, I guess.” Dean didn’t sound as inebriated as Steve, but the man seemed less than friendly to Rob. Rob fervently hoped Max wouldn’t consider their offer. “I’m sorry.” Max smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for sure.” He turned to Rob. “The hotel’s throwing a barbecue, some kind of big bash. Everyone’s going to be there.” Dean gave Rob the once-over. “It’s supposed to be for convention-goers, but they might let you in, since you’re here, and all.” Rob shot a cool look right back at him. The guy looked so uptight, it would have been hard to pull a needle out of his ass. Whatever. Rob wasn’t there to see the needle-bum guy. He intended to seduce his man. “A barbecue sounds great. Wouldn’t miss it.” Max took his arm. “See you all tomorrow.” He led Rob towards the exit. They approached one of the men’s rooms, and Rob paused. “Can we stop in here a minute?” “Sure.” Max followed him in. One other man faced the long row of urinals. Rob stopped at the sink to kill time. He washed his hands, glancing in the mirror at his closely cropped, brown hair. There wasn’t much he could do to it, but he patted down the sides and pretended to examine his reflection. Max shifted from one foot to the other. “Are you going to…” He nodded to the urinals. “Hang on,” Rob whispered. The third man completed his business and washed his hands before walking out. The place stood empty. “Now!” Rob grabbed Max’s arm and dragged him to the far end of the room, into one of the two large, handicapped-access stalls. He locked the door and shoved Max against the wall. “Here we go, nice and private.” A smile slowly spread across Max’s face. “What the devil are you doing? We have a room—hell, we have two rooms upstairs. Let’s just go there.” Rob shifted the camera case from his shoulder to the hook on the back of the door. He dropped to his knees and unbuckled Max’s brown leather belt. “Well, gee, that’d be nice. But remember our game? I’m getting you in the mood.”

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The hotel rooms beckoned him, but this was what Rob had come all the way to accomplish. Adventurous sex that would please Max and make things right between them again. He unfastened the button and zipper then shoved Max’s trousers down to his knees. The sexy, white briefs bulged with the perfect outline of his lover’s erection. “Mmm, you’re already in the mood.” Max bucked his hips. “Fuck, yeah. Ever since you first mentioned it.” Rob grinned. He pressed his lips to the white, knit fabric about halfway along Max’s shaft. The man’s cock twitched, pressing itself more firmly against his mouth, the thin material all that kept it separate. Rob sucked it through the briefs and slid his lips along the length, pulling the head into his mouth. “Hey, cut that out. I’ll have to walk around with wet skivvies.” “Hmm, I might just make you come in them. Then they’ll be really wet.” “I don’t think so, stud.” Max grabbed Rob’s face and turned it up towards his. “I intend to come in your mouth. Get these briefs off me, and we’ll get this show on the road.” Rob chuckled and lowered the man’s tight underpants. Max’s thick cock sprang forward, its slight lean to the left a familiar and comfortable sight. I love his cock. I know every inch of it so well. The bulbous head, with the perfect little slit, begged to be sucked. Engorged veins pulsed along the shaft. All the blood his lover could spare pooled right there. Rob exhaled, blowing a warm breath over the solid erection. He was thrilled that Max still got hard for him so easily. There is hope for our relationship. I know there is. He just needed to be bold and play the game he’d created to make his man happy. Max shuddered, his dick bobbing lewdly. Rob flicked the slit with his tongue. “You want it bad, I can tell. Been a long week without me, hasn’t it?” “Yeah.” His lover thrust his hips forward, inviting more attention. “Do something. You’re making me crazy.” “Something like what?” Rob teased. He licked the knob ever so lightly, inhaling the musky scent of his man, and smiled when the cock bounced even more frantically. Max’s hands returned to Rob’s face. “Hold still and open up. I need to fuck your mouth now.”

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“Tempting as that sounds, I don’t mind doing the work, here. But I want you to ask for it, and I ‘d like you to be specific, please.” “You know someone might come in,” Max reminded him, a tremor in his voice. “Are you sure about this?” Rob perked up, listening intently. “No one’s here now. It’s your golden opportunity.” Max groaned. “Bastard. Okay, we’ll do it your way. Lick my cock from base to tip until I’m dripping wet. Then suck the whole thing into your mouth. Swallow me down until it hits the back of your throat. Take it all. I know you can do it. You’ve done it before. Suck me. Suck me hard.” “That’s more like it.” Rob dragged his tongue along the length of the shaft. He licked around the base, grazing the ball sac with the flat of his tongue. As he worked his mouth back up the hefty rod, he lavished it with long, wet strokes. The dick would be nice and slick, as requested. “Fuck, yeah.” Max rubbed the back of Rob’s head. “That’s it. Sounds great. Feels even better. Now, suck it! Take it all.” An exterior door opened and closed. Rob heard voices in the men’s room. “Damn, I needed to piss,” one man said. “Fucking A,” said another. It grew quiet except for the splashing of urine hitting porcelain. With an ornery grin, Rob chose that moment to take Max’s cock down his throat. Max gaped at him wide-eyed and groaned.

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Chapter Two

Rob sucked Max’s cock vigorously, despite the fact they were no longer alone in the men’s room. He latched on and held tight, causing his lover to squirm. Max smacked Rob lightly on the side of the head, apparently to get his attention. He shook his head and widened his eyes. Rob grinned around the shaft and sucked harder. Another swat stung the side of Rob’s head—nothing painful, but Max seemed desperate to remain quiet. Max squirmed away, but the wall behind him left him nowhere to go. He clutched at the bricks and shifted his feet, which made an audible, scraping noise. Rob paused again and listened. On the other side of the stall, running water splashed for a few moments then the door opened and closed again. He gazed up at Max and raised his eyebrows. Max shrugged and pushed his cock deep, again seeking the pleasure of the blow-job Rob gave him. Rob fought the gag reflex, swallowing Max’s cock even farther, all the way to the balls. He mimicked the shrug and resumed his merciless sucking. His lover wanted adventure and a touch of exhibitionism. Max would certainly get it. We don’t need to get arrested to have some fun. He fondled Max’s balls as he continued to deep-throat the mouth-watering cock. Still primed and ready for him, it pulsed mightily as he worked his throat muscles around the monster. He couldn’t breathe yet refused to pull away until his need for air forced his withdrawal. Still sucking, he backed off the man’s rod until just the tip brushed his lips. He licked at the crown then took the head back in. Max sighed and again bucked his hips forward, driving his dick into Rob’s willing mouth. When Rob eased off his lover’s penis the next time, he murmured, “Come on, come for me.” He kissed the tip, slid his tongue along the slit and delved into its tight opening, tasting the musky flavour. He craved more. The rest of the man’s cock head slipped in with a gentle suck, and the shaft followed a moment later. Warm ribbons of pre-cum flowed down his throat, rewarding him for ‘a job’ well-done.

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Max groaned a low, barely discernable moan. “Now,” he whispered in a deep, raspy growl. Rob’s insides churned with excitement. His cock felt like an iron rod inside his trousers, throbbing with its own need. He shifted, repositioning his erection to a more comfortable position as he welcomed the oncoming rush spurting past his tongue. After two healthy pulses, he pulled back and let the last of the cum pool in his mouth. He savoured the saltysweet nectar while he delighted in his lover’s panting quivers. When Max stopped shuddering, Rob licked him clean and repositioned his briefs and trousers. He rose to his feet. “We should go.” It took Max a moment to catch his breath. When he did, he slipped a hand around Rob’s neck and drew him close for a kiss. Tongues darted, tasted, sharing the last remnants of Max’s offering. They separated, and Max nodded. “You’re right. As much as I’d like to reciprocate, maybe we can try somewhere else.” He winked and smiled, obviously enjoying their play. “We can go up to your digs, if you like. Get room service or something.” Every molecule of Rob’s common sense told him to jump at the chance, yet he knew that wasn’t going to win Max over. He took a deep breath and realised he was so horny his balls ached. “Hell, no.” Rob grinned, shouldering his camera bag. “I’m having way too much fun. Let’s go out for dinner and see what you can come up with to surprise me.” “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Max gazed into his eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ve never been more serious. Round one goes to me. I hope it felt as good as it looked…and tasted.” A wicked smile spread across Max’s face. “It felt fucking fantastic. Come on, let’s see if we can get a table in the restaurant.” Rob pushed the stall door open a crack and peeked through, making sure the men’s room was vacant before they slipped out. They proceeded into the bar. Rob felt eyes on him but wasn’t sure if they were real or imagined after the adrenaline rush he’d just experienced. The erection in his trousers didn’t help, either.

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Max glanced around and murmured, “Maybe we should find a restaurant out of the hotel.” “Might be an idea. We wouldn’t want to press our luck,” Rob agreed and sighed with relief. They kept walking, out of the bar and through the lobby. Once they were outside, Max asked, “Which way?” He looked up and down Michigan Avenue then smiled at Rob. “You’ve been here a week. Have you seen any place you want to check out?” “Yeah, about two blocks this way,” his lover replied and tucked his arm through Rob’s. “A place called The Pasta Factory looked interesting.” Rob let himself be led towards a section of town he hadn’t seen on his trip from the airport. Theatres and art galleries lined the streets, but the alleys weren’t quite so bright and vibrant, and the people he spotted looked a little shabbier. “This way.” Max veered down a side street that looked a little garish under the bright lights. When they had walked about half way along the block, Rob spotted the sign above a wide set of double doors. “The Pasta Factory. This would be the place you were curious about.” He looked over the front of the building, glancing at a menu full of Italian dishes posted in the window. “Yes, this is it. Pretty cheesy, but it looks like it might be fun.” Max steered him towards the door and through it. “Yeah, cheesy, but what the hell.” Rob peered around the vestibule, surprised by the dimly lit dining area beyond. A middle-aged man in white shirt sleeves and black trousers approached them. “Do you have a reservation, gentlemen?” he asked in a civil tone. “No, sorry. Do we need one?” Rob hoped they weren’t going to chase from one place to the next because they hadn’t called ahead. “No, it’s fine. We’re not busy, yet.” The maître d’ reached for two menus piled on a small table. “Just the two of you tonight?” “Yes, two of us. Something private, if you have it,” Rob added. The man looked at him then at Max. Nodding, he replied, “An alcove, perhaps?” “Yes,” Max said almost before the maître d’s words were out. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

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“This way, please.” The man turned and walked into the dimly lit dining room. They followed him, Max behind Rob. It took a moment for Rob’s eyes to become accustomed to the muted lighting, but when they did, he smiled. The smallish room appeared less than half full, and most of the tables held couples sharing a meal. The man guided them to a corner where a dark green, velvet curtain partially shielded an alcove. The linen-covered, round table had a bench seat running along the back. Tall candles in crystal holders sat in the centre of the table, and while they watched, the maître d’ lit them. The man stepped aside and bowed. “I hope this will be satisfactory.” He placed the menus on the table. “This will be fine.” Rob slid into the secluded semi-cave. He felt the cushion shift and knew Max slid in right behind him. “May I get you gentlemen something from the bar?” “Beer for me. Coors,” Rob answered. He looked around their small sanctuary. His heart raced. Perfect. Once the curtain was drawn, they’d have complete privacy. “Same,” came Max’s reply. He moved closer to Rob, their thighs bumping each other. “Very good,” the man said and backed away. He unfastened the gold tie securing the drapery open and held it as he said, “Your waiter, Kenneth, will be with you in a moment.” He let the curtain fall into place Rob nodded and turned his attention to Max. “I like it.” “It’s perfect for our needs.” Max reached up and slipped a hand behind Rob’s neck, drawing him forward into a kiss. Their lips melted together. Soft, wet tongues flicked out and found each other, the lingering taste of spunk still coating Rob’s. “Mmm, yeah,” Rob groaned into his lover’s mouth. “I’m hard already.” “Lean back and let me get at your fly.” Max pushed him until Rob leaned against the soft cushion. An instant later, Max’s hands were at Rob’s groin, nimbly unfastening his trousers. With them unbuttoned and the zipper whirred down, Max’s fingers delved into their warm confines. He pushed Rob’s underpants aside, and in no time at all, Rob’s shaft felt the tug and squeeze of a familiar hand. His dick pulsed its welcome, and Rob sighed his pleasure.

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“Lift your bum,” Max urged and gave the unfastened trousers a tug. “The waiter’ll be here in a minute,” Rob said, nervously. “So?” Max winked and gave another tug. “The table cloth will cover you. Just lift your ass.” Fear clutched at Rob’s heart, but a surge of excitement sent a shiver of lust racing straight to his cock. He did as requested, his cotton-clad rod butting against the underside of the table in his eagerness to comply with Max’s wishes. He thrust down his trousers, taking his underpants along with them. His erection caught on the waistband, but just for a delicious second before it sprang free. The chill air enveloped him, and the drop of pre-cum anointing his crown cooled instantly. He settled down on the seat and shuddered at the unfamiliar feeling of the material. Suddenly, in a heart stopping move which sent terror down Rob’s spine in a flash, the waiter drew the curtain aside. He stood in the opening, all six-foot plus of rugged man-flesh that at any other time would have encouraged a lusty look or two from both Rob and Max. In one hand, he balanced a tray holding two chilled beer mugs filled with golden brew. Rob’s face burned with embarrassment. He clutched the tablecloth to his groin, terrified the man could see his erection and guess what they were doing. For a moment, he couldn’t catch his breath and thought he’d simply die right there, cock tapping on the table. “Good evening. I’m Kenneth, your waiter. Here are your beers.” The hunk’s voice sounded calm and unsuspecting. “Have you had time to decide what you’d like from the menu, or should I come back in a few minutes?” Come back? My God, he can’t come back! “Steak and salad for me.” The words came out of Max’s mouth as if he’d planned them, rehearsed them, and this was finally their debut. “Strip loin, eight ounces, medium rare. Large, green salad and your house dressing.” Rob wasn’t quite so cool. “Yeah, the same. I guess,” he sputtered, unable to look the man in the eyes. “Would you like garlic bread with that?” “Yes. And could you bring a small bowl of honey?” Max smiled at Rob, who could barely breathe. “Certainly sir. Would you like that with your dinner or…”

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Rob glanced up and saw the mystified look on the man’s face. What the hell does Max want honey for? “Could you bring that right away?” Max asked. He slid a hand along Rob’s thigh, moving it ever closer to the nakedness around his crotch. Rob sat frozen, unable to move, to push Max’s hand away or do any of the dozen things his mind told him to do. Instead, his cock throbbed, the thrill of their game and the chance of someone seeing him making him wild with excitement. He sat, his face burning, dick throbbing, and watched the waiter innocently nod his handsome head then turn and leave, a calm, “Yes, sir,” tossed over his shoulder. The curtain swung into place, and Rob gasped for air. His thoughts reeled. What the hell have I gotten myself into? “Great. Now lean back again.” Max looked at him, winked and smiled his wicked, sexy smile. Rob closed his eyes, wanting this all to end. Yet, he admitted to himself, he loved the rush. He pressed against the soft cushion and pushed the tablecloth away. His thighs trembled. Hot wetness engulfed the head of his cock. His eyes flew open. The back of Max’s head lay against his stomach, his mouth had him by the dick. The man’s tongue slid around the head, flicking back and forth into the slit, then raced around the rim, nearly driving Rob insane. Rob clenched his jaw to keep from cursing or begging or crying out his need. He didn’t know which. Fingers curled around his shaft, and his hips thrust forward, an automatic reaction. “Fuck yeah,” he grated through his teeth. He thought he knew Max well, but Max understood his likes and dislikes just as intimately. We’re the perfect couple. He’d do anything to make his lover remember that. Including endure this wild, crazy and oh-so-delightful torture in a semi-public place. The hand tightened and slowly moved up his cock. As fingers dragged at the loose flesh, the man’s mouth descended at the same time and at the same deliciously slow pace. Tight lips and wet tongue tormented him until he could scarcely get a breath. Excitement soaring, Rob clenched his fists and prayed for release. Suddenly, Max pulled his mouth off and sat back, a wicked smile on his face.

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An instant later, the curtain parted and their waiter stood there, a small bowl in his hand. The man looked at Max, then his gaze went to Rob. “Your honey, sir,” Kenneth said. He blinked and regained his composure quickly. He didn’t say another word, just placed the bowl on the table, turned and took a step out of the alcove. Rob saw him shudder, then the man turned his head and, over his shoulder, said, “Your salads will be along shortly.” Kenneth released the curtain and left. Beside Rob, Max chuckled. When Rob regained some modicum of control, he gazed at Max and blinked. “You’re killing me. You know that, right?” Max’s laughter escalated, and Rob could only sit there and wait. His erection waned but didn’t vanish. His heart still raced, and he wanted nothing more than to grab Max and drag him into some quiet corner where he could fuck the man senseless. A few minutes later, Max had calmed down and reached for the bowl sitting in the middle of the table. Sliding it closer, he dipped a finger into the golden nectar and looked deep into Rob’s eyes. “Time for some fun.” “What are you talking about?” Rob asked, watching the honey-covered digit warily. “Push the table cloth away and make sure your trousers are clear.” With his clean hand, Max helped Rob push his slacks down to his knees. “Okay, what now?” Rob couldn’t take his eyes off the honey-slick finger. “This,” Max said and raised his hand over Rob’s groin. A drizzle of honey fell from Max’s finger in a long, slender ribbon of translucent gold. The end of it kissed his cock head and sent a shudder down Rob’s spine. It oozed along the slit, heading towards the rim and shaft. Max moved his hand, minutely, and the honey drizzled around the knob. Rob strained to keep still, ached to move, to thrust and shudder, and prayed he could be quiet. “Mmm, nice,” Max whispered. The ribbon of honey came to an end, and Max lowered his hand. Using just that one finger, he smoothed the glaze over the slit of Rob’s dick. “Fuck, oh fuck,” mumbled Rob, the teasing finger sending flashes of pleasure like lightning along his shaft. His balls shifted and moved up closer to his body.

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“Can’t fuck you, not yet,” Max teased. He lowered his head, blocking Rob’s view. “I can do this, though.” Rob’s mouth sagged open when Max’s lips wrapped around the honey-slick head. The man sucked and lapped at him, his fingers still playing along the shaft. When he reached further down and cupped Rob’s balls, it was almost too much. Rob’s cock pulsed, and he tensed. Every muscle in him grew rigid except his buttocks. He clenched them, pushing more of his length into Max’s voracious mouth. “Yesss,” he hissed as the crown touched the back of Max’s throat. The man swallowed, the muscles clamping down on his dick, trapping him in a warm prison of pleasure. Rob relaxed for an instant, and Max swallowed again, taking him even closer to the abyss. He gasped, and his buttocks clenched again. A rhythmic clenching and swallowing progressed, the pace perfection. Max knew him too well and refused to let him climax until Rob’s mind reeled and his muttered ramblings threatened to bring the wait staff running. Rob knew the noise grew louder, but he couldn’t stop it. Finally, Max took pity and sucked him hard. Max’s head bobbed, and his teeth raked the sides of Rob’s cock in just the right way. Gasping, unable to control himself, Rob exploded into Max’s mouth. He groaned, and Max echoed him. Rob’s cock shot another stream of cum into the deep heat of his lover’s throat, and he groaned again. The world could have tramped in to watch, and he wouldn’t have been able to stop, and he didn’t care. Another spasm shook him. Max laved his cock with the flat of his tongue, cleaning the honey away as well as the last oozing nectar Rob produced. Max turned his head, peering along Rob’s belly and chest, and smiled. “Damn!” Rob said in a rough, exhausted voice. Sweat trickled down his sides. He felt completely used up and spent. “I got this one,” Max said and sat up straight, abandoning him. For a moment, Rob didn’t have a clue what he meant. Then it clicked, and he grinned. “Yeah, you got one.” He reached down and tugged at his trousers, pulling them up. Footsteps from the other side of the curtain encouraged him to hurry, and he’d just fastened his zipper when the curtain fluttered.

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The waiter drew the velvet drape and set a small, folding table stand in the alcove. On it he placed a large, round tray. “Your salads.” He set a plate in front of each of them and a covered basket in the middle of the table. “Here’s some fresh, homemade garlic bread. Would you care for grated Parmesan on your salads?” He held up a shaker. “No, thanks.” Rob mumbled. His breathing had barely returned to normal. He wanted the man out of there. Max smiled at the waiter. “Yes, I believe I would.” Bastard. Max obviously enjoyed Rob’s predicament. Kenneth leaned forward and sprinkled cheese over Max’s salad. Rob took a deep breath, forcing a calm façade he really didn’t feel. It’s okay. His pecker remained hidden, securely tucked back inside his pants. The only thing the waiter could see, at that point, was his flushed, sweaty face, complete with one hell of an embarrassed expression, he felt sure. “A little more, please.” Max directed, purposely prolonging the man’s stay. The dark-haired server complied then straightened. “Anything else right now?” “No, thank you.” Rob sputtered. Max shook his head, the smile still planted firmly on his face. “Thanks so much.” With a raised eyebrow, as if suggesting he knew something fishy was going on, Kenneth retrieved the tray and table stand then backed out of the alcove and allowed the curtain to fall. Max picked up his fork and dived into his salad. “Mmm, you should have gotten the cheese. This is great.” “Still trying to kill me, I see.” Rob shot an irritated look at his lover but couldn’t be too angry. Public sex had been his own idea—no, Max’s idea from its conception—but Rob had been the one to instigate it this weekend. It seemed to be working. Max appeared happier than he’d been in a long time. I feel happy, too. Who wouldn’t after the blowjob he’d just received? The thrill of possibly getting caught had added to the excitement. Yet, one thing nagged at Rob. How in the hell am I ever going to top this scene? “Eat!” Max encouraged. “This is great. Try the bread. It’s warm, and there’s not too much garlic. Just the way you like it.”

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Rob took a piece of bread and worked on his salad. Max knew so much about his likes and dislikes. They were the perfect couple, and he’d be damned if he’d let the man slip away like he’d felt slowly happening at home. Whether Max admitted it or not, Rob had sensed it. The thought of losing Max made his gut ache like he’d swallowed a boulder. After two bites of the salad, he shoved his salad away, tossing his napkin on it. “What’s wrong?” Max moved his empty plate from the edge of the table. “We were having a good time, and now you’re all funky on me.” “No, I’m not.” Rob shook his head, aware he was suddenly melancholy. He needed to snap out of it. “This was your idea, remember.” A note of annoyance sounded in Max’s voice. “You shouldn’t have come all this way if you were just going to—” He stopped when the curtain drew back. Kenneth and his large, round tray appeared again. “Your dinner. Two strip loins, medium rare. A side of fresh asparagus and another of The Pasta Factory’s famous linguini.” He set the plates down and took the salads away. “Can I bring you any steak sauce? Freshen your drinks?” Rob looked at their nearly full beers. In all the excitement, they’d neglected them. He wasn’t thirsty anymore. He waved a hand over his glass. “I’m fine.” “Nothing for me, thanks,” Max said. “Buon appetito.” Kenneth nodded and stepped out. “This looks great.” Rob picked up his knife and fork. “Let’s eat while it’s hot.” Max eyed him warily but followed suit, picking up his silverware. He’d eaten a few bites of everything before he spoke again. “You okay?” Rob glanced up at him and smiled. “I’m great. Happy to be here with you. What do you say after dinner we take a walk? I’d like to get some shots of the city at night.” “Might as well, since you drag that camera with you everywhere you go,” Max teased him good-naturedly. “You love my pictures,” Rob needled him right back. “Especially the ones I take in the bedroom.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down. “Digital cameras are kind of like you. They offer immediate gratification.”

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Max laughed. A spontaneous, full-belly guffaw, which usually happened only when he was truly amused. The sound of it filled Rob’s heart. He vowed, at that moment, to do whatever it took to keep the smile on his handsome hunk’s face. “I should get some shots of you tonight. We’ll see how sexy we can make them, right out in the open.” “You’re so bad,” Max murmured, returning to his meal. Rob saw the flush of excitement on his lover’s face. He’d struck a chord with that suggestion, and it cheered him immeasurably. They were going to have a great weekend. He finished his meal, listening to stories of the software convention and telling Max about things at home. They talked, ate and drank until the food and beer were gone. Kenneth returned to the alcove. “Are we in the mood for dessert this evening? Or was the appetiser enough?” Rob’s mind raced. We didn’t order appetisers. He looked up at the man with the smarmy expression and realised what the comment meant. Max’s automatic smile returned. “Oh, I’d say it was more than enough to satisfy, Kenneth. We enjoyed the dinner, too. I’ll take the cheque whenever you have it.” “Yes, sir.” The waiter set a black leather folder on the table. Max opened it and looked the ticket over before withdrawing a credit card from his wallet. He inserted the plastic into the folder and handed it over. “I’ll be right back.” Kenneth nodded and left. Still shocked, Rob glanced at Max. “He knew all along?” Max shrugged. “We’ll give him a big tip and get the hell out of here.” “Works for me.” Rob adjusted the waistband of his slacks, hoping everything would fall into place when he stood up. The waiter returned and handed back the leather folder and Max’s card. “Thank you for dining at The Pasta Factory. The manager hopes you’ll come again soon. I told him that most likely wouldn’t be a problem.” Rob swallowed and watched Max sign the cheque with a flourish, adding an enormous tip for the server. “Thank you, Kenneth. The service has been excellent.” Max looked at Rob. “Ready?” “Sure.” Rob followed Max’s lead and slid off the bench.

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Kenneth stepped aside. Rob had just started to breathe again when they turned a corner, and Max ran directly into another patron. “I’m sorry!” Max clutched the man’s arm to steady himself. The blond-haired man grasped each of Max’s biceps. He smiled. “No, my fault. I should pay more attention to where I’m going.” Rob studied the fellow with the death grip on his man and the ugly reflector sunglasses hanging out of his jacket pocket. He realised he’d seen him before. “Aren’t you—” “Dean!” Max exclaimed and broke into a smile.

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Chapter Three

Rob watched Max and Dean as they continued to grasp each other’s arms. Max chuckled and pulled his co-worker into a quick hug. “Son-of-a-bitch. I guess if I have to bowl someone over, I’m glad it was you. What are you doing here? Small world!” “It sure is.” Dean gazed at Rob coolly as he returned the embrace then separated from Max. “Steve had a few too many and started getting rowdy. I escorted him back to his room first chance I got. But I figured, hey, just because my plans were ruined, doesn’t mean the evening has to be a total wash. Might as well get something to eat and see a little of the town.” “Our thoughts exactly,” Max said. “So, have you eaten?” “Yes. Just finished. You?” “We’re done, too. We were going out to have a look around. Maybe…” He looked at Rob and stopped talking. Don’t say it. Rob felt incredulous Max would even consider inviting Dean along with them. The man was obviously cool towards Rob, and besides, they’d planned to have some private fun. “Really?” Dean beamed, his voice teeming with what sounded, to Rob, like fake enthusiasm. “What a coincidence.” Max nodded, still looking at Rob uncertainly. “Rob’s a photographer. He thought he could get some good shots of Chicago at night. There are some amazing buildings between here and the river.” Rob did his best to shoot darts out of his eyes. Max swallowed. “Perhaps we should make it another time. Rob just flew in today. I know he’s tired. If we’re going to visit the Navy Pier or Millennium Park tomorrow, he might want to hit the hay.” “Sure. I understand.” Dean nodded. “Walk back to the hotel with you?” Rob tried to get Max’s attention with no luck. “Uh, yeah. Let’s go.” Max nodded towards the front door. Dean walked ahead of them while Max and Rob exchanged glances.

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Rob widened his eyes. What are you doing? Max shrugged and looked guilty. His expression seemed to reply, what could I say? Rob strode ahead, manoeuvring the camera bag on his shoulder past seated guests. He reached the front door just as Dean opened it. He stomped past the annoyingly good-looking man and stepped onto the sidewalk. The two men followed him, making small talk, as Rob headed towards the hotel. Slow down and wait for them. Join them. His mind told him one thing, but his heart said another. Not usually the jealous type, Rob felt green rage ooze through his system. He’d entered the lobby of the Mason Arms before he slowed his pace. He paused to let the others catch up and heard a snippet of their conversation. “You’re going to the Navy Pier tomorrow?” Dean asked. “I’d love to see that.” Rob thought his head might explode. Max glanced at him then back to Dean. “We’re not really sure what our plans are, yet. Might take it on the fly, see what happens.” “Okay, then. I’ll see you later.” Dean smiled and touched Max’s forearm. When he walked away, he called, “See you, Ansel Adams,” over his shoulder in Rob’s direction. “’Night,” Max called and turned to Rob, who stared at him. “What? I got rid of him as fast as I could.” Rob squeezed Max’s arm hard and mimicked, “See you later.” He moved towards the elevators muttering, “Ansel Adams, my ass.” He heard Max trotting to catch up with him. “Look, I know Dean’s kind of an odd duck, but he’s an old friend. When he lived in Indiana, we were assigned a few software projects together. He’s a good worker. I hated to see him go. He lives in Seattle now, works at the corporate office. Frankly, I was surprised to see him here. I don’t know most of these people, and it’s nice to have someone from home to hang around with.” They reached the elevator and stopped. “Besides,” Max continued, “Ansel Adams was a great photographer. That’s actually a compliment.” Rob punched the ‘up’ button. “I know. He just said it in such a freaking snotty way. The man obviously doesn’t like me. Please don’t tell me you’re considering spending time with him tomorrow.”

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They entered the elevator, and Rob hit the button for the third floor. The doors closed, and they were alone. Max stepped forward and pressed him against the wall. “He likes you. Why wouldn’t he? He barely knows you.” Rob opened his mouth to protest. Max pressed a finger to Rob’s lips and continued, “That sounded bad. Never mind. And no, we won’t spend the day with him. I thought our plan was to see how much trouble we could get into—or stay out of—on our own.” He leaned in and kissed Rob until the elevator stopped. Rob smiled. “Damn. Now I wish we were riding to the ninth floor.” Max backed up as the doors opened. He smiled. “To be continued. What room are you in, anyway?” “Three sixteen.” “Let me grab some stuff, and I’ll meet you at your place in a few minutes.” “Want me to come with you?” Rob leaned in, wishing he could continue the kiss, but he knew better. “Nah. Go get comfortable. I’ll fetch a few clothes and my shaving kit. Back in five, ten minutes tops.” “I suppose I can wait that long.” He stepped off the elevator. “See you.” Max smiled as the door closed between them. Rob pulled the room key card from his wallet and opened his door. He entered, flicking on a light switch, and saw everything as he’d left it. It was a relief to deposit his camera bag on the table. He flexed his stiff shoulder then unbuttoned his shirt. Wonder if I have time for a quick shower? Time or not, he’d take one. Max’s fault he felt sticky, anyway. Damn honey. He smiled and stripped, laying his clothes over the back of a chair. Rob grabbed a miniature bar of soap and the tiny bottle of shampoo before stepping into the spacious tub. He remembered the door locked automatically and Max didn’t have a key, so he made short work of his shower and climbed out quickly. With a towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hands scrubbing at his hair, he strolled into the main room and over to the door. He peeked out, but the hallway was empty.

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Whew. Rob took his time drying off, moisturizing his skin and applying the spicy cologne Max loved. He brushed his teeth and rinsed with minty mouthwash, hoping to rid himself of any hint of the garlic he’d eaten earlier. Finished, he turned back the bed. Should I put something on? He thought about Max and smiled. Why bother? Rob glanced at the clock and found thirty minutes had passed since Max had left him at the elevator. Must be having a hard time deciding what to bring. On a good day, Max was particular about his clothing. Every other day, he was downright finicky. Rob yawned and stretched out on the bed, waiting for his man. He closed his eyes, just for a moment. Loud pounding on the door jarred him awake. What the hell? He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. Did I fall asleep? Max should have joined him an hour ago. Insistent knocking indicated his presence now. Rob stumbled to the door and asked, “Max?” “Of course it’s me. Let me in.” He opened the door and Max pushed past him, huffing in irritation. “Where the devil have you been? I must have knocked for ten minutes.” Rob locked the deadbolt. “I fell asleep, waiting for you. I should ask where you’ve been.” Max dropped his travel bag and turned to face him. He smiled at Rob’s nakedness and the look of annoyance left his face. “I’m sorry, babe. I ran into a bunch of guys from the convention and had a hard time getting away.” He moved closer to Rob. “I should have thought about what waited for me and tried harder to escape.” Rob stepped around him and yawned. “Nothing ‘hard’ here to rush back to, that’s for damn sure.” “Look.” Max wrapped his arms around Rob from behind. “I said I was sorry, and it’s true. But you have to understand, I’ve been at this convention for a week. I have another week to go with these guys. I couldn’t just blow them off.” Rob’s shoulders tensed as he resisted the embrace. “Nice choice of words.” Max hugged him tighter, murmuring into his ear. “Stop it. You know what I meant. Now come on, let’s crawl into bed and snuggle ‘til we fall asleep. You’re bushed, and I’ve had it, too. It’s been one hell of a long day.”

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Rob turned his head sideways and looked at Max. “Are you sorry I came?” “Of course not.” Max steered him towards the bed. Rob crawled in, his exasperation dwindling. He watched Max tug off his clothes, piece by piece, hanging them neatly on the back of a chair. When it came to his briefs, though, Max kicked them across the room before reaching for the light switch. “I said a long day, not a bad day. This evening was fucking great. Just like tomorrow’s going to be. Let’s get some sleep and start fresh in the morning, all right?” He doused the lights and climbed into bed. “Come here, handsome.” He pulled Rob into his arms and kissed his forehead. “I love you, ya big lug. Now go to sleep. You’ll need all your energy to keep up with me tomorrow if you have any hopes of winning this little game you started.” Warmth heated Rob’s chest when he heard the words. How long had it been since Max said ‘I love you’? He couldn’t remember. Too long. Music to his ears. A soothing calmness settled over him. He nestled into his lover’s arms and closed his eyes. “I love you, too.”

**** Sunlight in his eyes woke Rob the next morning. He stretched and craned his head, looking for the alarm. Right, not at home, dumbass. Max. He turned over and spied the curves of his lover beside him. He rolled carefully out of bed and went for his morning piss, his semi-erection making a job of it. Done, he brushed his teeth before returning. Back in bed, he gently rolled Max onto his back. The man’s snores softened, but he didn’t wake up, and that suited Rob just fine. He pushed the blanket down, revealing the rise and fall of his lover’s chest and his washboard-slim belly. Lower, the base of Max’s cock came into view, Rob’s mouth watered. The wiry, pubic hair curled around it, and as Rob pushed the covers down even more, he exposed the shaft and the lusty, round balls. Watching the gorgeous, slumbering body without touching it felt like he was teasing himself. For a moment, he thought about dinner the night before. The waiter had known or

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seen, and that knowledge excited Rob. At the time, it’d been a little scary. But now, he loved it. Finally, the head of Max’s cock showed itself. Rob leaned down and nuzzled against the base, inhaling the luscious scent. With the tip of his tongue, he traced a wet line up the shaft, circled the crown then took it between his lips. His tongue never stopped, flicking along the slit, lapping at the soft dome and pushing into the moist opening. He hungered for his man and couldn’t seem to get enough of him. Max groaned and shifted, spreading his thighs, laying his hand on his belly. Rob paused in his play. He simply held the man’s cock, savouring the taste and texture of the flesh. When he was sure Max was under again, he renewed his mouth action. Tightening his lips, he eased backward and forward, almost as if he were fucking just the crown. Another groan came from his lover, and a hand slid across Rob’s head, coming to rest on the back of his neck. “Yeah, baby,” Max’s husky voice murmured. He thrust his hips upward and tightened his grip on Rob’s hair, holding him. “Mmm,” Rob moaned and eased his mouth lower, sucking the smooth, firm shaft deeper. His own cock pulsed into full hardness. For a moment, he thought about flipping Max onto his belly and lifting his bum for a good fucking. The game and the balcony came to mind. He sucked at the lovely cock and slid his fingers along the remainder of the shaft. When he felt Max’s balls against the back of his hand, he moved it lower. He cupped them, coddled them gently as he worked his tongue around the shaft. Legs spread barely wide enough to allow access suddenly moved even wider apart. “Fuck, yeah,” Max moaned. Instead of completing the blow job, Rob pulled his mouth off and sat up. He looked down into Max’s eyes and smiled at the unrestrained lust he saw there. “Remember the game?” he asked. He leaned forward and kissed Max’s dick head and smiled when the rod bounced, tapping him on the lips. “Yeah, I remember.” Max thrust his hips up, dragging his wet shaft over Rob’s cheek. “What about it?” “The balcony. I want you out there.”

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“Damn, you realise it’s daylight, and there might be someone around, right?” Max reached for his cock, giving it a couple of rough strokes. “Course I do. But, like we said, we’re not likely to be recognised.” Rob climbed off the bed, his erection bobbing towards Max. Max followed him, his hand still on his cock. “I’m so damn horny, I feel like I’m going to explode.” “Good. That’s the way I like you.” Rob walked across the floor and opened the sliding glass door. The sunlight streamed in, accompanied by a warm breeze. Stepping outside, Rob faced the sun and inhaled the clear morning air. The balcony seemed even bigger than he remembered as it stretched around the front of the building. He took the couple of steps to the iron railing. His heart beat like a wild animal’s. He’d never dared expose himself like this before, but the exhilaration amazed him. “Very sexy,” Max said from behind him. Rob turned his head, seeing his lover at the doorway. “What do you think? Sex al fresco?” Max looked across the balcony and smiled. “Can you spot anyone walking along Michigan Avenue?” Rob turned around and looked down at the street below. There wasn’t anyone out and about, not walking, anyway. But there were cars, and he wondered if anyone would look up at him and Max. “Looks good to me.” Max’s voice came from directly behind him, low down. “Now, hold still. Better yet, put your hands on the railing.” Rob smiled and did as he was asked. He didn’t need to be told to spread his legs, he simply did it. “Aren’t you the horny slut?” Max placed his hands on Rob’s shoulders, pushing him forward and down. “You bet. Your horny slut.” Rob wiggled his ass and eased his feet a little further apart. His balls shifted, moving up in their sac. His cock felt enormous, dangling freely in the air. “And you want it, don’t you?” Max’s large hands gripped his buttocks, spreading them wide.

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Rob looked back and saw his man kneeling behind him. Max had spread his knees, allowing his cock its own freedom. “Yeah, I want it. I want it bad. You know I do.” Rob turned his attention back to the avenue below. He saw a small group of people coming around the corner at the end of the block. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Would they look up? A finger trailed along his ass crack, slowed at his anus and circled the nerve-filled spot before heading south. His testicles twitched as if to meet the tormenting hand. Rob bit his lip to keep from begging for a touch. “Remember the game,” came Max’s soft voice. “Can I make you come? Out here in public where anyone could look up and see you?” “Bugger! Who died and made you boss? My balcony, and it was my idea,” Rob growled, although he would have yelled it if there’d been no chance of discovery. Max chuckled and, before Rob could take a deep breath, the man’s tongue found his balls. The fingers toyed with his anus, and Rob’s world imploded. “Yeah, I’m a bastard, but you love me.” Max nipped a cheek. “Don’t you?” Rob held his tongue, determined to concentrate on controlling his orgasm. He peered down at the avenue. Cars and taxis crawled by. The group of people he’d spotted a few moments ago were gone. More walked the streets, heading for work, shopping, meeting friends for breakfast. He scrambled away from the thought of the meal he’d shared with Max the night before, but not quickly enough. His cock pulsed, and he gazed down at it. A long strand of pre-cum dangled from its tip. The waiter had known about it. Had the man seen? Did it matter? He revelled in the memory once more. “Hey, you love me, don’t you?” repeated his man, punctuating the question with a stiffened tongue pressed to the puckered opening of his ass. “Yes, fuck yes.” Rob groaned and clenched his ass. “Bastard, yes, oh fuck.” “Yes, I plan to fuck you.” Max nipped at Rob’s bum then again pushed his tongue into the warm depth of his anus. He fucked Rob with his tongue, entering him just enough to drive him insane with lust. Rob’s sphincter ring loosened, and his inner muscles clenched on the slippery, wet tongue. He ached for someone to stroke his cock, yet he desperately wanted to win the game.

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Max’s hands and tongue left him, and Rob shuddered. He peered back at the man. He wanted more. “I have to get lube and rubbers. Don’t move a muscle.” He watched the lusty brute walk away, saw the sliding glass door move along its track. He waited, frustration mounting. The time dragged. He knew it wasn’t long, but it felt like hours he stood bent over, desperate. Footsteps behind him padded across the deck, then Max was there. The man’s lovely cock bounced, and his fingers touched the flesh of Rob’s ass. The cool, slick digits entered Rob moments later. Max started with two then three, stretching Rob and opening him for his use. “That’s it, breathe it, relax and let me in,” Max crooned. It didn’t take long before Rob pressed back against the man’s hand. He knew he should fight his desire, but his arousal was simply more than he’d expected. A car horn honked, and he glanced frantically down at the street. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Yet, his blood raced. Max pulled his fingers free, and Rob bit back the threatening sob of emptiness. “You’re not going to be able to hold off,” Max teased. “I know you too well. I can tell how excited you are. Your cock is dripping. You’re fucking close, man.” “Shut up. I fuckin’ know it,” snarled Rob. Behind him, he heard foil being torn and knew Max donned a rubber. Any second he’d feel the slick head of his lover’s cock. He waited, breathlessly, for the soft brush of the tip against his hole. He clenched his ass, trying to tempt Max to hurry. An arm wound around his waist, holding him tight. “Ready, babe?” Max whispered in his ear. Rob nodded. “Yes, fuck yes.” Max pressed against him, the soft dome entering him easily. Max waited, giving Rob time to get used to the feeling. When Rob pushed back, Max responded with a forward thrust. Speared on the hard flesh, Rob gasped. “So good. So tight.” Max pushed ahead. His belly finally lay flat against Rob’s back. The hand below Rob crept downward and took hold of his bobbing erection.

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They stood frozen in time. The sun beat down on them, warming flesh never before seen by the sun. The wind cooled Rob’s skin, drying his sweat and exciting his balls. “Hold tight now, babe. Here we go,” Max said as he worked his hips in and out. Slowly, he withdrew until just the tip kissed Rob’s outer ring. He held there for moments before sinking back inside. In and out, the forceful pace of lustful fucking gained momentum with each glide. Rob met each thrust with one of his own. His grip on the rail tightened as the speed increased. Thankful for the handhold, Rob used it to his advantage, trying to force Max to climax first. His own orgasm loomed near, yet he still craved the win. His lover’s fingers worked their magic, and he gasped desperately, his release so close he could taste it. Max slammed into him, grunting with effort and madly stroking Rob’s dick. “Come for me, babe. Show these city people how a man comes. Show them all.” Rob groaned. His cock pulsed wildly, and a long stream of cream spewed from him. Grunting, he thrust forward and sent another stream flying through the air, down to the cement floor of the balcony. “Oh yeah, fuck yeah,” he sobbed as the last of his cum oozed over the head of his cock. Max tightened his grip on Rob’s shaft then pounded mercilessly into his ass. He slammed in then held still as his climax struck. Heat filled the condom buried inside Rob’s ass. He sighed as Max leaned forward, kissing his back wherever he could reach. “Love you, babe,” Max finally whispered. For a horrible instant, Rob wondered if Max had been with Dean like this. Is that why he’s being so lovey-dovey? Feeling guilty? He shook the thought aside and eased away from Max. He needed to get inside. Max wrapped an arm around him, and together they walked back into Rob’s room. The door slid closed easily, and Max tossed the used condom into the trash on the way to the bed. The two men sprawled across it. “Fantastic,” Max whispered, again leaning forward and kissing Rob’s shoulder. “Yeah, it was.” “You know I won that one, right?” Max smiled and made a one in the air, as if adding points to a score board.

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“Yes, I know you won this one.” Rob chuckled, but for some reason, he felt troubled. Was Max cheating on him? Is that where he went yesterday evening? An hour instead of just ten minutes. And it had been Max who’d suggested we should just go to sleep. “What’s wrong, babe?” Max asked, a concerned look on his face. “You’re awful quiet all of a sudden.” “Nothing. Just thinking, I guess.” Rob rolled onto his belly and tucked his arms beneath his head. “Do you want to try for that tour around the city, get some pictures, maybe? I hear the Navy Pier is something else, and there’s a park. Lots of photo ops.” “A shower first.” Max rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom. “Then we’ll get a bite to eat. Hotel’s got a decent restaurant.” Rob’s stomach clenched. Will Dean be there? Is that why Max wants to stay in the hotel? Again, he forced the thought from his mind. He was there to recapture his man, not to put obstacles in the way. He clambered from the bed and followed Max into the bathroom.

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Chapter Four

Rob looked through the lens of his camera and adjusted the manual focus. The Cloud Gate sculpture in Millennium Park loomed huge. Impossible to capture the whole thing on camera and still distinguish the people standing in front of it. He took a few shots of the socalled ‘Bean’, intrigued by the way its mirror-like exterior reflected the buildings around it. Amazing. Also astonishing were the throngs of people milling around. He and Max hadn’t been anything close to alone since they’d left the hotel restaurant after breakfast. What did I expect? On a beautiful, warm Saturday, the popular stretch of Michigan Avenue dubbed the ‘Magnificent Mile’ was sure to be a popular attraction. Max strolled towards him. “Got enough pictures here? This crowd is incredible.” “Yes.” Rob clicked off a few more shots and replaced the lens cap on his camera. He dialled the small knob to ‘off’ and returned the instrument to its case. “We should have realised how busy this place would be.” Max glanced around. “Lots of families…and cops. You ever see so many police officers? On foot, on bicycles—they’re everywhere.” Rob shouldered his camera bag and smiled. “Precisely why we should keep our peckers in our pants. I’m not interested in adding the local jail to our list of sight-seeing attractions.” “Going to be awful hard to play the game,” Max teased. Rob shrugged. “We’ve got lots of time. My flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow afternoon. There’s always tonight and that big party you were talking about at the hotel.” “The barbecue.” Max nodded. “The Mason Arms is putting on a big shindig for the convention. We’ll want to be especially careful there. I’ll know a lot of those people.” Wicked ideas of masturbating Max under the table in a crowd of people floated through Rob’s mind, and he smiled. “The perfect time for me to try to even the score.” “Yeah, we’ll see.” Max waggled his eyebrows. The expression on his face led Rob to believe the possibilities tempted his lover, as well.

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Rob looked at the mass of people, some admiring the statue or just sitting there, others passing them by. “How about we head for the Navy Pier? I doubt it’ll be any less packed, but I do want to see it.” “Sure. A bellman said it took about twenty minutes to walk from there. We can hoof it, or we can grab a cab, if you’d rather.” “Nah, let’s walk.” Rob elbowed Max’s arm affectionately. “It’s nice being together without time constraints. At home, it seems like there’s always something one of us should be doing.” “You’re right,” Max said simply, not elaborating. They ambled along in silence for a few minutes until a thought struck Rob. “Did you go to the Pier with that group of guys?” Max smiled. “What makes you think they were all men? There are women at the convention, too, you know.” “When I got here, you were having drinks with a few other men. I just assumed you hung with a certain crowd.” Max nodded. “I guess I have been. But there hasn’t been time for much sight-seeing. We were lining up some stuff to do this weekend.” Rob’s heart sank. “I interrupted your plans.” Surprising Max had been a mistake. I’m such a fool! “Of course you didn’t.” Max squeezed his hand quickly and released it. “I wasn’t going to sit in the hotel all weekend. If you hadn’t showed up, then yes, I would have gone out with the others. But this is so much better.” Rob hadn’t interrupted any big plans, and last night Max had said he wasn’t sorry Rob showed up. But he never came right out and said he was happy to have Rob there. Am I reading too much into it? He couldn’t be sure. Uneasiness niggled at his gut, and for some reason, he couldn’t ignore it. “Penny for your thoughts?” Max nudged his arm as they walked. “Nah.” Rob shook his head, trying to clear it of disturbing images. “Not worth nearly that much.”

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“I’ll be hungry by the time we get to the river. You think we should look for some quaint, little restaurant to eat in?” Max grinned, apparently remembering their dinner last night. Rob laughed. “Sure. Why not?” That’s what I need. If he immersed himself in the game, Max would be the only thing he could think about. Being with him, loving him, was all that mattered.

**** Rob kicked a rock into the street as they strolled the last few blocks to the Mason Arms. It’d been a pleasant afternoon if different from the one they’d planned. Every restaurant they’d stopped at had overflowed, and they’d ended up eating Chicago-style hot dogs loaded with mustard, relish and onions as they walked along the pier. The carnival-like atmosphere had buzzed enticingly, and they’d splurged on doughy, soft pretzels and ice cream cones before the day ended. A ferry ride down the river had highlighted their tour, and Rob fought lethargy by the time they arrived back at the hotel. “What a day,” he murmured. “No kidding.” Max stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders. “That last walk nearly killed me. I almost caved and flagged a cab.” “Shall we go back to the room and catch a ‘nap’ before the barbecue?” Rob smiled. Max glanced at his watch. “Not sure we have time, babe. We probably need to get cleaned up and get out there. It’d be quicker if we each showered in our own rooms. Dress casual. I’ll meet you at your place in twenty or thirty minutes.” Rob frowned. I’ve heard the ‘twenty minutes’ line before. “Sure that’s all we have time for?” They stepped into the elevator, and he pushed the button for the third floor. “If we showered together, it’d save water.” Before Max could answer, the elevator doors, which had barely started to close, popped open again and three men stepped on. They nodded friendly greetings to him, and he smiled back. “Hey, how’s it going?” Max turned back to Rob. “I’ll just meet you in a while, okay?”

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Rob’s gut clenched. He knew Max couldn’t continue their conversation in front of the others, but it seemed like an abrupt turn down. “Sure.” One of the men punched the button for the second floor, and when the elevator stopped, they all got off. Max smiled back at Rob. “See you soon.” Rob nodded as the door closed between them. He mentally kicked himself for being so needy. In his whole life, he’d never been this way. He’d had other relationships before Max, casual, passionate affairs that were good while they lasted and ended amicably. Being with Max felt different. I’m different. He’d go to the mat for this relationship. He’d do whatever it took to hang on to Max. The elevator doors opened on three, and he stepped off, perturbed. Why am I obsessing like this? Rob entered his room and peeled out of his clothes. Under the warm spray of the shower, he lifted his face to the water and let it drench him. I’m making myself nuts. Max hadn’t done anything to warrant his suspicions. He needed to snap out of it before Max caught wind and they had a serious argument on their hands. Out of the shower, drying off, Rob turned his focus on the game. Max had the ‘sex in semi-public’ fetish. Let’s see how he handles it, tonight. Rob dressed in crisp, khaki shorts and a button-down plaid shirt. He’d just slipped into a pair of loafers when a knock sounded on his door. He glanced at the clock. Barely twenty minutes. Pleased, Rob opened up and smiled at his handsome lover, freshly scrubbed and in attire similar to his. “Hey. You clean up good.” Max grinned back at him. “Not much I can do with my hair, but it’ll have to do.” Rob leaned against the jamb and eyed the slick, wet curls. “I love your hair. I love running my hands through it, fisting it when you’re kneeling in front of me.” Max groaned. “Damn, I love that, too. Are you ready? Let’s get out of here before my hard-on makes it impossible to walk.” Rob felt around in his pocket for his wallet and nodded. He pulled the door closed behind them and fell into step with Max. “You have a hard-on? I can fix that, you know.” “Yeah, promises, promises. I’ve been hearing that all day.” Max rang for the elevator. Rob reached over and cupped his crotch. The car arrived, and Rob jerked his hand away. Four people inside, going down. If they’d seen what he’d been doing, he’d have been too embarrassed to ride to the lobby with them.

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“Hey.” Max stepped into the car. “Come on,” he nodded to Rob. “Let’s get this party started.” Rob shuffled into the elevator, muttering, “Exactly what I tried to do.” Max was already chatting with someone else. Rob had the sinking feeling he’d be odd man out for the rest of the night. He followed Max and the others to a courtyard behind the hotel, an area he hadn’t seen, yet. Huge, lush and green, the grounds were festively decorated with lanterns and brightly coloured party decorations. A bar stood off to one side, a couple of buffet spreads on the other, with lots of clean, white tables and chairs in between. “Hey!” Max called to another group, who were apparently his friends. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder to Rob and headed for the bar. “Steve, Dean, Tony, Michelle, and…” Max raised his eyebrows at a pretty redhead in a blue dress that barely held in her assets. “Donna,” she supplied, leaning in to squeeze his arm as if he shouldn’t have forgotten. “Donna!” Max snapped his fingers. “I won’t forget a second time, I promise. Everyone, this is Rob, a friend from back home.” A friend from back home? Rob nearly swallowed his tongue. He looked over the group, not thrilled to see Dean in the mix. “Hey, Rob,” several people murmured. Dean looked at Max. “You have a seat, yet? We were just going to snatch this one.” He motioned to a round table nearby. “Perfect!” Max grabbed a chair. Dean took the one next to him. Rob secured the seat to Max’s left and felt someone brush against him as they sat. “Howdy, fella! I remember you!” Steve, the tipsy man from the previous night, plopped down next to Rob. He’d apparently found the bar again. A stiff drink might hit the spot. If the evening held this in store, Rob wondered if he could get quietly drunk and force time to pass more quickly. “Hi,” he smiled at Steve then turned to Max. “I could use a drink. How about you?” “Absolutely. I’ll get us a couple of beers.” Max stood before Rob could say anything. Suddenly, Dean got to his feet. “I’ll go with you. I’m ready for a refill. Anyone else?” Donna held up her bottle and waved it from side to side.

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“Gotcha. We’ll be right back.” Dean steered Max by the elbow towards the bar. Irritation shot through Rob. Dean acted awfully familiar with his man. Worse yet, Max allowed it. He watched them standing at the bar, talking like old pals. Max said something that apparently had been funny because they both laughed. Dean patted Max’s forearm, and the touch lingered much too long for Rob’s liking. “So, Rob, what do you do?” the redheaded woman asked. “Are you in computers, too?” He forced his gaze away from the bar. “Umm, no. I’m a photographer. I work for a newspaper called ‘The Sentinel' back in Indiana and freelance for several magazines.” “How fascinating!” she gushed. “Anything I’d know?” Rob tried to focus on the conversation, but his gaze kept returning to the bar where Max and Dean continued to get chummy. “I, uh, had a series in National Geographic one time.” “Ooh! That’s amazing,” Donna replied, looking slightly bored. “Do you ever do anything for Vogue or People?” Rob closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. He opened them again and smiled. “No, actually, I haven’t. They’re very good magazines, though.” “I think so, too!” She turned to the woman next to her. “Did you see the article last week on Brad Pitt? Lord, he looked hot!” Michelle, he recalled, took the bait and joined the conversation, allowing him to back out. He could throttle Max for leaving him to discuss Brad Pitt with a table of women and one guy, whose main concern seemed to be getting the cherry in his drink unstuck from the ice. “Here we go.” Max set a beer in front of him and took his seat, Dean in tow. “What are we talking about?” He twisted off his bottle cap and took a swig. “Brad Pitt,” Rob replied in a voice he hoped conveyed his annoyance. He opened his beer and took a long pull. “I loved his last movie,” Max said, enthusiastically. “Me, too,” Dean agreed. Naturally. Rob sighed. Max looked at Dean. “Did you ever see the one where he played the spy? I can’t remember the name.” “Oh, yeah!” Dean slapped the table. “A fantastic movie. I liked the gladiator one, too.”

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Rob slipped his hand under the table and squeezed Max’s knee. To his utter amazement, Max pulled away and continued talking to Dean. No fucking way. Rob placed his hand firmly on Max’s thigh. Max turned to him and whispered, “Not now. Later, okay?” Rob pulled his hand away. He fought back his disappointment and attempted to put himself in Max’s place. Max had gone to classes and meetings with these people all week. Tonight, they had the chance to talk about something other than work. They all just wanted to relax and unwind. That’s reasonable. That’s bullshit. Perpetually horny, Max never resisted Rob making a play for him. Something wasn’t right. He tried to concentrate, but the conversation Steve, Donna and Michelle were having about the best places to sightsee in Chicago drew him in. “The Navy Pier was awesome,” Rob agreed and decided to go with the flow for a while. Maybe he was being too rigid and uptight. If he made an attempt to enjoy himself with Max’s friends, perhaps Max would notice and appreciate it. Two beers and half a barbecued chicken dinner later, the theory didn’t seem to be working. Max had a grand old time, talking with Rob just enough to be polite. His main focus seemed to be Dean, and the admiration society appeared mutual. Max didn’t make a move without Dean right behind him. The man followed Max through the buffet line and even took the same types of food as Max. Rob had no intention of making a scene, but he and Max would definitely talk about Dean later. They were just finished eating when a silver-haired man approached their table. “Evening, everyone. Enjoying the party?” “Mr. Sloan, good evening,” Max said politely, and the others murmured their greetings. “Max, I wonder if I could steal you for a moment. I talked with Jacobs about the idea you had for the bug in the new software design. He’d like to hear your thoughts.” “Certainly.” Max deposited his napkin on the table and stood, whispering to Rob, “The boss.” Rob nodded and watched Max walk away with the older man. “Sloan likes him,” Dean observed aloud. “I hear he’s going to offer Max a position in the Seattle office.”

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“Seattle?” Rob blinked, trying to process the information. “Max will never move to Seattle.” “Are you sure about that?” Dean twisted his face into a tight-lipped, unfriendly smile that came nowhere close to reaching his eyes. Donna leaned across the table. “We’re going to get some dessert. Anyone want to come along?” “Sure.” Steve stood with Donna and Michelle. “No, thanks,” Rob murmured. Dean shook his head, his gaze still firmly planted on Rob. The others left Rob alone with Dean. Rob hadn’t wanted to make trouble, but he couldn’t resist speaking the words that had been on his mind all evening. “Max is in a committed relationship, you know.” “Is that so? Sometimes, it’s hard to see things that are right in front of your eyes.” Rage bubbled in Rob’s gut. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You think a couple of weeks of shaking your ass in front of Max is enough to make him fall for you? He’s got more class than you’ll ever have. And he has more integrity than you give him credit for.” Dean pulled a hotel key card from his pocket and flipped it over in his hands. “Sound pretty sure of yourself. But I have to wonder, if Max is so honourable, why is he sharing a room with me?” Rob’s heart lurched, and his face burned. “He’d never do that.” Dean tossed the card so it landed in front of Rob. Rob picked it up, furrowing his brow. How do I know this is Max’s room? A boulder settled in his stomach. If this guy was to be believed, Rob thought he might be sick. He resisted the accusation. “This is bullshit. You have Max’s card.” “No, that’s mine. Go ahead, use it. You’ll see how many people are staying there. If you really stop and think about it, you’ll figure out what plans we had for the weekend. Your inopportune timing interrupted everything.” Dean flashed his vicious smile again. “Well, almost everything.”

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“You’re a lying prick.” Rob clutched the key card and stood. If I truly believe Dean is lying, why am I heading up to Max’s room? The only thing he knew for sure was he had to get away from Dean. The blond-haired man leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “See for yourself.” “Oh, I intend to.” Rob escaped the crowd of happy convention-goers and entered the hotel. His mind raced as he rode the elevator to the second floor and used the key card Dean had provided to enter Max’s room. He stepped into two ten and glanced around. Unlike his room, a single, this one featured two queen-sized beds. Rob recognised one of Max’s jackets folded neatly over the back of a chair. He opened the closet and spotted a familiar suitcase and more clothes belonging to Max. He rifled through them until he came to a section of clothes he didn’t recognise. Another suitcase, a black leather thing he’d never seen before, rested underneath the strange items. Rob closed the closet and stepped into the bathroom. Two toothbrushes beside the sink. Two sets of toiletries lined the counter, looking much like his bathroom at home. Obviously, two people were staying there. “Fuck!” Rob swore and stomped back into the bedroom. A pack of gum and a few coins lay on the dresser next to the TV. And one pair of sunglasses. Mirrored, reflector sunglasses. Rob’s head pounded, and his heart beat wildly. He chucked the key card into a trash can and started to leave when another idea struck him. Like a crazy man, he dug through the refuse in the small can, looking for evidence of Max’s indiscretion. He did the same to the one in the bathroom. Both cans were nearly empty save for a few scraps of paper and several tissues. When Rob straightened up, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, and was shocked at his red face and wild eyes. So this is what it’s come to. Digging through the trash for used rubbers. Rob washed his hands and rushed out. Head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone, he hurried back to his room and closed the door. Leaning against it, his breath came hard. I’m losing it. I have to get out of here.

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He flung open his closet door and grabbed his travel case. He shoved things carelessly into it. He’d sort it all out later. His cell phone rang, a distinctive tune announcing Max. For a moment he debated not answering then decided he owed Max at least that much. “Hello,” he said gruffly into the phone. “Hey, babe. Where’d you go? I’m sorry Sloan grabbed me, but there wasn’t much I could do.” “I’m in the room, my room, packing. I went to your room, or should I say Dean’s room. He gave me the key. I think he was pretty pleased with himself.” “Stay there, I’m on my way,” Max said sharply. “Don’t bother. Look—” “Stay there, God damn it!” Max snapped and disconnected the call. Rob finished packing and set his bag by the door. He made one last cursory check of the drawers. He didn’t want to leave anything in his rush to leave. Max pounded on the door. “Rob, open up.” Rob obliged, feeling calmer than he had all evening. He’d made his decision. He simply had to follow through. “I’m going home, Max. I’m going to the airport and arranging an earlier flight.” “Can we go in and talk about this, please? I’d like a chance to explain.” Rob stared into the eyes of the man he’d loved for a very long time. “I’m not sure there is an explanation. You lied to me.” “I never lied.” Max shook his head. “I never—” “A lie of omission is still a lie. We talked about Dean several times. You knew how I felt about him, yet you didn’t bother to tell me you were rooming with him. God knows what else you were doing with him.” Rob shuddered. Remembering how he’d dug through the garbage looking for evidence made him feel almost as lousy as Max’s lie had. “Nothing happened, I swear it. The company is paying for the rooms, and we all had to share. Dean and I are just friends, Rob. Look, I’ll take a lie detector or whatever it takes for you to believe me.” Rob smiled. Max excelled at making offers he couldn’t follow through on. Where the hell would we get a lie detector? “If nothing happened, why did you keep it a secret? Why didn’t

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you tell me about your roommate when I got here? Or for that matter, when you checked into the hotel and called me at home? You could have told me then if it was so innocent.” Max’s face blushed red. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d act this way. You’d go all nuts, worrying about me sharing a room with another guy. You never used to be the jealous type, but these last few months…” Max shook his head. “You’ve changed, Rob. I’m not sure I like it.” Rob laughed out loud. “I know I don’t like it. I followed you here this weekend, willing—no, wanting—to do anything to save our relationship. Now, I‘m wondering if it can be saved.” “That’s ridiculous!” Max exclaimed. “No, babe. The only ridiculous thing is the way I’ve been acting. I used to be a strong, independent guy. All of a sudden, I’m a simpering church mouse, afraid of losing you— afraid of my own shadow. I don’t like the person I’ve become, Max. I need to go home and think about things.” “Leaving now would be a mistake,” Max said firmly. “You have some thinking to do, as well. Is it true Sloan offered you a job in Seattle?” Max’s eyes widened. “How do you know that? He just did it, not thirty minutes ago.” Rob shrugged. “How else? Dean.” “Dean knew?” Max looked puzzled. “Dean seems to be in the know about a lot of things.” Rob leaned down for his bag. He shouldered his camera case and stood upright. “Let me know when you’ve decided, will you?” He pushed past Max and strolled into the hall. Max’s voice shook as he called, “Robert Jenkins, if you leave now, I truly believe you’re making a big mistake.” Rob hesitated for a moment, wondering the same thing. He loved Max with all his heart. Walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. An old saying flitted through his mind, ‘if you love something, set it free’. Followed by some other nonsense, ‘if it comes back to you, then you know it was yours.’ I always hated that saying. Unfortunately, he knew it was true. He had to do this. If we’re going to have a shot at making it, leaving now is the only thing to do. He squared his shoulders and kept walking.

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Chapter Five

Rob folded towels as he took them out of the dryer. There weren’t as many in the load as usual with Max gone. It seemed like forever, but was exactly a week since their argument in Chicago. They hadn’t spoken, the silence a killer. Max. Rob held a towel to his face and inhaled the fresh scent while he stared absently through the window. The conference had ended Friday. Now, it was Saturday, and he hadn’t heard a word. Rob took another deep breath and exhaled it. I’ll survive. If he’d figured out anything during the past week, it was that no matter what happened, he could withstand the blow. Losing Max would be like a knife to the gut— lots of bloodshed, lots of pain, but not a fatal blow. He’d strive to remain standing, his self-respect intact, and carry on. He’d done well all week, only one bad episode of wondering if he could go it alone. He’d been in the shower, remembering the blowjob Max had given him in the Italian restaurant. The memory of Max’s face had been so vivid, so full of mischief and love. Rob had stroked himself as he’d recalled the amazing evening and fought back tears as he’d spewed cum over the shower wall. Better get used to that. With Max gone, he’d be left to take care of business himself. Rob couldn’t imagine how long it would take until he felt ready to go out with someone new. He sighed and folded the towel he held, turning to place it in the stack on top of the dryer. “Hey,” Max’s voice came from the doorway. “Shit!” Rob jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. He hadn’t heard anyone sneak up behind him. “What the hell are you doing here?” Max, leaning against the doorjamb, smiled. “Last I knew, I still lived here.” Rob struggled for composure. He picked up the armload of towels as if putting them away was an important job he needed to finish right then. “Excuse me.” Max stepped aside and followed him to the hall closet. When Rob opened the door, Max reached for the towels and placed them on the shelf. “There. Is that how you like them?” Max’s voice sounded different. This can not be a good thing.

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“Fine.” Rob closed the closet. “I figured if you were coming home, you’d be back yesterday.” “Okay, you and I need to talk.” Max took Rob’s hand and led him to the living room. He pushed Rob down on one end of the sofa and sat next to him. “What is this ‘if I was coming home’ business? Do you really think I’d give up on our relationship that easily?” Rob shook his head. “I honestly didn’t know what to think. Things haven’t been right with us for a while. My sad attempt to improve them backfired.” Max smiled. “The weekend started off pretty great, didn’t it?” Fighting off a smile, Rob said, “Yeah. Until I found out you were rooming with Mr. Mirrored Sunglasses. I didn’t like that guy from the first time I met him, and I could tell he didn’t like me. Now I know why.” “Let me tell you about Dean. We had it out that night, after you left. He did have an interest in me. I was too dumb to see it until you pointed it out. I thought he was just being a really cool friend. He works in the head office, and he arranged a lot of things to suit himself. Our rooming situation, for one thing. And my job offer, for another. He put a bug in Sloan’s ear that I might be willing to move. That’s why I had to stay an extra day. Sloan and I met for dinner last night and talked about my future with the company.” “Your future?” Rob held his breath. “Yes. My future here, in Indiana. I’m not moving to Seattle. Sure, the offer appealed to me. Maybe someday, if you’re looking for a change, we’ll move. But only when it’s right for both of us. And I’m not moving anywhere near Mr. Sunglasses. He was an ass, and I let him know it.” Rob exhaled and allowed the first hint of a smile. “Are you serious?” “Fuck yes, I’m serious. He treated you badly, and I wasn’t going to stand for that. He moved to another room that same night. I had the place to myself for the rest of the week.” “Really?” Gushy, blubbery feelings welled up in Rob, but he tamped them down. “Really.” Max nodded firmly. “You never called.” “You never called me, either,” Max countered. “Truthfully, I thought you needed some time to think. I knew I was taking a chance, you know. I’d have been sick if I’d come home and found you gone.”

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“I’m not going anywhere.” Rob slid into Max’s arms. “This is the only place I want to be.” “Me too, babe.” Max kissed his forehead. “I love you. I’m so glad I’m home.” Rob held the embrace for a moment then straightened up. “I love you, too. But the problems we had before you left—” “Were miniscule,” Max told him. “Besides, I think you may have solved those problems. What would you think about planning one weekend a month, just you and me, going away? We’d choose different cities, different hotels…” He grinned wickedly. “And continue playing the game?” Excitement welled in Rob’s chest. It sounded like the perfect arrangement. Max nodded. “I’m ahead, you know. We’ll plan to go away next weekend and see what you can do to catch up.” Rob reached for Max’s belt and pulled his lover into a prone position on the sofa. “That sounds great. But I’m not waiting until next weekend. I want you now.” “Great minds think alike. I’m so with you on that idea.” Max unsnapped Rob’s denims and slid one hand down the front. Rob sighed as Max fondled his burgeoning erection. His worries faded away and suddenly things felt right, normal, just as they should be. He smiled and hurried to kick out of his jeans.

About the Authors Jenna Byrnes could use more cabinet space and more hours in a day. She’d fill the kitchen with gadgets her husband purchases off TV and let him cook for her to his heart’s content. She’d breeze through the days adding hours of sleep, and more time for writing the hot, erotic romance she loves to read. Jenna thinks everyone deserves a happy ending, and loves to provide as many of those as possible to her gay, lesbian and hetero characters. Her favourite quote, from a pro-gay billboard, is “Be careful who you hate. It may be someone you love.” Email: [email protected] Jude's imagination frequently leads her astray, and she eagerly follows while trying to keep out of trouble, or at least, not get caught. For those of you who know her, you'll know that's not always easy. A picture, a smell, an unexpected glimpse of flesh, or a load of soil in the back of a pick-up, are all fodder for her writing. Her male characters run the gamut from the dominant male ruling his women with an iron fist, to a simpering purple-clad boy-toy whose only desire is to please. As diverse and as richly depicted, her women find themselves in a myriad of exotic and erotic situations. Email: [email protected] Jude Mason and Jenna Byrnes love to hear from readers. You can find their contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

Also by Jenna Byrnes and Jude Mason Untamed Hearts: Feral Heat Untamed Hearts: Bear Combustion Untamed Hearts: Wolfen Choice Kindred Spirits: Ethan’s Choice

Also by Jenna Byrnes Unexpected Love: Nothing to Lose Convincing Cate Second Time Around Carnal Collision Unexpected Love: Worth the Risk Taking Control Unexpected Love: Having It All Cattle Valley: Truth or Dare Secret Santa My Secret Valentine: Secret Rendezvous Rose & Thorn Society: Switching Seth Cattle Valley: Fool’s Gold

Pleasure Bound: Aloha Kaua

Also by Jude Mason Ghost of a Chance Naughty Nooners: Lunch Is Served Night Games Pleasure Bound: Selene’s Awakening Jacob’s Pony

YES! Kim Dare

Dedication To everyone who is willing to fight for what they want – and especially to those who fight dirty!

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Chapter One

“Are you calling me a slut?” “I’m merely making an observation,” Kevin’s friend corrected. “You seem to have trouble saying no to men.” He swallowed a mouthful of his coffee and set the mug down on the low table between them. Andrew Holt raised an eyebrow. He took a sip from his own steaming mug and carefully considered the young man sitting opposite him. He was certainly the type of man Andrew would enjoy saying yes to. If he hadn’t turned up on Kevin’s arm, Andrew was quite sure he would have said yes, along with far more interesting things, to him weeks ago. However, while Andrew might not be willing to admit to having many morals, he did have standards. Poaching his friend’s lover was beneath them. A bit of harmless flirtation on a quiet Saturday morning was quite a different thing, he reassured himself. There weren’t any other attractive men in the coffee shop—Kevin would understand how easy it was to get bored in that situation. “No.” Andrew smiled across the coffee table. “I appear to be quite capable of saying the word to you.” Kevin’s friend met his eyes and held his gaze for several long seconds. “I’ve never asked you anything that would tempt you to say yes to me.” As serious as he was obviously trying to appear, a hint of a smile continued to play around his lips. Andrew sighed. For all his faults, knew when the ice was getting thin. It appeared Kevin’s new guy really was Andrew’s favourite type—cheeky, cute and ready to play. If he wasn’t very much mistaken, there was also something about Kevin’s friend that hinted he had the potential to be a very interesting dominant in a few years’ time. Andrew set his coffee mug and his inclination to give in to temptation aside. “He may be a submissive, but Kevin would still have your balls on a platter if he found out you were screwing around behind his back. Mine too, if I was the one stupid enough to help you cheat on him.”

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The guy’s gaze didn’t falter. “Kevin has no interest in any part of my anatomy—on a platter or otherwise. And I don’t think you’re his type, are you?” Andrew brushed the issue of his own relationship with Kevin aside. Perhaps two submissives could find a way to have some fun with each other, but he’d never been particularly interested in finding out what sort of fun that was. But if Stephen wasn’t involved with Kevin…that really could make things interesting. “Kevin’s aware that he has no interest in you?” Andrew studied the other man’s responses very carefully. His friend had certainly seemed taken with the guy last time he saw him. There was no hesitation, no guilt. The guy nodded. “That’s right.” Andrew nodded, filing that little snippet away in a file marked—yippee! “What was your name again?” “Stephen Phillips.” Andrew looked Stephen up and down. With his limbs all folded up in the complicated arrangement required for a man his height to sit on the very low coffee room chair, he wasn’t shown to his best advantage. It would have been easy to miss the fact that he was pleasingly tall, at least several inches taller than Andrew’s own six foot. At least the posture didn’t hide the fact he was gloriously broad across the shoulders. He looked wonderfully athletic, Andrew decided. He probably worked out a lot. Strength and stamina. A few delicious possibilities began to rise in his mind. Behind his fly, his cock began to rise too. “You consider yourself to be a dominant?” he asked, although he was already pretty damn sure on that score. “Yes.” Straight forward and to the point. He might not be willing to rush in and agree with the other man’s assessment of himself, but Andrew had heard far worse answers. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as an unpleasant thought struck him. If Kevin hadn’t made a move on a man who was both stunning and inclined towards dominance, it might be for a bloody good reason. “How old are you?” “Nineteen.”

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“You look younger.” From the neck up anyway. He had a man’s body, a man’s muscles, but his smile was boyish and the chestnut hair flopping down into his eyes betokened a student rather than an office worker. “Apparently I’ll be very grateful for that in twenty years’ time,” Stephen said, with a forced smile that said he’d heard the same thing from a lot of guys and was thoroughly sick of it. “Fed up with getting carded at the door?” Andrew asked. “I’ve a mind to ask for proof you’re legal myself.” Stephen took his wallet out and handed his driver’s licence across the coffee table with something that sounded suspiciously like the noise a man might make while trying to hold back a long suffering sigh. The card tallied up with his claim to nineteen. He might have been a few years younger than Andrew’s twenty-six, but he was certainly old enough to know what he was doing—for vanilla anyway. Andrew passed the driver’s licence back and made a mental note to check back in five or ten years to see if he grew into an interesting dominant. For now, there was plenty of vanilla fun to be had with a man who looked like Stephen. “Where were we?” Andrew mused, leaning back on the low sofa and stretching his feet out under the coffee table. “Oh yes, you were explaining why I’m a slut?” “I didn’t say that,” Stephen corrected, perfectly politely. “I said you find it easier to say yes to men than to say no to them.” His eyes raked up and down his body as Andrew presented it for his inspection. They’d look good together, Andrew decided, as he returned the other man’s analysis. Stephen’s darker colouring would only serve to make his blond hair and blue eyes appear even more angelic. His fairness would go a long way towards making the other look deliciously brooding. When Stephen met his gaze, there wasn’t a single trace of embarrassment in his expression. He made no attempt to deny he’d been admiring what was being so subtly displayed for his appraisal. There wasn’t a trace of submission in him, Andrew noted, just confidence that hinted he might be a bloody brilliant dominant when he finished growing up and got a lot more experience under his belt. The last of Andrew’s boredom melted away.

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“So, Dr. Freud,” he said. “How do you suggest I should be cured of such a grievous affliction? Sex as therapy is always popular with the amateur psychologists, isn’t it?” He still had the rest of weekend free. Bending over a psychiatrist’s couch for Stephen would fill that time up very nicely. “I’m not a psychologist, amateur or otherwise. And if it’s a choice rather than a compulsion, I don’t see why it needs to be cured.” “You suddenly find my promiscuity healthy?” Andrew grinned. It really was amazing what the prospect of getting laid could do to a man’s perceptions of the world. Stephen shook his head, still doing his part in pretending they were having a serious conversation. “No, I don’t think it’s healthy. And I’m not so sure it’s not a compulsion either.” “You don’t believe that I can say no when I want to? I’ll have you know I don’t screw everyone who makes a pass at me. I do have some standards,” he added, along with a chuckle to show that there were no hard feelings. “I’m sure you have standards. What I don’t believe is that you have the self-control to say no to someone who you want to have sex with.” Andrew shrugged. “Where’s the fun in saying no when you want to say yes? Masochism never was one of my strong points.” “Nor is self-control,” Stephen reiterated. Andrew sat up a bit straighter, no longer finding his lounging sprawl on the sofa entirely comfortable. “My self-control is more than adequate when I choose to exercise it,” he informed the other man, suddenly impatient to skip this bizarre form of flirting and move on to the bit where someone got screwed. “Really?” Stephen’s tone of voice wasn’t a challenge as much as an insult. “Prove it.” Andrew relaxed when he saw the obvious trap. It was just a game. That was okay. He was good at games. “And how would I prove something like that?” he asked, pushing his moment of impatience aside to play along a little. “A simple bet. If you can say ‘no’ to me for twelve hours, you win. If you say ’yes’ to any question I ask you at any point then I win.” “And what would the loser forfeit?” Andrew asked. Stephen shrugged. “I decided the terms, you decide the stakes.”

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“So sure you’ll win?” He couldn’t have even the mildest pretensions to dominance and still be comfortable giving a stranger that sort of control over the bet if he wasn’t. “Yes.” Andrew studied him very carefully. He certainly seemed confident. “I’ve been watching you for weeks, Andrew. You’re beautiful and you know it. Men have probably fallen over themselves for you your whole life. If someone offers you something appealing, you take it. If you want something, you get it.” “And you’re going to teach me a lesson? Stop me from taking advantage of the poor people who keep giving me things,” Andrew asked, his tone cooling with each word. He sat up straight in his seat. “I may be a slut, Stephen, but I’m no whore.” That was a completely different accusation. Even more annoyingly, he found himself completely unable to work out if this was supposed to be some fun bit of role play or a bizarre attempt to screw with his mind. Stephen shook his head. “I know you’re not a rent-boy,” he picked up his mug and blew on surface of his coffee. “Like I said, I’ve watched you. I’ve asked around about you too. You screw around, but only with people who know the score and who are free to do the same. You’re not hurting anyone but yourself.” “I’m not hurting myself, either. Your description of my life didn’t sound painful, darling, it sounds like a bloody good time.” Andrew pushed his hair back from his face, no doubt ruining the careful style he’d put in place before he left the house. The realisation did little to improve his temper. “But sometimes you do wish that life was a bit more of a challenge, don’t you? Sometimes, you smile at a guy in a bar and a tiny bit of you hopes he’ll make you work for it.” “I’m not sure you’ve been watching the right person,” Andrew said, although a quick scan of his memories couldn’t bring to mind the last time a guy he’d wanted hadn’t leapt at the chance of receiving whatever he offered them, be it simple sex or his submission. Stephen ignored the interruption. “I don’t think it’s ever occurred to you that you should try saying no to yourself. A bit of self denial makes the final success all the sweeter.”

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“And I suppose you practise this sack cloth and ashes lifestyle, yourself?” Andrew was very tempted to snap the words, but it turned out he had more self-control than Stephen gave him credit for. The words sounded as polite as any he’d ever uttered. “I’ve watched you for weeks without trying to get into your bed,” Stephen reminded him. “And in doing so, denied yourself the chance of something you want?” “Yes. I wanted you and your submission the first moment I saw you,” Stephen admitted with an honesty and an intensity that made Andrew slightly uncomfortable. “So, you wasted the last few weeks.” Andrew shrugged and did his best to brush the issue aside. “It’s a pity, we could have had a lot of fun.” “We still could. And it will be more fun now I’ve let the anticipation build.” “I’m not sure if you’re some sort of crazy genius, or just crazy,” Andrew said. He ran the conversation over in his mind as he took another mouthful of coffee and played for time to work out his next move. Pushing the issue of self-control aside for a moment, Andrew knew he didn’t possess the strength to walk away from the game Stephen was offering to play. “And when do you plan to enact this bet? Does that have to be set aside, so we can savour the anticipation of that too?” “Do you have any plans in the next twelve hours?” Andrew smiled. “No.” He found a peculiar thrill in saying the word to Stephen right then. The younger man pointed to the clock on the coffee shop wall. “Noon until midnight.” It was five minutes to the hour. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do for the rest of the day. Andrew nodded his acceptance. “Choose a safe word.” Andrew raised an eyebrow. “We’re playing a game, not a scene. My submission isn’t part of the deal. I don’t play with novices.” Stephen stared at his coffee for several seconds before he looked up. “You’re going to say no to me a lot—even when you want to say yes. I need to know when you are saying it as part of the game and when you really mean it. At times I won’t pay too much attention if it’s the former, the latter is a different matter.”

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Andrew watched as the guy glanced back down at his mug and then lifted his eyes again to meet his gaze square on. “I’m well aware that you don’t submit to any man who hasn’t got a very well established reputation on the local scene. But I won’t risk putting you in a position where you don’t have a clear way of calling a halt to the bet if you need to. Pick your word.” There was a certain sort of logic to that. Andrew studied him very carefully. “Just in case you missed any of the important points when you were taking all that time to ask around about me,” he said. “Here are the highlights. Yes, I’m a submissive. But I submit as and when I choose—and only to the dominants I choose. So, don’t expect me to defer to you just because you’ve suddenly decided you’d like to boss someone around when you have sex with them. I expect a damn sight more than that from a dominant and, at your age, there’s not a chance in hell you’ve got what it takes to bring me to your heel.” Stephen gave one jerky nod—not so much an agreement as an acknowledgement that he’d heard what Andrew said. He looked back to his coffee mug. “And your word?” “Red.” Stephen nodded again. This time it appeared to be a far more relaxed gesture. “You also need to state the forfeit.” Andrew was just as sure as Stephen was that he would be the winner. There was no harm in keeping his options open. “A simple truth or dare,” he decided. Stephen raised an eyebrow. “If I lose you can ask me anything or ask me to do anything—no limits, no outs. If you win, you get a simple guarantee that I will answer you honestly or do whatever you challenge me to do, without complaint,” Andrew said. “Although I won’t guarantee it will be without sarcasm. That might be testing my limited self-control a little too far.” “I’ll remember to bring a gag with me, just in case,” Stephen said. “And if I lose, you can decide if you want to use it on me instead.” Andrew bowed his head once in acknowledgement, willing to risk a little bit of bondage now he was sure Stephen understood it wouldn’t come with a side dose of submission. The younger man glanced at the wall clock and then at his wrist watch, checking they were in sync. They both watched the clock tick around until both hands pointed straight up.

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The moment it hit twelve, Stephen stood up and tossed a tip on the table. Not a ‘aren’t I generous, aren’t you impressed’ tip, Andrew noted, just a regular one. “Ready to go?” “No.” Their eyes met across the table. Andrew gave Stephen a disappointed look, wondering if he really thought he could trick him into an early defeat that easily. Unrepentant and seemingly a million times more relaxed now the game was on, Stephen grinned. “It was worth a try.” Andrew left his own tip next to his empty mug and shrugged. The game had started. He was going to win. School boy tactics weren’t going to worry him. In fact, he was sure his biggest challenge would be deciding what to dare Stephen to do when he collected his forfeit from the younger man. He looked the honest sort. It would be a waste to ask him a truth, but admiring Stephen’s body as he followed him from the shop, Andrew could think of so many wonderful things he could dare the man to do. There was always something special about twisting things around on a would-be dominant and taking the control away from him for a little while. It did them good to be reminded that they weren’t all powerful gods at an early stage in their kinky career. It made them better dominants in the end. Anyway, there was plenty of time to work that out. For now, all he had to do was remember one word. No. How hard could that be? Andrew smiled quietly to himself as they walked out of the coffee shop and into the car park along side it. He’d seen Stephen several times over the last few weeks, but as they made their way through the car park, Andrew realised he hadn’t seen his ride before. A sports car gleamed in the sunlight. When Stephen stopped next to it, Andrew knew he had to be joking. Stephen clicked open the central locking. “Did you steal it?” Andrew whispered. Stephen smiled. “I have a weakness for fast cars.”

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“And being so into self-denial you obviously resisted the temptation,” Andrew said, still keeping his voice slightly hushed in deference to one of the most beautiful pieces of machinery he’d ever seen. The car screamed out to be stroked. Only the idea of finger prints marring the black metallic finish stopped him from reaching out and touching it. “Do you want to drive?” Andrew’s jaw actually dropped a little. He swallowed, looking over every stunning line of the car and imagining what it would be like to get behind the wheel. He was almost shocked into giving his answer without thinking. Just in time he realised what he’d been about to do. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to convince himself to say the right thing. “Andrew?” Stephen held up the keys and shook them slightly to catch his attention. All he had to do was reach out and take them. All he had to do was say… Andrew bit his lip. “No.” Stephen grinned and shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He slipped into the driver’s seat without another word. Andrew forced himself to get in the other side and to try and look at least vaguely content with the passenger’s seat. It was the newest model. It still had that amazing new car smell. Andrew took a deep breath and arched his back against the leather seat. Turning his head, he looked enviously at the wheel. Stephen’s hands wrapped around the curve and his fingers stroked the delicate stitching. “If I’d given a different answer, would you have actually let me drive?” Andrew asked. “Of course. I don’t believe in offering anyone anything I’m not capable of providing.” Stephen turned the ignition. The engine purred to life. “And that goes for everything you offer today?” Andrew checked. “Of course.” Stephen glanced in the mirrors and guided the car out of the parking space. The thrum of the engine rolled through Andrew’s body. The car wasn’t important, he told himself. It was just a chunk of metal balanced on four circular bits of rubber. It was impractical. It was polluting. It was loud. Andrew sighed. It was a wet dream on wheels, and he wanted it.

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He could have it. Andrew had no doubt that if he told Stephen to repeat the question, one word could have him behind the wheel and tearing through the countryside in it for the next eleven hours and forty five minutes. He came within an inch of giving in to the temptation, but a sideways look at Stephen’s smug expression had Andrew resting his elbow on the lower edge of the car window and subtly covering his mouth with his hand. He was not going to give the guy the satisfaction of being that right about him. “Do you want to know where we are going?” Andrew cast him another look. “No.” Stephen nodded contentedly and didn’t offer any further information. “You could tell me anyway,” Andrew pointed out after a while. “Where would be the fun in that?” Andrew tapped his fingers on his knee. They were out of the city now. Taking note of the sign posts and trying to guess their destination wasn’t helping. They were going west, but there were a hell of a lot of places Stephen could intend to stop at before they ran out of land and hit sea. By nature, Andrew didn’t believe himself to be a control freak. He was generally content to go with the flow. When he was with a real dominant who knew what he was doing, he was consistently happy to put himself in a dominant’s hands and accept whatever fun happened next. If Stephen hadn’t asked if he wanted to know, he was sure he could have had a very comfortable journey without ever worrying himself over their destination. “Have you eaten yet?” “No.” At least it wasn’t a backward worded question designed to starve him. It seemed likely that Stephen might let him eat at some point during the day. When they pulled up outside a gorgeous restaurant an hour or so later, the day seemed to be looking up. He’d skipped breakfast the same way as he always did. The aroma as they stepped into the restaurant reminded him he should have bought something to eat when he stopped off at the coffee shop for his caffeine fix. The restaurant was already busy with a lunch time rush. While they waited to be seated, Andrew studied the framed menu on the wall. So many fantastic options available for his enjoyment and so little time to try them all.

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Andrew smiled at all the possibilities. A good metabolism and a healthy interest in competitive sports kept him trim and healthy. While he could get away with eating sixteen ounce steaks followed by double chocolate fudge cakes, Andrew was more than content to let salads happen to other people. A waiter carried an order past them to a nearby table. The steak looked mouth wateringly tender. The ale pie smelt delicious too. Another waiter walked past with a lobster dish. Lobster was one of his favourites. Andrew’s tongue slipped past his lips and moistened them in anticipation. He felt Stephen step up behind him and consider the menu over his shoulder. The heat from the other man’s body seeped through Andrew’s clothes. Stephen leaned in even closer to whisper in his ear. “Do you want to order for yourself, Andrew?” Order for… The glass covering the elaborate calligraphy on the menu offered a very slight reflection. Andrew met Stephen’s eyes in the glass. Did he want to order for himself? Of course he bloody well did! “Answer the question, Andrew. Do you want to order for yourself?” Stephen whispered, settling his hand on Andrews’s waist and stroking his finger tips along the waistband of his trousers. “No,” Andrew bit out. “No problem, I’ll order for you.” For the briefest of moments, he pressed his lips against Andrew’s jaw, just where the muscle clenched with knotted tension. Andrew glared at the smug expression in the other man’s eyes. “No,” he said. Stephen’s reflection smiled. “That wasn’t a question. I already gave you the option, you said no.” Andrew ground his teeth together. “Would you like me to ask the question again so you can change your answer?” “No.” “Table for two for Mr. Phillips?” “That’s us.” Stephen led the way and held out Andrew’s chair for him when the waiter indicated their table. Andrew sat down and waited until the waiter walked away before he spoke. “Nice manners, but I’m not actually female,” he said politely.

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Taking his own seat, Stephen’s smile didn’t falter. “I’ll be sure to check and make sure later.” It wasn’t a question. Andrew wasn’t compelled to say no, so he said nothing. He was starting to wonder if that anatomy check was the most fun he would have until he called in his dare. “And,” Stephen said, picking up the menu, “male or female, you are my date for the next,” he checked his watch, “ten hours and thirty seven minutes. You don’t mind if I make my own rules, do you?” Yes, he bloody well did. “No.” “How many food allergies do you have?” “How many?” Andrew frowned. Then he realised it wasn’t a yes or no question, Stephen actually needed an honest answer before he ordered. “Would you believe I have a serious allergy to any sort of healthy food?” Stephen grinned. “Very unlikely.” “Then I don’t have any.” There wasn’t any point in reading the menu when he wasn’t allowed to pick what he wanted. He watched Stephen read through it very slowly instead. Boredom quickly settled in. Andrew tapped his finger tips on the table top until he saw Stephen smile at the gesture. Snatching his hand away, Andrew put both his hands on his lap out of the other man’s sight. He looked around the restaurant. They were seated in a quiet, out of the way, part of the room. Not having anything better to do, Andrew amused himself by wondering what they could get up to without anyone noticing two guys getting it on in the corner. The waiter came back to take their order. He didn’t look the type to be easily shocked. If he came to check on them and found one busy under the table, he probably wouldn’t be scarred for life or anything. He was quite cute too. Not compared to Stephen, admittedly, but still. Andrew offered him an inviting little smile, just in case he was gay. “One steak with all the trimmings, medium rare, and one chicken salad. For dessert, one of the chocolate indulgences,” Stephen said. The waiter stopped smiling back at Andrew and wrote down the order. “Chicken salad?” Andrew asked, when the waiter had left. “Would you prefer to swap for the steak?”

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Andrew took a deep breath. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” “Yes,” Stephen rolled the word around in his mouth, obviously savouring his ability to say it whenever he wanted to. “If this wasn’t a nice polite restaurant, I’d have a few other words for you.” Stephen grinned. Andrew was winning the game. He was saying no at every opportunity. Stephen was being proved wrong—he was losing. Therefore Stephen shouldn’t be enjoying himself that much. Andrew frowned at the basic unfairness of it all. “You have this all planned out, don’t you?” The waiter chose that moment to bring their lunch. Andrew didn’t even feel inclined to flirt with him right then. He looked across the table and watched Stephen begin to tuck into his steak with obvious enjoyment while he picked at his salad. He didn’t like salad. He didn’t like chicken. The fact that those pieces that he ate were deliciously cooked and the chicken practically melted on his tongue, were minor factors that he wasn’t going to let get in the way of his deprived feeling. Stephen kept up a steady stream of conversation, asking a score of questions that couldn’t be answered yes or no. Andrew, after realising he’d been pouting like a two-year old for the last ten minutes, finally joined in. By the time the waiter came back to clear the table, Andrew was very surprised to find he’d eaten every scrap of the food from his plate— even the lettuce. Feeling somewhat guilty, he decided it was time to get in the spirit of the game. His time for revenge would come soon enough. The dessert the waiter placed in front of Stephen a few minutes later made it hard to stick to his resolution. The thick slab of chocolate fudge cake was topped with chocolate sauce, and cream, and white chocolate, and ice cream, and fudge sauce and pretty much anything else that a reasonable person could put on a piece of cake. He wasn’t hungry. It didn’t make any difference. He still wanted it. Andrew leaned back in his chair and settled to watch Stephen eat it with as much good grace as he could muster. The guy didn’t seem to feel even the tiniest twinge of guilt. Twirling his spoon through the cake to catch up the sticky trails of toffee and sauce, he murmured his delight around the first mouthful. His eyes dropped closed as he took a deep

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breath, evidently savouring every morsel on his tongue. His eyes stayed closed as he swallowed the sweetness down. “Glorious,” he murmured as he blinked his eyes open. Andrew met his eyes across the table. Yes. With his head tipped back and his eyes all hooded with pleasure, the younger man certainly was glorious. All thought of food gone, Andrew fell to wondering when he would have the opportunity to taste the main course. His eyes traced the path the next spoonful took to Stephen’s mouth and watched as his lips caressed the chocolate from the spoon. Licking his own lips at the possibilities, Andrew only just resisted the temptation to lean across and kiss some of the sweetness from the other man’s mouth. Stephen’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed more of it down. Andrew’s fingers itched to stroke the strong lines of muscles down his throat to where they disappeared into his shirt. He formed his fingers into a fist under the table and pressed the heel of his hand as subtly as possible against the erection swelling in his trousers. He couldn’t look away. Even reminding himself over and over again, that getting up from behind the table would soon be very embarrassing didn’t help. “Would you like a taste?” Hell, yes! Andrew didn’t care if he was talking about the dessert or something even more decadent. Andrew wanted it all. He wanted the latter so badly, he had to close his eyes for several long moments before he could make himself say the word. “No.” As he forced his eyes open and flicked his tongue over suddenly dry lips, Andrew saw Stephen was watching him with just as much lust as he felt. Stephen loaded up his spoon and held it out to him across the table. “I said no.” He had. Hadn’t he? In that moment, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure what words had passed his lips. The whispered word hadn’t been any sort of competition for the yes, yes, yes, echoing around inside his mind. “I know that you said no. Humour me and try a little bit anyway.” Leaning forwards Andrew took Stephen’s spoon between his lips and slid his tongue against the smooth metal as he pulled away. Chocolate and sugar, cream and toffee all swirled together on his taste buds. Andrew kept his eyes open and his gaze locked with Stephen’s.

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It was all a game, he reminded himself. Letting another man feed him like a damn pet had nothing to do with submitting to him. It was all to do with getting a taste of the chocolate—and it was much better than he had ever imagined. The coordination needed to eat off a utensil held in someone else hand wasn’t quite there. A smudge of chocolate lingered on the corner of Andrew’s lip. Lifting a hand up to wipe it away, Andrew found Stephen’s hand wrapped tight around his wrist. With his other hand, Stephen gently wiped the smudge away with his thumb and licked the digit clean himself. Swirling his tongue around the pad, he sucked it into his mouth and visibly savoured the mixed taste of Andrew and the chocolate. “Good?” Stephen asked. Reluctant to look down and give the other man the impression that he felt the least bit submissive towards him, Andrew still couldn’t meet his gaze while he lied to him. He turned his attention to the table top. “No.” Stephen shared the rest of the dessert with him anyway. Their coordination improved beyond all recognition when Stephen dispensed with the formality of the spoon and made the most of their secluded spot to feed them both with his hands. He slid his fingers into Andrew’s mouth as he fed him. Andrew licked and sucked around them with genuine enjoyment. There was no reason to hide that pleasure from Stephen, not when he knew every murmur around a chocolate covered finger tip made Stephen all the more likely to keep feeding him the sticky sauce. Andrew pushed away the part of him that wondered if the younger man knew his responses were about sex and chocolate rather than submission. It wasn’t a problem, he told himself. If the guy fell into the wrong impression, he would find out just who was calling the shots when he ran out of chocolate. By the time the other man wiped the last of the sauce from the plate and slipped it between his lips, Andrew might not have been feeling particularly submissive, but he was hard as hell and aching with frustration. “Are you turned on?” Stephen asked. For the first time, Andrew realised that while he’d been paying attention to more important and erotic chocolate matters, Stephen’s chair had migrated around the corner of the table, so he sat close to Andrew’s side.

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“No,” he said, for form’s sake. Stephen grinned. “Are you telling me the truth?” he whispered in his ear. Andrew laughed. “No.” “Good, I’d hate to be the only one trying to hide a tent behind my coat on the way out of here.” “All your forward planning didn’t foresee this problem?” “We could have gone straight to my place, but I don’t think you’d have found my culinary skills quite as appropriate.” “Beans on toast?” Andrew asked. “Not quite that bad. I sometimes manage cheese on toast too. Or there is the really adventurous option—scrambled eggs on toast.” When the waiter arrived and presented them with the bill, Andrew automatically reached for his wallet. Stephen did the same. “Do you want to pay?” Andrew’s eyes narrowed. Yes. He always paid his way. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the answer he had to give, he forced himself to put his wallet back in his pocket. “No.” “You can catch the next one,” Stephen said, putting his money on the table. Andrew raised an eyebrow at the other man. “I don’t make a habit of screwing the same guys over and over again. I usually find once is enough. What makes you so sure there will be a next one?” Stephen smiled. “Do you doubt it?” “Over confident, aren’t we?” Andrew asked as he rose from the table, and held his jacket discreetly in front of his body. He shifted his stance trying to adjust his erection in the suddenly tight confines of his trousers without being too obvious about it. Stephen, holding his own coat in exactly the same manner, looked from one garment to the other. “Am I?” Andrew rolled his eyes. “Did you actually sit around practising ways to phrase questions so you always get the answer you want?” Stephen nodded cheerful. “Yes.” He savoured the word before he continued. “It was so worth the effort.”

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Back in the low slung sports car, trying to find a comfortable way to arrange his legs that didn’t cause his trousers to strangle his erection, Andrew didn’t miss Stephen checking out the tent in his trousers. “I told you I liked your car, didn’t I?” Andrew asked. Stephen’s lips twitched into a smile, but he made no comment on just what Andrew seemed to like so much. The space inside the car felt smaller on the trip back into the city. Stephen’s presence in it seemed far more overpowering. Andrew felt the would-be dominant’s energy pound through the compartment the moment he closed the door behind him, but if he’d expected Stephen to crack and make a move in the car park like a teenage boy in heat, he was to be disappointed. The younger man’s self-control was apparently limitless and they were soon racing back through the countryside towards the city. Andrew glanced across at him, wondering what Stephen would do if he gave in to the temptation to reach over and stroke him through his trousers. As enticing as the idea was, Andrew resisted giving in to it. He doubted the reaction of whoever they rear ended while the driver was distracted would be as pretty as Stephen’s shock at the impromptu teasing. Still, imagining just what he could do as Stephen drove passed the time very pleasantly. His long frame didn’t leave a lot of room between his crotch and the steering wheel, but there would be room enough to lean over and nuzzle his erection through the black material. There would be just enough room to push the material aside and see if the impressive line his erection made against the fabric was false advertising or not. He looked to be well hung. Of course, if Stephen asked, Andrew would have said no, he wasn’t. But, if he wasn’t playing some stupid game that made it necessary for him to lie about damn near everything, Andrew would quite happily admit that he was a complete size queen. What you did with it might be more important, but in his extensive experience, it helped if you had a lot to work with. “What are you thinking?” Stephen asked as they hit the shoppers’ traffic on the road back into the city and slowed to a walking pace. Andrew turned and smiled sweetly at him. “I’m wondering how big your cock is.”

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The younger man swallowed rapidly and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road and the crawling traffic. Andrew waited for the reply, but none was forthcoming. Score one for the overly indulgent. “If you want the game to go all your own way, stick to yes or no questions, darling,” he advised. Stephen smiled slightly and nodded, just once in acknowledgement of a point well scored. Revelling in having his tormentor thrown off his stride, Andrew wasn’t going to give him time to recover. “Would you like to know what else I was thinking?” It would probably be a long drive back to wherever Stephen lived. Andrew saw no reason why he should be the only excessively frustrated one, and it would do the younger man good to be reminded his companion wasn’t feeling the least bit submissive that day. “Go ahead,” Stephen allowed. His voice was very controlled. It also sounded artificially deep—a sure sign that Stephen was still young enough to remember the embarrassment of his voice suddenly returning to soprano in a stressful situation. Andrew let his own voice drop until it was barely audible over the purr of the engine. “I was wondering if you would lose control of the car if I sucked you off as you drove.” “Yes, I would. It’s a good thing you’re learning self-control today or we would both be in a lot of trouble.” “You have no sense of adventure.” “Perhaps not, but I do have a very good imagination. So I have no interest in having your teeth anywhere near my cock when I might have to brake suddenly.” Stephen shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the thought. “What about my hand?” Andrew suggested. “That couldn’t do much damage. I’ve even got short nails. Look.” He put his hand over Stephen’s on the wheel and stroked his way up the younger man’s arm. “We’re in a traffic jam,” Stephen pointed out. “With cars all around us.” “So?” “So, I doubt they are as interested in seeing my cock as you are.” “Pity,” Andrew whispered. They were barely rolling forward in the queue of cars now. Mindful that there might actually be people watching and that they shouldn’t see

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anything that would upset them, Andrew slid his hand up Stephen’s thigh and stroked him through the material. “Very nice,” he whispered. He didn’t need a measuring tape to know Stephen would be impressive when released from the confines of his clothes. If his self-control extended into his sex life, it was looking be a very good night indeed. Surely even Stephen would break down his mighty restraint long enough for them to have some fun together once they got back to his place. If not, Andrew decided, he should hang up his condoms and retire. If he couldn’t tempt a healthy nineteen-year old into a good time—even after said guy had admitted he wanted to screw him—Andrew decided he didn’t deserve to get laid. His fingers stroked around the bulge in Stephen’s trousers again and again purposely giving the impression he could happily continue the action until they reached their destination. When the car started moving properly again, Stephen cracked enough to say, in a slightly strained voice, “Do you intend to keep doing that?” Andrew smiled. “No.” His answer didn’t actually make any difference to what he was doing though. The younger man didn’t seem to know what to do about that. As they reached full speed, he finally took pity on him. He retrieved his hand and let Stephen concentrate on his driving. As subtle as the younger man obviously tried to be, Andrew didn’t miss the long rise and fall of Stephen’s chest when he took a slow, steadying breath and let it out as a silent sigh. Perhaps Stephen’s long term planning wasn’t just a single edged sword. He’d obviously put a great deal of thought into the plans for the day. That had to mean he’d spent a lot of time thinking about Andrew and thinking about having sex with him. No doubt the would-be dominant would be testing his own self-control on the issue as well as Andrew’s. Stephen wanted exactly the same things as he did. Andrew would bet far more than a truth or dare on it. It shouldn’t be that difficult to convince a man to grant himself exactly what he wanted. Stephen wanted them to have sex. Andrew was confident that even if he didn’t get things exactly how he wanted them, then he should at least be able to get some action out of the other man.

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As they pulled up outside a smart terraced house near the outskirts of the city, Andrew watched Stephen take another one of those long steadying breaths that swelled his chest so every line of muscle was visible through his thin cotton shirt. That shirt would have to go. So would the trousers. Every stitch on Stephen’s back, and on every other part of him, would have to go. His own clothes would have to go too. Andrew predicted that would happen within five minutes of closing the front door.

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Chapter Two

Something went wrong. Somehow, Stephen managed to regain every ounce of his selfcontrol on the short walk up the steps to the front door. Andrew didn’t know if it was the chill in the spring air or the home court advantage. Whatever it was, when the younger man stepped back and allowed Andrew to precede him through the door like a good date, he knew Stephen was back on plan. Interestingly enough, it seemed like he only faltered when presented with a situation he couldn’t have foreseen during his planning. Andrew immediately decided he would have to make sure there were as many of those situations as possible. He smiled to himself. The possibility of an evening spent shocking the hell of out Stephen held a rather evil appeal, especially since it was just possible that he would prove delightfully easy to shock. For all his game plan, Andrew was starting to wonder if the younger man would prove to be even less experienced than he’d first assumed. If Stephen had practised a fraction of the restraint he was so quick to praise, he obviously wasn’t old enough to have had the time to accumulate too much experience. A natural inclination towards dominance was good, but it was no guarantee against a man who was very selective in his submission and who’d been screwing his way around the kinky scene for the best part of a decade. Stephen closed the front door behind him. “Do you want permission to wear clothes in my house, Andrew?” Andrew smiled. Ordered to strip in less than five seconds, forget five minutes. Condom retirement could wait a few decades yet. Shyness wasn’t one of his faults, but it wouldn’t do to let the would-be dominant get ideas above his station. ”No,” he said for form’s sake. Stephen obviously thought that decided the matter. He frowned when Andrew made no move to undress.

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“I don’t belong to you. I haven’t offered you my submission. I don’t need your permission to wear clothes in your house, Stephen.” He met the younger man’s eyes and held his gaze for several seconds. Stephen didn’t look down, but he nodded his acceptance of the point. “As long as we both understand that,” Andrew said. “Nudity isn’t an unreasonable request.” He didn’t bother to wait for further instruction. If nothing else, stripping down would get his erection out of the uncomfortable confines of his trousers. Standing in the small hallway, he draped his coat over the banister at the bottom of the stairs and turned to his shirt. Stephen leaned a shoulder against the wall in the narrow space and watched every move. He hadn’t asked for a show, so Andrew kept it simple in spite of his instinctive desire to impress his audience. Sliding each button slowly through the corresponding holes, he gradually revealed his skin. A guy should always keep himself well presented and wear nice underwear. He might get knocked down by a bus. The paramedics might be cute. Andrew dropped his shirt over the banister. Boring workouts weren’t his thing, but between basketball, football and a very active sex life, his hobbies gave him a good build. His shoulders were broad and his chest and abs were equally well developed. Andrew gave Stephen a few moments to look and reached for his shoes. Men standing with their trousers around their ankles while they tried to take their shoes off never appeared their best. Shoes and socks dispensed with first, Andrew undid his belt and took his trousers and his boxer-briefs off in one easy motion. Kicking them aside, he stood entirely naked in Stephen’s hallway. Erect and curving back to his stomach, his cock gloried in the freedom from clothing. Stephen stayed where he was and just watched. Andrew watched Stephen study his body and saw the desire burning in his eyes. He waited with more patience than he would grant any other man, for Stephen to do something about that lust. Finally, the younger man stepped forward. Andrew had been given plenty of time to predict a lot of different responses, but he didn’t expect the gentle touch of Stephen’s knuckles tracing the line of his jaw.

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“I won’t tell you that you’re amazing. You already know you are.” Andrew frowned. What the hell had he done to deserve that? Stephen shook his head. “I’m not calling you vain. But you’d have to be blind, deaf and stupid not to know anyone who looks at you thinks you’re a walking, talking, Greek god. You know you’re beautiful, because you are. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He traced his finger tips down the outside line of Andrew’s arm. Then he turned his attention to his hair, catching a few of the blond strands between his fingers and twisting them as if testing the texture. There was nothing particularly erotic about the touch. He looked more like a farmer at a market inspecting a new head of cattle than a man looking at someone he wanted to screw. “I really can’t work you out,” Andrew complained. Stephen shook his head. “I’m simple. You are the complicated one.” “Right, because I’m the one playing silly games?” Andrew asked, thoroughly pissed off by the realisation that those games weren’t over now it was time to have sex. “No. You are the one who wanted to make today about some stupid bet. You are the one who keeps putting off the part of the night where someone screws someone else.” “You really think you’re so simple and straight forward?” Stephen asked. Andrew didn’t bother to give a yes or a no. “I’m very straight forward,” he said instead. “I want to have sex with you. See, that’s my whole intent summed up in seven very simple words.” Stephen shook his head. Andrew held back a sigh. “If the vocabulary’s confusing you, I do a great range in hand gestures. Or I could just start and you can join in when you catch up, if you’d prefer that.” Stephen’s smile still didn’t fade a jot. “What are you trying to work out about me?” Andrew gave up holding back the sigh and resorted to the truth. “I don’t know if you loathe me and want to punish me, or if you fancy me and want to screw me, or if you’re just getting off on playing with my mind and making me jump through hoops.” “Do you want an honest answer?”

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Andrew studied his eyes. What he wanted and what he could ask for weren’t the same thing and Stephen bloody well knew it. “No,” Andrew said. ”Please lie to me, that’s always a great turn on.” Stephen ignored everything that came after the no. He nodded to the door behind him and followed Andrew into a bright, airy living room at the front of the house. He turned around as soon as the door was closed and studied Andrew very carefully, not his body though, just his eyes. He wouldn’t let him look away when he tried to break the eye contact off to the side. “You’re wasting your twelve hours,” Andrew reminded him. “Am I?” “No. But my saying a word doesn’t change the facts.” Stephen continued to stare into Andrew’s eyes until the older man began to worry about what he might see there. Suddenly he understood why so many of the other submissives he knew found it hard to maintain eye contact with their dominants. Except that Stephen wasn’t his dominant. At this point in his life, he couldn’t be little more than a guy who might be a dominant when he grew up. “I assume you have thought about what happens past this point?” Andrew asked. Inexperienced was one thing, but if he’d actually played the game this well with genuine virgin status, Andrew was pretty bloody impressed with his ability to act like he knew what he was doing if nothing else. Stephen smiled. “Yes, I have. More times than you can probably imagine. You have amazing eyes.” Andrew blinked at him. No, he didn’t. He had a good build, a classic profile and nice hair. His eyes were, if anything, his worst feature. Small, brown and very average, they really did little more than fill up the appropriate space on his face. Stephen leaned forward and brushed his lips over Andrew’s eyes, left first, then right. Andrew automatically closed his eyes. When he opened them he looked suspiciously up at the taller man. Maybe he was inexperienced in normal sex because his fetishes were completely off the wall. “Kinky, I can live with. Kinky is good. But I’m a few seconds away from believing you’re just plain weird.”

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Apparently not the least bit offended, Stephen smiled and repeated the process. Andrew closed his eyes. At the same time, he realised hadn’t actually met anyone with an eyelid fetish before. He was half tempted to believe the night might turn out to be educational after all. Even if the idea that Stephen could teach an acknowledged slut like him new tricks did put him slightly off balance. Slowly, Stephen seemed to remember the rest of him existed then. While he stood naked in the middle of the room, the younger man circled him, stroking his body and occasionally tasting his skin with delicate kisses that heightened his senses without giving them anything to really sink their teeth into. Every touch was brief. He could never guess where or when the next one would come. The inside of his wrist. The back of his neck. The curve of his back. Each part of him was inspected and caressed, but they weren’t real touches. They were barely teases. All they did was made him crave more. They never came close to actually sating his desire. Andrew began to shift impatiently. “Do you want to move?” Stephen asked. “No.” But just because he said it, that didn’t mean he had to live it. Andrew stepped forward, ready to show Stephen just how much fun an active partner could make things. Stephen’s hand immediately snapped around his wrist and held him where he was. “Would you like me to repeat the question?” Andrew looked into his eyes. Stephen was enjoying himself. “No.” “Good. We have hours yet.” His eyes glittered with pleasure at the thought. He was getting off on being in control of the game. An active partner probably couldn’t compete with that for a would-be dominant. Andrew looked down in frustration. “And there’s no rush, is there?” Stephen pushed. “No.” Stephen stepped behind him and encouraged Andrew to lean back against his chest. Feeling Stephen’s clothes against his skin, Andrew frowned, wondering why the hell was he still the only one naked after all this time. “Aren’t you going to take anything off?”

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“Do you want me to?” Stephen let Andrew turn in his arms. He made it very clear he was letting him. Holding him in place for a moment as he began to turn, he made it perfectly plain that he could keep him exactly where he chose. Then, as if humouring him, he allowed the movement. Novice dominant, Andrew thought to himself, it would probably be his pride that led to his downfall. “Something you’re ashamed of?” he asked. Stephen stroked Andrew’s check. He didn’t seem the least insulted or inclined to prove his vital statistic. Before Andrew could decide which button to push next, his back hit the wall and Stephen’s lips covered his. Finally! Trapped between the wall and Stephen’s body, he used the leverage of the one to press against the other. He gloried in finally being able to feel Stephen’s body under his hands and to explore it, even through the other man’s clothing. Andrew moaned his enjoyment and tried to squeeze a hand between them to undo the buttons on Stephen’s shirt. Just as suddenly as the kiss started, the lips moulding against his disappeared, the tongue sparring marvellously against his vanished. Grasping uselessly thin air, Andrew tried to catch hold of the younger man as he stepped away. He was too slow. Stephen left him gasping against the wall. The novice dominant recovered quickly. No. Andrew studied him for a few long seconds and decided it would have been far more accurate to say the other man slipped into an act quickly. Stephen’s breathing was just as ragged as his own. No doubt his pulse raced just as fast as his too, but hidden behind his clothes and following a plan, he looked like he was in control. Even as an act, it was impressive. Andrew slumped against the wall, in no fit state to act in any other way than his nature dictated. “Is that what you want?” Stepping forward again, Stephen put his hands against the wall on either side of Andrew’s shoulders. Andrew licked his lips.

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“Is it?” the younger man demanded, his lips hovering a touch above his. Andrew leaned in, eager for another kiss, but Stephen pulled back out of his range. “Answer the question, Andrew. You can have whatever you want. Just say the word.” “No.” Stephen stepped away again. Andrew closed his eyes. He’d had his share of control freaks, experienced dominants and downright sadists over the years. Stephen’s actions refused to fit neatly into any definition. A dominant—even an inexperienced one—got off on making you tell them how much you wanted something. They liked to hear their submissive beg for it. The last thing they enjoyed was hearing their submissive refuse them over and over again. Pushing a hand through his hair, Andrew tried to snap himself back into the bet. Trying to make sense of Stephen’s actions by comparing him to a dominant was stupid. He wasn’t acting like a dominant, because he wasn’t one. He was a guy playing a game, nothing more. “Come here.” Taking a deep breath and forcing his eyes open, Andrew saw Stephen had already retreated across the room and settled himself comfortably on the leather sofa by the window. Andrew walked across to him. A glance at the floor saw a cushion had been placed in a convenient position between Stephen’s outstretched legs. Andrew knew he would end up kneeling at Stephen’s feet sooner or later. He could put up a protest and answer half a dozen of Stephen’s cleverly worded questions, or he could just accept the fact and get on with it. He dropped to his knees at Stephen’s feet and lifted an eyebrow in enquiry. What was Stephen’s pleasure now? If the younger man thought putting him on his knees would make him feel small or weak or convince Andrew that he was in any way submitting to him, he was in for a shock. Knowing full well he did a lot of his best work on his knees, the position only made the older man more relaxed. If he’d offered his submission to Stephen perhaps it might have been different. If he’d opened up that part of his mind to the idea he belonged to the other man, then his place kneeling at Stephen’s feet might have reinforced that decision.

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As it was, Stephen was just another vanilla guy and on his knees and with his lips wrapped around a vanilla cock, Andrew was never in any doubt about who was in control of that situation. Comfortable in the knowledge that he could make any man of his acquaintance scream, beg or actually pass out if he was in the mood to play with his best technique, Andrew was pretty sure Stephen was destined for a long time stalled on option B if he wasn’t careful. Whether it was now or after midnight, Andrew was growing more and more determined to have Stephen jump through a few hoops of his own. They would see how he liked being the one working to another man’s script. “Something you said earlier was right,” Stephen told him as he stroked his cheek. “There are a lot of very interesting things I could do with you.” He sat above him, and just watched him for a while, as if he was playing out the possibilities inside his head—as if their positions didn’t indicated he had already made his choice. “Do you want to come?” he asked suddenly. Daft question, between the restaurant and the house, Stephen had been teasing him for hours. “No,” Andrew muttered, just for form’s sake. “Do you have any objection to helping me out then?” Andrew smiled slightly. “No,” and he made sure Stephen knew that was an honest rather than a sarcastic answer. He had no objection to going down on Stephen. Anything was okay with him as long as it got the night started! “I want your mouth.” It was a statement, not a question. He was under no obligation to say no to it. Andrew nodded and placed his hand on Stephen’s knee. Stopping him and leaning forward to taste his lips just one more time, Stephen lingered there, as if he was in no real rush to feel those same lips wrapped around his cock. When he broke the kiss, he leaned back comfortably and nodded his permission for Andrew to start. Raising his eyebrow at the idea Stephen hadn’t grasped just how little he cared if he had his permission or not, Andrew didn’t bother to get into an argument about it right then.

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Deftly freeing Stephen’s erection from the confines of his trousers and his underwear with one hand, Andrew decided it was time to show the novice just how good a blow job could be. Stephen was just as well endowed as Andrew had guessed—more than large enough to give someone with limited experience some concern and a sore jaw. Sometimes having a history as something of a slut was wonderfully useful. Leaning forward, Andrew deep throated Stephen in one swift motion, swallowing him down until his lips touched the base of his cock and the head slipped into his throat. The less experienced man yelped a curse and caught hold of Andrew’s shoulder as he shuddered in his seat. Andrew wasn’t in a position to smile, but when he glanced up at Stephen he knew the younger man saw how much he’d enjoyed receiving that reaction. One of the wonderful things about having his mouth full—it didn’t matter what Stephen asked him, he couldn’t answer either way. Andrew wasn’t about to waste such a wonderful opportunity. Thrown off balance by the sudden move, the would-be dominant just gawped down at him in complete amazement as Andrew set about showing him what a lot of experience on his knees could do for a man’s technique. As easily as taking the other man into his mouth, Andrew knew he was back where he belonged—in complete and perfect control of the game. He murmured contently around Stephen’s shaft as he began to bob his head into his lap. Alternating between swift movements as his tongue flickered over the very tip of Stephen’s cock and deep strokes as he took the whole length between his lips, Andrew kept his eyes fixed on Stephen’s expression. The younger man was gloriously easy to read now. There was no mask for him to hide behind. He was off script, up the stream without a paddle and a million other metaphors that Andrew would bet his arse Stephen no longer had the available brain power to recall. Lust, pleasure and more than a little bit of awe shone clearly in his eyes. He didn’t ask any carefully worded questions. He bit down on his bottom lip and kept his comments on Andrew’s actions restricted to enthralled whimpers. Several minutes after Andrew first wrapped his lips around his cock, Stephen finally gathered the coordination and let go of his grip on his shoulder. He stroked Andrew’s cheek

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very gently with his finger tips, tracing the high cheek bone just above where his cheek hollowed as he created the perfect vacuum for Stephen’s enjoyment. “God, you are so beautiful,” he whispered. Andrew was half sure the other man didn’t realise he’d said the words out loud. Right then, he didn’t care if liking it made him vain in Stephen’s eyes. Andrew liked hearing those words, especially when they were whispered in that tone of voice. The praise appealed to the submissive inside him and sent a shiver down his spine that went straight to his cock. His master was pleased with him. Andrew pushed the idea away the instant it formed inside his mind. He was playing a game. He wasn’t submitting. Stephen wasn’t his master. Hell, the jury was still out on if he was willing to label the guy a dominant, let alone anything else. He shoved the word master to the back of his mind and reminded himself that he was in control. They had all night and cradling Stephen’s cock in his mouth was making Andrew increasingly desperate to come sooner rather than later. He dropped one hand from where it rested on Stephen’s thigh and wrapped it firmly around his own erection. Rapidly stroking the satiny skin, he took himself quickly to the edge, reminding himself with every rough caress that this was about sex and game play, not submission. There would be plenty of time for another round with more active participation from Stephen later, right then he just needed to come in the quickest most convenient way available. Clearing some of the arousal and frustration from his brain would make everything better. Coming would let him remember who was who, and what was what, and exactly why he wasn’t prepared to submit to Stephen or any other novice dominant. Andrew kept his head bobbing as his hand took up a matching rhythm, twisting on the upstroke to cover the head and smear his leaking pre-cum down the shaft to slick his hand. “Do you want to touch yourself, Andrew?” There was a gasp in the middle of the sentence, but the words were clear and the sentence perfectly well formed. Andrew’s hand stilled, more in shock at the correct grammar rather than the question. He pulled together a few of his own wayward brain cells and translated the question into an

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order. He didn’t bother to break oral contact to give his answer, he just put his hand back on Stephen’s leg to show that he had stopped. If Stephen wanted to play in turns rather than together, Andrew could accept that. He didn’t like it right then, but he was sure it would be made worth his while in due course. That wasn’t submissive. He was making a conscious decision to agree with the other man’s suggestion. He was playing the game. He felt a lot better about it once he put it that way. Nevertheless, if such complicated higher brain functions were still ongoing inside Stephen’s head, he would have to work harder. Stephen gasped and his head jerked back against the back of the chair as Andrew sucked hard around his shaft and flicked his tongue in a complicated pattern across the head. The younger man bit his lip to stop from crying out. That was more like it. Trying to ignore his own painfully hard shaft, Andrew gave Stephen his complete attention, taking him to the edge of his orgasm and pushing him right to the brink. It would be so easy to make him come right then. It would have felt so good to give the other man that pleasure. However, Stephen had gone out of his way to make it very clear that he wasn’t in a rush for anything. As much as something inside him wanted to please the other man, Andrew knew it was time to test that self-control the younger man was so proud of. Andrew let Stephen’s length slide completely out of his mouth for the first time since his lips had touched his cock. For a moment, Stephen didn’t react at all. Then, as Andrew wiped the corners of his lips with his fingertips and sat back on his heels, Stephen blinked his eyes open. He made an obvious effort to try to focus in on Andrew’s face. Apparently he didn’t find that particular task very easy right then. While he waited, Andrew ran through the other man’s options in his head. Stephen could gather the brain cells and word a complicated question that would put Andrew’s head back in his lap. But he’d have to be aware that particular course of action meant admitting a certain amount of defeat at this point. Or he could let the blow job end there. That would involve a lot of frustration on Stephen’s part, although Andrew was pretty bloody certain it wouldn’t leave the would-be dominant quite as frustrated as he felt—simply because no one could possibly feel as

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frustrated as he felt right then. Andrew doubted Stephen had enough control to call a complete halt that way. That left option three, Andrew’s personal favourite. Stephen could give up on the idea of driving either of them insane with frustration and just let them get on with actually having sex. That would be a very good solution to Stephen’s current dilemma. Andrew was quite happy to believe it would demonstrate nothing more than the fact Stephen was a very nice, very sane man. Licking his lips, Andrew watched Stephen stare at his mouth, following the movements of his tongue. Stephen swallowed jerkily. “You want to stop?” In that moment, it didn’t sound like part of the game. Voice rough and deep with desire, it sounded like an honest question. Confusion mixed with the lust in his voice as he continued to try and focus in on Andrew. Matching honesty for honesty, Andrew shook his head. “No.” Stephen shook his head too, apparently still trying to clear the fuzz. “Why did you stop?” he rephrased. Andrew knew an out when he was offered one. Stephen was honestly asking if he wanted to stop, and Andrew could see that he actually meant it. He wouldn’t take an out he didn’t need, but nudging some of the sanctimonious spirit out of his date was another matter. “Isn’t it more fun if we let the anticipation build?” he asked, with all the innocence he could muster. Stephen looked back down at him and granted a nod of approval at a shot well made. “Any more anticipation and I think I might explode.” “Promises, promises,” Andrew murmured. Stephen dropped his head back and groaned. “I knew ribbing you about self-control would come back and bite me on the arse sooner or later.” Andrew smiled. “We can do that too if you like. You’ll have to take your trousers off first though. Cloth’s a bugger to bite through. You won’t get any proper teeth marks to show for it if you leave them on.”

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Stephen blinked. “Don’t talk about teeth when you’re in the middle of sucking a guy off. Very bad karma.” “What would you prefer me to talk about?” Andrew asked. “Talking isn’t essential,” Stephen said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love your voice, but it can’t really compete with the other things your mouth can do right now.” He touched his finger tips to Andrew’s lips, tracing their outline. They were red now, and swollen from Andrew’s efforts, the gentle fingertip touches sent a wave of pleasure through him. It wasn’t a prompt to return to what he’d been doing though. It felt more like the fascination of a moth that couldn’t resist examining the flame more closely. Andrew flicked out his tongue and tasted the fingers, just for the joy of watching Stephen’s eyes drop closed in self-defence. Andrew smiled against his fingers. Anticipation was a wonderful thing when you really knew how to build with it. He took two of Stephen’s fingers into his mouth. Murmuring again, he let the would-be dominant’s fingers feel the benefit of expert fellatio, inviting Stephen to remember how great it had felt when it was his shaft in Andrew’s mouth. Taking his time, the older man let his eyes drop closed too. Concentrating on nothing but the feeling of Stephen’s fingers in his mouth, he ran his tongue over them again and again. He still tasted ever so faintly of the dessert. Sweet and slightly salty, he tasted perfectly more-ish. For all his annoying kinks towards building the anticipation to a level where any sane man would lose his mind, Andrew had to congratulate Stephen on his good manners. He shifted in his seat with frustration, but he never once tried to bring Andrew’s mouth back to where he wanted it most. His grip on the sofa arm turned white knuckled, but he kept quiet. He let Andrew do as he pleased until it pleased him to return to his erection. Eventually, Andrew took pity on him and did just that. The moment his hand was freed, Stephen put it on the back of Andrew’s head, but to the older man’s surprise he still retained enough control to pet his hair without applying any pressure. Nuzzling and licking Stephen’s erection, Andrew made him wait just a few minutes longer, until the younger man was steadily leaking pre-cum and biting his lip so hard he was

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almost drawing blood. He wanted Stephen right on the edge when he took him back into his mouth. He wanted Stephen to be almost as desperate as he felt himself. Taking him into the tight cocoon of his mouth one last time, Andrew decided there had been more than enough of playing games. Stephen had been a good sport about the teasing. He deserved a break. Swirling his tongue more rapidly as he bobbed his head, Andrew easily brought Stephen off into his mouth and swallowed him down without any hesitation. As he softened, Andrew let him rest in his mouth for a little while. Gentling his ministrations, he eventually pulled back and let Stephen slip from his mouth. The would-be dominant looked perfectly stunning with his eyes heavy lidded with satisfaction and his lips still parted as he sought extra oxygen. Andrew, somewhat out of breath himself, waited for Stephen to recover a little. That wasn’t submissive, he reassured himself. He was merely demonstrating that he had selfcontrol. He had patience. He was very patiently waiting for Stephen to pull himself back together and get the game going again. Eventually, just around the time when Andrew was beginning to remember why he found self-restraint so boring, Stephen leaned forward and kissed him. With complete confidence that access wouldn’t be denied to him, Stephen slid his tongue into Andrew’s mouth, parting his lips and murmuring his pleasure at tasting himself there. Andrew let his lips ease apart in welcome. He even let Stephen keep control of the sleepy, easy kiss. Smiling down at him as he leaned back, Stephen stroked Andrew’s lips with his thumb. “Amazing,” he whispered. Compliments were nice. Andrew really liked compliments. Right there and then an orgasm would still have been much better received. “Do you want me to return the favour?” Andrew’s eyes snapped up and met Stephen’s. The sleepy tone of voice had faded away. Stephen had his game face back on. How the hell did he manage to have a recovery time that quick? What happened to the haze of afterglow? What the hell happened to good head putting a man in a good mood?

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Logic suggested that Stephen should be feeling very pleased with the world and very generous, but Andrew saw none of that in his eyes right then. Biting his tongue, Andrew reminded himself that this was all part of the game. He knew better than to forget that. Just as surely, he knew he hadn’t been trying to set up an exchange of mouths. That wasn’t how he operated. Offering sex with strings or expectations was far too close to whoring for his tastes. He’d have brushed away unenthusiastic reciprocation as quickly as it was offered. But yes, if the other guy was willing, he wanted Stephen to go down on him. That was just the honest truth. He wasn’t allowed the truth right then. “No,” he whispered. “That is a pity,” Stephen said, leaning forward and lacing his voice with regret. “I would have enjoyed going down on you.” Andrew glanced up at the larger man as Stephen’s fingers wound into his hair. “I may not have quite your talent,” the would-be dominant conceded. “But I do know a few tricks myself.” His fingers stroked down Andrew’s throat and along his wind pipe obviously enjoying the memory of being lodged so deeply inside him so recently. “I was looking forward to tasting you,” Stephen whispered. “Stroking you with my tongue. Lapping at your cock and sucking up those first few beads of pre-cum when you began to leak for me. That was my plan, Andrew. I was going to let you come up here and sit above me while I knelt and did everything I could think of to thank you for that amazing blow job.” Stephen’s fingers trailed back up to Andrew’s face and traced the outline of his features. As he stroked over his eyes again and again, Andrew gave up opening them between touches. Once he couldn’t see how things really were, he had no choice but to imagine the scenario Stephen described to him. “I bet you taste so wonderful, darling,” Stephen whispered. “You’d feel so good inside my mouth, stretching my lips and sliding against my tongue. I want that so much. I want to feel you inside me, Andrew. I want to hear you tell me exactly what to do, exactly how you want me to worship at your feet. I want to feel you fill my mouth as you thrust into me.”

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Andrew swallowed rapidly as he tried not to picture it all happening just as Stephen portrayed it but unable to stop the images filling his mind and making him dizzy with desire. “I want your hand on the back on my head, tangling in my hair and holding me still so you can take my mouth exactly as you want. I want you so far inside me I can’t breathe, until I can’t ask you any more stupid questions. You’ll be the one with all the words, Andrew. You can tell me exactly what you think of all these games I’ve been playing with you today and I won’t be able to say a word in my defence. You won’t have to listen to any of that if you let me suck your amazing cock, Andrew.” Andrew shook his head, doing his damnedest not to listen. “I want that so much, Andrew. I want to taste you as you spill into my mouth and slip down my throat. I want to swallow you down so I feel like you are part of me. I want you to wipe away the memory of every man I’ve ever gone down on, so I’ll never remember anyone else inside me but you. “I want you so much, darling. Let me, Andrew. Please, let me suck your cock. Tell me that’s what you want. Am I allowed the privilege of sucking your cock, Andrew? Please?” Andrew blinked his eyes open and tried to meet Stephen’s eyes. “I…” Stephen looked down at him, big blue eyes all earnest and pleading. Andrew licked his lips and tried to make words happen. The only word in his head was yes. He couldn’t remember any others. He didn’t want to say no. He ached to feel Stephen’s lips against his shaft. And if Stephen wanted it too, why not? It was a stupid bet. If he lost he would pay the dare. He’d probably enjoy paying it. Really, what could Stephen possibly come up with that was so bad it could make Andrew regret coming in Stephen’s mouth right then? He closed his eyes. As he forced his eyes open again and saw Stephen watching him, he saw his own naked want reflected in the other man’s eyes. If he said yes, he knew that emotion would turn to triumph. Andrew looked down. There was a far worse possibility. Maybe Stephen wouldn’t look smug. Maybe he would just look disappointed. Maybe Stephen would write him off as

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what he’d thought Andrew was from the beginning—a slut who didn’t have the self-control to say no when he was offered a cheap thrill. Maybe the guy was right and that’s all he really was. Even if that was the case, Andrew could let Stephen to see it right then. Suddenly, what he wanted more than anything was for the other man to think he was better than that. Andrew glanced up at him and then quickly down again. Stephen wasn’t a good enough actor to fake the sincerity in everything he just said. Stephen wanted to give what he’d offered. If he said no, Andrew knew he’d be refusing them both what they really wanted. Stephen might be disappointed that he said no too. Thoughts swirled around inside his head and it became impossible for Andrew to work out what would best please his master. He forced himself to look up and meet Stephen’s eyes. The deep blue expression was unreadable. Andrew wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say, until the single word passed his lips to hang in the air between them.

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Chapter Three

“No.” He couldn’t make it more than a trembling whisper. Stephen smiled a fraction, but it didn’t look like triumph. It almost looked like he was proud of Andrew. Andrew shook his head. There obviously wasn’t enough blood going to his brain. He was going crazy with frustration. Nevertheless, as Stephen turned his face back up for a kiss, he didn’t seem to be gloating over Andrew’s inability to get what he wanted. It felt gentle and honest and exactly like the praise a good master would offer a submissive who pleased him. That wasn’t crazy—that was just stupid. Even if Stephen did have more dominance in him than Andrew was willing to admit, he wasn’t his master. Andrew repeated the fact over and over in his head several times. Then he opened his eyes. “You really are a sadistic—” Stephen kissed him again, making sure the insult was thoroughly silenced before he took his lips away. “That’s not a nice thing to call the man who still has several hours on the clock and a great many plans for you.” Andrew raised an eyebrow, doing his damnedest to get back into the game properly. “Good plans or frustrating plans?” “For me or for you?” Stephen teased with a smile. “I have no doubt I will enjoy myself. You might find them somewhat frustrating.” “Only somewhat?” Andrew asked sceptically. “There wouldn’t be much pleasure in victory if you didn’t have to fight for it, would there?” Stephen smiled down at him and stroked his hair back from his face. “You’re one of those people who actually enjoys walking up the stairs to the fourteenth floor when you could take the elevator, aren’t you?” Andrew asked, as Stephen stood up and helped him to his feet.

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“I’m what?” He frowned his confusion as he tugged Andrew forward until he stood close within the circle of his arms. Andrew went willingly with the movement. Stephen’s embrace settled casually around him, his hands linking comfortably together on the small of his back. “You like making your life hard work,” Andrew said. “Fair enough. It’s weird. But I can respect that. But in this instance YKIOIJNMK.” The mixture of clunky constants rolled off his tongue with the ease of long practise. “Pardon?” Stephen’s hands slid down to cup Andrew’s arse, pulling him closer, so his erection rubbed against the front of Stephen’s trousers. “Your Kink Is Okay, It’s Just Not My Kink,” Andrew expanded, rocking with the massaging hands as they worked his buttocks. “An easy life is very enjoyable. I like taking the elevator. I like getting laid without any trouble. These legitimate preferences are not character flaws.” “You look like you’re enjoying yourself right now.” Stephen leaned back and put some space between their bodies. He stroked one finger tip along the underside of Andrew’s cock, caught the beads of pre-cum gathering on the head, and licked them from his finger. Leaning close he whispered in Andrew’s ear. “I knew you would taste fantastic.” “Tease,” Andrew muttered. “It’s taken you all this time to work that out?” Stephen laughed as led him to the bottom of the stairs and followed him up, taking the opportunity to stroke his back, his legs and his arse as they went. Andrew didn’t rush away from the caresses. Even tormenting touches that didn’t deliver on their promises were better than nothing. In a crazily masochistic way, he even found himself relishing any touch from the other man. Prompting him to a door at the far end of the landing, Stephen followed Andrew into a bedroom. It had the comfortable lived in feel that a guest bedroom could never convey. It was Stephen’s own bedroom then. Andrew looked around. The room was directly above the living room and had the same general shape. It also had the same atmosphere. Nice and tidy, it wasn’t overly fussy or dressed to impress a guest. It was what it was, take it or leave it.

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Andrew was a past master at assessing a man’s bedroom. He’d seen enough of them over the years to know the signs to look for. The headboard looked like it would take restraints easily. The bed was made up with green sheets. They looked clean and fresh, but there wasn’t a hospital corner in sight. He wasn’t a neat freak, then. That was good. It always killed the mood if they guy was too busy freaking out about getting cum on the sheets to enjoy putting it there. The sheets weren’t red either, which was a plus as far as he was concerned. Rightly or wrongly, red sheets always made Andrew wonder if the guy was into blood play. There was no sign of anything leather, but there was the very faint scent of it in the air, and the box peeking out from under the bed was obviously a toy box of some sort. Stephen wrapped his arms around Andrew’s waist and kissed his neck, cutting short his analysis of the room. “You don’t mind if I leave a few marks, do you?” he whispered. “No. Just keep them temporary.” Stephen kissed his neck again, taking his time in selecting a suitable point to mark with a love bite. Andrew leant his head to the side, granting him better access as he murmured his appreciation. He always liked a few marks to remember a lover by. It was nice to look at his body in a mirror the next day and recall what process had produced them. He was also well aware that finding another man’s marks on his body tended to bring out the competitor in a dominant lover. Everyone always wanted to be the best. It was always fun to be the focus of that sort of competition. He wasn’t sporting any memories right then but, for once, Andrew found himself strangely glad of it. He couldn’t imagine Stephen being impressed and trying to outdo a rival. He would probably just chalk it up as more evidence of promiscuity and ignore it. A few minutes later, as Stephen stroked over the mark he’d made and examined his creation, Andrew wondered if he might have underestimated the man. For all his games and teasing, he really didn’t strike Andrew as the type to share. No, he wouldn’t be at all happy to find another man’s marks on his lover. He’d be possessive, the way all the best dominants were.

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Andrew turned around in Stephen’s arms. All this standing around while the younger man had the fun was making him silly. It was a casual one night stand with a side order of wager. Stephen didn’t care about him any more than he cared about Stephen, and he no more belonged to Stephen than Stephen belonged to him. They would have sex, have fun, someone would pay their forfeit. They would both part on good terms and that would be the end of it. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t give Stephen time to ask any well worded questions. He kissed him, moulding their lips together. Threading his fingers into Stephen’s hair, he pulled him down into the kiss to make their difference in heights irrelevant. Stumbling backwards, Andrew kept going until he felt the mattress against the back of his legs and they collapsed in a tangle of limbs onto Stephen’s bed. Supporting himself over Andrew’s prone body, Stephen broke the kiss and smiled down at him. His body had felt so good, so heavy and solid against Andrew and his still neglected erection. Andrew scrabbled at the other man, trying to gain purchase and pull him back down on top of him. The other man relented a bit. He didn’t allow another kiss, but he rested more of his weight against Andrew’s skin. Stephen was already hard again. Andrew grinned. Nineteen might not give the guy a huge amount of experience, but sometimes experience wasn’t the be all and end all. “Do you want to top?” Stephen asked. “No.” He was finally going to have sex. Andrew was past caring who got to do what. It appeared that he was finally going to see the rest of that body Stephen had been intent on keeping hidden. Slipping from his grip, Stephen climbed off the bed and began to strip his clothes off. Andrew leaned up on his elbows to see what could be seen. “You sunbathe nude?” Stephen blinked and only then seemed to realise he was under inspection. “Yeah,” he allowed with a nod. Andrew didn’t doubt it. The guy’s tan was superb and there wasn’t a single line of white skin to mar the perfection. “Turn around.” Stephen blinked his enquiry.

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“You made me wait, now let me look.” Andrew was quietly proud of the demand. No submission there! With an easy laugh, Stephen turned slowly around, holding his hands away from his body to let Andrew look all he wanted. He didn’t stop at one turn either. Andrew wasn’t going to object while he had such a wonderful sight to look on. After three turns where Andrew was free to take in every detail, Stephen stopped and crashed down onto the bed next to him. “I’ll get dizzy if I keep going ‘round.” “I was starting to think you were shy,” Andrew said. It took more strength of will than he would ever admit, to reach out and touch the other man without permission. Somehow he managed to do it. He ran his hand across Stephen’s chest, spreading his fingers out wide to touch as much of him as possible. “Anticipation,” Stephen reminded him. Andrew pushed his supporting elbow away so Stephen collapsed on his back. “I’m starting to hate that word.” Stephen just laughed. It was as if he was so comfortable in his dominance that nothing Andrew did could shake him out of that comfort zone. It felt like he didn’t need to act like a submissive around him. Stephen saw that side of him anyway. He knew how to call that side of him out to play better than any man Andrew had ever known. Andrew still fought against the instinct to just lie back and let Stephen call all the shots. He leaned over him and bowed his head to whisper his next words in his ear. “We’ve had enough anticipation, Stephen.” “Would you like us to stop wasting time?” Stephen asked. Andrew rolled away in disgust and flopped down on the sheet, limbs flung out across the mattress. “You’re trying to kill me,” he moaned. “Of course not. You’d be no use to me dead,” Stephen said. He snatched a brief kiss and nudged Andrew onto his side as he shifted behind him. That was promising. Another nudge had Andrew on his stomach, trying to find a comfortable place to settle his erection without resorting to finding a knife and cutting a round hole in the mattress. He shifted his legs apart a bit in invitation.

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Stephen either didn’t notice or he didn’t care. He nudged Andrew to move further up the bed and rest his head on the pillow, seemingly determined to have him exactly where he wanted him before he would allow him to have any fun at all. With all the good grace he could muster while clinging to his complete belief that he wasn’t giving the other man his submission, Andrew let Stephen arrange him. When he was satisfied with his placement on the bed, Andrew saw Stephen reach into the bedside draw. Andrew whispered his thanks up to heaven. A moment later, Andrew felt Stephen stroking something into his shoulders. “Unless you’re into a kink I’ve never heard of, the lubes not going to do much good up there.” “It’s massage oil. You’re too tense. You won’t enjoy yourself if you don’t relax.” “I’m relaxed,” Andrew grumbled. It was a bare faced lie. Every muscle was knotted with unfamiliar frustration. His mind might want to win the bet, but his poor body didn’t have a clue what was going on or why his mouth kept saying stupid things like no, while every fibre of his body screamed yes, please! The idea that Stephen had the potential to grow into one of the best dominants he’d ever come across wasn’t helping either. “You’re stiff as a board.” Andrew leaned up on his elbows and looked over his shoulder, annoyance cutting through everything else for a moment. “You think you’ll cure that by rubbing my shoulders?” “Your whole body, not just your cock.” Stephen nudged him until he lay back down with his head on the pillow. “Do you know what does wonders for stress relief?” Andrew asked. He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “Orgasms. You can’t beat them for removing excess tension from the body. Honestly. It’s a medically proven fact. It works every time.” “Really?” Stephen sounded fascinated by the prospect. “Do you think we should try that?” “I’m going to treat that as a rhetorical question,” Andrew grumbled against the pillow case. “And I’m going to treat that as a no,” Stephen said with a chuckle. Andrew gave in to the fact that he was going to have a massage.

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“You have wonderful hands,” he murmured a few minutes later. It wasn’t doing anything to help his stress levels, or his frustration levels, but it was a marvellous sensation. Big strong hands found every knot in his muscles and worked them out of his body. It should have felt like the other man was being submissive, as if Stephen was serving him for his own pleasure, but it didn’t. Stephen was quite calmly doing exactly what he wanted with him. Andrew did his damnedest to ignore that fact. Across his shoulders, along his back, down his arms, up his legs, Stephen didn’t miss a spot. When he started massaging his arse, letting his fingers work down between the cheeks to stroke across him more intimately, Andrew couldn’t help but push back against his touch, inviting more. Andrew closed his eyes and bit his lip as he tried to stay still, but he couldn’t stop himself from offering himself to his master. A few more minutes and any pretence of his touch being a massage rather than an exploration evaporated. Stephen’s fingers began to stroke against his hole with acknowledged intent. Disappearing only to come back coated in lube, he encouraged Andrew to part his legs and grant him access. Any doubts about Stephen’s hesitation to have sex earlier in the day being down to complete inexperience vanished. His fingers moved inside him with perfect confidence in what he was doing and complete ability to find his prostate in seconds. Andrew let out a mewing little whimper and pushed back against his fingers. Stephen ignored his prompts to hurry up and he hushed him when he tried to make it clearer verbally. “There’s no rush.” “So speaks the man who came five minutes ago,” Andrew muttered into his pillow. “Are you in a rush, Andrew?” “No.” He sighed and gripped the pillow tighter. “Good, because we’re going to take things nice and slow.” If nothing else, Stephen was true to his word. He went so slowly, Andrew began to wonder if they would still be there at midnight when the bet ran out. He tried to lay still but it was impossible. Whimpering, he began to move, pushing himself firmly back onto Stephen’s fingers. He gasped and whimpered as he gripped the mattress for leverage and began to work himself against Stephen’s hand.

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He knew he was acting like a slut now. He didn’t care. He couldn’t stop himself. Stephen’s fingers stilled but didn’t move away. It wasn’t what Andrew truly wanted. He wanted to feel Stephen’s cock buried inside him. Unable to demand more, he just took whatever he could get right then. Stephen’s fingers filling him as he pushed back and the friction of the sheet against his shaft as he rocked forward weren’t enough. Starved of anything else, Andrew gloried in those permitted sensations anyway. Stephen didn’t allow such independent motion for long. He took his fingers away for the moment it took to turn Andrew on his side so they spooned together on the bed. “Does that feel good, Andrew?” Stephen asked as he replaced his fingers and stroked across his prostate again and again. Andrew didn’t want to lie to his master. “Answer,” Stephen pushed. “No,” Andrew whispered. “I guess I’ll just have to try harder then,” Stephen said, “you know, I do want you to feel good, love.” Andrew had no idea what that would involve. From recent experience it would only mean something even more frustrating would take place. Then Stephen shifted behind him. Out of his line of sight, he heard a wrapper tear. A moment later, lube coated latex pressed against Andrew and he realised that trying harder would actually involve real sex. He was all in favour of that. “Pick a colour, Andrew.” “What?” “Pick a colour.” Andrew had enough of playing games. He was about to tell Stephen so in no uncertain terms. Just in time, just as his lips were framing the first curse word, he realised Stephen was checking in with him. Colour. Red. Safe word. Saying ‘Red’ would mean he was saying no for real. Stephen was letting him know it was okay to use his safe word if he really didn’t want this. Andrew closed his eyes against the sheer mastery evident in the question.

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“Green,” Andrew whispered. If Stephen understood red meant stop, he must know green was for go, mustn’t he? Apparently, the other man understood what he was trying to say, and he obviously didn’t need him to say it twice. Stephen slid into him in one perfect motion, stretching him and filling him, making him groan with pleasure. Stephen finally found a use for his oh-so annoying control which Andrew could approve of. The younger man stilled for several long moments, allowing Andrew to adjust to the penetration. It was a nice gesture. In Andrew’s experience most guys didn’t bother to give him that time if they knew he’d screwed around a lot. Stephen held him close and gave him the time to relax around his shaft, making sure he could enjoy everything that little bit more once he started moving. Andrew leaned into the embrace savouring it no matter how hard he tried not to. Stephen held him like that until he rocked back against the other man, letting him know he was ready. “Do you want to come, Andrew?” Stephen teased, kissing his neck. For a few seconds Andrew didn’t answer. He wanted to say yes so badly, but not yet. After midnight he would be able to say it as often as he wanted. Right then… “No.” He would wait until midnight if he had to. If that was the only way he could please his master he’d find some way to do it. “Good, that means we can take our time,” Stephen said against his neck and began thrusting lazily inside him. Andrew rocked his hips back encouraging him to go faster and provide the rough friction he loved, but Stephen didn’t seem to be prepared to be rushed on some silent whim. “Do you want me to go faster, darling?” “Stephen,” Andrew began. He shook his head and sighed. He would come when his master wanted, not before. “No.” It was all he could do to stop himself tacking the word sir onto his answer right then. “Do you have any idea how good you feel like this, Andrew, all hot and tight around me? You’re so amazing. I can’t believe I have you here in my bed. God, you’re perfect. If I had my way I’d keep you here just like this, forever. I’ve thought about this so many times. And you’re so much better than anything I imagined.” Stephen whispered the words as

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broken sentences as he teased Andrew’s earlobe with his lips. “I could stay inside you all night, just like this.” Andrew made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat. There was no way he could keep saying no if Stephen did that, but he already knew it wasn’t true. From the instinctive way he settled into that slow, easy rhythm, Andrew could tell it was one of Stephen’s personal favourites. The younger man would eventually be able to get off from this slow gentle love making, but Andrew knew he couldn’t do the same, not when he was bottoming, not without something stroking his shaft at the same time. As easily as the idea of friction against his cock appeared inside his head, Andrew reached down to take himself in hand. For just a couple of glorious seconds he matched the slow stokes inside him movement for movement. Then Stephen caught his wrist and pulled his hand up above his head. Catching the other one with it en route, he pinned them both to the pillow. “No!” Andrew protested. There hadn’t been a question. His master hadn’t told him not to touch himself that way. At least, not since they were down stairs, and it was unrealistic for any dominant to expect that sort of memory span when he was so desperate to come. “Do you want to move your hands?” Stephen asked. Andrew cursed. “No.” Stephen let go of his wrists, obviously confident that Andrew would keep his hands where they were. He was right. Andrew looked at his hands, but he made no attempt to move them. His own stillness left his master’s hand free to play. Stephen reached over and stroked his palm down the front of Andrew’s body. That part of him had been rather neglected during the face down massage. Stephen seemed determined to make up for that omission. He traced the muscles on Andrew’s chest and abs. Up and down, back and forth, and all in time with the infuriatingly slow thrusts. He paused to tease his nipples until Andrew was rocking back against him as hard as he could—though in his current position and without any leverage to work with, that was incredibly little. Stephen stilled the movement of his hips completely and shifted his legs, preventing Andrew getting any kind of speed or depth to his movements. From then on, Andrew could do little more than wriggle against him.

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The younger man stroked down Andrew’s stomach, bypassing his cock to palm his tightly drawn up sacs and roll them between his fingers. Andrew gasped. Sensing a possibility of relief, he tried to push himself forward into a hand that could so easily choose to wrap itself around his shaft. Stephen immediately backed the pressure off, keeping it all light and teasing. His master hushed him, soothing him to settle, as if he didn’t know Andrew wasn’t in control of the way his body writhed any more. If he could just get a little bit more. If he could just get his master to cooperate just a little bit. A few quick strokes, was all it would take. Andrew would have come within an inch of selling his soul for the freedom to jack himself off right then, but his hands stayed idle where his master placed them on the pillow. Some part of him already accepted that he no long had the right to sell something that already belonged to his master. “S—“ No. Not sir. He hadn’t been invited to call his master that. “Stephen…” “Do you want me to stroke your cock, Andrew?” Stephen whispered in his ear. His hand moved to stroke Andrew’s stomach instead. Every so often, he let the back of his knuckles brush against his cock for a fraction of a second. It was just enough to make Andrew even more acutely aware of how sensitive his swollen shaft was, as if he needed to be reminded how easy it would be for his master to make him come right then. “Just three little letters, Andrew,” Stephen coaxed, “Y… E… S…” he rocked his hips slightly as he said each letter, allowing just a fraction of stimulation against his prostate. Andrew shook his head, almost passed the point where he could form words even if he wanted to. His lips open and closed, he sucked in air, but nothing like a coherent thought transferred itself to his voice box. Stephen slid the hand that had been caressing Andrew’s stomach down along his hip and further down to trail against the inside of his leg. “Stephen, please.” It was more a whimper than a whisper. “Can you come without someone touching your cock?” Stephen asked. “No.” That wasn’t part of the game. That was the honest truth. Andrew knew men who could climax from nothing but anal, he’d wasn’t one of them, damn it. “Sure?” Stephen asked. Andrew didn’t bother to lie an answer.

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Regardless of his stated habit of self-denial, Andrew could sense Stephen was getting close to his second orgasm of the night. He wanted to screw properly. Safe in the knowledge a real movement wouldn’t alleviate Andrew’s building frustration, he began to thrust into him in earnest. Altering his rhythm, going faster, harder, he gasped against Andrew’s neck. As he moved inside him, he pushed Andrew closer and closer to an edge he knew he couldn’t fall over. Then, as Stephen thrust hard against his prostate and came inside him, the edge vanished. Andrew’s climax raced through his body, spiralling out of control. “Yes!” he gasped. “Yes… God… Yes…” He clutched at the pillow, bucking wildly back against Stephen as his semen landed in long spurts over the sheet. Stephen wrapped his arm around his waist. He held him close through the jerks and groans as he came untouched for the first time in his adult life. Fighting for breath as they both stilled, Andrew saw the room blur in front of him. He closed his eyes and tried to push more air into his lungs. He hadn’t thought there were any sexual firsts left in him, but he’d been so sure he couldn’t come just from anal and… Damn, that rush was worth being proven wrong for. And all the sweeter for the anticipation. Stephen would be unbearably smug if he admitted it, but Andrew had the terrible feeling it actually was true. As his brain came back online, he realised something else. “I don’t suppose the word I screamed at the top of my lung while I came was ‘no’, was it?” Stephen chuckled against his neck. “If we play this game again, remind me to ask you something right before you come. That was a terrible missed opportunity.” Stephen pulled Andrew back into place when he would have moved away. “It still counts,” Andrew said. “I didn’t ask you anything.” “I still said it.” Stephen let him turn around within his embrace when he wriggled and tried to turn to face him again. Andrew looked in his eyes. He didn’t believe in wasting the warmth of afterglow by arguing about anything straight after sex and he could see from the stubborn light in the younger man’s eyes that he wouldn’t get his way without one hell of an argument.

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“Call it a draw then?” he suggested. “So, neither of us gets to call truth or dare?” Stephen asked, suddenly sounding so disappointed. A trace of a teenager’s pout made it into his voice. “Or both of us do?” Andrew suggested, lying on his side, facing Stephen and bunching a pillow up under his head to make himself comfortable. That found more favour. The younger man nodded. “You first. Truth or dare?” Andrew considered his many and varied options. Half way through the day he’d been sure Stephen was going to end up spending a considerable length of time in a chastity belt— one that would allow him absolutely no chance of an orgasm for several weeks—just so Stephen would be able to feel just a fraction of the frustration he’d enjoyed inflicting. Sated now, and having found a whole new way to orgasm as a bonus, Andrew felt somewhat more forgiving. There were plenty of other dares, but as he watched Stephen watch him, Andrew decided that he looked the accommodating type. He would probably be willing to try out whatever kink Andrew suggested without a dare being involved. It would be a waste of an opportunity, and, as much as he hated to admit it, the idea of submitting to Stephen’s dare appealed far more than turning the tables on him and making his master jump through hoops for him. Playing at being dominant over his master wouldn’t be fun for either of them anymore. That left truth, and there was one question Andrew wanted to know the answer to. “Truth,” he said. Stephen looked surprised, but he nodded and waited for Andrew’s question. “What was today really about?” Stephen blinked. A small smile teased his lips. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “Honestly?” “There are absolutely no excuses for lying during truth or dare,” Andrew stated firmly, not letting a single trace of submission seep into his voice. The answer felt far too important to let a sexual preference ruin it. “You’re kind of intimidating,” Stephen told the ceiling. Andrew frowned. “There may be excuses for giving answers that make no sense, but I don’t want to hear them.”

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Stephen didn’t take his eyes off the ceiling. “You have a lot of options and a very short attention span.” Andrew leaned up on his elbow and stared down at Stephen, trying and failing to understand what the other man was telling him. “Is making sense going to happen any time soon?” “I figured if I wanted to stand out from the crowd and get a second date, I should make the first date interesting.” “Interesting?” Stephen shrugged. “Memorable?” he suggested instead. Andrew tried to think of something to say. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he found any words. “You’ve been winding me up, driving me distracted with frustration and insulting my self-control all day because you seriously want to date me?” Stephen glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “When you put it like that…” “You know that little boy who pulled the girl’s hair in the playground because he had a crush on her? You never grew out of that phase, did you?” Stephen laughed. “But memorable, right?” he pointed out. “I guessed I’d see you again, if only because you wanted revenge. There didn’t seem to be any other way except…” “Except?” Andrew prompted. Stephen shrugged. “The only guys you ever take seriously, the only dominants who you ever submit to, are the ones who have been established masters on the local scene for years. I can be patient when I need to. If that’s the only way I can convince you to submit to me, to belong to me, then I’ll do it.” Belong to him? Andrew swallowed. He stopped trying to wrap his mind around the idea of dating the younger man and turned his attention to imagining something far more serious. It was far easier to imagine belonging to Stephen than it should have been. “I’ll play the clubs until you can see I’m as good as the guys who’ve been doing this for years if that’s what you need,” Stephen said. “But if there was any chance I could have you now. I had to take it.” “What about anticipation and…”

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Stephen gave a chuckle that didn’t sound the least bit funny. “Waiting for sex, I can do. Waiting around and watching the guy I’m in love with screw half the men on the planet isn’t so easy.” Andrew swallowed again. “I… You…” Stephen gave another very forced chuckle. “I’ve known you for ten weeks, Andrew. I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for nine of them.” Andrew cleared his throat, not sure what to say in response. He looked down at the mattress between them. Stalling for time, he sought for something to say which wasn’t an admission that it had apparently taken him less than a day to fall for Stephen in return. “Your turn,” he finally whispered when he couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “Truth or dare.” Stephen looked back to the ceiling as if it held all the answers in the world. “Truth.” Surprised, Andrew just gave one nod to show he understood and waited for the question. With his track record, Stephen might come out with anything. The question was a long time in coming, but in the end Stephen did speak up. “Do I get my second date?” Turning his head on the pillow, he studied Andrew very carefully as he waited for his final verdict. Andrew’s lips twisted into a small smile. The younger man was asking for a hell of a lot more than that, and he bloody well knew it. Agreeing to a second date right then would be tantamount to admitting he felt the same way. Just because Stephen wasn’t demanding he rush into saying the words back to him right then, that didn’t change the fact that they both knew damn well he wouldn’t lead on a man who was in love with him unless he was bloody well sure he felt the same way about him. Even knowing that, there was only one answer he could possibly give. Andrew closed his eyes and savoured the word. Even more than that, he savoured the right to say it to the younger man right then. Andrew opened his eyes and met his new master’s gaze. “Yes!”

About the Author Kim is 25 years old, from a small town in South Wales. After writing for years, Kim is finally editing some of the stories to share with the rest of the world. Kim writes both male/male and male/female stories that range from the dark and paranormal right through to the lighter, funnier side of life. The only thing every story contains is a happy ever after for the two (or more!) characters that deserve it most. Oh, and kinky sex — there’s always plenty of that too — but Kim takes no responsibility for any of that. It’s all the characters’ fault. Honest…

Email: [email protected] Kim loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com

Also by Kim Dare The Gift Secret Service Whispers Turquoise and Leather Gaydar You First Between Tooth and Paw Silent Night Gay Like You In the Heat of the Moment Time To Do

SORRY CHARLIE Ashley Ladd

Dedication To my family and to families everywhere who have ever gone through a rough time.

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Darth Vader (Star Wars): Lucas Licensing Ltd. Oakland Raiders: The Oakland Raiders AD, Football, Inc. Dallas Cowboys: Dallas Cowboys Football Club, Ltd. Rocky Theme: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., theme composed by Bill Conti Cher: The Trustees of The Inshallah Trust Barbie: Mattel, Inc. Prozac: Eli Lilly and Company Google: Google, Inc. Barbara Streisand: Steisand, Barbra, Individual Dancing for the Stars: The British Broadcasting Corporation Ritalin: CIBA Limited Corporation NASCAR: National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing, Inc. Disney World: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

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Chapter One

Search your feelings. You know I’m your father. The words rang in Charlie Lang’s head. For the past seventeen years, he’d wished anyone but Asa Charles Lang was his dad, even Darth Vader. His father made Vader look like a pussycat. At least, he’d wanted Luke once he’d found out about him. Asa had been there at the moment of Charlie’s birth. He’d raised him ‘til he was seven when Charlie’s parents split. That’s when Asa had stolen off in the night to escape his debts, and according to Charlie’s mother, Gail, all his responsibilities to them. He’d found a new wife, made new kids, and only saw Charlie every few years for a measly day or two at a time. Still, it hadn’t been too bad ‘til Charlie had come out of the closet at age twenty-two and announced he was gay. Then Asa, his stepmom, Sharon, and his half-siblings had disowned him. They’d declared him dead to them. The thought of running into them on the street had his partner, Jonathan, freaking out. Now Sharon and a half-brother were dead and buried, and his other sibs had moved away, leaving Asa alone. Now, he was ready to forgive Charlie and rebuild their relationship. Charlie rubbed the half-day’s growth of beard on his chin and shook his head. This was a good thing. Right? “I can’t do this with you right now,” he told Jonathan. “I have to meet my dad.” Charlie stood tall and didn’t allow himself to flinch—not outwardly anyway. He also didn’t let Jonathan’s pretty-boy looks or his pout sway him from today’s outing. Jonathan glared and scrunched his nose. He threw down his towel like a gauntlet, leaving him naked. “When will you have time for me? This man abandoned you for seventeen years, trashed you to everyone you knew and made our lives hell. And now, you run every time he calls. I don’t get it. Explain it to me.” Charlie turned away from his lover’s tempting body. Even flaccid, Jon’s cock hung long and heavy. What a beaut. He knew it would only take a smile and a little kiss to get it hard

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and willing. But his dad was waiting—and Charlie was pissed. “This man is my father. You do stuff with your old man.” “’My old man didn’t turn his back on me. He’s always been there for me and for you. He’s been in my life for all my life.” Charlie bristled, not knowing if he was more mad or jealous. His lips trembled, and he wanted to hit something. “I’m trying to repair the damage. Of course, it takes more work and time. It’d help if you were supportive.” Even a little. Jonathan’s eyes glittered like diamonds, hard as ice. He balled his hands on his hips. “Hell! You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. I didn’t say you shouldn’t forgive and forget, but don’t you think you should be careful? Do you have to neglect me?” Neglect Jon? The neediness grated the wrong way on him. Maybe he should rethink this relationship. Hell! Maybe he should move to the Canadian outback and live out his life alone. Obviously, he sucked at relationships. “It’s not easy getting back together. It’s going to take more time right now.” “Every waking moment? You can’t make up for seventeen years in a week. Be careful. Soon as one of his other children comes back into the picture, he’ll ditch you.” Charlie froze. He couldn’t breathe. An avalanche of hurt crushed him. Jonathan had just spoken his unexpressed thoughts. “I can’t believe you said that.” Roiling mad, hurt as hell, Charlie stomped out of the room. He couldn‘t stand to look at Jonathan’s accusing face for one more second.

Jonathan cursed at himself for causing the look of incredible pain on Charlie’s face. But he knew how awful Asa and his demon spawn had been to his man. For the past fifteen years, he’d dried a river of Charlie’s tears and tried to put salve on the wounds. He’d been the one to stick with Charlie through the agonising times they’d caused. Jonathan yanked on his pants then hauled on his shirt. At a loose end, he didn’t know what to do or where to go. Usually, they spent Sundays together—languishing in bed, going to the beach, hanging with their friends—but not since Asa had swooped back in. Strung too tight, ready to explode at anything and everything, Jonathan decided to work out at the gym. Hopefully, he’d burn off some anger as well as excess energy. Maybe

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he’d wear himself out too much to think. Maybe the eye candy would give him such a high he’d stop caring about Charlie’s desertion, stop worrying that the crazy guy was setting himself up for disaster. The workout helped a little but not enough. He still wanted to kill something, to strike out at the world. In no way was he fit to visit friends—not if he wanted to keep them as friends. In a last effort to feel better, he snuggled under his covers and turned on a disaster movie. Death, gore and doom soothed him like nothing else. He yelled at the TV screen instead of at Charlie, feeling safer venting his anger at people who couldn’t hear him and didn’t care.

**** Nervous as hell didn’t begin to describe how Charlie felt about meeting up with his dad today. What if Jonathan was right? What if Asa was so lonely, so desperate, he was only using him? What if they said more hurtful, hateful things they couldn’t take back? So far, they hadn’t discussed personal things. They’d lain off topics like family betrayal, abandonment and his sexuality. They’d stuck with safe things like the state of the economy, the weather and current news. Hell! Religion and politics would be far safer discussions than family talk. They met at a mutually favourite restaurant on neutral territory. Again, they weathered an uneasy silence until the waitress asked for their order. He thought he’d go nuts, that their silence would suffocate him. Desperate for something—anything—safe to say, he clutched on his favourite standby. “Those Raiders really whipped the tar out of the Cowboys. Lechler was awesome.” Asa smiled and rubbed his shoulder-length grey hair. “Did they? That’s nice.” Charlie cursed himself and sought a better topic. How had he forgotten his dad hated sports? But he kept thinking about the things he was afraid to ask, afraid he would start an argument. Things like, “Why was I told to stay away from Jimmy’s funeral? Why didn’t you invite me to Ellen’s wedding? Why did you forgive Jace for being a drug addict and stealing from you but not me for being gay? Why didn’t you answer my letters?”

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The questions burned in his gut, but he feared the answers. He was scared to death Asa would say, “because we hate you. Because you’re not family. Because you’re dead to us.” Those were all things his ‘family’ had said according to the grapevine. Under the table, Charlie clamped down on his fidgeting fingers. He wished he could cauterise his nerves as easily. As much as he longed for an apology and assurance those things would never happen again, that no one had really meant them, he was scared to death everyone had meant them—still meant them. He lifted prayers his dad’s heart had softened, even if his sibs hadn’t. He didn’t try to fool himself that they wanted anything to do with him. They hadn’t said a word, and Asa hadn’t mentioned them. He saw Asa’s lips move, heard the drone of his voice but didn’t really hear the small talk. His own hopes and fears echoed too loudly in his mind. The food was tasteless so he toyed with it. He feared Jonathan was right, and he was angry Jon had put the thought out into the universe. Fury smacked him, twisted, ranted and raved at his lover. His partner should be trying to help him, to be understanding and loving during this hard time, not giving him flack. He couldn’t take any more. Asa reached out as if to touch him, but let his hand drop to the table. His expression was troubled. “So, how’s work going?” That wasn’t something Charlie wished to dwell on, either. He twisted the napkin in his hand, stared into the mirror and noticed for the first time how empty the joint was. On a grimace, he said, “Rumour has it our office may be shut down. Money had to be borrowed to make payroll this week.” This subject was in the top two of the things bugging him lately. Ironically, he had trouble keeping his mind on working, because he was so worried about losing his source of income. Not cool, but he didn’t function well under pressure, and he was under a ton. The blood drained from Asa’s face, and his shoulders slumped. He took a long swig of his coffee before answering. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. Jace might lose—” Asa clamped shut his lips as if he’d been about to divulge state secrets. Then he lowered his gaze and busied himself eating.

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Charlie’s fingernails dug into his palms so hard they drew blood. So he’d been right. Asa didn’t want him to hear anything about his brothers and sisters. He wondered whose choice it was and why? Did they have kids, and they were afraid he’d ‘infect’ them? God, he hurt so badly. It was if a thousand needles pierced his heart. They twisted and tore him to shreds. Still, he called on all his acting abilities and pretended not to catch the slip or, at least, not to care. Why should he since they so obviously didn’t care about him? Had they come around when he’d been in ICU for two weeks? Had they checked on him after the last big hurricane had ripped through his part of town and taken off his roof? He felt like a walking dead guy. Or at least he would if he weren’t in so much pain. Chills attacked, and he tried to suppress his shivers but failed. He had a feeling his surviving brothers and sisters wished he was the one buried six feet under. His heart withered and hunkered down behind the guard he’d not completely let down. He stared into his drink, at his hairy knuckles, anywhere but at the man his mother affectionately referred to as her ‘sperm donor’. Darth Vader still was in the running for the ‘better father of the year’ award. Asa swirled his straw around in his lemonade and glared at him. “I told you architecture wasn’t a smart career choice. It sounds good on paper, but there aren’t many jobs.” Charlie blinked and quelled the gut reaction to snap at the insult. By now his hands were bloody and bruised beneath the table, and he was biting his tongue. “I’ve had a good government job for the past ten years.” Asa shook his head and clucked his tongue. “But it’s one of the first government jobs to go, isn’t it?” Like Asa’s job as an artist was a better career choice? Of course, Asa was now retired and didn’t have to worry about surviving in the job market. He’d never made a killing at his job, and he lived in a small, rundown house. Charlie itched to voice his retort but dared not. He was afraid Asa would huff out and never speak to him again. As furious as he was, he didn’t want to lose his dad a second time. After a couple minutes, Asa stared into the distance. “I remember my parents’ horror stories about the Great Depression. If they hadn’t grown a garden, they’d have starved many

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a day. As it was, they seldom had coal to fuel their furnace or money to buy new clothes. Everything was hand-me-downs and sacrifices. But at least, they kept the family togeth—” Asa’s voice trailed off, and his eyes bulged. His Adam’s apple protruded. His voice squeaked on the partial last word then he looked away, anywhere but at Charlie. Charlie wanted to laugh and cry. He wanted to jump up and stomp out the door, but he also wanted to hug his old man. All he could do, however, was sit tight and do his deaf impression. By the time they called it quits, Charlie counted twenty-four faux pas. His dad couldn’t hurt him more if he’d been Darth Vader swinging a light sabre at his head. Shell-shocked and bleeding, Charlie didn’t schedule another meeting. He craved space. He didn’t want to dwell on all this. It had almost killed him once. Maybe Jon was right. Could he really go through this again?

**** Jonathan argued with himself all day. Charlie was a big idiot, and he was an even bigger one. He was afraid Asa was really a deadly comet on his collision path, bent on destroying all living matter in Charlie’s life. Anger battered him, and he used his pillow as a punching bag. By the end of a couple movies, the pillow was flat and lumpy. His brains scrambled. He told himself he should run, duck and cover, perform triage on his heart before it stopped beating. Or was it surviving? Raw and seeping, it festered and threatened to infect his soul. All day, he’d pondered his options, not happy with any of them. In the end, he knew what he had to do: fight for Charlie and for their love. He’d hate himself forever if he deserted Charlie the way Charlie’s family had, if he threw away the best thing in his life. He hoped he hadn’t driven Charlie away already, that he hadn’t sounded like a harpy. Playing the Rocky Theme song in his head, he pumped up his resolve. He kicked free of the sheets wrapped around his feet, pushed out of bed then showered his negative thoughts down the drain with his sweat.

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Then he splashed on cologne, gargled and combed his hair. Rejuvenated, he cooked Charlie’s favourite meal: steak smothered in a mushroom, wine sauce, baby asparagus tips, and herbed potatoes. As he cooked, he rapped to his favourite songs, making up his own lyrics to amuse himself. He craved chocolate so he also whipped up a chocolate mousse. Chocolate always made him feel better, and if it didn’t, something was seriously wrong. He didn’t know how much longer they’d be able to afford such luxuries and worried if he might have to lay off some employees at his bookstore. Or maybe he could cut back hours and keep everyone. He burnt his finger, jumped back and swore. But he was more upset about the state of his business than the superficial wound. As he ran cold tap water over it, he went over his employees’ strengths and weaknesses. Although Fred, Ray, and Maria had been with him the longest, they were also the least computer literate and thus the least efficient. If that were all, it wouldn’t be too bad. However, Fred took off at least one day of work a week and complained all the time. Nothing was ever his fault. Super-sensitive, Maria broke down and cried over inconsequential things. She couldn’t handle stress. She thought somebody was always picking on her. She got bored easily and didn’t stay on task. Ray liked to hide his inefficiency and how much work he had. He constantly screwed up and made more work for everybody else. Meanwhile, Lanice and Matt did at least double the work of the other three and had good attitudes and attendance. He wished they were all as conscientious and talented as his newer employees. In better times, they had survived this way. But now… He looked heavenward, seeking answers to his problems. If he removed emotion from the equation, the choice became clear. He needed to fire Fred, Ray, and Maria. But Fred had a wife and kids depending on him, including a new baby. Ray helped his aging mother. Maria had recently refinanced her house and couldn’t keep up with her bills. He cradled his sore finger. He’d have to give the three a warning, and if they didn’t improve, they’d have to go. Otherwise they could destroy his business and cost everyone their jobs.

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Still, he felt like a rat thinking about it. He hated the hard decisions and wondered why he’d thought he could be an entrepreneur? He bandaged his hand, arranged candles, flowers and plates on the table. Then he ran to the bedroom, put fresh satin sheets on the bed and sprinkled them with rose petals from his garden. To top off the romance, he programmed their favourite romantic songs. Then he sat and waited and waited, and his anger flared. Charlie hadn’t said he’d be gone all day and night. Had he lost his phone? His voice? His balls? His fingers itched to punch the phone’s speed dial to Charlie. He wanted to ask if he was almost home, safe, and away from the bad people. He hadn’t met Asa in the flesh, but he’d seen a few old photographs Charlie had hidden away. In those fading paper images, Asa looked plump and jolly as Santa Claus. He’d been smiling and looked innocuous, a middle-aged man going nowhere fast. But harmless. Jon knew better. Asa was anything but harmless. He had razor-sharp claws, deadly fangs and an even deadlier tongue. However, his deadliest weapon had been his silence. The silence, the desertion, had suffocated Charlie and in association, himself, too. It was like someone had wrapped cellophane over their faces so they couldn’t breathe, so that everything looked distorted. Jon felt smothered still, more so actually, as if Charlie had clawed his way out of the plastic covering and heaped all of it on him. It wasn’t fair. It was as if Charlie had gone over to the enemy and left him alone to die. Jonathan had to laugh. It was more of a gurgle as if the damned plastic wrap was being sucked down his throat. Could he say ‘drama queen’? Oh, yeah. It certainly seemed so. Asa wasn’t his family. He should be, but he wasn’t, and he never would be. How could Jon trust anybody who’d hurt his beloved Charlie so much? Who’d hurt him, as well? “Hell!” He was tempted to yank the sheets off the bed and throw them in the trash along with all these feelings, good and bad, that were strangling him. If he’d thought it would truly do any good, he just might. But he was wrapped up in Charlie tighter than that cellophane twisted around his face. This anxiety wouldn’t do. He couldn’t let the enemy, the man Charlie was afraid to introduce him to, win. Or was Charlie ashamed of him?

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He feared it was the second and cursed. He vowed he would no longer allow Asa to get under his fingernails like bamboo. If he did, he’d already admitted defeat. Finally, after Jonathan had puttered around and channel-surfed all five-hundred satellite stations, Charlie dragged in. The man’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and a deep weariness settled in them. His hair stood on end. His shoulders slumped. He looked as if he’d never smile again. Jonathan’s ire jumped, and his hatred for Asa multiplied. If that old fart was going to chew up Charlie and spit him out again, he’d have to deal with Jonathan. Charlie didn’t deserve it. Neither did he. He was so caught up in his thoughts and his anger, he trembled. He wanted to shake sense into Charlie, to prop open his eyes and floodlight on the situation. Most of all, he wanted assurance Charlie wouldn’t trade him for the family who’d cast him out. He wasn’t ready to be a human sacrifice. After all, Charlie had never invited him to any of these meetings. He bet if they were a straight couple and he was Charlie’s female wife, he’d have been invited. But Charlie was ashamed of him. Or of himself. Same difference. Boiling, his fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides. He was as stewed as the overcooked meat in the kitchen. Charlie tossed out a wan smile as if he expended the last of his energy on it. “Making up is hard to do. Let no one kid you.” Jon struggled to put aside his own feelings, to be a man, and not the scared little boy who was ready to turn tail and run. Obviously, this was tough on Charlie, brutal from the looks of him. Roller derby was benign next to this. This Asa must be a fire-breathing, maneating dragon. “I’m so sorry, Charlie.” Jonathan curled his arms around Charlie and held him close. He didn’t try to kiss him or put on the moves. The man felt so frail he might snap. He wasn’t so sure about himself at the moment, either. Charlie’s heart beat erratically – kathump, kathump, kathump, kathump. He went almost limp in Jon’s arms, and for a second, Jon feared the dead weight would topple them both. He rubbed Charlie’s back and murmured against his hairy cheek, “Let’s get you to bed. You can hardly stand.”

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When Charlie grumbled something incomprehensible and shook his head, Jon halfcarried him down the hall to their room. He winced at the seduction scene, and murmured, “Sorry. Let me clean off the bed.” Light flickered in Charlie’s eyes, and he tilted his head. “Don’t be sorry. That’s sweet. I wish I had the energy to do it justice. Maybe later.” Maybe? Jonathan tried to tamp down his disappointment as well as the thousand questions barraging him. He helped Charlie to the bed, took off his shoes and socks and tucked the comforter around him. “Can I get you anything?” Charlie smiled up at him, and the sun finally dawned in his eyes. He patted the bed beside him. “Just you. Lie down with me. Hold me.” Jonathan could use a little snuggle time himself. He was seriously tripping out, and he yearned to feel accepted. Writing off dinner which would be too cold and tough now, he crawled into bed. The roses’ perfume tickled his nose and mixed with Charlie’s spicy scent. He so badly wanted to know how things had gone but was afraid to ask. At least, Charlie wasn’t bloodied or crying. No knives stuck out his back. The man beside him was so enticing he couldn’t help but touch him. He stroked Charlie’s hair away from his eyes. “How are you? Really?” Charlie stayed quiet so long Jon didn’t know if he was going to answer. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with it if Charlie broke down—again. Highly emotional himself right now, he’d probably break down, too. Just when he thought Charlie was drifting off to sleep, he opened his eyes and speared Jon with his gaze. “Okay, I guess.” Jon didn’t like the sound of the ‘I guess’. “Come here.” Charlie nodded and scooted closer. He burrowed into Jonathan’s embrace and rested his head on his shoulder. Intent on soothing him, Jon petted his lover. The gentle, repetitive motions also soothed him. Even though he wasn’t totally convinced, he murmured, “Everything’ll be okay. Just take it one day at a time.” If only he’d follow his own advice. He’d have to try. So much depended on it.

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Charlie nodded. He spoke around a gulp. “If only it was as easy as it sounds. There’s so much still unsaid, seething beneath the surface, you know?” Jonathan wanted to say so much but teetered on the edge of a precipice, so he only nodded. Once he took the brakes off his tongue, he was afraid he’d say all the wrong things. They’d never been like this with each other, and he blamed Asa. Charlie went on for awhile then finally shook his head. “I can’t seem to stop obsessing about this.” Jonathan started to say, “I’m sorry, Charlie.” Instead, he pulled the other man to him until he flush against him. “Let me help.” Not allowing him to say another word, he pressed his lips to Charlie’s. He pushed the tip of his tongue into Charlie’s mouth, forcing it to open wider. Charlie moaned and rubbed his cock against Jon’s. He slid his hands under Jonathan’s T-shirt and pushed it off. Then his breath coasted down the length of Jonathan’s neck as his fingers sifted through the light dusting of hair curling on his chest. Jon couldn’t stand his clothes another moment and kicked off his pants. When he went to remove his boxers, Charlie helped. To Jon’s delight, Charlie’s lips followed, licking and nipping his way down his body. He paused when he reached Jon’s cock and bathed it with his tongue. Because Jon’s trousers were still around his ankles, he was trapped and couldn’t move, just moan. Charlie lay on his legs. His hands reached under Jon’s cock and cradled his balls. Charlie’s fingers circled the base and pumped, slowly at first then with more fervour. Jon’s fever soared. He became a testosterone factory, and his blood pumped furiously into his cock. “Release my legs so I can join in.” “Uh-uh. You’re my prisoner—at my mercy.” Jon cherished the sound of that. He loved it when Charlie dominated him. Jonathan freed the words in his heart. “You’re adorable. I don’t know how any one can not love you.” Charlie squirmed against him and cuddled closer. “From your lips to my family’s ears.” Jon couldn’t keep his promise to himself. Before he strangled on the words, he blurted, “Are you ashamed of me? I mean, you haven’t invited me to meet your dad. Have you told him about me?”

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Charlie tensed but didn’t pull away. Jon cleared his throat. “I mean, we’ve been together fifteen years. I’m your significant other not some casual fling. If we lived in another state, we’d be married.” Charlie shed a tear and swiped at his eyes. “God, forgive me. I’m scared. We haven’t discussed the fact I’m gay or even how Sharon died. Everything’s still so shaky. I’m afraid one wrong word will make everything explode.” Jon wasn’t sure how to digest this. On one hand, sympathy welled up. On the other, he was about to breathe fire. He counted to twenty before opening his mouth. “If he truly loves you and wants to make up, he’ll accept you for who you are, and he’ll put up with me.” Charlie made a sound like a sob. “I’m not sure he does. Don’t you see that’s the problem? What if you’re right? About everything?” Damn, his big mouth! Jon felt horrible. He laced his fingers through Charlie’s and squeezed. With his other hand, he tipped up Charlie’s face to his. “Hey. I’ll be there with you. I won’t let you fall. Have I ever?” Charlie shook his head. “No, but they’ve run everyone else I ever cared about away…” Again Jon’s blood boiled, and he wanted to throttle the whole lot. They didn’t deserve a gem like Charlie. “No ‘buts’. Those people who ran off listened to lies and had closed minds. You have a lot of people who love you.” A brilliant idea erupted in his mind, and his lips curved into a smile. He’d throw a surprise party for Charlie with all his true friends. That would bolster his ego! He’d ask Adam to perform his Cher routine. Harvey could cater the affair. Stefan could help him pull it all together. Charlie trembled against him so Jon rubbed his back. “It’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll always love you, even if you used to be a woman or a horse—” “Horse?” Charlie chortled. Jon liked the sound. “You’re hung well enough.” To prove his point, he encircled Charlie’s cock. Immediately, it flexed and swelled. It became warm to the touch. He quivered as if the earth trembled. Charlie snuggled closer and wrapped his arms around Jonathan. “Forgive me?”

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Ready to forgive his lover anything, as long as he was serious, Jonathan nodded. “I will if you promise me one thing.” Suspicions clouded Charlie’s eyes, and he writhed. “What?” “Go easier on yourself. Stop blaming yourself. You are who you are.” Charlie’s lashes looked like dark smudges on his glistening cheeks. Again, he rubbed tears off. “I wish it was that easy.” Jonathan couldn’t wait to get that bastard Asa alone. He’d done a real job on this man. It was criminal! “Shush. Stop thinking and let me make you feel good. Would you like that?” Charlie nodded but sniffled. He rolled off Jon and held out his arms. His heart filled his eyes. “I’m all yours. Do what you will.” Jon gulped. A puddle of mixed emotions, he wanted nothing more than to be in his lover’s arms, to feel his heart beat against his and to be one with him. They were a set Asa and his brood weren’t going to break up. Charlie would always and forever be his baby. He was about to burn up he was so hot. Coherent thought eluded him. His sole purpose was to make Charlie feel good, but he was losing himself in the moment, too. He held onto his senses only long enough to ask in a breathy voice, “Which do you want first? Me inside you? Or you inside me?” Fire shot from Charlie’s eyes then he flipped Jonathan over. A growl rumbled in his chest and rasped out. “Get up on your knees. I’m going to give you the best fuck of your life.” Jon moaned and almost came at the thought, but he managed to get on his knees. He was anxious and so wiggled his ass. He glanced over his shoulder at the stud. “What are you waiting for, big boy?” Charlie scrounged around and finally came up with the lube that was normally shelved on the nightstand but had fallen on the floor. “I’m protecting you.” Latex tickled Jon’s butt for a moment as Charlie worked it on his cock. Shivers made him squirm, and eager to be filled by that delicious cock, he inched back. If Charlie didn’t hurry, he was going to impale himself on it. “Fuck me, now.” “Is someone hot and bothered?” Charlie drew the tip of his cock down the crack of Jon’s ass. Then he parted Jon’s cheeks.

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Jon couldn’t stand the taunting another second and pushed back. “Tease! Give it to me.” “Or else what?” The cock rubbed across Jon’s cheeks. Jon wouldn’t be responsible if Charlie kept this up. “I’ll spank you. I swear it.” Charlie crooned, “Ooh! Sounds yummy.” Jon’s sight grew dim as a purple haze covered everything. He was in heaven. He was in hell. “Later. I said ‘fuck me’. I want to feel your huge, hot cock in me.” Charlie leaned over him and murmured huskily close to Jon’s ear. “I love it when you talk dirty.” He reached between Jon’s legs and squeezed his testicles. Jon was going out of his mind. “Give it to me, you dirty bitch! Shove it in me!” Charlie worked his finger into Jon’s ass, slow at first then faster, harder. “Are you ready for me yet?” Jon was so ready he was going to yell. He could barely formulate words he was so ready. “Give me your cock.” Finally, Charlie pulled out his finger. Not quick but slowly like he’d worked it in. Jon bit his lip to keep from screaming. Payback was going to be such a bitch. Charlie replaced his finger with his cock. The fat head parted Jon’s cheeks then inched inside a little at a time. Thrills shot through Jon, and he clenched Charlie’s cock, wiggling back on it until he’d swallowed as much as he could hold. He moved in rhythm with his lover, impaling himself. This was so beautiful, and he felt so wonderful he couldn’t imagine anything better. He couldn’t, wouldn’t apologise for loving Charlie or for how they expressed their love. Charlie’s cock pumped faster and drove him into a frenzy. His fingers dug into Jon’s ass, and his powerful thighs ground into him. Mindless, Jonathan pounded his ass against his lover. His breathing became so loud in his ears, his moans faded into the background. Greedy, ravenous, he milked Charlie’s cock. He bent his head and watched his own cock swing wildly. It was so swollen, so fiery red, just like Charlie’s cock would be inside him. But no. Charlie’s cock was covered with lube and soon would be coated in his cum.

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Just as Charlie hammered into him and howled like a wolf, Jonathan came, too. Fascinated, he watched his cum spurt onto the bed, white and creamy. It puddled on their sheets and seemed to come forever. Finally, Charlie collapsed on him and wrapped his arms around his waist. “God, I love you. You’re so tight. So hot.” He nibbled his shoulder. “Your turn.” Jon grimaced, and unable to hold Charlie’s weight, he fell onto the bed. His cum spread on his cock, warm and wet. Several moments passed before he could catch his breath, and several more stretched out before he could utter a word. “I came, too.” “Bugger.” Charlie nuzzled his neck, rolled off Jon’s back and slapped his rear. “The night’s still young,” he whispered suggestively. Jon liked the sound of that very much and sighed contentedly. The clock told him it was merely 7:30 p.m. They had hours before they had to go to sleep. So he snuggled up to the love of his life, reached for the remote control and turned on the TV. “I’m famished. I could really go for some pizza.”

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Chapter Two

Jonathan did a double take. He was almost afraid to ask, but his curiosity wouldn’t permit him a moment’s rest until he did. He nudged his friend Adam, and tilted his head at Stefan, who’s newly dyed green hair still smelled of dye. “What did he just say?” Adam scrunched his nose and shook his head. “Dude, you don’t want to know.” But he did. It has sounded like Japanese. Something like “Coo sa shin ezo”. He stabbed his chicken and waved it under Adam’s nose. “Come on. Maybe you don’t know.” Adam rolled his kohl-rimmed eyes. He was their resident rocker, full of tattoos and loaded down with chains, spikes and leather. “I wish I didn’t.” Not a patient man, Jon glared at him. “Tell me!” Adam blushed, cupped his hand around Jon’s ear and whispered, “He’s studying Korean curse words. It means ‘die shitting’. You happy now?” Jon blinked and gave Stefan the once over then turned back to Adam. “Did the dye go to his head?” Stefan scowled. “For your 4-1-1, that was Japanese. This is Korean. ‘Toe jora’.” He gave them the finger. “Go to hell.” Adam shrugged and tipped his beer to his mouth. After he downed a long swig, he made a moue of his lips. “He’s got this Japanese thing going on.” Light glinted off the steel blade of Stefan knife as he brandished it in the air. “When I go to other countries, I’ll know if they’re telling me off.” Jon exchanged looks with Adam and shook his head. “Uh huh.” “So, where is your better half?” Adam asked. He ripped a bite off his hamburger and stared at Jonathan, compelling him to spill his guts. “He got a better date?” Jon narrowed his eyes at the man. “If you call ditching me for his father a ‘better date’, yeah.” “Again?” Adam and Stefan said in unison, letting their utensils clatter to their plates. The word echoed in Jonathan’s head. Choked up, he couldn’t speak so he nodded. Adam squeezed his shoulder. “I’ve got something that’ll help.”

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“Really?” The word squeaked out of Jon’s lips. He’d pay a lot to feel better. Every time Charlie deserted him and went out with his dad, he felt like shit. Charlie still hadn’t invited him to tag along. Had he been lying when he’d sworn he wasn’t ashamed of him? “What?” Adam’s gaze shifted back and forth. Then he lowered his voice and bent his head close. “I’ve got voodoo dolls. I make them for people I don’t like, and I stick them when I’m mad. It works wonders.” Stefan clucked his tongue and pointed at Jonathan. “And you thought I was crazy. He’s certifiable.” Jonathan digested this, wondering if Adam had lost his mind or if he was joking. When Adam just smiled, he asked, “For real?” Adam took his time chewing his sandwich and licked his lips. “I don’t know if it does anything except make me feel better. No one’s done anything I’ve done to the doll yet.” “Yet…” Stefan gathered the dishes and washed them at the sink. “You’re the maniac, not me.” Adam skipped to another room and came back with an armful of voodoo dolls, some with pins sticking out of them, one with a noose around its neck. Faces were drawn on them and each wore different hair and clothing. Jonathan gaped at the collection. “You weren’t joking. Are you hoping they’ll really work?” Adam dumped the dolls on the table and splayed his hands. “Not really.” Stefan sauntered back to them as he dried his hands on a dish towel. He towered over Jon. “He just likes to play Barbies.” Adam glared at him, took out a doll with green, spiky hair and waved it in Stefan’s face. “Take that back.” Stefan put his fists on his hips. “Or else?” Adam took a pin and aimed it at the doll’s face. Maniacal glee flashed across his eyes, and an evil chuckle rolled off his lips. “Or else I’ll stick you in a very painful place.” Stefan arched his brows and tossed his head. “So ‘stick it’. See if I care? You know you’re completely impotent.” Adam thrust the pin in the doll’s heart and ground it around. “Ooh! Those are fighting words.”

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Stefan’s smile widened, and he held his heart. After a long silence, he said, “My heart’s still beating. I’m still standing. It didn’t work.” Adam rummaged through his dolls. He thrust a nude one at Jonathan. “Here. Take it and pretend it’s your jerk of a father-in-law. I swear you’ll feel loads better after you mutilate it a few times.” Jonathan didn’t want to touch the thing. Although he didn’t believe in magic, much less black magic, a little doubt niggled at him. What if there was some truth in it? What if it worked for him? Adam mimed words as if the doll was speaking. “Come on. I know you want to take me. I know you hate me and want to stab and hurt me.” Stefan rolled his eyes and ambled back to the kitchen. “You’re really sick, man. How old are you?” Adam strangled his Stefan doll. Finally, he put it down, sighed, and said, “There! I feel much better. See? It works way better than Prozac.” Something wonderful with a whiff of cinnamon and perhaps sugar tickled Jon’s nose. Then Stefan’s shadow fell across him, and his friend held out a platter with pastries and tarts. “Take the stupid doll, or we’ll never hear the end of it.” Jonathan popped a flaky pastry in his mouth and let it melt. It was so yummy he grabbed two more. His phone vibrated against his waist, and he jumped. Since Adam was busy playing with his dolls and Stefan had gone back to baking, he glanced at the caller ID. It read “Charlie”. He was tempted not to answer, to ignore the man as he’d been ignored. Charlie was almost two hours late, and dinner was over. He was ready to leave—with his doll. As if programmed, he answered. Not wanting to broadcast their conversation, he walked to the far corner of the room and whispered into it. “What’s keeping you?” “My dad called. He wanted to meet me, to tell me something important.” Excitement rang in Charlie’s voice. Jonathan felt just the opposite. He had to check his watch even though he knew the time, and he knew exactly how late the man was. “What’s so important you couldn’t let me know? Did your phone die?”

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There was a long pause before Charlie said, “I forgot to call. Sorry.” Sorry? That’s all he got? Charlie had forgotten about him? Pain punched him in the gut, and he clutched his stomach. He wanted to scream and shout, to tell Charlie he couldn’t treat him like this, that he wasn’t a pet that could be ignored at will and left home alone. “I have big news!” Unless it involved being invited to meet the infamous father-out-law, or that the guy was moving out of state, he didn’t want to hear it. Well, maybe if it involved winning the mega bucks lottery… “Okay, I’ll bite. What is your ‘big’ news?” “My brother Jace wants to see me. And, maybe, my sister Ellen and her husband.” Jonathan’s breath stuck in his throat. He waited for Charlie to invite him to the family reunion, but all he got was dead air. Feeling nauseous, he sank into an arm chair. He remembered he had the doll and regarded it as he tried to push words past his lips. Eventually, he heard his own voice, but it was as if it was coming from across the room. “That’s nice.” Charlie snorted. “You could be happy for me. At the very least, you could pretend.” The phone went dead. Jonathan gaped at the instrument of torture and shut it off. Whoever had invented this insane thing should be shot. He clipped it to his pants and rejoined his friends. “Charlie got held up. He’s not going to make it.” Stefan gave him a commiserative pat on the back. “That sucks.” Adam slid his arm across Jon’s shoulder and touched Jon’s doll. “It works. Trust me.”

**** Charlie didn’t like one bit how Jon was acting like a spoiled, jealous child. It was his family for heaven’s sake! He wasn’t fooling around on the man. The more than man clung to him, the more he needed space. Maybe permanently. He swallowed the sigh building in his throat and leaned forward. He linked and unlinked his fingers, staring through them, not really seeing anything.

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Asa cleared his throat. “Care to talk about it?” Charlie froze. As much as he wished he could have a heart-to-heart with his dad about anything like he had done as a kid, he didn’t know if Asa would welcome the topic on his mind: his lover. Nervous, his hands shaky, he glanced up at his dad and assessed him. Silvery hair with steel grey streaks swept to his shoulders. He’d lost weight and looked bony, almost frail. His hands, once so strong and powerful, were gnarled by arthritis. The man was definitely older. That didn’t necessarily make him wiser. They’d come a long way in the past month, but he wasn’t sure they’d journeyed far enough yet. They still hadn’t mentioned a word about his love life or their significant others. He had a sneaking suspicion Jon could be a deal breaker. He wished he was normal. That he wasn’t gay. Then he bit his tongue. Did he really wish that? Jonathan’s words echoed through his mind. “You are what you are.” Did that mean he had to like it? Could he change? Did he want to? He hadn’t changed seventeen years ago to please his dad. Why should he now? Exhausted, twisted up in knots, he wasn’t up to soul searching right now. Later. Fear shuddered through him, and his tongue refused to twist around Jon’s name. He wondered if that was significant and if so, how? Finally, he lied, “It’s nothing.” Asa sipped his brew then set his cup on its saucer with a clang. Toffee-coloured liquid sloshed over the rim and rolled around the dish. Its aroma wafted around the room, filling it. “Is it about your…friend? Was that him on the phone?” Charlie’s gaze flew to Asa’s, and he gulped. He assumed his dad referred to Jon. Asa wasn’t breathing fire. He wasn’t in the midst of a having a heart attack. He smiled at Charlie. “Your boyfriend?” Charlie blinked, terrified to admit the truth, all the while knowing it was silly. He battled with his inner demons and finally nodded. “Yes. That was Jonathan, my partner.” “Tell me about him. Have you been together long?” Until about a month ago, Charlie would have gushed on for hours about how awesome his Jonathan was. But now, he wasn’t sure. Since his dad had come back into his life, the guy seemed like a different person. Charlie needed fortification, and he downed a gulp of liquid

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caffeine. He stared at a spot on the far wall, anywhere but into his father’s eyes. If he read derision he wouldn’t be able to take it. Charlie remembered how they’d met at a Halloween masquerade ball. Jonathan had been so delectable dressed as a savage with a bone through his nose and wearing just a loin cloth. It had been love at first sight, and every year on Halloween, Charlie sent a bouquet of roses to Jon to celebrate their anniversary. “Fifteen years. We met at a Halloween party.” “Tell me more.” Asa’s voice was tolerant, even friendly, which encouraged Charlie to sneak a glance at him. Surprised to see his that his father’s smile also reached his eyes, he continued. He was also surprised to see his own reflection in Asa’s eyes. He looked downright dreamy, which is something he hadn’t felt about Jon for awhile. At least not in the past few weeks. But the memory of that night and how they’d slow-danced and made out under the stars in the hot tub later made him giddy, and he couldn’t help but smile himself. “Jon owns his own business. He runs a book store. It’s not doing too well at the moment, unfortunately, because of the recession. He’s afraid he might have to lay off some people. Maybe even go belly up if things don’t turn around soon.” Asa frowned and shook his head. “So you might both lose your jobs? You must be scared.” Charlie knew he was and didn’t bother to hide it. He pursed his lips and nodded. “Isn’t everybody right now? I hate to turn on the news anymore.” Asa swished his coffee around his cup and looked into it as if he were reading his lines. “Well, Ellen’s husband’s doing well. He’s an accountant. His boss loves him. In fact, he just earned a big promotion. And they just found out she’s expecting their second child, a little boy. They’ve been trying for awhile to have another baby. Cassie’s five now.” Charlie gulped, and his knees went weak. He had a niece? And she was five? He was glad he was seated for surely he’d collapse if he’d been standing. As if sucker punched, he had trouble breathing. The little girl who should be the most precious child in his life was a stranger. He didn’t know what his niece or his brother-in-law looked like, or what their last name was. He had no clue as to where they lived. As much as he longed to know more about them, he was just as loathe to ask.

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Seventeen years apart felt like a lifetime. So much had happened that could never be made up. He was a fool to think he could. Hot tears burned the backs of his eyes, and he cursed his weakness. He didn’t want anyone, especially not his dad, to see him this way. He didn’t want Asa to see just how deeply they had wounded him. How much he still bled. Asa rose to his feet and looked down at him. “I bet you’d like to see the scrapbook they sent to me. I’ll be right back.” Charlie felt as if he was going to implode. He longed to see the pictures, especially of Cassie, but he feared he’d break down and embarrass himself. “You can do this,” he told himself. It was more of an order. As he stared at his little sister, who had to be about thirty-two now, he mourned the years they’d thrown away. He’d been left out of Ellen’s wedding, Cassie’s christening and Sharon’s funeral. It was if they’d forgotten his existence. They’d erased him from their lives. They looked so happy without him. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t like feeling sorry for himself, and he didn’t like himself much at the moment. He was becoming a basket case again. Damn! How had he come so far to slide back to square one? He caught himself biting his nails, a habit he’d kicked years ago. Disgusted with himself, he sat on his hands. “Are you sure they want to see me?” Asa raked his fingers through his hair. “Yep. I told them how we’re talking. Roger says he’s sorry for telling you off. He’s ashamed of how he acted. He was just…” “Acting that way because Ellen told him how horrible I am,” Charlie finished the sentence. Asa patted his hand. “I’m sorry, Charlie. Ellen’s always been over emotional. When Sharon died, she fell apart. Nobody could live with her. I…” Asa’s words broke on a sob. Oh, God. He’d never seen Asa cry. Not when his grandma had died. Not when he’d come out of the closet. He was as alien as Darth Vader. What was Charlie supposed to do now? He couldn’t handle his own tears much less Asa’s. He inhaled and took his dad in his arms. His arms felt robotic, as if they were operating by remote control. “I’m sorry about Sharon. I’m sorry about everything.”

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Asa sobbed on his shoulder until Charlie’s shirt was soaked, and he was dry heaving. Finally, as the sun was setting outside the window, Asa sniffled and pulled back. “I’m sorry. I still get this way when I think about Sharon. I miss her so much. I still can’t believe she’s gone.” Not a fan of his step-monster, as he suspected she was the real root of their problems, Charlie didn’t know what to say. He felt sorry for his dad, however, and commiserated with his grief. “I-I’m sorry. I tried to call when I heard she’d died. I’m sorry no one told you.” It took all his moxie not to scowl at the memory. That’s when Ellen’s husband had told him to fly off and die, that the world would be better off if he’d commit harakiri, and to stay away forever. Charlie didn’t look forward to meeting the jerk, but he imagined he was an excellent match for his diva sister. He hoped his niece didn’t take after them. Poor kid. He was curious about Sharon’s death but didn’t want to start another round of tears. At the time, he’d Googled it on the internet but found nothing. She hadn’t been that old, so he guessed she’d been in an accident. Instead, he tried to snap Asa out of his misery. “When’s this big reunion going to take place?” “Next Sunday.”

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Chapter Three

Next Sunday? The words chanted in Charlie’s mind all the way home and the following day at work. He’d dreamed about it. Or rather, he’d had nightmares about Sharon rising from the dead to get him and Ellen spouting three heads that all spewed acid. He pictured Ellen’s husband as a big, green ogre that ate guys like him whole then spit out his bones. He knew Jonathan wasn’t happy with him for missing their dinner with Adam and Stefan or for shutting him out. But he was afraid Jon would have him committed if he revealed his crazy dreams. Or, maybe, he’d just call him stupid. He knew Jonathan felt left out, and he was of two minds when it came to inviting him to the family reunion Sunday. On a selfish level, he craved the support—that’s if Jon didn’t get needy and clingy. On another level, he was afraid his family really were piranha, as in one of his nightmares, and would eat the poor guy alive. He didn’t wish that kind of torture on anyone, especially not Jon. Whether he wanted to invite Jon or not, Asa hadn’t issued an invitation, and Asa hadn’t met him yet. Charlie wanted to ask if it was okay if he brought Jonathan with him, but he was having trouble dialling the phone to ask. “Coward,” he mumbled under his breath, hating himself. “What’d you say?” Jonathan asked. His partner eyed him as if he’d morphed into a different person, maybe something subhuman. Had their relationship really deteriorated that far or was he just delusional? Delusional or not, he was definitely a mess. “Nothing. I just coughed.” Jonathan gave him a look that told him the man wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead Jon walked up to him and massaged his shoulders. “This has been a tough time, and I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to make it harder. I’m not trying to. I just…” He bit his lip.

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Charlie could read his mind. They’d been together a long time, and they were truly partners. He felt like shit for making Jonathan feel as left out as he’d been. He vowed to suck up his fear and call Asa to see if Jonathan would be welcome at the gathering. He leaned back into nirvana and moaned in bliss. “You have magic hands.” Jonathan bent low and nuzzled his ear. “I have an even more magical something else.” He looped his arms around Charlie’s neck and dipped his tongue in Charlie’s ear. “I’ve missed you. Come to bed.” The sun was still high in the sky, and he’d been about to run to the store for groceries, but he didn’t care. He captured Jonathan’s hands, drew one to his lips and kissed each fingertip. He kept hold of the last one and suckled it. Jonathan writhed against his back. “If you’re trying to get me hot and bothered, you’re succeeding. Keep it up, and we won’t make it to bed.” Fine with him. He liked to take their sex life on the road. He twisted around and stood all in one fluid motion. Then he swooped down on his lover and stole a long, searing kiss. His cock jumped to attention and demanded to be let out to play. Jonathan’s cock made a big bulge in his pants, too, and rubbed against his. The friction made him smell smoke. Or was that something cooking on the stove? The odour was too strong not to be real. Jonathan yanked away. “Holy crap! I forgot about dinner.” He sprinted for the kitchen, where tiny flames licked the cast iron skillet and charred a couple pieces of unidentifiable meat. Jonathan’s expression dropped, and he smothered the fire with a lid. Then he tapped his heels, and he saluted the sizzling pan. “To two heroes who died in vain.” Charlie had to laugh, but he wrinkled his nose at the putrid smell. He closed in on his baby, curled his arms around Jonathan’s waist and pulled him back against him. He swept his tongue down Jonathan’s long, graceful neck. “Don’t worry. We’ll order in pizza or Chinese, your pick.” Jonathan arched his neck into the caress. “What about the money? I thought we had to watch our pennies?” Charlie tamped down his ever-present panic over the job situation. “We’re not unemployed yet. A pizza won’t bankrupt us.”

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He damned the state of the economy and anything else making them so crazy they kept biting off each other’s heads. What they had was too precious to lose, and he swore to do everything in his power to keep their love alive. Even take Jonathan into the family’s lair. He laced his fingers through Jonathan’s and pulled him to their bedroom after all then closed the door on the bad smells. In the middle of the room, he stopped and faced off against his lover. As usual, he was struck by the man’s beauty, and he drank it in. He ran his hands down Jonathan’s arms and girded himself for what he was about to say. “I know I made you feel bad because I didn’t introduce you to my father yet.” When Jonathan nodded, he felt like dirt. Before his partner could speak, he rushed on. “So far Asa’s being nice and behaving, but he has a very sharp tongue. It can be deadly. I didn’t want him to tear you to shreds.” Jonathan gave him a suspicious look. “Is that really the only reason you’ve not introduced us? You’re not ashamed of me? Having second thoughts about being gay?” Shock and guilt choked him as his heart broke. It took several minutes to unfurl his tongue. Still, it was hard to speak when he shook so badly. “No. I’m not ashamed of you, and I never will be. And rest assured, I’m a thousand percent gay. I’ll serenade you with a Barbara Streisand song if you want me to prove it.” A crooked smile tipped Jonathan’s lips. “Make that Johnny Mathis, and I’ll be putty in your hands. Besides, there are better ways to prove you’re all gay.” There certainly were, and he couldn’t wait to show them. “Strip naked. I want to dance with you.” A wicked glint flashed in Jonathan’s eyes, and in a flash, his clothes had been sacrificed to the gods of lust. Charlie’s clothing joined them in a heap on the floor. When Jonathan tugged him towards the bed, he resisted and crooked his finger. “I said ‘dance’ as in cock to cock and cheek to cheek.” Jonathan scrunched his face and looked from the bed to Charlie and back. “Yeah.” Charlie laughed and pointed to the cheek on his face. “This cheek. Dim the lights and come here.” Jonathan obeyed. With every step, his cock bounced prettily and beckoned like a siren. The tip glistened from drops of pre-cum, and his balls were dark red from over-producing testosterone.

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All of a sudden ravenous, Charlie licked his lips. He opened his arms wide and enfolded Jonathan against his heart. Together, their hearts beat strongly, echoing in his ears. He tried to sing Jonathon’s favourite Johnny Mathis’ song but slaughtered the lyrics. Instead, he hummed the melody. He chastised himself. As much as Jonathan played that CD, he should know the song by heart. That and the rap junk that was so last year. Jonathan blew in his ear then nibbled his lobe. He murmured huskily, “I have a confession to make.” Charlie’s heart did a belly flop, and he took root to the spot. His breath stuck in his lungs. “What?” he finally croaked out. Had his lover met somebody else? He’d decided to close his business? They were going to have to file bankruptcy? “You’re the world’s lousiest singer. Johnny Mathis would cry if he heard how you mangled his song.” Charlie burst out laughing and pulled his lover onto their bed. “And you can’t dance worth a damn, so don’t expect Dancing with the Stars to come knocking on your door, either. But I adore you, anyway.” It was Jonathan’s turn to chortle. “So what can we do? Two untalented hacks like us?” Charlie was ready for him and sobered fast. He pulled his partner onto his lap and murmured against his lips. “Make love. World class, gold medal, grade-A fucking. If it were an Olympic event, we’d win every time.” Already slick with lube, Charlie spread Jonathan’s ass with the tip of his cock. He supported Jonathan’s weight while he drove in deeper. His stomach clenched, his balls tightened, and his nipples became tight little buds. “God, you feel so good. You’re so big and hot and long.” So was Jonathan. Charlie couldn’t wait to feel that fucking him, so he bit out a ragged whisper. “Hold back. Don’t come with me. I want to feel your huge cock in me.” Ecstasy stole over Jonathan’s face, and he closed his eyes. “Keep talking dirty like that, and there’s no way. You’d better hurry, man. I feel like Mount Vesuvius, and I’m about to blow.”

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Charlie knew if he slowed down, he could bring Jonathan’s temperature down a notch or two. However, that would also ruin the intensity of his pleasure. He was so close, catching fire, he had to risk it. Jonathan tightened his buttocks, milking him. “Come into me, baby. Give it to me good.” With a powerful last thrust and a roar that shook the walls, Charlie came long and hard. His world went psychedelic with different colours swirling through his head, making him dizzy. They circled and changed like a kaleidoscope as his world spun off its axis.  As  delicious  spasms  ripped  through  him,  he  clung  to  his  lover.  As  soon  as  Charlie’s  orgasm  ebbed,  Jonathan  lifted  himself  off,  leaned  over,  and  pressed  a  kiss  to  hislips.  “My  turn. Get up on your knees.” 

**** Jonathan could come just from thinking about being invited to meet Charlie’s family. It was about time. Charlie still loved him. He still wanted him. He was still hot for him. Didn’t the man know by now, he’d face deadly flames and even the most terrifying monsters for him? If not, he should. He’d faced Charlie’s mother enough. If that wasn’t scary, nothing was. That woman could make a grizzly bear run and hide with just a look. But not him. Not with Charlie at stake. If he believed in Adam’s voodoo dolls, he should make one for her. But he wouldn’t because Charlie loved her, and he loved Charlie. He thanked God for his family, for how loving and encouraging they’d always been. Not once had they put him down. They supported him all the way. As long as he was happy they were, too. When Charlie was like this, Jon was supremely happy. After fifteen years, he was deeper in love than the day they’d met. He was a one-man man. He rubbed his cock against Charlie’s butt. “You’re exquisite, and you’re all mine.” Charlie wiggled his ass and backed up. “Prove it. Make me yours.” Jonathan knew every inch of Charlie and knew just what he liked. “You’re already all mine.”

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He prepared Charlie with his fingers, first one then two. But his cock screamed for its turn. It ached to be inside Charlie’s hot, tight ass. Unable to fight his desire any longer, he slid it in until Charlie’s ass had swallowed it. He dug his fingers into Charlie’s thighs and pumped into him. His balls slapped Charlie’s butt, the bed slammed against the wall, and Charlie’s moans harmonised with his. His heart swelled, and his blood simmered. Any moment, he was going to boil over. He loved being gay and being able to fuck and be fucked. He couldn’t imagine going through life and not feeling this way. He felt sorry for women who would only ever know half the pleasure of sex. The bed shook or the earth quaked. He wasn’t sure which, and he didn’t care. He boiled over, and his cum burst into his lover. Tidal waves of rapture crashed over him and carried him away.

**** Jonathan kept an eagle eye on the front door in case Charlie came home early. He didn’t want him to hear about his surprise birthday party planned for Saturday. He glanced out the front window as Adam rattled on about dressing up as Cher and giving a killer performance. He promised not to translate any of Stefan’s foreign swear words. Stefan was going to cater the affair and set up while Jonathan kept Charlie busy out of the house. He thought about inviting Charlie’s parents, but didn’t think they’d blend with a bunch of gay couples. Besides, he still hadn’t met Asa, and he didn’t need Stefan teaching Charlie’s mother, Gail, any curses she didn’t already know. He decided to invite Gail anyway and told her what to expect. He then begged Adam to do an Elvis impersonation to keep her sweet. A born entertainer, Adam agreed with gusto. Several times that week, Jonathan almost let slip about the party. He shooed Charlie out to meet with Asa, giving him time to round up the gang and clean house. This was Charlie’s big four-o, and he wanted it to be perfect. Plus, he owed Charlie an apology for being so moody and sensitive about Asa.

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Jonathan worried about meeting all of Charlie’s dad’s family at once, and thus asked, “Don’t you think it would be better if I meet Asa alone first, without everybody else? Time’s running out between now and Sunday.” Charlie tapped his chin and glanced at the clock. “Well, my birthday’s Saturday. How about we go out for dinner, the three of us?” Jonathan panicked when Charlie picked the day of the party and almost shouted, “No!” Just in time, he clamped his mouth. He searched for a viable reason to choose a different day. “Oh, it was going to be a surprise, but your mother and her boyfriend are joining us for dinner that night.” Charlie paled then chuckled. He smoothed his hair with his hand. “Boy, would that ever be a disaster if those two came face to face. It’d be the end of life as we know it.” From the stories Charlie had told him, Jonathan well believed it. He suspected a lot of problems between Charlie and his dad’s family were really a by-product of his parents’ feud. “Oh, well, she wouldn’t like it if you blow her off for your dad.” Charlie eyed Jonathan with a look of horror. “You got that right. She’d punish us forever. Are your parents joining us, too?” Jonathan’s heart sank. “They’ll still be on their cruise.” He envied them their trip to the Caribbean then tried to sell his original plan. “How about tomorrow night or Friday? On neutral ground, in case we want to make a quick get away.” He wasn’t happy about the plans on Sunday to meet at Asa’s house. At least, it would be less embarrassing if things exploded and a restaurant full of people didn’t hear all their family’s secrets. He planned to wear his running shoes and sunglasses just in case all hell broke loose. Maybe he should ask Stefan to teach him a few choice curses in Japanese, too. “I’ll ask him.” Jonathan’s nerves grew more ragged by the minute. He wondered how Charlie could stand it? He promised himself to keep it together for Charlie’s sake. At least, he had to hide his misgivings. He downed a ton of chocolate, hoping it would work in reverse like Ritalin. Between that and a steady dose of Johnny Mathis songs, he managed not to get too jumpy. Charlie came back in a couple minutes and announced, “Friday night. We’ll meet him at the diner at seven.”

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**** Jonathan itched all over as if he had a rash. His stomach hurt, and he was going to throw up. And he was only going to meet Asa, the one who was supposedly on good behaviour. But Asa was the most important one. Jonathan tried to block memories of the horrible claims Gail made about the man. Knowing Charlie’s mom, that wasn’t tough to do. What was hard, however, was to forget how devastated Charlie had been over the years because of this man and his second family. It was also difficult to overlook how mutual acquaintances had treated them as if they had the plague. Obviously, Asa and company had painted them to be much more deviant than merely being gay. “Do I look okay? Is my hair good?” Jonathan double-checked the car mirror to make sure he didn’t have anything stuck between his teeth or any smudges on his face. With an edge to his voice, Charlie said, for the tenth time, “You’re fine.” To alleviate the tension, Jonathan asked with a smirk, “Is my butt too big?” Charlie looked heavenward. “Save me!” He glanced sideways with a leer. “You look more than fine.” He reached over and caressed Jonathan’s cock. Immediately, Jonathan went on red alert, and every sense sprang to life. He trapped Charlie’s hand where it lay on his cock. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.” “Later.” Charlie snatched back his hand and put it on the steering wheel. Too soon, they were at the diner. It was just a greasy spoon with so-so food, but they liked the service. Jonathan ate there most of his lunch hours as it was close to his shop. When they entered the diner, Charlie snapped to attention and pointed to an older man with shoulder-length grey hair. “That’s him. You ready?” Would he ever be ready? Meeting the in-laws was always a stressful thing, but when they were out-laws, it was way worse. Jonathan sucked up his fears and squared his shoulders. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” He very much wanted to hold Charlie’s hand for support but knew that wasn’t a good idea. He felt like a little kid being taken to the principal for discipline when someone else had perpetrated the crime.

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Charlie stopped in front of the man’s table, and stood so still Jonathan thought he’d turned to stone. Finally, he gestured to Jonathan and said, “Hi, Dad. I’d like you to meet, Jonathan. Jonathan, meet my father, Asa.” Jonathan froze, and his mouth went dry. He studied the older man, waiting for him to sprout another head, breathe fire or do something dastardly like Gail had claimed. But Asa merely smiled and rose to his feet with tired dignity. He held out his hand and actually smiled. The smile reached his eyes and the corners crinkled. Still, Jonathan wasn’t convinced Asa was trustworthy, that he wasn’t being two-faced. He wished he had the power to read minds. When Asa stuck out his hand to shake, Jonathan reciprocated. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Asa gave a hearty hoot, and his face lit up. “Don’t stand on ceremony with me, son. Call me Asa. ‘Sir’ sounds like an old fart. Sit down and stay awhile.” Charlie slid into the booth first, and Jonathan felt funny rubbing thighs with his partner in the small space with Asa staring at them. He felt as if he were being dissected and studied. About ready to jump out of his skin, he commanded his hands to be still and his knees to stop knocking. Asa downed a gulp of water then turned his attention on Jonathan. “Tell me about yourself. It’s high time we got to know one another.” Again Jonathan muttered, “Yes, sir.” When Asa shot him an asking look, he backed up. “Asa.” To his relief, the waitress, Theresa, an old friend and ally, interrupted to take their order. “The usual,” he said, winking at her. His ‘usual’ was a hamburger loaded with the works and a plate full of fries. It also included a large, chocolate milkshake. When Asa said, “I’ll have the same,” Jonathan liked him a smidgen better. A guy who liked the all-American food couldn’t be all bad. Charlie ordered a shrimp platter and a diet coke. When his side salad arrived, he pushed the lettuce around in the bowl. Asa pinned his gaze on Jonathan. “What do you like to do? Are you a sports fan like Charlie?”

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Charlie was a baseball player and could spout every statistic since the turn of the century. He also liked football and NASCAR. Jonathan sometimes wondered how they clicked as well as they did. “Not really. I like to bowl and swim. Ride bikes. Work out at the gym.” “So you’re not into baseball like Charlie?” Asa looked surprised. “Not really. Sometimes I like to hit balls at the batting cage. I like to go to the stadium and watch the game with Charlie. I’m not much for watching sports on TV. When he’s got it on TV, I cook or go on the computer or do something else.” “So you’re into cooking?” Jonathan smiled. “Somebody has to feed us. I wouldn’t say it’s a favourite hobby.” Charlie smirked. “You’re always cooking.” “I like to eat.” As if on cue, their food arrived and Jonathan tore into his hamburger. The meat’s juice dripped down his chin so he dabbed it off with his napkin. He still didn’t know much about his father-in-law. “What about you, Asa? What do you like to do?” Asa sighed. “Since Sharon died, I putter around the house a lot. It gets pretty lonely sometimes. All the kids have moved out and gone on with their own lives. I go to church on Sundays. I still draw a bit.” Jonathan grasped the last slice of information. “That’s right. Charlie told me you’re an artist. I’d like to see some of your work.” A half-hearted smile played around Asa’s lips. He held up his fingers and moved them back and forth. “Well, these old fingers are pretty arthritic so I don’t draw nearly as much as I used to. Old age is a bear. Don’t get old.” Charlie moaned and rested his chin on his hand. Shadows haunted his eyes. “Don’t say that. I’m going to be forty tomorrow.” Asa snorted. “And I’ll be the father of a forty-year-old. That’s ‘old’.” Charlie looked chagrined and popped a shrimp in his mouth. Jonathan worried again about the surprise party and went over the list of everything he still had to do. He needed to check with Stefan that the food was under control. He wanted to call everybody to remind them to be early enough so they could jump out and surprise Charlie when he and Charlie walked in the door. He had to make an ice and soda run tonight

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when they finished here. And he still had to wrap Charlie’s gift, the new laptop he’d had his eye on for awhile. There was some software that he still had to install. “Are you sure Ellen and Jace are okay with seeing me…us? Ellen didn’t like me much to begin with. She used to tell me I wasn’t her brother.” Charlie looked so morose Jonathan’s heart hurt for him. Asa heaved a sigh and set down the hamburger he’d been about to take a bite out of. “That was kid talk. She’s grown up now.” Jonathan had to wonder about that as he knew Charlie did. If Ellen was so okay with Charlie nowadays, why had her husband—who had never met Charlie—hated him so much that he’d been so rude and nasty? The guy must have gotten his attitude from his wife. He wanted to ask about that but was afraid to. Nor was it his place. It was Charlie’s. Charlie just nodded, but Jonathan could see in his eyes that he retained doubts. Charlie’s knuckles paled as he held his glass. “What about Jace? What is he doing? Is he married?” Asa sat back and rolled his shoulders. “Jace has a live-in girlfriend. Her name is Micki. They both work for a big car company, and they’re both afraid they’re going to be laid off. They live down in Miami but don’t get up here too much. Their weekends are usually taken up with water sports. They like to go out on their sailboat.” Charlie nodded as if digesting all the information. He didn’t ask anything else about Ellen. Jonathan wondered why, so he asked, “What about Ellen and her family? Do they live around here?” Asa sighed again and shook his head. “They’ve settled out in northern California. Roger has a good job there, and they love it. They visit every couple of years. I get out there when I can. It’s a pretty area. I’ve thought of moving there, but it’s mighty expensive. I don’t think I could afford to move.” “So’s Florida.” Jonathan wanted to kick himself for remortgaging their house to finance his business. Now they might lose both. “California’s worse. My house is paid off so it’s the right price. I guess I’m stuck here.” Charlie didn’t look too pleased, but now wasn’t the time to ask why. So Jonathan made small talk and veered the conversation into safer subjects. The more he heard about Ellen, the

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more he dreaded meeting the she-devil. According to Charlie, Ellen’s opinion of him had been coloured by her mother, who’d hated Charlie and Gail. She was practically a clone of Sharon.

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Chapter Four

Ancient! That’s what he was. His life was half over. Probably more than half over. Forty sounded older than dirt. Soon, he’d be arthritic and gnarled like his old man. At least, he didn’t have kids, who would grow up and desert him. Lethargic and apathetic, Charlie lay in bed the morning of his fortieth birthday and stared at the sun filtering through the blinds. The damned thing didn’t care that it blinded him, that it was his birthday, and he wanted to sleep in. Naked, and looking buff despite his diet of hamburgers and fries, Jonathan swaggered into the room and posed at the end of the bed. “Good to see you up, Sleeping Beauty. I was about to awaken you. The day’s getting old. You plan to sleep your birthday away?” Charlie growled and barred his teeth. He pulled the covers over his head and snuggled inside his tent. “My bones are too old and brittle to move. Let me sleep some more. We’re not meeting Mom and Robert until tonight.” Jonathan clucked his tongue and yanked off the comforter. “Lazy bones, get up! Rise and shine. Celebrate the day. Every day is a gift.” Jon was much too perky for Charlie’s liking, and he buried his head under his pillow until Jon pulled on his feet and dumped him on the floor. “I said up and at them! Move it, move it, move it! I’m going to take you out to celebrate.” Jonathan tossed clothes in Charlie’s face as if trying to smother him. Charlie started to give him the finger but thought better of it. Now that he was forty, he was officially too mature to do such childish things. Still, he rose to his feet and saluted his drill sergeant. “Where are you taking me to celebrate? I want to go to Disney World.” Jonathan rubbed his fingers together under Charlie’s nose and tented his brow. “Money, honey? You got that much? And unless we cart your mama with us, she ain’t going to be too happy that we ditched her.” Charlie couldn’t help but notice Jonathan was still nude, and his cock reacted to the sight of his lover’s. He sidled up to him and wrapped his arms around him. Then he batted

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his lashes and curled his fingers around Jon’s cock. “Are you sure we can’t spend the day in bed?” Although Jonathan’s cock said an immediate “yes!” by growing hard in Charlie’s hand, Jonathan frowned and stepped out of his grasp. “I have other plans.” Charlie scrunched his nose and backed Jon into a corner. “Screw your plans! I want to screw. It’s my birthday. I should get to do what I want.” “Like I did last night?” Jonathan waved his finger in front of Charlie’s face. “Later, dear. Anticipation is good for the soul.” Charlie narrowed his eyes. “It’s not good for my libido. I’m going to go and take a cold shower.” He stomped to the bathroom and slammed the door as he mumbled under his breath. So far his birthday stunk! After he’d showered, shaved and dressed, Charlie faced a dapper and debonair Jonathan. Jonathan gazed at his watch then at Charlie. “Grab your swimming trunks. We’re going to the beach, and I’m going to treat you to a piña colada.” Well, it wasn’t as fun as an amusement park, but it sounded pretty good. His mouth watered for his favourite drink, and he could already feel the sand squish through his toes. He rutted around in his drawers and pulled out his suit. “Let’s go while it’s still early enough to get a parking space.” Jonathan slid his arm through the crook of Charlie’s arm and escorted him to the car. “I’ll drive. You relax. It’s your day.” If it was ‘his day’ why hadn’t he gotten his way? The beach was golden under a clear, blue sky, the sand was more gold than the sun that beat down on it, and the tourists were out in force. They clogged the roads, the beach and the restaurants. But Charlie sat back and let Jonathan do the hard work while he enjoyed being pampered. The day wasn’t turning out so bad, after all. Then about one o’clock, a soaking wet Jonathan gathered up their gear and announced, “I’m bushed and we’re getting burned. We’d better go.” Go? As in leave this paradise? Charlie shaded his eyes and looked around. He hadn’t enjoyed the sun and surf nearly as much as he longed to. Miffed, he stood and kicked sand at the moron. “We just got here.”

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Jonathan shook his head and dried off with the towel. “Uh huh. We’ve been here at least three hours.” “You act like you’re late for a very important date,” Charlie joked, but he wasn’t amused. Jonathan didn’t move, and a shutter seemed to draw over his face. Charlie wondered why? “Come on!” Jonathan trudged through the sand, stopped at the sidewalk’s edge and looked back at him. “Today, please.” “What’s the rush? It’s Saturday.” Jonathan made a show of looking over his back at himself and made a moue of his lips. “I’m turning bright pink, that’s why. I’m going to be so burned I won’t be able to move.” Charlie wondered if the guy was blind, but didn’t feel like arguing with him, so he picked up his feet and threw his towel over his shoulder. “Okay. Have it your way.” When Jonathan turned the AC on high in the car, Charlie mourned the loss of the sun’s warmth. They didn’t get to the beach enough, even though it was a mere ten miles from their house. Tourists from landlocked states visited the shore more than most of the native Floridians. “Where to next, dude?” Charlie soaked in the view of the beach, the heavenly bodies in skimpy beach wear, the roller bladers and bikers, the old couples strolling hand in hand. Jonathan acted as if he didn’t hear him and turned up the radio. His gaze was intent on downtown traffic, so Charlie let him be. Even on a Saturday, it was snarled. Jonathan nudged him and said, “Wake up, sleepy head. We’re home.” Home? Charlie yawned and pried open his eyes. “I thought you had plans for my birthday?” Jonathan smiled as he got out of the car then came around to open his door. “I’m sandy and gritty and need a shower. Don’t you?” He supposed Jon was right. Sand clung to his feet and sifted from his hair as he climbed out of the car. He tried to stomp it off and rubbed his feet in the grass before sliding them into his sandals. Then he followed Jon inside. “Surprise! Happy birthday!” At least, twenty people jumped out at Charlie.

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Shocked, Charlie clutched his throat and jumped back, stumbled, and nearly fell on his butt. It took several moments to process everything so he just stared. As his vision focused in the dim light inside the house, he spied black ‘Over the Hill’ flags, his mother and her boyfriend, Adam and Stefan, and several of their other friends smiling at him. “Come on in,” Stefan said. “It’s your party, old man.” Charlie grimaced at the ‘old man’ part. He vowed to get the guy back when he turned forty. Gail bustled through the crowd, elbowing people out of her way. She gathered him to her in a suffocating hug and smothered him with kisses. “I can’t believe my baby boy’s forty.” In his ear, she whispered, “How dare you tell people your real age! I’m supposed to be only forty-five.” He gnawed his lower lip and stifled his moans. “Sorry, ma. Blame Jonathan. This was his idea.” “Call me, Gail. Happy birthday, again.” She released him, fluffed her poufy hair, and rejoined her boyfriend, a toothy guy with an obvious toupee. She guzzled down two bottles of beer. Adam, dressed as Elvis, in a skin-tight white suit, leapt onto their dining room table, clutching his microphone. The mic whined, and he announced, “I want to add my ‘happy birthday’ wishes to our birthday boy. Happy Birthday, Charlie. For you and for your lovely mother, Gail, I’m going to perform Elvis. Enjoy, buddy!” Stefan turned on the music and pointed to his lover. “You’re on,” he told Adam. Overwhelmed, Charlie stood transfixed. When Adam belted out Elvis’s Jailhouse Rock and ground his hips, he was speechless. When Gail jumped onto the table to dance and drool on their friend, his jaw dropped, and he wanted to crawl into a dark hole. Robert clapped him on the back as he gyrated his hips. “You got one hot mama, boy. I can’t begin to tell you how much I like her.” Speechless, Charlie just nodded. He couldn’t believe his eyes, and he worried the table would buckle under all the weight. He didn’t think he could eat on it after this. Then Adam unzipped his jumpsuit and kicked it off. He was naked except for a little Gstring. When Gail tore off her clothes, leaving only her underwear, Charlie gulped. He

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wanted to slink off and pretend he’d never seen her before. Adam didn’t seem to mind. He bumped his hips to hers and they dirty danced. The rest of the crowd stripped, too, tossing their clothes wherever they landed. When that song ended, he went into a medley of other Elvis tunes. Jonathan, almost naked except for his smile and his boxers, pressed his body to Charlie’s. “Loosen up, birthday boy. Join in on the fun. It’s your party.” Charlie felt funny traipsing around in just his boxers in front of his mother and Robert. But since she didn’t seem to care, he decided why not? After this, he’d be a bona fide old man so why not have fun today? It wasn’t as if this would hurt anybody. His mom was probably too drunk to remember anything anyway. So he stripped with Jonathan’s help, and he shed his inhibitions. Adam took a break and used their bedroom to transform himself into Cher for his next set. Meanwhile, the karaoke machine was brought out, and the air was filled with cracked voices. Everybody cheered when ‘Cher’ reclaimed the mike and serenaded them. The liquor flowed freely, and Stefan’s sushi and sashimi disappeared so quickly they had to order in pizza. The doorbell rang, and someone yelled, “Pizza’s here! Get the door.” Having fun, Charlie stuck the cash for the pizza into Jon’s drawers and let it hang out for the pizza boy. They formed a conga line with Jonathan in the lead, and Charlie holding onto him and danced to the door. But when Jonathan opened it, it wasn’t the pizza delivery person, and Charlie wanted to die. His throat constricted, and he couldn’t breathe. Asa, Jace, Ellen and a scowling man Charlie had never seen in his life stood framed in the door. Jonathan’s muscles stiffened under Charlie’s fingers, and after several pregnant moments, he choked out. “Hi, Asa. You didn’t happen to see our pizza out there, did you?” Gail bounded up to Asa and his group, her breasts jiggling in her skimpy bra. Fire flashed in her eyes, and she got in Asa’s face. She jerked her thumb in his chest and turned to him. “What’s the sperm donor doing here, Charlie? You didn’t tell me he was invited.” Horrified, Charlie wanted to cover up his mother and carry her off to somewhere safe. Then he wanted to bury himself where no one could ever find him.

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“We weren’t invited,” Asa said as he averted his gaze from his ex-wife. He pinned his gaze on Charlie instead. “We thought we’d surprise you for your birthday. I guess it was a bad idea.” Gail harrumphed. “Since when did you ever have a good idea? When you ran off with that hussy and deserted us?” Ellen, an adult now who looked a lot like Sharon, stepped between Asa and Gail and put her hands on her fleshy hips. “Are you calling my mother a ‘hussy’? How dare you, bitch!” Gail shoved Ellen so she fell against Asa. “Who are you calling a ‘bitch’, bitch?” The man Charlie didn’t know rushed up to defend Ellen as Charlie tried to grab his mother and pull her back. Unfortunately, it was like trying to hold onto a squirming fish with his bare hands, she was so slippery. Roger, or whoever he was, stuck his nose high in the air as he put his arm around Ellen and dragged her to his side. To Asa he said, “I knew this was a poor idea. How did you ever hook up with a witch like that? How do you expect us to associate with scum like them?” Ellen nodded in sync with every word her husband spouted. “Daddy! He’s worse than ever. Mommy was right about him. He’s no good. We’re far better off without him.” “Mommy? Daddy?” Jonathan pushed his way to the forefront and faced off against Ellen. “Are you still a child? Listen to yourself. Grow up. You’re the ones crashing our party. What we do in private is our own affair.” Ellen looked up at her husband. She was as dark as he was fair, and her eyes were just as incendiary. “Get me out of this den of iniquity. I can’t believe we let Daddy talk us into coming here to see him. He’s a bigger mess than he was before, just like Mommy said.” Her husband rushed her away. He glared over his shoulder at Charlie and Jonathan. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, dear. You were absolutely right. They’re vile. Cassie and the new baby can’t be allowed near them.” Adam drawled from behind them. “Are you ready for the doll, yet? I have extra.” Charlie drilled his friend with a quelling look, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Had everybody gone insane? Jonathan shushed Adam which made Charlie extra curious. Stefan put his arm around his lover and shouted, “Coo so shin ezo!”

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What the fuck? Jonathan turned ghostly white and glared at Stefan. He mouthed, “Stop that!” Asa stared sadly at Charlie and shook his head. “I guess we should have called first?” Then he clutched at his heart and collapsed. Until then, Jace had remained quiet, still as a statue, but he caught their father in his arms just before he would have hit his head on the walkway. “Dad! Are you okay?” He tapped Asa’s cheek with his hand. Asa’s lashes fluttered and his breath came out in gasps. “My heart. Get me to a hospital. Now.” Charlie squatted beside his father. He tried to take his hand, to feel his pulse, but Jace grabbed his wrist with an iron grip. Then he glared at Charlie as if was the angel of death. “Don’t you dare touch him! Are you happy? Every time you’re in the picture, you try to kill him. Maybe this time, you’ve managed to succeed. Why don’t you just stay away?” Pain stabbed Charlie, and feeling as if his heart would stop beating, he fell back and his hand fell limply to his side. “You don’t mean that.” Hatred flashed across Jace’s face which was a younger version of their father’s. “You bet I do. Stay away forever. Don’t try to contact any of us.” Jonathan nudged Charlie’s shoulder, and he gave him a commiserative look. “An ambulance is on the way. They should be here shortly. We’ll get him to the hospital.” Charlie could only nod. His voice had gone AWOL. Jace cradled their father and rocked him in his arms. He murmured to Asa, “Hang on. We’ll get you to safety away from these people.” Charlie was so tired of being called ‘those people’ and being insulted, he snapped. “Like you’re perfect. Maybe if you’d paid more attention to Dad, he wouldn’t be so sad and lonely. You’re too busy going out on your sailboat with your girlfriend to remember he’s alive.” Jace spat at the ground by Charlie’s feet. “Don’t you dare call him ‘Dad’. He’s our father not yours. Our mother was his real wife.” Asa tried to say something, but no sound came from his lips. Sorrow glowed in his eyes when he looked at his sons.

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Charlie couldn’t take anymore. His last hope that Jace or Ellen would forgive him had blown away with the breeze. He decided not to listen to their hatred and just to focus on his father. He prayed Asa didn’t share their views, that he wouldn’t disown him again over something so trivial. Still, he wasn’t exactly happy they’d decided to throw such a wild party. Gail fought her way back and shook her finger at Jace. “How dare you say that to my son. He’s the only legitimate one. We were Asa’s family until your mother stole him away and tore us apart. We’re his real family. Stop spreading lies about my son.” Jace snorted. “I can see why he left someone who acts like you. You’re worse than he made you out to be. Get out of my face.” Charlie gathered his mother in his arms and whispered to her, “It’s okay, mom. You don’t have to defend me. I’ll be all right.” To his brother, he said, “Don’t talk to my mother that way, or you’ll have to deal with me.” Finally, the ambulance arrived and took Asa to the hospital. Jace climbed into the ambulance with their father and spoke to the EMTs as if he was the only family member present. Ellen and her husband, who’d been sitting in the car until the ambulance came, ignorant of Asa’s distress until then, followed the emergency vehicle. Charlie was damned if his sibs were going to keep him away from his father in his time of greatest need, but he couldn’t show up at the hospital naked, either. They wouldn’t let him in without ID much less without proper clothing. As he rushed to his room to dress, he could hear Jonathan telling everybody, “Party’s over. Sorry folks. Thanks for coming.” Intent on being at his father’s side, Charlie didn’t stop to say anything to anyone. But once he entered his room, the sight that met his eyes, made him stop dead. He gaped at it and his jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe it. On Jonathan’s dresser sat a voodoo doll that looked like his dad with a pin stabbed through the heart. “Jonathan, no! What the hell did you do?”

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Chapter Five

Boiling mad, Charlie grabbed the doll, yanked out the pin, and went in search of Jonathan. When he found the man, he shoved the evidence under his nose. “Recognise this? What do you think you’re doing? What is the meaning of this?” All colour drained from Jonathan’s face, and he swayed. He gulped several times and put his hand on the wall to steady himself. His gaze fixed on the doll. “Where’d you get that?” Jonathan’s voice came out weak and muted. Rage flamed inside Charlie. And disappointment. He couldn’t believe his Jonathan could do something so despicable. He was worse than his rotten brother and sister. “It was on your dresser with a pin sticking out of his heart, as if you didn’t know.” Jonathan clutched his throat and sank against the wall. “I didn’t know. You think I did that? Stick the pin in its heart?” Charlie’s breathing became sharper and more hollow but fuelled by anger, he pressed on. “Who else? It was on your dresser. I know how much you hate my family. You’ve been against me making up with them. You’ve not tried to hide it.” “After their little performance today, do you blame me?” “For trying to kill my father? Of course, I do!” “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t try to kill your father. I didn’t do that. I meant can you blame me for being leery of meeting them? Of giving them another chance to break your heart again? You heard what they said, didn’t you? You saw how they treated you. I’d sooner be eaten by a swarm of red ants than go through that again.” “I don’t have time to debate this right now with you, but this isn’t the end of it. I have to go to the hospital. Don’t expect me home tonight.” Maybe not any night. He didn’t think he could stand to look at Jonathan again. He wasn’t the man he’d thought he knew. Jonathan stood tall and tried to touch him, but Charlie jerked away as if burned. The other man looked hurt but let his hand drop. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t…” Charlie waved the doll in his face again. “It just popped up out of thin air?”

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Jonathan’s forehead puckered, and he whispered, “Adam.” Charlie didn’t care to ask what Adam had to do with anything. He had to get to the hospital. He prayed Asa would be okay, and if not, that he arrived in time to say goodbye and that he was sorry. God knew, he never intended for any of this to happen. It hadn’t been his fault. When he arrived at the hospital, Ellen, Jace, and Ellen’s husband formed a formidable line in front of Asa’s room. Ellen stormed up to him and planted her hands on her hips. “You’re not welcome. Get out, or we’ll call security.” Jace came up behind her. “He’s our father, our family. You’re dead to us. Why don’t you show a little decorum and leave us alone. Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” Ellen’s husband pounced. He held up his phone. “I’ve summoned security. You’d better leave before you’re escorted out forcibly.” “Charlie didn’t do anything to Asa or to you. Are you still children? You’re acting like you’re fighting over a toy. He’s Charlie’s father, too.” Jonathan’s voice surprised Charlie, making him jump. Then Jon stood at his side, tall and proud. He wondered how his lover had got there. Charlie wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Ellen lifted her chin a notch and looked as if she was about to have snakes spring from her head. “Our mother told us that Charlie’s illegitimate, that his mother played around on our dad, that one of her boyfriends is his real father.” Charlie gasped. He’d known Sharon was jealous of his mother but not insanely so. Jonathan looked at Charlie then at Asa’s room then at Jace. “Are you blind? Charlie looks just like him…and you.” He pointed at Jace. Another pair of footsteps padded up behind them and stopped. A friendly hand fell on Charlie’s shoulder, and Adam said, “What Jon said. Open your eyes. Charlie’s definitely the man’s son. If he looked anymore like him, he’d be a clone.” Ellen screwed up her face and thrust out her chest. “So? He’ll never be my brother. He was never one of us, and he never will be. We don’t want him.” Asa appeared in the doorway. He was pale and panted for breath, and his fingers clawed the door frame, but he was standing. “Enough! Are you trying to push me into my grave?”

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Ellen poked her finger into Charlie’s chest. “See? I told you. You’re upsetting him. Get out and stay out.” “Ellen! I mean all of you. I’ve had it. Stop it. Charlie’s my son, too. He’s family. Grow up.” Ellen spluttered then shut her mouth. She looked about to cry. Adam leaned close to Charlie and whispered in his ear. “I need to talk to you in private, dude. Now.” “Now?” Annoyance made him wrinkle his nose. “Can’t it wait? This isn’t exactly the time.” “Yes it is. I need to explain…and apologise.” Adam gave him big puppy dog eyes and crooked his finger. “Please.” Curiosity pushed away his annoyance, and he followed Adam until they were a few feet away from the group. Charlie stopped and turned to him. Searching his mind, he wondered what could be so important that Adam needed to talk to him now. The guy was out there, but usually had better timing. “Go ahead. What’s so important?” “The voodoo doll. I stuck the pin in its heart. Jonathan had nothing to do with it.” Adam hung his head and wrung his hands in front of him. Charlie was confused. “But the doll was sitting on his dresser. The pin was in its heart, which is where my dad’s having the problems.” Adam shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I forced the doll on Jonathan. I thought it would make him feel better. They never work for me when I stick pins in them. I’m sorry if it worked this time, although it was probably just a coincidence. That was some scene you guys put on. You have one whacky, messed up family.” Adam played with voodoo dolls, and the man was calling his family mixed up? Charlie felt like a heel for blaming Jonathan, and he hoped his lover would forgive him for jumping to conclusions and for not believing him. He wasn’t happy with Adam for suggesting the voodoo doll in the first place, but he was glad he’d stood up and admitted his guilt. “We’ll talk later, but I have some apologising to do myself. Excuse me.” “I’m really sorry, Charlie. I really am.”

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Charlie smiled at Adam and gave him the thumbs up. “We’re cool. Don’t worry. Just don’t bring any more of those things to my house.” Another troubling thought struck him. “You don’t have a voodoo doll of me, do you?” Adam looked downcast. “Of course not. You’re my bud.” “Just checking.” Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Then he forgot about the dolls and rejoined his family. He called them that loosely. At this point, he only considered Jonathan and Asa to be family. He bypassed the others and went to Asa who was back in his hospital bed. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Do you hate me again?” Myriad emotions flickered across Asa’s face but finally sadness settled there. He patted Charlie’s hand where it lay on the bed’s railing. “No. I’m sorry, Charlie. I caused this by letting Sharon and the other kids put you down, by turning my head for awhile.” “You’re not upset that I’m gay? You were.” He steeled himself for his father’s answer. Asa struggled to sit up further in his bed, and his fingers pleated his sheets. “No, I’m not upset. You’ve grown up to be a fine man. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” Tears sprang to Charlie’s eyes, and he was afraid he’d burst out crying any moment he was so happy. For so long, he’d wanted his dad to be supportive and loving like his fatherin-law, and now he was. Charlie would make a big effort to forget all the painful years that intervened. Asa’s eyes fluttered closed, and his nostrils flared. “I’m losing my energy, but before you go, I’d like to see Jonathan.” Surprise made Charlie blink. “You mean my Jonathan? You want to see him now? Maybe this is a bad time.” “Now. Please. It won’t take long.” Charlie walked to the hall and motioned for Jon to join him. When Ellen and Jace shot daggers from their eyes, he ignored the missiles. He decided they could act like spoiled kids if they wanted to, but he was an adult and wouldn’t play their childish games. “Dad wants to talk to you.” Jonathan nodded and entered. He whispered to Charlie. “I didn’t make that doll. I swear. I—”

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Charlie hugged Jonathan close and kissed his cheek. He held his hand and squeezed it. Love swelled in his heart. “I know. Adam confessed. Can you forgive me for what I said? Do you still love me?” Jonathan tore away from him with a gasp. “Of course, I still love you. Why would you think otherwise? I’ll always love you.” “That’s good enough for me,” Asa said and gave a contented sigh. “I only wanted for my children to be happy. If only Ellen and that stuffed shirt husband of hers could love each other so much… Oh well.” Jonathan strode to Asa’s bed, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Do you mind if I call you ‘Dad’?” Asa smiled. “I’d be offended if you didn’t. Welcome to the family, son. Don’t let the others scare you off. We’ll have to work on them.” Charlie curled his arm around Jonathan’s waist and rested his head on his shoulder. He whispered. “No matter how bad it gets, please keep Adam and his voodoo dolls away next time.” “Anything you want,” Jonathan said with glee in his voice. He murmured so low only Charlie could hear him. “Remember my promise about tonight. Anything you want, birthday boy.” Anticipation and desire shot through Charlie, and his blood sizzled. “Dad’s had enough for tonight. We’ll come back tomorrow. Time to go home.”

About the Author Ashley Ladd lives in South Florida with her husband, five children, and beloved pets. She loves the water, animals (especially cats), and playing on the computer. She's been told she has a wicked sense of humour and often incorporates humour and adventure into her books. She also adores very spicy romance, which she weaves into her stories. Email: [email protected] Ashley Ladd loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

Also by Ashley Ladd Shipwrecked Wishcraft The Perfect Gift Confessions of a Nympho Wild Fantasies Brit Party: Best Mates Liquid Heat Submissive Dreams Heart and Soul Naughty Boys Christmas Miracles Last Man on Earth Secret Admirer Night of the Senses: Welcome to Paradise Caught in the Middle: Charity’s Auction Simon Says Doggy Style

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Dedication Once again to BAB for the unfailing support and laughter along the road. You’re my very own “ace in the hole!”

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Chapter One

What the hell was he doing here? Stephen Powell belonged in London, partying until dawn, hanging out with friends, fucking random girls, and breaking up the monotony with cruises on his cousin’s yacht. Last week he’d been in Monte Carlo, waited on hand and foot, gambling away the nights. And now, here he was, in god-fucking-forsaken Wyoming. If it hadn’t been for the GPS in the four-wheel drive vehicle he’d rented at the Denver airport, he’d have never found the city, if it could be called a city. Not that it would have been any loss. Almost the geographical centre of Wyoming, Riverton was a piss hole. He’d driven around the town twice. It had taken about fifteen minutes with the stop light on Federal. As far as he could tell, there were a couple of restaurants, painfully few places to buy whisky, and a big twenty-four hour superstore that anchored the north end of Federal Boulevard. There was no place to hang out, no place to buy designer clothes, and hell, not even a place for his weekly haircut and what his last girlfriend called “manscaping” that kept hair from places he didn’t want it. He couldn’t believe the town actually had a Main Street with an historic downtown that was laughable for its size, lack of architecture, and boarded-up windows. He almost expected Wyatt Freaking Earp to walk down the street, a six-shooter strapped to his thigh. That would have been entertaining, at least. Town marquees pointed out that the town was gearing up for the Fremont County Fair. He rolled his eyes. The best entertainment in town was a fair? Stephen parked in front of a liquor store and angled his long, lanky body out of the airconditioned sanity of the vehicle’s interior. Jesus, God. Wasn’t it supposed to be colder than the Arctic here?

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The bank thermometer read 102 degrees. Fahrenheit. He didn’t know what that calculated out to in Celsius, but it was hot enough that waves of heat seemed to rise off the tar parking lot. His cotton T-shirt plastered to his back, he walked into the liquor store. He’d chosen comfortable shorts and athletic sandals for the trip. He couldn’t imagine being dressed in jeans like some of the people he’d seen. There was a small bar attached to the store, and there were maybe a dozen people ensconced in the smoky depths, gazing at a television. Unbelievably, there wasn’t a flat panel screen in sight. Not that it mattered. No one seemed to actually be trying to watch the TV. Half the patrons were shouting loud enough to drown out any sound, anyway. One guy, already half pissed, was flirting with the waitress. Surely he’d died, gone to hell, and there was no one to say any prayers to redeem his sorry soul. He grabbed a case of beer and balanced a bottle of Ireland’s finest whisky on top. “Anything else?” the clerk asked, lazily punching the register’s keys. “Smokes.” Stephen pointed to a pack of Marlboros. If he was going to be a cowboy for a fortnight, might as well smoke like one. At least he could have some basic comforts for the next fourteen days. Jesus, God. His Aunt Josephine was hoping two weeks here would rehab his bad boy tendencies. He’d already decided to make one change. Next time he found himself in trouble, he’d call someone else to get his sorry arse out of the local jail. Back in the SUV, air-conditioning on full blast, he supposed he had no more reasons to stall. He popped open a beer and took a long drag. At this point, he didn’t care if Riverton’s finest picked him up. A few days behind bars couldn’t be any worse than serving time at the Double S Ranch. At least in jail, he wouldn’t be expected to work for his dinner. He’d been told the ranch was about three thousand acres, and the ranch house was eight miles down a dirt road. As the crow flew—and Lord knew there were enough of them out here—it was within shouting distance of Riverton, but it took the best part of forty-five minutes to negotiate the ruts in the road. He stopped once to finish the beer. No sense spilling drinkable brew because of a nasty road. He’d jarred the enamel off his back teeth when he arrived at a large metal gate below a hanging Double S sign.

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Wishing someone was there to open the gate, he sighed and climbed back out into the scorching sun. Turkey vultures circled overhead. How perfect was that? He swore when he burned his hands on the gate’s upper rail. He pulled out a slip of paper from his back pocket. Eyes narrowed against the sun, he dialled in the combination to the lock. He was a bit disappointed when the mechanism sprung free, allowing him entrance. He was holding out hope the GPS had guided him to the wrong place. How did people survive this? Getting out, unlatching the gate, getting back in the vehicle, driving forwards, putting the vehicle back into park, getting out again, closing the gate behind you, settling back into the SUV? The only thing people living here had to look forwards to was dying. And the yearly county fair. After completing the crazy ritual, he continued on until he had to stop for a pack of cows in the road. Or was it a herd of cows? Cattle? Not that he cared. Simply crossing off the days until he could return to civilisation. He honked the horn. A cow glared at him. Glared. Monstrosity didn’t move. It just stared. Not knowing what else to do, he got out, shouted and waved. The pack didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass that he liked prime rib for dinner and T-bone and eggs for breakfast. Unbelievably, the hooved beasts won. Giving up in frustration, he drove around them. Half an eternity later, a house came into view. Another disappointment. He’d expected a sprawling home, with at least a few amenities. He got a small A-framed structure. At least there was a horse corral and a barn. No horses, but the corral made it look like he was on a ranch. No matter which direction he glanced, there was nothing but…nothingness to look at. Few trees, lots of sage, and lots of sage. Frankly, he’d rather have a root canal. He slid the gear shifter into park and cut the engine.

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A dog ran over, barking his crazy head off. The animal turned circles around Stephen’s legs, nearly tripping him, stepping on his exposed toes as he climbed from the SUV’s blessedly cool interior. If this punishment could get any worse, he wasn’t sure how. He made his way towards the house. Brambles crawled over his sandals, and dirt puffed up, settling on his feet. A man, his host, Stephen imagined, lazed on the front porch, jean-clad legs stretched in front of him. His well-worn leather boots were crossed at the ankles. A long-sleeved shirt was turned up, rolled above his elbows, and his arms were folded across his chest. The man’s head was tipped back. His nape rested on the top of the chair, leaving his Adam’s apple exposed and showing his sun-browned throat. Stephen didn’t think he’d ever seen a man with hair that long. The man seemingly didn’t have a care in the world, unlike Stephen, whose life had ground to an agonising stop. Right now his university mates were headed to Costa Rica for a week of snorkelling. And here he was, looking at a man who had a cowboy hat—big surprise—covering his face. Stephen wasn’t sure if the man was asleep. How could he be, with the damn dog making all that racket? He cleared his throat. “Mr. Youngblood?” The man moved slowly, deliberately, holding out a hand next to the chair. Then he slowly lowered his hand. Unbelievably the maniacal dog shut up without the man saying a word. With its head cocked to the side, the animal sat down beside his master’s chair. “You were expected two days ago,” Youngblood observed without acknowledging the question or turning his head in Stephen’s direction. The man’s voice was deep, a bit scratchy. Stephen hadn’t thought to call ahead. Two days layover in New York City had been exactly what he needed before starting his penance. “Your aunt is worried about you.” Stephen softly swore. He’d hoped no one would notice his tardiness. But seemed his host was in his Aunt Josephine’s pocket. Did it just figure that every move he made would be reported back home? Stupid him, wondering if things could get worse.

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“Told her we’d add the two days to the end of your stay.” “Fuck that.” “Keep up that language, and a man might think you didn’t appreciate the hospitality.” Mr. Youngblood brought a hand up, grabbed the hat by the crown and removed it. Their gazes met. For a moment, Stephen was speechless. The man, Dakota Youngblood, was gorgeous. Ab-so-lutely gorgeous. His eyes were brown, their depths endless. Wildly, he imagined the man was able to look straight into him, past his lies. His ruggedly high cheekbones contrasted with a nose that might have been broken one too many times. He could relate. He’d had his broken twice, once when he was sixteen and had been caught boinking a politician’s wife. That had been kept out of the press by the embarrassed MP’s people. The second time was more recent, when he couldn’t cover his gambling debt. It had been in Rio, if he remembered correctly. The pain, he remembered. The city, not so much. Youngblood’s long hair was pulled back, cinched tightly at his nape by a strip of leather accented by several small pieces of turquoise. He’d never met a Native American, but Stephen assumed the stones were part of the older man’s heritage. The man was lean, not an ounce of excess on him anywhere. Stephen’s cock tightened. He shook his head. He’d never had a strong, visceral reaction to a man before. He liked women, enjoyed their softness, the suppleness of lithe bodies wrapped around his. And he had a true appreciation for the sight of their breasts, especially when they oozed from a too-small, little, tiny bikini top. Nothing he liked more than having a tit plopped in his mouth so he could suck on it while he stroked himself off. Stephen Phillips definitely did not like men. Never had. Never would. He told himself he was merely appreciating a nice physical specimen. Nothing wrong with that. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. His cock’s response was definitely wrong. He’d been around plenty of good-looking men, even a couple of movie stars in Monte Carlo; he’d never gotten a hard-on before. There was something about this particular man,

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though. Maybe the way he unflinchingly looked at you. Maybe the scent of pure outdoors combined with sage and masculinity. Whatever. He scowled. He hoped Youngblood hadn’t noticed his reaction. No way, no-how was he adjusting the front of his shorts and calling attention to the piece of wood there. “Grab your gear,” Youngblood instructed, standing, still with that fascinating economy of motion. Stephen cleared his throat. “Right.” The damn dog stood and trotted after him. He kept his back to the other man and took a minute to adjust himself. What he needed to do was whack off. Obviously he’d been without for too damn long. After all, he rarely went more than a few days before getting laid. He hadn’t had an orgasm in maybe three days. That had to be it. No other reason for it. He grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat and stuffed the bottle of whisky inside. If the dog could carry the case of beer, he’d be good for something. Youngblood slid open a glass patio door and indicated Stephen should step inside, directly into the kitchen. Suffocating heat swamped over him. Two overhead fans did little more than move the stagnant air. It felt hotter inside than outside. “No air-conditioning?” “You have a shower. Cold running water,” Youngblood replied, looking at him. “Nothing beats a cold shower.” Fuck. Had the other man noticed that he’d been sporting a boner? “Well, the water’s mostly cold this time of year. But it’s better than nothing.” Youngblood slid the door shut behind them. “Your room is next to mine.” He wasn’t sure that was a good thing, not with the way he was already reacting to having Youngblood so close. If he could hear him moving about the bedroom, picture him taking off his clothes, maybe taking his cock in his hand… God, what the hell was wrong with him? He did not fancy men. Not now. Not ever. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. Wordlessly, Stephen followed his host. Youngblood apparently led a simple, somewhat rustic life. Clean plates, a huge knife, cutlery, and a coffee mug were stacked in the dish drain, along with a coffeepot carafe and the filter basket. A squeeze bottle of soap sat on the counter, near a wadded up towel.

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A small dining room with a sturdy table and two beat-up chairs took up only a fraction of the space. The deck of playing cards off to one side gave him some hope. Maybe this was only purgatory, instead of hell. If Dakota Youngblood played anything other than solitaire, maybe he wouldn’t go completely mind-fucking mad in the next twelve, or, rather, fourteen days. There was no television in the living room, and no stereo, either. A wood-burning stove dominated the room, along with a leather sofa and accompanying end tables stacked with dozens of magazines. A tired-looking bookshelf in the corner oozed books, every size and shape, and age. A piece of pottery, Native American, he once again assumed, took front and centre of the room’s coffee table. The only other thing in the room, well, besides the doggy bed, was a telescope. This was boring. With a capital B. If it weren’t for Youngblood himself, this would be unbearable. He kept following Youngblood the few paces towards the back of the house. “This is your room, through here. You’re welcome to the loft, but…” “Heat rises,” Stephen finished. Youngblood nodded. “Bathroom’s through the living room.” “Only one?” As in they’d both be sharing a single toilet? There wasn’t a master bath? “You’re in Wyoming,” Youngblood stated, as if that explained everything, which, probably, it did. Some of his friends had skied Jackson, so he knew civilisation existed somewhere. But, obviously, not here. “What do you do for entertainment out here?” Youngblood raised his dark brows. “No television. No people…” “Don’t worry about the lack of television. You’ll be too tired to think about entertainment.” But not too tired to think about planning his next vacation. Or the man who’d just opened the bedroom door and stood near the threshold, inviting him inside. What the hell was wrong with him? He was wishing the man would invite him inside for more than a quick glance at the room. Shaking his head, he entered the room. As with the rest of the house, the bedroom was simple, again. The floors were a plain wood, with a gorgeous, though worn, rug on the floor.

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An undersized bed was covered with what was obviously a hand-stitched quilt. A single dresser that had seen better days, judging by its peeling paint and a missing knob, was the room’s only furniture. There wasn’t even a mirror in sight. Three walls were painted white, the fourth was covered in pine panelling. An interesting-looking thing hung above the bed. About the size of a dinner plate, it was circular, made of wood, and had webbing weaved across the interior. A white feather was tied to the bottom. There was a single window, and its curtain would never keep out the sun. He guessed that if you got up with the roosters, you never needed to block out the light. Great. He dumped his duffel on the bed. “You’ll be making dinner,” Youngblood told him. “Dinner?” “You like to eat?” Stephen nodded. “Then you’ll cook.” He raised his hands in mock defeat. He grinned, the same disarming smile that had gotten him out of trouble a hundred times before. This time, it was easy to admit his shortcomings. “Sorry. I don’t cook.” Youngblood just nodded, never losing that cool, unshakeable composure. “You’ll cook.” Stephen’s grin and excuses were obviously not going to work magic on this man. He wondered what would. The dog wandered in, sat next to Youngblood, then looked up at Stephen. Two jailors. And he had a strange attraction to the man, making his head spin. He was well and truly fucked.

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Chapter Two

Dakota Youngblood had lost what little remained of his sanity. He returned to the kitchen and grabbed a tall pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator, pouring himself a glass. He rolled the cool glass across his forehead. What in hell was he thinking, letting a rich, spoiled, poor excuse for a man into his home? The boy traded on his good looks and smile, things Dakota had no time for. But when he’d heard Josephine’s voice, he’d been undone. Only for Josephine would he give up his precious solitude. And only then because he owed her a favour. She hadn’t been about to let him forget that summer when he’d screwed up and she’d taken the blame. The fight he’d been in had happened in a place he shouldn’t have been. He’d violated the terms of his probation and would likely have been sent away if she hadn’t insisted to the starstruck cop that he’d been defending her. She’d been dating his cousin, but her heart was as wide as Wyoming. Funny how life completed a circle. On the phone, she’d given him a sob story, about how she’d ended up raising Stephen after the deaths of her sister and brother-in-law. She’d known the kid since he was a child, and she believed in him, despite his drinking, his womanising, his gambling, his immaturity. He needed a firm hand, Josephine believed. And she thought him to be the man who would deliver it. Dakota didn’t know about that. All he knew was that his peace had been shattered by the young man’s arrival. Despite his attitude, Dakota understood Josephine’s need to help. There was something in Stephen’s verdant eyes that spoke of loss and pain, something buried deeper than his devil-may-care, fuck you all attitude. Maybe she saw in Stephen what she’d once seen in him. Her trust in him all those years ago hadn’t been misplaced. He’d wrestled his demons, beaten them into submission, and he sure as hell wanted to keep them there, subdued, under control, locked away.

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Stephen’s raw energy, teamed with his seething resentment, reminded Dakota too much of himself. Still and all, the boy was good-looking, and no doubt he’d skated through a lot of trouble with his dark blond hair, baked on tan, and quick smile. Dakota wouldn’t fall for it. Despite the lock of almost blond hair that fell across his forehead, emphasising his boyish handsomeness, Dakota would keep this professional. He didn’t do men who hadn’t been around the block once or twice. But… Shit. From Josephine’s stories, he’d figured the kid only went for women. But there was no mistaking the hard-on he’d been sporting. One of them had to keep a wall between them. Obviously it was up to him, even though he hadn’t taken a lover in the last year. His own hormones were dangerously close to the surface. He took a long drink of the lemonade, then a second, distracting himself. He refilled the glass before returning the pitcher to the refrigerator and flicking the door closed. “I was serious,” Stephen said, joining Dakota in the kitchen, “if you’re counting on me to make dinner, we’ll both starve.” “You can learn. Josephine didn’t say anything about you being slow.” He expected a smart-arse retort. He hadn’t figured on Stephen’s grin. It was disarming. No wonder it had taken Josephine so long to get fed up with his behaviour. His attitude was seductive. It’d be easy to give the lad just one more chance, then one more. Maybe it was a good thing Dakota lacked patience. “Any more of that lemonade?” Stephen asked. “Help yourself.” Dakota went back outside and took up his place in the chair. “No vodka to put in it?” Stephen asked, closing the patio door behind himself. The young man dragged over a chair, and the dog sat between them. That Pocatello hadn’t bitten the kid must mean something significant. “Don’t drink.” “You don’t drink?” Stephen’s eyebrows raised. “You don’t drink, ever?” “Not a drop in the last eight years.” He didn’t invite the conversation to go further. “Don’t mind if I do?” Stephen asked. “You’re an adult.” He watched the boy head back to his SUV. Pocatello, obviously over his excitement, barely cocked an eye open. Stephen moved with confidence and ease, well, until a stray rock

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obviously lodged between his foot and his sandal. Nice shoes, probably a couple hundred dollars, but helpless in the face of ranch life. He watched while Stephen dug out the offending rock. Stephen retrieved a case of expensive beer from the vehicle. Bottles, not cans. “I draw the line at anything illegal.” “Fair enough,” Stephen agreed, heading inside. There wasn’t a breeze to ripple the atmosphere, and it hadn’t rained in weeks. The weatherman had shaken his head, saying there was no relief was in sight. Fire danger in the Wind River Mountains was extreme. He trusted his own internal guidance more than the local news, but even he wasn’t optimistic, which meant getting water out to the cattle soon. Stephen would love it, especially if he didn’t get some boots beforehand. Still, having plenty to do was important. Stephen returned with a beer, having abandoned the glass of lemonade on the porch railing. The younger man stretched out his legs. While he was fashionably thin, he could use a bit more bulk. A couple of weeks at the Double S would help that. A couple of months would be better… He shook his head. Stephen wouldn’t be here longer than fourteen days. No point in letting his thoughts stray beyond that. Stephen remained quiet while he finished the first beer. Then he went for a second. “Gambling?” Dakota asked. “Aunt Josephine told you everything?” “She told me enough.” “I’m reckless.” Stephen shrugged. “Not so much the gambling, but the fact I can’t walk away.” “Can’t?” “Won’t.” Stephen lifted the bottle to his lips, held it there, then pulled it away again. “When I want something, I go after it. I’m stubborn.” He shrugged. “I have a hard time taking no for an answer.” He smiled, and Dakota grinned back. Damn, there was something about Stephen. “What’s your story?” Stephen asked. “You live out here all by yourself. No woman around. Just you and the cows.” “And Pocatello.”

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The dog cocked his head and gave a tiny whimper. “And Pocatello,” Stephen agreed. He gazed into the distance, to the west where the sun would eventually set behind the Wind Rivers. Eventually he answered. “There is no story.” At least nothing worth repeating. Dakota drained the last of his lemonade. “I like being out here. I like making the land productive. Me and nature, making a living.” Stephen was quiet, and he looked around. “Don’t you ever get lonely?” Dakota shrugged. “Everyone gets lonely. You can be as lonely in a group of people as you can when you’re alone. Having someone around doesn’t mean you can’t be lonely.” “Touché.” Stephen finished his second brew and lined up the empty bottle on the railing next to the first. He was starting quite the collection. “Dinner,” Dakota suggested. “Steaks?” “From one of those nasty cows that wouldn’t let me on the ranch?” Dakota laughed. “One and the same.” “Can’t think of anything I’d like more than to make one of them dinner.” He crossed his legs and drummed his fingers on his knee, quietly humming a tune and looking like the royalty he apparently thought himself to be. That would definitely change. No one stayed for free on the Double S. “Uh, Stephen? I meant it.” “Meant what?” The boy blinked uncomprehendingly. “You’re cooking.” “Oh.” He grinned and shifted lower in his chair. “I meant it, too. I don’t cook.” “You’re going to learn. Or you’re going to starve.” Stephen blinked. “You’re serious.” “Dead serious.” The happy glow faded from Stephen’s eyes. Unaccountably, Dakota wanted it restored. Forcing himself to remain firm, he offered his hand. Stephen glared for a full five seconds. Then he slid his palm against Dakota’s. The touch was electric. For long moments, they remained there, looking at each other, eyes locked. Fuck.

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He’d been without a companion for a long time, but even that didn’t explain his instant reaction. His cock was instantly hard. His balls tightened. He wanted release, wanted to pound into this man, wanted to hold his shoulders, imprisoning him while he fucked him, spilling deep in his arse. For a dozen reasons, maybe a hundred, he couldn’t, he shouldn’t. Stephen was young. He liked women. He was under Dakota’s charge. He was supposed to be learning about control and life’s hard lessons. Josephine would kill them both. But none of that mattered. Lust clouded his vision, obscured reason. Dakota dragged in a deep breath. “Dinner,” he managed. “Yeah.” But neither of them moved. Their gazes remained locked, their hands remained clasped. Of unspoken accord, they leaned in towards each other. Stephen smelled of man, of spice, soap, and luxury, reminding him of their two different worlds. One of them had to be mature, rational. Stephen muttered, “I want you. This. Please.” Clearly Stephen wasn’t going to be the rational one. He’d already warned Dakota that when he wanted something, he went after it; he was stubborn. That meant Dakota had to have even greater resolve. Still, their lips were barely inches apart. Dakota, mature and rational, wasn’t shoving Stephen away. Stephen leaned in and kissed Dakota quickly, just a bare brush of lips against lips, nothing spectacular, nothing deep or moist, nothing untoward. But it was enough. “I’ve always wondered what that might be like.” “Stephen…” Dakota pulled back. This was quickly passing into dangerous territory. If a quick kiss could elicit this kind of response, what would a real joining be like? “I think I liked it.” With his free hand, Stephen grabbed his own cock. “What do you think?” Mesmerised, Dakota couldn’t help but watch the man stroke himself. Beneath his shorts, Stephen’s cock grew bigger with each stroke. Dakota shouldn’t allow himself to imagine what the man’s cum would taste like on his tongue, shouldn’t allow himself to

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imagine his screams as Dakota took his orgasm from him. “Stephen…” This time, the word was as much a groan as it was a demand and warning. “Damn it! I’m curious, Mr. Youngblood. Do you see how hard I am? How much that little kiss aroused me?” “Youngblood,” he corrected. “Skip the mister part.” He took a breath. “You’ll have to find someone else. Plenty of lonely cowboys around.” This time, Dakota forced himself to take a step back. He released Stephen’s hand. Rejection sliced through Stephen’s green eyes, making him look vulnerable. Dakota would do just about anything to soothe away that look of rejection from the other man’s face. Almost anything. He would stop short of kissing Stephen senseless, which was what they both wanted. “It’s not about you,” Dakota promised. “I only see two of us here.” Stephen all but pouted, which would have been funny, if the stakes weren’t so serious. “You don’t like any guys? If that were true, you’d have already knocked me on my arse. So it has to be me.” Dakota ground out the next words, struggling to keep his libido at bay, fighting to keep distance between them. “It’s not about you.” “So you’re telling me that whatever the hell this is, you’re not feeling it?” “Damn it, Josephine would kill me. You may not be scared of her, but she terrifies me.” “So if it weren’t for my ferocious aunt, you’d kiss me?” “I didn’t say that.” “Well, then?” “I don’t fuck my guests.” “What kind of host are you?” “One who tries to do the right thing.” “And you think this is the right thing?” “You try my patience, boy.” Frustrated, goaded, pissed at himself, he grabbed Stephen around the shoulders and dragged him against his longer, heavier body. Dakota dug one hand into Stephen’s carefully trimmed and styled hair, yanking his head back. Stephen’s eyes widened and his mouth parted. “Yes,” he whispered. There was no rejection in Stephen’s eyes. Their green depths had darkened with desire. Dakota wasted no time. He took Stephen’s lips, claiming him, demanding entrance into his

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mouth, shoving his tongue deep inside, tasting the warmth, the tanginess of the beer he’d sipped. Brutally, he demanded surrender. “Better be careful what you ask for, boy,” Dakota warned, pausing momentarily before once again plundering Stephen’s mouth. He dragged Stephen even closer, making sure he could feel the hardness of his erection. No rejection there. No denying the truth. He took. He demanded. He bit down on Stephen’s lower lip, keeping the pressure hard until the other man’s eyes closed with surrendered submission. Not at all satisfied, angst crawling around in his gut, he ended the kiss and kept Stephen imprisoned in his grip, not letting him move. “Just because I won’t bend you over that railing, yank down your shorts and fuck you hard and deep like you deserve, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” Pissed off, he released Stephen with a slight shove. “Got it?”

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Chapter Three

Stephen’s head spun. He got the message. Loud and clear. Dakota went in the house, slamming the patio door shut, leaving him and the dog outside. Pocatello jumped up, despite the heat, and wagged his tail, then sat down, looking forlornly towards the door. Then he put back his head and cried. “I know how you feel,” Stephen told Pocatello, petting his head. It occurred to him this was the first time he’d ever pet a dog, or any animal for that matter. Pocatello rested his head on Stephen’s thigh, then leaned into him. He thought he hated dogs, but he didn’t push the animal away. Something about being kissed like that made him strangely mellow. Perversely, he was also enjoying Dakota Youngblood’s anger. Youngblood was furious, every bit as much at himself as he was Stephen. Which meant the attraction wasn’t just one way. He grinned like an idiot. He shouldn’t. But he did. Christ, he hadn’t expected this. Just last week, he’d had his face between a woman’s legs, eating pussy, inhaling the scent of it, loving every moment of it, satisfying her, whatever the hell her name was, anyway, again and again before putting his cock in her and riding her hard. He’d come, and it had been more than satisfying. He’d passed out for two hours, only to wake up with another hard-on, ready to go to again. This, this was different. He’d never been attracted to a man before. But the sight of Youngblood, so sure of himself, so masculine, so honed, not from a gym with a personal trainer, but from long hours of hard work, turned him on. The way their hands met had sent a spark of ignition down to his loins. Suddenly he’d been overcome, needing to taste Youngblood.

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He’d never been kissed by a man before. He’d always done the kissing, and it felt different being on the receiving end. Different and delicious. There’d been nothing soft about Youngblood’s lips, nothing soft in the way he’d demanded Stephen’s submission. He would have preferred something softer, sweeter, but he understood. Youngblood was trying to prove a point. Absently he wondered if the man fucked like he kissed? His arse cheeks tightened at the thought. He’d never had anything, and certainly not anyone, back there. Had never really considered it. When a previous girlfriend had tried to put a finger up there while they were having sex, he’d grabbed her wrist and put her hand on his balls. But now he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. What would it be like to have Youngblood’s cock split him wideopen? He moaned at the thought. He had an idea what it might feel like for Youngblood. Stephen had taken a few women anally and knew how tight the channel was, how it felt to have your cock milked by the tight muscles. His dick was rock hard and he barely noticed the sun baking him, making rivulets of sweat run down his spine. If he told the truth, he couldn’t be sure it was the sun and not his imagination that was making him sweat. He wanted Youngblood to take him, hard and fast, make him cry out. He wouldn’t rest until he’d gotten what he wanted. Maybe that way he’d get it out of his system. He doubted it, but he could hope. “What do you say, Pocatello? Should we go inside?” The dog stood and wagged his tail, as if he knew exactly what Stephen was saying. Inside, it took a few seconds for his eyesight to adjust to the dim kitchen. Youngblood had two slabs of meat on the counter, and he was tossing a couple of potatoes into the microwave. So much for starving. Stephen washed his hands and asked, “Want some help?” “After you clean up the mess you left outside, you can set the table.” His boorish behaviour embarrassed him. He shouldn’t expect anyone to clean up after him. Aunt Josephine would have been horrified.

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Stephen went outside and gathered up his empties. Wordlessly, he found the trash bin and, next to it, one for recycling. That didn’t surprise him. He started opening cabinet doors. He could hardly confess that in addition to his bad manners and the expectation that he’d be waited on, he’d never set a table. Figuring it couldn’t be that difficult, he went in search of plates and silverware while Youngblood punched numbers on the microwave panel. “Can you light the grill?” “Uh, sure,” Stephen replied. “Flame thrower’s hanging on the wall.” “Flame thrower?” Youngblood turned around. “You’ve never lit a grill?” “Sorry I’m a fuck up, Mr. Youngblood.” He dragged a hand through his hair, dislodging a chunk of hair that fell across his forehead. “I told you you’d starve if it were up to me.” His tone was defensive. Around Youngblood, he felt inferior, less of a man. He’d always been pursued by women, and men wanted to be his friend, but now, in the middle of godforsaken no-freaking-where, he felt useless. Truth be told, he probably was. Maybe that’s why he always ran, always partied, always gambled, had too much mindless sex on too many blurred-together beaches. What the hell was life about anyway, when you had so freaking much money you could write your own ticket? And how was it he felt poor next to a man who lived so simply? It shamed him to realise he had telephone numbers of restaurants in six different countries programmed into the speed dial of his phone, yet and didn’t know how to prepare anything more complex than a quick sandwich. He could use a microwave for the occasional frozen food, but honestly, he’d rather go out to eat. “I’ll show you.”All hostility had vanished from his host’s voice. Stephen wanted approval from this man, wanted it directed at him. Youngblood grabbed the long, butane lighter from a hook on the wall and handed it to Stephen. Then he led the way outside. He showed Stephen which button to turn, then instructed him to hold down the ignite button. He had infinite patience, and Stephen could listen to the man talk all day long. His voice was a pleasant tenor, well, unless he was pissed.

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Next came directions on the flame thrower. “Slide back the safety mechanism, then pull the trigger.” Talk about triggers was not what he needed. Within seconds, the grill was lit. “We’ll keep it on high for about 20 minutes, then we’ll sear the steaks. We’ll turn down the heat to cook the steaks the rest of the way.” “Whatever you say.” Didn’t you just slap it on the grill and cook until done? You actually had to preheat the thing? What the hell was the point in having a gas grill if you had to preheat it? They returned to the kitchen, and strangely he didn’t mind helping out. It was nice, comforting, being next to Youngblood. “Grab that bottle of olive oil and pour some in this bowl.” He liked watching Youngblood work. His motions were fluid, somehow sensual as he rubbed the meat with kosher salt, cracked pepper, garlic cloves, and the olive oil. He put the beef on a plate. “This is a porterhouse,” Youngblood explained. “I’ll teach you the other cuts. Porterhouse grills well.” Stephen intentionally stayed in spot when Youngblood reached towards the microwave. “Damn it, boy,” Youngblood growled when their thighs were pressed together. Instead of moving away, Stephen boldly moved closer. “I already told you that when I see something I want, something I like, I go after it. And I want more from you, Mr. Youngblood.” “Youngblood,” he corrected. “Just Youngblood.” Stephen, in a way he never had before, reached his hand around the other man’s waist. He slid his thumb through the man’s belt loop as a way to hold him prisoner. “Grab the plate.” With his right thumb, Youngblood indicated the steaks. “Youngblood…” “Grab the plate,” he commanded. With a sigh, Stephen let him go. He didn’t like rejection, and luckily he’d rarely experienced it in his short lifetime. They went outside, and Youngblood continued talking as if their kiss had never happened, as if Stephen hadn’t just asked for more. “We’ll sear the steaks, meaning we’ll

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cook them on high temperature for about three minutes on each side before turning down the heat. Locks in the flavour.” The sun was starting to set and the heat was easing its death grip on the land. Youngblood, apparently noticing the westerly direction of his gaze said, “Those are the Wind River Mountains, the Winds, for short.” “Are they part of the Rockies?” Youngblood nodded, then he pointed north. “The Wind River itself is that direction. People like to float down it on tubes.” “You?” “I’m a person.” “Can’t see you letting loose that much.” “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, boy.”He turned the steaks with a pair of tongs, waited the requisite, then set the temperature on medium and closed the lid again. Inside, he poured a lemonade, and Stephen grabbed a beer. He’d had more engaging dinner conversation. Seemed his companion for the next two weeks was a man of few words. “Do you play cards?” Stephen asked, pointing to the deck on the edge of the table. “My game of choice is poker.” “Poker?” Stephen perked up. “Texas Hold’em, by chance?” “Hold‘em, Stud, Horse, Badugi. You name it.” “Even James Bond plays Hold’em.” Stephen shrugged. “It’s his game of choice in the remake of Casino Royale.” “Must be a good game if James Bond plays it.” Youngblood shrugged as if he didn’t give a care who played it. He returned outside for the steaks and then joined Stephen at the table. “Delicious.” Stephen savoured the first succulent bite of steak. “Never had anything this good.” Youngblood scoffed. Pocatello made a soft noise, but didn’t bother to get up. “You’ve probably been in the world’s finest steakhouses.” “I have. There’s something different about this, though.” He slathered his baked potato with butter and sprinkled on a few grains of salt. “Something rewarding about doing things yourself.”

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Stephen supposed that was half the reason Aunt Josephine had sent him across the pond in the first place. He’d done relatively little for himself in his life. For the first time, he was ashamed of that fact. They ate in silence a few minutes. The steak really was delicious. “Maybe you should open a steakhouse of your own.” “I only cook for myself and select company.” Their gazes met. Here he was, six thousand miles from home with a man he would have never met otherwise. Suddenly Stephen couldn’t swallow another bite. He wanted this man. He wanted to be taken and fucked and possessed. He shoved back from the table. “Something bothering you?” Youngblood asked, still eating his dinner, still looking at Stephen. “No.” He bent to pick up the napkin that had fallen on the floor. He wadded it. Yes. Something was bothering him. This attraction, this need. Thoughtfully, Youngblood put down his fork. Stephen tossed the napkin on the table. It was a poor substitute for the emotion roiling inside him and only made the frustration worse. “Look, I’m not a faggot.” Youngblood nodded. “Never thought you were.” “But I want you. And I don’t want you to tell me no. Something happened to both of us with that kiss. You want it as much as I do.” He resented the older man’s ability to be restrained, to wait, to do what he thought was the right thing instead of what felt good. “I’m not sure I’ll ever fuck you, boy”—he leaned back in his chair—“lots of reasons I shouldn’t.” Stephen held up a hand. “Spare me the reasons, Mr. Youngblood. You’ve given me a dozen already.” “I’ll show you how to chop wood, how to rope, how to ride. There are useful ways a man can distract himself.” He pushed back from the table. “I’ll be outside while you cleanup.” “Cleanup?” he repeated incredulously. “Put away the uneaten food, wash the dishes. You know, cleanup.” Stephen gritted his teeth.

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“You cook or you clean. That’s the way of the Double S. Dishwashing detergent’s under the sink, along with a pair of rubber gloves if you want them.” He whistled for Pocatello and the dog happily leapt up to join his master. Without a backwards glance, he left the house, leaving Stephen fuming. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually washed dishes and it took a hell of a lot longer than it should have. Half an hour later, he had a new awareness and appreciation for people who cleaned up after the messes he made. Exhausted after the flight and the drive and for working for his dinner—it’d been a hell of a long day—he joined Youngblood on the porch. He’d lit half a dozen pungent citronella candles and plugged in a bug zapper near where he sat. Pocatello barely glanced up before putting his head back on his outstretched paws. “Busy day,” Youngblood observed, staring in the direction of the Winds. “You learned how to light a grill and how to cook a steak.” “Now I won’t starve.” He might go crazy from lack of sexual relief, but he wouldn’t go hungry. “You’re doing well.” Amazing what a few words of approval did for his self-esteem, and, even more, for his libido. Stephen crouched to pet Pocatello behind the ears. “I can’t believe how peaceful it is out here, how many stars there are.” “When you get away from the city lights, life is different.” He’d been here less than twenty-four hours, and already he was different. “Hold’em?” Youngblood asked. “Thought you’d never ask.” Stephen rubbed his hands together. “Limit, or No-limit?” “No-limit.” “For stakes? Winner names the forfeit.” “Do you ever stop making bets and issuing challenges?” Stephen shook his head. “No.” Was he about to get what he wanted? “In that case, boy, shuffle the cards.”

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Chapter Four

No wonder Josephine was at her wit’s end with Stephen. The boy was impossible. With his quick smile, his beguiling ways, and his sexy good looks, he managed to get what he wanted all too often. Good thing his eyes were so expressive. It’d make him easy to beat in poker, and any game for that matter. Stephen would be losing tonight, and Dakota looked forward to it. When he went inside, he discovered Stephen had poured himself a whisky. A lemonade sat on the far side of the table. Thoughtful. Who knew Stephen had it in him? He grabbed a pile of change from the top of his dresser and he pulled out a few dollar bills from his wallet. “Ten cent ante,” he announced when he returned. Stephen nodded. “Blinds are a quarter and fifty cents.” Stephen nodded again. “They double after every five hands.” He whistled. “You don’t mess around.” “I take life seriously.” Heads-up was a different game than six-player or nine-player hands. Pocatello plopped himself under the table between the two men. Like Dakota himself, the dog wasn’t accustomed to much company. The animal seemed to like Stephen, so Dakota assumed that meant something good about the man. They played half a dozen hands. Youngblood nodded, pleased. They were pretty evenly matched. He’d won three games, and Stephen had won his begrudging respect. Unless he generally played a different style, Stephen was more of an aggressive player than a reckless one. “You’re not bad.” “You don’t suck, either.” “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he commented dryly. As he watched, the younger man downed a second shot of whisky.

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A few hands later, Stephen dealt. He turned up the bottom of his cards for a quick glance, then put his empty glass on top of the two pocket cards. He announced, “I’m all in.” With that, he shoved all his money to the middle of the table. Dakota sat back. He held queens. Kings or aces would dominate, but he had a good shot at winning. He looked at Stephen. “What are you holding?” he asked, not expecting an answer. Stephen grinned. No poker face there. “Aces in the hole? Kings?” “Need a refill on your lemonade?” Stephen asked, standing. The boy wasn’t revealing anything. He could have anything, even a bluff. Dakota couldn’t tell. “Yeah.” Looking remarkably smug, Stephen went into the kitchen, grabbed the pitcher of lemonade in one hand and folded his other hand around the bottle of Jamesons as if it were a lover. When Stephen sat down again, Dakota took his time drinking from his glass. “How much you in for?” Stephen counted his money. “Five dollars, twenty cents.” Dakota counted his own money. He had enough to call without going all in. If he lost, he’d have only a buck left. “Chip and a chair,” in poker parlance, meaning he wasn’t out, he’d have the chance to play at least another hand. If he folded, he’d lose his ante and the blind. If he won, on the other hand, that would be the last drop of whisky Stephen would consume on his ranch. “I call.” He matched Stephen’s bet, then watched the other man turn up his cards. Ace, king, suited. Dakota grinned and turned up his pocket pair. With queens, he had the other man dominated. With two queens in his hand, the chances of the other man drawing a straight were remote. Stephen groaned. “Play money, right?” It was, but both of them took it as seriously as if there were thousands on the table. Dakota waved a hand towards the middle of the table. “Show me the flop.” Stephen, as dealer, laid out the first of the community cards.

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A two, a nine, and a jack were on the board. The fourth card, the turn, was another two. Since it was a community pair, it helped Dakota, but only slightly. Both men held their breath before the final card. Stephen had only six outs. Stephen laid out the fifth card. Dakota swore. “Ace on the river,” Stephen announced triumphantly. “Ace on the river! Saved by the river.” Dakota shook his head. The kid was definitely enthusiastic when he was victorious. Dakota won back a dollar on the next hand, then, Stephen went over the top on the second hand, forcing Dakota all in if he wanted to play. The kid, in his own words, definitely didn’t suck. Dakota debated, and then he called. With a pair of fours, it would not take much to dominate him. In for a penny, though… He showed his fours. The kid had raised with a six, five. He liked to live on the edge. Once again, Dakota had Stephen dominated. The flop contained a ten, king, and a seven. There was no help for either of them. A four came on the turn. “Trips.” Stephen whistled and raised his empty glass. “You have three fours. Looking good for you.” “Yeah. It is.” Youngblood didn’t smile. He never did until the hand was over whereas Stephen celebrated every step of the way. The final card was dealt. A three. “A straight!” Not that he was one to gloat, but he repeated himself. “Holy crap, I got a straight. Do you see that?” Beat again, on the river. The innocent-looking seven that had been turned over on the flop now came back to haunt him. “Stand up,” Stephen ordered quietly. Silence and tension shrouded them.

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Outside, a cricket chirped. A great-horned owl screeched. And Dakota wasn’t liking where this was going. He’d spent his life focused on creating a life of meaning. He’d always been in control, building a business from nothing. At first, he’d leased this land to run cattle. Then he’d started to buy small parcels of the land from the owner. Finally, five years ago, he’d had the funds to buy the remaining five hundred acres along with the house. He was proud of what he’d accomplished, leaving behind a life of few expectations and broken dreams. He didn’t have many people out here to visit, and having this man sitting at his table, giving him orders knocked him senseless. He’d never admit to being turned-on by the experience, but he was, definitely. Dakota raised a brow. “Winner names the stakes,” Stephen reminded him. “Stand up.” Dakota, usually stoic, cocked his head to one side. He could only imagine what Stephen was thinking. Pushing back from the table, Dakota stood. “Take that tie out of your hair.” Wordlessly, he untied the strip of leather and dropped it to the floor. “I want you naked. I want to look at your body.” A bet was a bet, even if he didn’t like it. He sat down to take off his boots, and he pulled off his socks. Then, standing, he pulled his shirt from his waistband and unbuttoned his shirt, from the bottom up. Stephen poured another drink and downed it in a single swallow before slamming the empty glass on the table. Dakota flicked open the top button of his jeans, then lowered the zipper. “Oh Christ,” Stephen muttered when Dakota dropped his pants. He didn’t wear anything beneath his jeans, and despite his best intentions, his cock was already at half-mast. He was attracted to the kid, wanted to ride him. As he’d already noted, there were at least a dozen reasons that fucking Stephen was a spectacularly bad idea, not the least that he was supposed to be keeping the man out of trouble. He shrugged out of his shirt and allowed that to fall to the floor along with the rest of his belongings. “You want me,” Stephen said.

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No point in lying. Stephen looked at him with unadulterated lust. On his grandmother’s grave, his body responded. “Yes.” “Turn all the way around. I want to see your arse.” There were worse things, he supposed. When he finished the turn, Stephen’s green eyes were dark with desire. “Now stay still.” Stephen came over to him. In his designer sandals and expensive clothes, with a haircut that cost more than Dakota made in a month, they were an unlikely pair. Stephen reached out, threading his fingers into Dakota’s hair the way a lover might. They were beyond where they should be, beyond what Dakota ought to allow. Bet or not, this needed to stop. It was his obligation to stop it from going any further. But when Stephen’s sweetly submissive lips met his, Dakota was done for. Although Stephen was taking the lead, there was no doubt who was in charge. The dichotomy turned him on. “Kiss me,” Stephen begged. “Kiss me.” Dakota was only a man. In the face of Stephen’s helpless pleading, how could he resist? He dragged Stephen closer, kissing him, pushing his tongue into Stephen’s mouth, pulling the younger man’s lower lip between his teeth and gently biting. Stephen groaned and simultaneous surrendered. His arms went around Dakota’s neck, and Dakota’s erection pressed deeply into Stephen’s abdomen. “Please, please…” Stephen dropped to his knees and licked the pre-cum from the top of Dakota’s cock. Then he circled the head, pressing his tongue firmly against that sensitive spot near the base of the head. Dakota moaned. The man might be inexperienced with men, but obviously had his own dick sucked often enough to know what to do. Dakota grabbed Stephen’s head, holding him steady. Enthusiastically, he sucked and licked, making appealing sounds that only made Dakota harder. Stephen made long strokes with his mouth, then he released Dakota’s cock. After looking up, he moved a bit so he could lick Dakota’s balls. Christ. For all of creation, he’d never been this aroused.

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“I want to make you come.” Dakota had more restraint than most men, and even he couldn’t take much more. Stephen was one of the most appealing men he’d ever been with, and his only desire was to please Dakota. Damn. Everyone had limits. “Get your mouth on my cock.” He hadn’t meant to take control, but some things were inevitable. You couldn’t stop the river from flowing towards the ocean anymore than he could change the nature of his sexual dominance. He began fucking Stephen’s mouth. He felt his orgasm building deep in his balls. It had been months since he’d achieved orgasm through anything other than his own hand, even longer since anyone had sucked him. He doubted he’d ever had anyone on their knees who was more enthusiastic than Stephen. He pumped his hips and Stephen kept working it. “Boy…” “Come,” Stephen pleaded. “Boy!” The orgasm clawed its way out, leaving him ragged and panting. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck.” Stephen looked up, drops of cum dribbling down his chin. If Dakota had ever seen anything more appealing, he didn’t remember when. “So,” Stephen asked, “do you want to play another game?” “No more games.” “But…” “I want you naked, boy.” “Naked?” Stephen swallowed deeply; Dakota saw the movement of his Adam’s apple. Dakota folded his arms across his chest and waited. Slowly, the man stood. He didn’t seem so self-confident all of a sudden. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, his motions a bit exaggerated and jerky. He toed off sandals as he tugged his T-shirt over his head. Half undressed, he met Dakota’s gaze, as if seeking reassurance. Dakota gave it without any hesitation. “You’re beautiful.” And he was. His skin had been darkened to a sun-drenched bronze. He was fit from hours at the gym, his muscles long and lean. Stephen’s fingers shook slightly as he unfastened his shorts and lowered the zipper.

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Dakota enjoyed watching the betrayal of his soon-to-be lover’s nerves. While he’d been playing Texas Hold’em, Stephen had grinned with the confidence that he knew how to play and win. Now, he was going to take a cock for the first time. “I’m going to fuck you hard, boy.” He lowered his head, hiding his reaction and showing his compliance. If he wasn’t nervous, he should be. Stephen wore briefs with a designer logo on them, and when he removed them, his cock was already turgid. Stephen kept his balls clean-shaven, and Dakota approved of the naked look. “Turn around.” Reversing roles shouldn’t give him this much perverse satisfaction. When Stephen complied, Dakota pushed once again. “Now spread your legs a bit farther than shoulder-width.” Fear and excitement collided in Stephen’s eyes as he followed Dakota’s order. Dakota didn’t need alcohol or anything else to alter his consciousness. Stephen’s nervous compliance was a heady aphrodisiac. “Good. Now bend over.” “Are you—” “Do as you’re told,” he instructed softly. With a slight nod, Stephen followed Dakota’s orders. “Good. Nice.” He walked behind the younger man. “Now reach up and spread your ass cheeks. I want to see how tight that hole is.” He wondered if Stephen would protest or ask questions, but he didn’t. Stephen obediently spread his butt cheeks, revealing that small whorl, all but begging for Dakota’s domination. “Damn, boy, I can’t wait to fill you.” He knelt behind the younger man, inhaling his scent. Although he’d only come minutes ago, his cock was already more than half ready. A few strokes of his hand, a few moments in Stephen’s mouth, he’d be ready to shoot his load again. He wasn’t sure he’d had this much stamina when he was a younger man. Stephen’s unique, musky scent filled his senses. “Keep your hands in place.” He licked the man’s smooth balls. Stephen jerked, but he fought to remain in place. Dakota had never had a lover who was so eager. He was more than pleased. He sucked one testicle into his mouth and laved it with attention. “Oh…”

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For someone who’d swaggered with confidence earlier, Stephen was certainly a weak bundle of need now. Dakota moved quickly, preventing Stephen from knowing what to expect. He licked Stephen’s entrance, moistening it to receive his finger. He sucked on his first finger, then pressed it firmly against Stephen’s anal whorl. He fought to hold back his body’s demands. He wanted to possess Stephen. Now. “Are you positive this is what you want? Last chance to say no before you surrender your virginity.”

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Chapter Five

Stephen’s insides were a quivering mass of desire and nervousness. He jerked against the pressure of Youngblood’s finger sliding inside his body. He wanted to be possessed by Youngblood, but his arse protested the invasion. Despite his attempts to stay still, his hips moved from side to side. Since his first sexual encounter when he was fourteen, he knew the delights of having his dick buried so deep inside someone else that he was lost, but the experience of accepting a cock was new, creating wildly delirious sensations inside him. “Stephen?” “Yes, yes,” he whispered, surrendered. “I want you. I want you to take my virginity.” “Tell me if anything is too much.” The whole thing was too much. From the moment he’d seen Youngblood’s naked body, sexual tension had threatened to devour him. The sight of Youngblood’s long hair hanging over his dark brown shoulders and down his back had turned him on like nothing else ever had. This man, so broad, so strong, made him weak. There was no pretence in Youngblood, no equivocation, and now here he was, bent over, his balls, full to the point of explosion, hanging down between his legs. A man, a man, was kneeling behind him, his finger pressing deep inside his body. Stephen had never been so overwhelmed before, and it wasn’t just from the physical sensation, it was so much more. It was the joy of knowing Youngblood desired him this much. It was about the realisation he wanted to please the rancher. His breathing became more and more laboured when he felt himself being stretched even wider so Youngblood could insert a second finger. “Easy,” Youngblood urged. “Bear down.” “It’s…” “Too much?” Although the tone of his tenor was soothing, Youngblood didn’t stop the maddening onslaught.

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“It’s…” He struggled for the right word. “Overwhelming,” Stephen confessed. Suddenly he realised he’d had no idea what he was asking for when he’d begged Youngblood to take him. He’d thought it would be a quick fuck to release tension and satisfy his sexual hunger. He’d had no idea his emotions would get tangled up in the whole thing. Youngblood cupped Stephen’s balls and applied a small amount of pressure. The room felt hotter. The overhead fan offered no relief from the unbearable summer night heat. Sweat formed on his brow. Youngblood eased in his thumb alongside his fingers. “You’re doing well.” Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his body’s orifice being torn asunder. “I love the way you’re opening for me. That’s it. Keep your cheeks spread apart.” “I’m not sure how much more I can take.” He wondered if Youngblood understood a word he’d said. Even to his own ears, the words sounded like a jumbled mess. “You can take it,” Youngblood told Stephen. “This and much more. Be right back. Don’t move.” Did Youngblood know what his demand cost? Stephen’s muscles were already aching from being in one place so long. His anus was burning from the unaccustomed use. But there was a goofy grin on his face as he remained in position. This was what he’d been wanting. Youngblood was what he’d been wanting. “Lube,” Youngblood explained, crouching down behind him. “And I brought a condom, as well. I want to take my time with you, make sure you’re properly prepared, but I’m running out of patience.” “That’s two of us.” He heard a squirting sound, then he felt the coolness of the gel against his chafed skin, and it felt blessedly refreshing. “Fuck me.” Instantly, Youngblood inserted a finger. It went in easier than before as his arse was already opening. A second finger followed. Stephen moaned. Simulating fucking, Youngblood moved his hand. In and out. Hard and fast. Stephen moaned. “Damn.” “Your prostate,” Youngblood explained. Dear God. Dear. God.

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He’d never experienced anything like this, as if he could come without having his cock touched at all. It was all he could do to remain in place, to keep his hands where Youngblood had instructed. He could hardly think, could hardly function. “Please…” Youngblood pulled out his fingers. “Are you ready for me?” Was he? Would he ever be? “Yes.” “The bedroom. I want you in the bedroom, on my bed.” As if he could move. Together, they made it to the back of the house. “Up on all fours.” Stephen needed help to comply with the order. “Put your head down on the mattress. Spread your knees wide so I can get in there.” Just that simple motion exposed more of his backside. “Stay still.” He remained in place as he listened to the sounds as Youngblood opened a condom wrapper. “Next time, you can sheath me. For now, I want to be inside you.” Despite Youngblood’s command, Stephen swayed slightly, from side to side. He who’d never been nervous about anything in his life was almost crawling out of his own skin. “Keep your legs and ass spread for me,” he reminded, crawling up onto the bed. Stephen did his best to nod against the bedspread. “I’m going to put more lube on my cock.” He would have answered, if his tongue worked. Suddenly he was very much aware of what he’d demanded from the women he’d made love to. There was something amazing about receiving your lover. Amazing and profound. Nothing could have prepared him for the sensation created when he felt the relentless head of Youngblood‘s cock nudging against his opening. It was a completely different feel than having a finger there. Bigger, more insistent. Youngblood pushed his way inside a bit. Now Stephen knew for certain he was being torn apart. “Damn it, Youngblood.” “Bear down,” Youngblood reminded. “I… Trying…”

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“You’ve been stretched enough. You’re doing fine.” Youngblood’s words sounded guttural, as if dragged from somewhere deep inside. Stephen panted. A sheen of sweat now covered his back. Youngblood grabbed Stephen around the hips and pulled him backwards, even as he thrust forwards. Stephen cried out. “You’re there,” Youngblood soothed. “You’re there.” And so was Youngblood, buried up to his balls. “Breathe.” Stephen felt one of the rancher’s callused hands on his back. Youngblood brought his other arm around Stephen’s waist, offering support. “That…” “I’m going to ride you.” He nodded, unable to complete a coherent thought. All he knew was how it felt… Amazing. Not just the physical reality of it, but the emotional experience of surrendering control to this man he craved. Youngblood pulled almost all the way out, before sinking back in with a controlled stroke. The moment his partner stimulated his prostate, his cock hardened. For as long as he was able, he stayed in place. But then Youngblood changed the pace, thrusting harder, deeper, faster. He couldn’t have supported his own body weight, but there was Youngblood, holding him up. “Let yourself go.” He did. The other man reached around and grabbed his cock, applying a firm pressure, then sliding his hand back and forth. “I’m going to…” “Come,” Youngblood urged. He’d never gotten off this quickly. With a grunt, nerve endings in his entire body sizzling with electricity, he shot his load onto the bedspread. Relentlessly, Youngblood continued his assault, pounding his arse, filling his channel.

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When Stephen was certain he could not take any more, Youngblood came. Stephen felt the throbbing of the man’s cock and knew the joy of surrender. For long minutes, they remained locked there. If Youngblood uttered anything coherent, Stephen couldn’t make out the words. Finally, his cock flaccid, Youngblood pulled out and left the room. Stephen collapsed on his side. He was well used, satisfied, and for now, satiated. Youngblood returned, carrying a damp, cool towel. Wordlessly, he applied it to Stephen’s abused hole. He’d never been cared for after sex; he could easily get accustomed to it. After wiping off Stephen’s limp cock and cleaning up the quilt, the other man crawled into bed and pulled Stephen closer. He willingly went. He wasn’t sure if Youngblood actually kissed his head or whether he only imagined the intimacy. Regardless, Stephen had never been happier. The realisation that he was scheduled to leave in two weeks rocked him. He’d fought against coming here, promising Aunt Josephine nearly anything to escape the punishment. Now he wondered how the hell was he supposed to go back to his friends and his meaningless escapades after being on the Double S, and having the owner’s dick pushed up against his prostate.

**** Dakota tried to find regret as Stephen wiggled against him. He’d had a duty not to fuck his guest. But he would not have missed the experience for anything. Stephen was so responsive, so uninhibited. No games. No entanglements. Just raw, hot sex. Dakota wanted to give and give. He wanted to please his younger lover. He grinned. Who was he kidding? He wanted Stephen to be so sore he walked bowlegged. He heard Pocatello’s nails click on the flooring as he walked in the room and took his place on his own doggy bed. Dakota stared out the bedroom window. He never closed the blinds, except to shut out the most extreme of Wyoming’s winter weather. He saw shadows of distant trees, off

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towards the river. He saw stars, reminding him how miniscule he was, how insignificant his problems. For the first time in years, since Matthew had packed a bag and headed for the opportunities and excitement of a bigger city, Dakota questioned his choices. He didn’t mind solitude. He appreciated the quiet, the change of seasons, the opportunity to create a living with the assistance of Mother Earth. He didn’t wonder about his purpose or the meaning of life. To him, that had always been clear. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Having a warm body against his was…nice. He’d forgotten how comforting nice was. He had not looked forward to the younger man’s arrival. He sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to his departure. Always one to appreciate the moment, he thought of what new things he’d show the young man tomorrow. Having him helplessly lassoed had lots of potential. He fell asleep with a plan forming.

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Chapter Six

“Time for you to learn a few things that will make you more helpful around here.” “You want me to learn how to throw a rope?” The kid frowned sceptically, repeating what Dakota had just told him. “We may need to round up some cattle.” With his thumb, Dakota pushed back the brim of his hat. “You thought maybe they came when you whistled?” Stephen blushed and adjusted his baseball cap. “I guess I never really thought about it.” Stephen wasn’t an early riser, evidently. Dakota had gotten out of bed at five, without Stephen disturbing. He’d checked on the cattle, then returned to the house and brewed a pot of coffee before waking up his bedmate. He’d considered the thought that maybe he shouldn’t have ridden the boy so hard in the heat of the night, then dismissed the idea. He didn’t need to be easier. Stephen needed to toughen up. He’d actually grinned as he decided he was the man to deliver the lesson. It had taken the best part of half an hour to get Stephen caffeinated and out of bed. You’d have thought he had vampire DNA with his reluctance to be out in the morning sun. He’d muttered something about too much alcohol the night before. Dakota told him they’d sweat it out. “We’ll use a soft, household type of rope to practice with, since it’s easier to tie.” “What do you normally use?” “When you round up a cow, your rope will be nylon.” “Maybe it’s not as bad as I thought. I’d be willing to do almost anything to trip one of those godforsaken bovines.” Stephen blinked against the glare. “Let me get my sunglasses.” The boy definitely was part vampire. When Stephen returned, Dakota continued. “The entire length of rope is more properly called a lariat since lasso is a verb.” “Is there going to be a quiz?” “With rewards for right answers.” Stephen rubbed the stubble on his chin. “In that case, I’ll pay attention.”

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“The length of rope is called…?” “A lariat. Do I pass?” “Teacher’s pet,” he approved. For the first time that morning, Stephen smiled. “The type of knot you tie in a lariat is called a honda. It’s a simple overhand knot.” He demonstrated, holding the rope in front of him. Then he reversed the process and handed the rope to Stephen. “Your turn.” The younger man had been paying attention. “Keep your hand straight, otherwise you’ll be fighting the rope. Good.” He nodded. “Now push down on your overhand knot.” He stood behind Stephen and put his hands over the other man’s. He would have never suspected working together could be this arousing. He wouldn’t have imagined his cock would be so freaking hard after completely emptying his balls only a few hours ago. “Finally, you push the rope’s tail through the opening. That’s essentially the knot. You need to pull it snug, but not tight.” He nodded. “Now shape your honda.” When the honda was several feet in diameter, he took the rope back from Stephen and coiled it in his left hand. As he moved away, he took the noose in his right hand. He began to swing the noose over his head. “Impressive.” Then Stephen’s eyes widened when Dakota released the rope, sending it towards him. Startled chickadees darted from a nearby tree, taking bluebirds with them. Before Stephen moved more than two steps, the noose sailed over his head, knocking off his cap. The rope travelled down his body to settle near his waist, trapping his arms. Dakota tugged on the rope, lassoing him completely. He pulled the man inexorably towards him. “Roped and tied. No escape. Lesson over.” He rewarded him with a kiss. Stephen’s breaths came in desperate, little bursts. He bent the younger man over and secured him to a short post so he could access every bit of him. “There’s something I want to do for you before I let you go.” When he was convinced his captive couldn’t move, he crouched behind him and removed his shorts. He took off the man’s blue briefs and then tossed both garments on a nearby chair. “Ever had your ass eaten?” “Oh. What? You’re kidding me. You’re kidding me, right?” Dakota shook his head.

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“God. God. No. I’ve never…” He trailed off, then licked his lower lip nervously. “I mean no one has ever…” “Had a tongue in your backdoor?” Dakota nudged the man’s legs apart, then he buried his head between the man’s cheeks. The first taste of him made Dakota wonder why he didn’t do this more often. He loved having a man at his mercy, overcome by need, mindless with pleasure. With his hands, he forced Stephen’s cheeks farther apart so he could more easily rim his anus. Since this was partly about torture, he didn’t grab hold of the man’s engorged cock. He forced his tongue past Stephen’s sphincter and deep into his arse. Stephen jerked and convulsed. He quietly cursed, then he begged for something. Relief? For the sweet pleasure/pain to stop? He pressed his thumb against his perineum, that terribly sensitive area between his anal opening and his testicles. “Youngblood! I’m coming apart here!” Dakota finally relented, moving around to suck Stephen’s cock. Dakota enjoyed pleasing his lovers, and after a few cursory strokes to moisten the shaft, he sucked Stephen deep into his throat. “Want… Want to… Touch you.” Instead of capitulating, he inserted a finger in the man’s arse, targeting his prostate. He massaged the gland, coaxing a small orgasm. “Damn!” By the amount of pressure he exerted, he knew he was in charge of Stephen’s reactions. He was free to stroke or suck the man’s cock as long as he liked, and Stephen was completely at his mercy. “What are you doing?” “Controlling your orgasms.” “No…way.” “Way.” “Is that possible?” “You tell me.” He swallowed the small amount of ejaculate that he’d milked from his partner. Enjoying him had only whetted his appetite.

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“Please…” He gasped, he panted. His head lolled forward. “I need…” Dakota gave in. He pushed more firmly on Stephen’s prostate and sucked his penis. Stephen screamed as the orgasm ripped from him. Oh. Yes. Dakota definitely liked pleasuring his charge. After cleaning up every drop of semen with his mouth, he finally released Stephen from his bondage. When he sagged forward, Dakota helped him into a chair. “That was…” Dakota folded his arms across his chest. “Incredible. I’ve never felt anything like it.” “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” “That’s an understatement.” “Meet me in the barn in ten minutes. We’re going for a ride.” “Horses?” “Motorised four-wheelers.” “No horses? Everyone knows cowboys ride horses.” “I’m an Indian.” “Oh.” He blanched. “That was thoughtless.” Dakota grinned. Being with a new lover was always entertaining. “But wait, Indians ride horses.” “You’ll have time to learn to ride horses, after we get you some better footwear. For now, we’ll use the all terrain vehicles as I show you around the ranch. Go back inside and change into something other than sandals and grab a couple of towels from the bathroom.” “You’re bossy.” “You haven’t seen anything yet, kid.” He headed for the barn and drew back one of the huge sliding doors. He tossed a couple of water bottles in the storage before starting each vehicle and moving them outside. He watched Stephen walk across the expanse of land. Even though he’d been in Wyoming less than twenty-four hours, he was already looking more like he belonged. Despite the relentless sun, he’d borrowed one of Dakota’s shirts. It fit snugly, and he liked that. Instead of shorts, his lover wore faded blue jeans. They fit his tight ass appealingly.

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Wouldn’t be long before he wore new cowboy boots, and in under a week, they’d look a year old. “How much land do you have?” “About three thousand acres.” Stephen blinked. “All yours? Everything we can see is yours?” “Mine to care for until it passes into someone else’s hands.” He shrugged, trying to answer Stephen in a way the world-travelling playboy would understand, explaining what Dakota had never questioned. “One never truly owns the land. It owns you.” Being its caretaker was a privilege, one he gave thanks for every day. He offered a helmet to Stephen. “You’ve driven an ATV before?” “Yeah. A friend who has a place in the Alps has a few of them.” Dakota cinched back his hair. Stephen’s comment was a stark reminder of their differences. Stephen was here because of yet another youthful transgression. He’d be gone in under two weeks. Dakota would do well to remember that. They each put on a helmet and stowed their hats in the storage compartments. “We’ll head north, towards the river.” As they rode, the land changed slightly, sage and grass giving way to brush and trees. The sounds of birds thickened as the neared the Wind River. They cut the engines and Dakota led the way to the river’s banks. Farther west, an old railroad trestle spanned the width of the Wind. Dakota spread his arms wide. “It’s peaceful here.” “If you’re looking for peace,” Stephen added. Dakota met Stephen’s gaze. Under the man’s devil-may-care attitude, there was more depth than Dakota had originally imagined. Maybe the Double S would bring Stephen some inner calm. “You’re not? Funny, you’ve mentioned it a couple of times already.” Stephen neatly side-stepped the question by asking, “Do you ever go looking for excitement?” “I’ve got everything I need here.” They mounted up again and followed the river east and slightly north. Dakota held up a hand and motioned that they were going to drive through the water. Stephen grinned. It didn’t take much to make the man happy…a game of cards, riding an ATV, a good fuck…

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On the other side, Dakota cut the engine again, appreciating the instant silence. He preferred horseback, but ATVs served their own a purpose; he believed in taking advantage of modern conveniences, along with the old ways. Stephen cut the engine on his machine. “You have an island?” Beyond the island was a small pool of water. A couple of cottonwoods offered a break from the sun’s relentless rays. “We have time for a swim.” “Really? I thought you were going to slave me to death.” “Not until tomorrow.” Stephen pulled off his helmet and hung it from the handlebars. For a minute, Dakota was content to watch. Stephen shrugged out of the long-sleeved shirt, then tugged the dark blue T over his head. Having tasted the tanginess of the other man’s skin, he wanted more. He removed his helmet and stowed it in the storage compartment before taking out the towels and bottles of water. While he watched, Stephen pulled down his jeans. Unlike earlier this morning, he’d skipped wearing a pair of briefs beneath denim. Dakota figured it’d save them both a step. Moments later, the man was naked. Dakota put on his hat to block the sun and leaned back against the machine to enjoy the view. Unselfconsciously, his cock at half-mast, Stephen turned back to face Dakota. “Coming?” He unfastened his belt. Stephen waded into the water, then dunked his whole body. When he stood up, water sluiced from his tanned body. Dakota’s mouth dried. “Get over here, rancher man.” Nude, Dakota followed Stephen into the water. Playfully Stephen reached for his cock. “Masturbate me,” Stephen said, “while I masturbate you.” The boy may not have had any previous manlove experiences, but he caught on quick. He took Stephen’s cock in hand and felt the instant swell of his erection. He tightened his grip slightly, and Stephen’s kneels started to buckle. They stroked each other slowly at first, gently. They looked deep into one another’s eyes. Drops of water fell from Stephen’s damp hair and dried on his body. “Kiss me?”

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Dakota wondered if he could deny the younger man anything. Snaking his hand behind Stephen’s neck, he held his lover firmly in place. “Now.” Dakota moved in, feathering a kiss across Stephen’s soft lips. Stephen’s grip tightened on Dakota’s cock. He forced himself to breathe, distracting himself from his own arousal. He brushed a second kiss on top of the first before snagging the man’s bottom lip between his teeth and holding him a momentary prisoner. He tightened his grip on Stephen’s dick, holding it firmly beneath that thick, gorgeous head. The moment Stephen’s eyes drifted shut, Dakota changed the tempo suddenly, releasing Stephen’s lip to suck on his tongue. When Stephen’s legs refused to support him, Dakota caught him against his own body. “Come for me,” he commanded against Stephen’s mouth before resuming the deep and demanding kiss. He shortened his strokes on Stephen’s shaft. Wordlessly, with tiny moans and with little responses, Stephen showed Dakota exactly what he liked. Dakota aimed to please, jacking off the younger man while Stephen continued to work on Dakota’s cock. Stephen groaned deep in his throat. “Come,” Dakota urged, mixing up the tempo, increasing the pressure, insisting on more, mentally, as well as physically. “Come for me.” With a hoarse shout, he did. Stephen’s grip loosened on Dakota’s cock, and he took over, sliding up and down his own length, his orgasm closer now because of Stephen’s. After only half a dozen more strokes, his own breathing changed. Stephen’s head rested on his shoulder, and having his lover need his support was the final thing to do him in. With a groan of satisfaction, he came, Stephen reaching between them to capture his ejaculate. Dakota thought he might lose his hard-fought composure when Stephen lifted his fingers to his mouth to lick off the sticky residue. “I’ve never felt anything like this.” Dakota hadn’t, either. By unspoken accord, they cleaned each other off before heading for shore and spreading out the towels.

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Stephen collapsed on one, facedown. Dakota laid down on the other, after grabbing his hat to cover his face and his shirt to cover his dick. If Stephen’s buns got toasted, that would make smacking his arse all the more appealing. Stephen reached across the distance and put his hand on Dakota’s chest. Maybe he’d been mistaken when he’d said he didn’t get lonely out here. Until now, he hadn’t. After Stephen left, he sure as hell would.

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Chapter Seven

Stephen felt the rise and fall of Youngblood’s chest, indicating the other man had dozed off. Maybe a midday siesta made ranch life more appealing. He could get used to this kind of break any day, especially with Youngblood. He’d had lots of lovers in his life. Too many to count, so many it embarrassed him. None of them had completed him the way this did. He’d been strangely aroused when the rancher had lassoed him, then he’d been totally turned on when he’d been tied to the porch. The feeling of Youngblood’s tongue up his ass had been mind-blowing. He’d never imagined that kind of sensation was even possible. And then the way Youngblood had manipulated his prostate… He hadn’t even read or heard about that, and he’d considered himself fairly worldly. Now that he’d experienced it, he wanted it again and again, wanted Youngblood again and again. Not for the first time, he wondered how the hell he was supposed to leave in the next two weeks. This place with its wide-open spaces, and with Dakota Youngblood, was growing on him. He’d asked his host earlier if he ever went in search of excitement. Truth to be told, he wasn’t sure he’d go looking if he had the Double S to call home. Something was happening here. He’d slept well, not plagued by nightmares for once. And he’d slept late. When Youngblood woke him up, he’d been more refreshed than ever, despite the fact he didn’t move as fast as the rancher did. It was the altitude, he told himself. Nearly five thousand feet above sea level. He’d adjust. Hopefully before he returned home to England. Since he hated that thought, he banished it. In his usual laissez faire way, he decided to enjoy every moment, a philosophy he was sure his host shared. He raised onto his elbows and scooted closer to Youngblood. He plucked the man’s hat from his face and gave him a quick kiss before replacing it. Unbelievably, insatiably, his cock stirred again, just from the scent of Youngblood’s skin, just from the brief contact. “Kid?”

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“Yeah?” “That was nice.” He smiled. How fabulous was it to do something that someone else liked, just for the pleasure of doing it? “Later, I will show you what else is nice.”

**** “One more time,” Dakota insisted. Stephen’s brow was furrowed, not just from concentration, but from frustration. “I’m done with this.” “You’ve almost got it.” At a rodeo, roping looked easy. Cowboys and cowgirls, even kids, did it from horseback at a gallop. But getting the wrist action correct, throwing the rope exactly where you wanted it, was an art form and it took hours of practice. Dakota knew that things usually came easily to Stephen, and that he hadn’t instantly mastered throwing a lariat frustrated the hell out of him. They’d worked at it some almost every day, and now that time was inexorably ticking to a close, it mattered to Dakota that Stephen knew the feeling of success. “Make sure there are no kinks in your line.” “I’ve thrown this fucking thing fifty fucking times already.” He bit back a grin. “Once more.” “Slave driver.” “From day one, I told you I would be.” “Well, you’re not a liar.” “You’ve gotten plenty of time off for good behaviour.” “Yeah. Could you—” “After you rope the post, I’ll do anything you want. Don’t hold your wrist so stiffly.” “Easy for you to say.” “I’ve thrown a lariat almost every day of my life. It’s second nature, like driving a car is to you.” “It’ll never be like that for me.” Dakota remained silent. Stephen was right, and they both knew it. Roping a cow could never become second nature. Tomorrow, he left the country. He tamped down the flare of his

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emotion. Three weeks ago, when Josephine had telephoned, he’d tried to refuse to offer his hospitality. Now, part of him didn’t want the boy to leave. “Pretend the loop is a wheel. When you’re ready to cast it, take a quick step forward…and keep your palm down.” An intent gleam in his green eyes, his hair mussed from the number of times he’d impatiently dragged his hand through it, Stephen began to twirl the rope above his head. “Like a horizontal wheel,” Dakota coached. “Your honda looks good.” He shut up, letting Stephen concentrate. This time, he took the step forwards at the correct moment, kept his palm down and performed a perfect cast. “Congratulations. That post isn’t going anywhere.” He gave an enthusiastic round of applause. Stephen lowered his head, trying to hide the flush that crept up his face. “That first day, when you roped me, you made it look so easy.” “I had a desirable target. Still do.” He advanced on Stephen. The rope fell to the porch between them. “I told you once that just because I wouldn’t bend you over that railing, yank down your clothes and fuck you hard and deep like you deserved, didn’t mean I didn’t want to. I wanted to, just so you’re clear. I wanted to. Still want to. Still intend to.” He roughly grabbed Stephen and pushed him against the railing. He reached around to unfasten buttons and yanked off Stephen’s jeans. He’d put a condom in his pocket earlier, having fully intended to pound his lover’s ass in a way he’d never forget. On that flight to the East Coast, Dakota wanted Stephen to be constantly reminded of him. His cock was already hard, already demanding as he rolled the condom down the length. He tore open a packet of individually wrapped lube that he’d bought online. In the past week and a half, he’d realised he always wanted to be prepared to ride his lover. “Stroke yourself,” Dakota instructed, the words whispered in Stephen’s ear. Stephen’s entire body trembled submissively as he prepared to receive Dakota. Was there anything sexier? With a single, dominant thrust, he impaled Stephen. This was no longer about flowery words and taking his time. Need, desire, frustration, and loss waged a battle within him. He pounded Stephen brutally. With his body, he expressed what he couldn’t with words.

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Stephen grunted and groaned, arching his back to accept every forward motion, whimpering a bit when Dakota pulled back. Stephen grabbed his own cock, and his motions were short, jerky. This time, Dakota didn’t wait for Stephen. He took. He took and he took as he gave. “Yes! Goddamn it, yes!” He ejaculated, feeling the pounding of his own heartbeat in the release. Panting and crying, Stephen finished himself off. Dakota turned his lover to face him. “Don’t forget me.”

**** His existence was fucking shallow. Fucking meaningless. Fucking fucked up. Stephen accepted another beer from a waitress in a skimpy skirt. She was hot. Dressed in stilettos and stockings, wearing a bustier and a smile, she leaned over him, offering a wordless invitation. He wasn’t even tempted. He didn’t want a kiss or a feel. And he sure as hell didn’t want to shove his dick in her. Tonight was supposed to be a quiet welcome home game of poker with his mates at one of their homes, but they’d surprised him with a stripper in a cake and enough alcohol to fill the indoor pool. Even though he hadn’t had a drink in nearly three weeks, he downed half the bottle in a single pull. He’d never intentionally stopped drinking. After the first couple of nights at the ranch, it simply hadn’t been that important. Dakota Youngblood worked his tail off during the day. At night they had sex, made love, fucked, whichever they were in the mood for. It didn’t leave a lot of time for anything self-indulgent. Marcus Ellis intentionally bumped into him, jostling the beer and sloshing it over the rim. “Candy wants a piece of you. Get it? Instead of you wanting a piece of Candy, she wants a piece of you for a change.” He laughed because he was supposed to. As soon as he was able, he put the half-finished bottle of beer on the tray of a passing waiter and headed for the door.

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Hardly any of his friends noticed he was leaving, and it was then he realised the party had never been for him; it had been an excuse for them all to get together for drinking and humping, maybe a few drugs. Tomorrow, they’d all get up and look for another excuse to start partying again. He turned up his collar against the threatened bite of rain in the air. Marcus had offered him a game of poker. The winner got to bone Candy while the loser had to watch. He recalled the stakes against Youngblood. They’d always played for mutual pleasure, using it as a way to deepen their relationship. He sighed as he stepped in a puddle. To him, that’s what it had been. A relationship. He didn’t know what he was to Youngblood. They were different, from their background and cultures to their age difference. To him, nothing mattered other than his feelings. No matter how long they were apart, he couldn’t stop thinking of the other man. Thinking of him? He scoffed. He wasn’t just thinking of Youngblood. He was dreaming, pining…even obsessing. His aunt was still awake when he returned to the townhouse. “You’re home early.” “All that fresh Wyoming air still has me exhausted.” His aunt smiled. “Has a way of getting under your skin.” She was on the settee, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a cardigan fastened over a tank top. For the first time he noticed her as a woman and not just the relative he’d been dumped on. And he doubted she was as old as he’d always figured. Maybe, he thought, it was possible she wasn’t trying to ruin his life. Maybe, just maybe. “Who is Dakota Youngblood to you?” “An old friend. I loved his cousin, one summer a hundred years ago. He was a wrangler at a ranch I stayed at. The three of us hung out together, but I never had anything with Dakota.” “Did you know he’s gay?” “It came up. Yes. Not easy being gay in Wyoming back then. Homosexual and Indian…” she trailed off.

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“You helped him out of that trouble.” Stephen dragged over a chair and slouched down in it. “Does Dakota still sit like that?” Stephen sat up. “I don’t…” He thought back and recalled Youngblood with his legs outstretched, a cowboy hat resting on his face. “Yeah.” “He’s a good man. You could do a lot worse.” He blinked. “You know? I didn’t even know.” “It’s written all over you.” She leaned forward. “My sister, your mom, your parents… they thought they had all the time in the world.” “He’s ancient.” “No. He’s older than that.” She smiled. “I just want you to be happy.” “I felt alive out there. Like I was making a contribution. A difference.” “I have no doubt you were. The question is, nephew of mine, what are you going to do about the rest of your life?” “I’m not sure Youngblood wants his life complicated by someone like me.” “Maybe not. But maybe he needs it.”

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Chapter Eight

Few people drove up the ranch road. Even fewer knew the combination to the lock on the gate. And Dakota still wasn’t expecting to see Stephen climb out of the SUV when he braked to a stop. He blinked, wondering if he’d finally lost it. Too much sun? Too much solitude? But Pocatello stirred, despite the still-too-hot day and ran across to the vehicle, barking like an idiot, his tail wagging back and forth. The young man who climbed from behind the wheel wasn’t the same one who’d arrived over a month ago. This one wore a straw hat, a long-sleeved plaid shirt, new denim jeans, and boots that looked as if they’d seen a dozen summers. If he wasn’t mistaken, that could be country music on the radio. Stephen reached in, turned off the engine, then pulled out the keys. He tossed them in the air and caught them before shoving them in his jean’s pocket. He left the car door open, though, as if prepared for a quick escape. “You like your life, Youngblood?” “Well enough.” What the hell was he doing back here? For the first time in his adult life, nerves left his mouth dry. Damn, Stephen looked good. While he’d been at the ranch, he’d bulked up a bit, and he’d kept some of that on him. He was sex and sin all in one. Dare he hope? “Aunt Josephine thinks your life needs to be shaken up a little.” “Does she?” Keeping his hands to himself, his thoughts under control, it was all about to drive him out of what remained of his mind. The last two weeks had been impossibly long. He’d liked his life before Stephen had arrived. For the first time, after he’d left, Dakota had known loneliness. His bed was too big, the house too empty. The chores were more overwhelming. Even Pocatello seemed less enthusiastic.

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Stephen reached back into the vehicle and grabbed something, holding it behind his back. Dakota craned his head to see, but the kid was being secretive. Before he knew what to expect, Stephen took another step towards him. Dakota moved closer, too. Then, suddenly, rawhide whistled through the air. The perfectly formed honda landed around his middle, and Stephen pulled the noose tight. “Good going, kid.” He smiled triumphantly. “Glad you didn’t run. I think I could have taken you down by your ankle, but I was hoping I wouldn’t have to try.” Stephen took the aggressor role momentarily. “Enjoy it while you can.” “Every second of it,” Stephen said gloatingly. Then, leaning in, allowing Dakota to inhale his magnificent scent, that of man, of musk, of spice, and of the great outdoors. Dakota’s head held prisoner, Stephen kissed him full on. As much as he could, Dakota responded, letting the other man know he was safe, that the attraction was mutual, that he wanted the younger man despite the reasons this could never work. If they were motivated, they could work it all out. He sure as hell was motivated. Without having to be told, Stephen finally released the rope. Dakota instantly spun Stephen around and bent him over one of the chairs they’d spent so much time sitting in. He helped Stephen with the belt, and together they had him naked from the waist down in less than ten seconds. “Bareback,” Stephen pleaded, looking over his shoulder. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?” “I want you to fuck me bareback. I want to feel skin on skin. I’m clean. I had a test while I was home.” “Kid…”Dakota groaned. “Yes.” He hurried inside for lube. When he came back, Stephen had submissively leaned over, spread his legs and presented his ass. How perfect could one man be?

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He liked fucking Stephen, all ways and always. But he’d never experienced anything like the feeling of his body yield its pleasure quite so intimately, with the unimpeded skin contact. He drove in deep, possessing him. There’d be time for slow, sweet lovemaking later. For now, he wanted Stephen to know how much he desired him. “I love you.” Looking over his shoulder, Stephen mouthed the words back to him. He held onto Stephen’s hips, holding him steady as he ground against his prostate. “Make me come.” He reached around, stroking his lover’s cock even as he rammed his hole. Stephen came with an unadulterated scream. Moments later, Dakota took his own relief. When their breathing had returned to normal, he stroked Stephen’s back. “You were right about something.” “Only one thing?” He gave him a quick bite. “It does get lonely out here.” Stephen wiggled around as much as he could so they were looking at each other. “I hope you’ll never be lonely again. And I’ve finally found what I was looking for.” “And that is?” “Peace.” “You sure it’s enough for you?” “You,” Stephen said. “You’re enough for me.”

About the Author SL Majors enjoys living on the edge. She pens stories to tantalise and arouse, maybe shock and, hopefully, to make you think. From her earliest years exploring England and Wales (and finding out early what nettles are!), she's learnt that things aren't always as they seem. She hopes to capture that in her stories. She encourages you to delight in life and the unexpected, embracing each experience. It's her greatest hope that at the end of her stories, you'll say, "What if?"

Email: [email protected] SL Majors loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

Also by SL Majors Naughty Nibbles: Imagine Naughty Nibbles: Balls to the Walls Camouflaged Hearts: Double Time

ONE NIGHT STAND Cassandra Gold

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Coke: The Coca-Cola Company American Idol: 19 TV Ltd. and FremantleMedia North America, Inc.

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Chapter One

“There. You look wonderful.” When Lorenzo stepped back, Thomas Garner peered at his reflection in the mirror. The new striped button-up shirt and khaki slacks he wore looked okay, but he still had his same old boring brown hair and hazel eyes. He also hadn’t lost any weight or gained any new muscles in the past few minutes. ‘Wonderful’ was probably an overstatement. “Are you sure you’re not saying that because you’re my friend?” Lorenzo laughed. Denny, Lorenzo’s partner, came up behind them and whistled. “Nice, Tommy.” Tom grinned to hide his nerves. “Thanks. Now let’s go, before I chicken out.” A few minutes later, Denny pulled into a parking spot across the street from their destination. Tom got out of the car, taking deep breaths. God, he was nervous. He hadn’t been to a place like this in years, since the early days of his relationship with Michael. He’d never really liked the bar and club scene anyway. The only reason he stood here tonight, about to go into a gay bar, was because Lorenzo had insisted it was past time he started getting out again. And he was right. Michael had been gone two years now. Tom still loved Michael, probably always would, but he was ready to date again. Who knew, maybe he would meet someone interesting tonight. Even if he didn’t, braving the bar scene would be good experience. He hoped. “Come on! I’m freezing.” Denny’s voice pulled Tom from his thoughts. “Sorry.” He trailed behind his two friends, not quite able to match their enthusiasm. The air inside the bar was blessedly warm after the frigid temperature outside. Tom stood in the doorway for a moment, glancing around. The night was young, so the place wasn’t too crowded yet. Quite a few men stood at the bar, drinking and talking. Others sat in booths along the periphery of the small dance floor. He spotted a wide range of ages, from early twenties to a few men in their forties or fifties. The clothing styles varied wildly as well. Some men wore leather, others wore bright colours and skimpy clothing, and some, like him,

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were dressed in ordinary dressy-casual wear. He heaved a sigh of relief. At least he’d blend in. “Let’s get a drink.” Lorenzo grabbed his arm and dragged him to the bar. He ordered rum and Coke. Lorenzo’s drink choice, a bright pink cosmopolitan, made him smile. Once Denny had ordered a soda, they all turned to watch the people. Lorenzo gave him a wicked grin over the rim of his martini glass. “See anyone you like?” “Not yet.” Denny shrugged. “Give it time.” They stood at the bar for an hour, watching people and making small talk. After a while, Tom couldn’t help but notice the way Lorenzo eyed the dance floor. His friend loved to dance. Not wanting them to feel they had to babysit him all night, Tom nudged Lorenzo. “Why don’t you two hit the dance floor? I’ll be fine right here.” “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you here all by yourself.” He laughed at that. “I’m hardly by myself. There are people all over the place.” “All right. Come on, lover.” Lorenzo held his hand out to Denny, who took it with a grin. They headed for the dance floor. Over his shoulder, Lorenzo called, “Have fun, darling. Text me if you decide to leave with some young stud.” Tom rolled his eyes. Yeah, right. His leaving with some young stud was about as likely as him winning the lottery.

**** The persistent ring of his cell phone jerked Ian from a pleasant doze. He sat up in bed, blinking in irritation. When the sound stopped, he thought he’d escaped having to answer. Unfortunately, it started up again a few minutes later. A quick glance at the display showed his sister’s number. He grimaced and flipped the phone open. “Hey, sis.” “Ian Douglas Abernathy, where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for hours!”

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Ian held the phone away from his ear to mute the sound of Fiona’s angry voice. “I was sleeping, Fi. Give me a break.” His sister sighed. “I’m sorry. I was just worried about you. You were supposed to be at Mom’s hours ago.” “Shit! I forgot. Was she pissed?” Ian looked at the clock—six p.m. He’d been expected at their mother’s at noon for lunch. Their family met for a meal almost every week, either on Saturday or Sunday. Of course, when he went to bed at eight a.m. after a full day at work and a whole night of partying, it was hard to maintain a normal schedule. Fiona sighed again, louder this time. “No, but she was worried. We all were, especially when no one could get you on the phone. Were you out late again last night?” Ian didn’t want to answer. It was his life, and he could do whatever he wanted. He was twenty-seven years old, for God’s sake. Still, she was his big sister. Years of conditioning made him admit, “Yeah.” Sometimes being the baby of six kids was a huge pain in the ass. Her voice rose. “God, Ian! You were at one of those clubs, weren’t you? At least tell me you didn’t bring someone home.” “I didn’t bring someone home.” He wasn’t lying. He’d gone to the guy’s place. He never brought people home. There was a long pause as she mulled over the words. Of course, she got his meaning. “I love you, but lately you’ve been acting like a total whore.” Stung, he snapped right back at her. “I’m not a whore. Nobody’s paying me.” Her retort was quick and harsh. “Maybe they should be. You could quit your day job.” He flinched. What could he say to that? He liked sex, and men. So what? Why was Fiona making such a big deal about it? With effort, he managed to keep his voice level. “Low blow, sis.” Fiona’s voice softened. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you. Don’t you want something more for yourself?” He knew all his siblings wanted him to settle down with one guy and live a happy little monogamous life like theirs. He’d learned the hard way not everyone got a happily-everafter. “I’m happy the way I am. Or I would be, if you’d leave me alone. Sorry about this morning. I’ll be there next time, I promise.”

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She tried to say something else, but he interrupted. “I’ve got to go. Talk to you soon.” Flipping the phone closed, he stared at the wall for a long moment. The room felt cold and empty, like him. He hated the feeling, hated the way he started to think every time he was alone. He needed a distraction. He got out of bed and went to the closet to get dressed.

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Chapter Two

Tom placed the empty cup from his rum and Coke on the bar. Before he could order another, the bartender set one in front of him. He nodded his thanks and paid the man, adding on a generous tip. He’d need all the fortification he could get if he planned to talk to anyone. So far, he hadn’t seen anyone he really wanted to talk to. His conversations to this point had consisted of accepting the apologies of a couple of drunk men who’d run into him and telling another guy where the bathroom was. Most of the men he’d seen so far were drunk or with someone. He sighed. Maybe he was too old for the bar scene. Thirty-four hadn’t seemed terribly old earlier in the day. “Deep thoughts?” Startled, Tom turned toward the voice. A young man—mid-twenties, probably—stood at the bar to his right. The young man was stunning—slim, blond, dark-eyed, and smiling. At him? He had the urge to look around or say “Me?” but managed to restrain himself. Instead, he gave the man a tentative smile. “Not really. I was wondering if I should leave.” The blond leant in and rested his fingertips on Tom’s sleeve, his lips pursing into a little pout. “You can’t leave now. I just got here.” Now he really wanted to look around and see who this guy thought he was talking to. Maybe the man had horrible vision, or was drunk. He didn’t seem drunk, though. And he was gorgeous. With a mental shrug, Tom played along. “True. I guess I’d better stay a while then, to be polite.” The pout melted into another smile. “Politeness is very important. I’m Ian, by the way.” “Tom.” He held out his hand, and they shook. Ian’s hand was slender and cold, but his grip was strong. For a few minutes, they talked of unimportant things. Ian ordered a screwdriver, which he slammed back quickly. Then he pushed the cup away and turned to Tom, his eyes bright. “Want to dance?” The thought of dancing brought his nerves surging back, but he nodded. “Sure.”

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Ian took his hand and led him to the dance floor. The small space had grown crowded since he arrived. In moments, they were swallowed up by the crowd. The bodies all around them pushed them closer together, but Ian didn’t seem to mind. He danced right up against Tom, his moves self-assured and sensual. All Tom could do was try his best to move to the beat and hope he didn’t look like a complete idiot. After the first song, Ian moved closer, twining his arms around Tom’s neck. “Is this okay?” This was very okay. Tom brought his arms up to loop around Ian’s waist, savouring the smaller man’s warmth and the feel of his slimly muscled body. It had been such a long time since he’d touched anyone in anything other than a friendly manner. He’d missed touch, a lot. Minutes passed. The song blended into another, and another. The beats changed, but Ian didn’t move away. If anything, the younger man moved in closer. When Ian snuggled into him, Tom closed his eyes, willing his body to behave. Of course, his dick had a mind of its own. The way Ian rubbed against him was impossible to ignore. He attempted to focus on something else. Desperate, he tried conversation. “Do you come here often?” Lame, lame, lame. Could he be any more clichéd? Ian’s quiet laugh didn’t sound mocking. “Sometimes. I go to clubs more often than bars, though. What about you?” The truth slipped out, unbidden and very uncool. “It’s been a long time since I came to a place like this. I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.” Ian grinned up at him. “You’re doing fine so far.” In the flickering lights of the dance floor, Tom could see Ian’s eyes were a deep, dark blue. The song changed again, to something with a driving, sensual beat. Ian’s grin faded into an intent look, and he ground his body against Tom’s in a dance move that looked as sexy as it felt. Tom’s cock went from interested to rock hard in about five seconds. He shivered as Ian’s lips brushed against his ear. “You seem to have developed a bit of a problem. I could help you with that.” Ian stepped back enough to lower his hand between them and brush his palm over Tom’s erection. Tom jerked, startled. “What?” Was Ian really offering what he thought?

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Pressing his palm harder against Tom’s cock, Ian gave him a sly smile. “I think I’ve had enough dancing for one night. Let me take care of this for you.” Tom pushed into the touch before he even thought. Ian’s hand felt good. Too good. The sensation of a hand other than his own must have rendered him temporarily insane. There was no other explanation for why he nodded rather than saying no thanks. A quick glance around the dance floor revealed Lorenzo and Denny not far away. Lorenzo happened to look in their direction just then. Tom jerked his head towards the door to indicate he was leaving. Lorenzo waved, smirking. One short, near-silent cab ride later, Tom and Ian arrived at Tom’s house. Tom would have spent the ride wondering what the hell was wrong with him, if Ian hadn’t been caressing his thigh the whole time. Instead, he’d watched Ian’s slim fingers slide closer and closer to his cock without ever touching. The exquisite torture kept him on the knife-edge of arousal. The instant they reached his house, he tossed some money at the cabbie and led Ian inside. There wasn’t any time to be anxious about his lack of recent experience, or to wonder if he was making a huge mistake. He shut the door behind them, locked it, and Ian kissed him. The press of lips against his, soft yet firm, made him melt. Ian’s hands trailing up his chest left blazing heat in their wake. Then Ian began to unbutton Tom’s shirt. Tom caught his hands. “Wait.” He wanted to say they should slow down, but the words wouldn’t come. He’d been alone so long, and Ian felt incredible against him. He wanted more. “Not here.” “Where?” Undeterred, Ian pulled his hands free and unbuttoned another button. Oh, fuck. What was the question? “Bedroom.” Somehow they managed to move the short distance from the living room to the bedroom. Tom’s shirt ended up on the floor in the hallway, but they made it. Tom stripped off Ian’s sweater. Beneath his shirt, Ian was slim but all muscle. “God, you’re sexy.” Tom paused to stroke Ian’s taut stomach. “And you’ve got too many clothes on.” Impatient, Ian grabbed the hem of Tom’s white undershirt and yanked it over his head.

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Mostly bare to Ian’s gaze, Tom hunched his shoulders a little. Would Ian like what he saw? His stomach was nowhere near as flat as Ian’s. Maybe he should have started working out before he decided to hit the dating scene again. Ian ran his fingertips lightly over Tom’s shoulders and chest. “Mm, nice. But you’re still wearing too many clothes.” After that, they didn’t talk much. They fell into the bed together, kissing and touching. Every little caress fired Tom’s blood, making him hotter and hotter. Wanting to give at least some of the feeling back to Ian, Tom paid special attention to what made the man moan and shiver. He sucked and licked his way down Ian’s neck and chest, pausing at his nipples and the cobbled muscles of his stomach. Ian whimpered when Tom licked along the waistband of his jeans. Encouraged, Tom slipped the button free and opened Ian’s jeans. Ian was bare underneath. His cock sprang free, long and slim and dark with arousal. Tom stroked a finger over the silky-smooth skin, savouring the way Ian gasped and writhed. He leant closer, following his finger’s path with his tongue. Ian arched towards him. “God, please, more.” “More of this? Or something else?” Tom took the tip of Ian’s erection into his mouth, sucked, and then released it. At Ian’s low cry, he repeated the motion. For a moment, he forgot his intention to tease, lost in the salt-musk flavour and Ian’s sweet responsiveness. He’d almost forgotten how heady making someone else feel good could be. Ian’s strong fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “Mm, that’s good.” Then Ian tugged his hair lightly, pulling him away. Tom frowned, but before he could say a word, Ian’s lips curved into a slow, sexy smile. “I want you fucking me when I come.” Oh, God. He wanted that too. A tiny squeak slipped out before he could hold the sound in. He rolled onto his back and stripped his pants off. Next to him, Ian did the same, pausing to fish a couple of condoms out of his jeans pocket. Everything happened fast after that. Ian ripped one of the condom packets open and rolled the thin latex over Tom’s cock. Then he got on his hands and knees and eyed Tom hungrily over his shoulder.

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Tom preferred face-to-face, but he wasn’t about to complain. The sight of Ian’s ass offered up to him was nearly enough to make him come on its own. He almost yanked the nightstand drawer off its tracks in his hurry to get the lube. In his haste, he poured a bit more than he wanted. Stifling the urge to laugh at his own eagerness, he slicked up his cock. He teased Ian’s tight hole with a lubed finger. Ian shook under his touch. “No, just fuck me.” Even in his current state, Tom didn’t know if that was such a good idea. “I don’t want to hurt you.” “You won’t. Please.” Ian’s head dropped to the bed, and he pushed back towards Tom. With a groan of surrender, Tom gripped Ian’s slim hips and pressed forward. At first, the tight resistance of Ian’s body concerned him, but he forged ahead because Ian had asked him to. Ian bore down and pushed back towards him again, and he was in. Fully seated, his balls against Ian’s ass, Tom gasped at the heat and almost too-tight grip on his cock. Ian wriggled, impatient. The heat and pressure were so intense Tom was afraid he’d come. He needed time to compose himself. He gripped Ian’s hips to stop the movement. “Wait a second.” Ian lifted his head. “God, please. Don’t make me wait too long.” Sucking in a few deep breaths, Tom focused on not coming. He concentrated on Ian’s hips in his hands, and the texture of the sheets under his knees. Finally, he got himself under control. He drew back in a single long, slow glide until he almost pulled out. Ian tensed. For several seconds Tom remained there, motionless. Then he thrust back in, fast and hard. Ian’s strangled cry held surprise, pleasure, and pain all at once. Tom set a punishing pace, fucking Ian with strong, short strokes. Ian took every thrust and begged for more, pushing himself back to meet Tom’s movements and babbling encouragement. “Harder, right there, God, yes!” Every pounding shove into Ian’s tight, gorgeous ass sent splinters of pleasure radiating throughout Tom’s body. Ian’s words didn’t help. Tom’s orgasm began to build with embarrassing speed.

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Fortunately Ian seemed as far gone as he was. Tom reached around to bring Ian off with him, and the instant he grasped Ian’s erection it jerked in his hand. The warm wetness of Ian’s come on his hand, the sharp scent of sex, and the way Ian’s channel tightened around him sent him over as well. Overwhelmed by sensation, he came silently, his body shuddering with near-painful pleasure. Bracing himself on his hands so as not to crush Ian, he leant against Ian’s warm, sweaty back. In the aftermath of his first non-solo orgasm in over two years, his brain shut down. Several minutes passed before he could force himself to move. At last, he managed to slide to the side and lay on his back. Ian flopped down a short distance away. Neither of them spoke, but Ian’s jagged breathing implied he was as worn out as Tom felt. Tom smiled at Ian. A mixture of weariness and euphoria filled him when Ian smiled back. Flying high on sex and that smile, he rolled over and took care of the condom. He handed Ian a couple of tissues to clean himself up. Then he lay back down. Ian finished cleaning up and collapsed next to him. “Damn.” “Yeah.” Tom’s jaw-cracking yawn ruined his attempt to play it cool. No one would ever call him a night owl. His bedtime had long passed. Laughing, Ian nudged him. “Am I boring you?” He grinned. “No, but you wore me out. Don’t tell me you’re not tired. I’ll feel old.” Ian shrugged. “If the shoe fits…” Spearing the other man with his fiercest mock glare, Tom tickled him. Ian writhed under his fingers, chortling. They struggled briefly, until Tom drew Ian against his side. At first Ian remained stiff and tense beside him, but then the smaller man relaxed. Tom relaxed too. Something about holding Ian soothed him. Tom had always been a cuddler, and now, even with a near-stranger, was no exception. Snuggled up against Ian, Tom drifted off to sleep, more content than he had been in a very long time.

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Chapter Three

Ian woke abruptly, pressed up against something warm. And breathing. A heavy arm rested over his waist, keeping him from moving. Somehow the weight didn’t make him feel crushed. It was nice. He was comfortable and even happy for all of two seconds, before reality set in. Oh, shit. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to believe he’d fallen asleep. He never fell asleep. It was one of the rules he set for himself, right up there with don’t sleep with the same guy more than twice and always use a condom. Maybe if he was really careful, he could get up without waking the guy. What was his name? Tad? Tom? Tim? Something with a T. Ian shifted a little, preparing to get up. The arm around him tightened. Soft lips nuzzled at the back of his neck, stubble rasping lightly over his skin. He shivered. His brain kept screaming at him to make his escape, but his body couldn’t deny how good it felt to be held like he belonged here in this bed, with this guy. Instead of getting up, he tilted his head to expose his neck and throat. Tad-Tom-Tim-whatever the hell his name was took the hint, kissing along his shoulder and the base of his neck. They were both awake now. Ian ground his ass back against the hardening erection pressing against him. The guy groaned and rubbed right back. The tip of his cock grazed Ian’s hole, and Ian whimpered. A wave of desire washed over him, along with confusion. He didn’t know this man. He couldn’t even remember his name. They’d fucked once already, which should have been enough. How can I still want you so much? He didn’t realise he’d spoken the words aloud until the other man answered him, voice quiet and sincere. “I don’t know, but I want you just as much.” Those soft lips trailed up his throat, nibbling and kissing. Ian’s brain turned to mush. “Fuck me.” “Are you sure you’re not too sore?”

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The concern in the guy’s voice warmed him, even if it was misplaced. He was sore, yes, but he didn’t care. He wanted this. “I’m fine.” The arm holding him lifted, and—Tony? What was this guy’s name?—twisted around, presumably to get lube and a condom. Ian took his own cock in hand and gave it a few languid strokes. The hard organ twitched in his grip, and he moaned. “God, that’s hot.” The other man’s voice sounded strained. Ian smiled and closed his eyes. Mission accomplished. He hissed as a slick finger probed his abused hole. The invasion sent prickles of pleasure up his spine along with a steady throb of pain. The sex a few hours ago had been phenomenal—hard, fast, and more than a little rough. His body ached in several interesting places. Right now he was most interested in the ache in his dick. Lips brushed his ear. “Are you ready?” He shivered. “Yes.” The small pressure left him, replaced by the much greater pressure of a hard cock. A tiny whimper escaped him at the potent combination of bad burn and good burn. The sensation nearly overwhelmed him. Then a warm arm gathered him up against an even warmer body until they were pressed tightly together, back to chest. The guy whose name he still couldn’t recall held him close and fucked him with slow, gentle thrusts. Those soft lips pressed kisses against his neck and the side of his face. Pleasure built in slow, steady waves, unlike the wild passion of the night before but just as good. Each measured movement of the cock inside his body stoked the flames a little higher. He lost all track of time. He would have been content to stay the way they were forever, but his partner had other ideas. The man moved his large hand to cover Ian’s, tightening Ian’s grip on his cock. Ian’s orgasm washed over him unexpectedly, wrenching a low cry from him. Semen spattered the sheets and his stomach. The man behind him let out a quiet moan and came as well. He released his grip on Ian’s hand and let his arm fall. They lay there for several minutes, their breathing the only sound.

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The other man’s heart pounded against Ian’s back. His warmth surrounded Ian. Even after his cock softened and slipped free, the man didn’t pull away. Wrapped in a sense of security and wellbeing he’d never felt, Ian drew the other man’s hand to his lips and held it there. “Let me get rid of this thing.” He released the guy’s hand. The bed rustled, and the warm body against his back drew away. His brain switched back on, finally. Wait. What am I doing? A tight, panicky feeling welled up in his chest. Things weren’t going the way they were supposed to at all. He should have left earlier, after the first time they’d fucked. What the hell was he doing? Falling asleep? Going for round two? Kissing the guy’s hand like that? What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this. He knew from experience what happened when he let his guard down and got too close. Ian shivered, suddenly cold and a little afraid. He had to get out before he lost all control of the situation. Just as the other man rolled back towards him, Ian jerked away and stumbled out of the bed. He grabbed his jeans from the floor and yanked them on, his movements hurried and awkward. The guy watched him from the bed, his expression a mixture of confused and upset. “What’s wrong?” Ian forced a smile. “This has been great—” He broke off, wracking his brain for a name. Shit, why hadn’t he paid better attention? Usually, names didn’t matter, but he felt bad this time. After a long pause, he took a stab at the name. “Tim, but I’ve got to go.” “It’s Tom, actually.” How the fuck had he forgotten a simple name like Tom? Ian closed his eyes briefly to shut out the sight of Tom’s pretty eyes, now flat and hurt. “Tom. Shit. I’m sorry.” He opened his eyes again, gathered up the rest of his clothing. Feeling the need to explain, he gestured toward the bed. “I don’t do this, you know? I just don’t.”

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Tom didn’t respond. Maybe he was pissed. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Hell, maybe he was relieved to see Ian go. Ian had no idea, and he hated the uncertainty. He offered a last, apologetic smile and left. On the way down the hall, he pulled on his sweater and shoes. He didn’t stop until he reached the dark front porch. Outside, the already frigid air had only gotten colder. His breath made little plumes of white. He dug his cell phone from his pocket and dialled his favourite cab company. The dispatcher told him the wait would be ten to fifteen minutes. He frowned but didn’t argue. What choice did he have? It wasn’t the dispatcher’s fault he’d been too stupid to bring a coat. God, he was cold. The short walk to Tom’s gate took all of two minutes and didn’t warm him at all. He shifted from foot to foot as he waited in the circle of yellow-orange illumination from a nearby streetlight, praying the cab arrived sooner than fifteen minutes. The squeak of an un-oiled hinge behind him made him jump. Tom stood behind him at the gate, dressed in what he’d worn earlier, plus a heavy coat. “Waiting for a ride?” Ian’s teeth chattered as he answered. “I c-called a cab.” The look Tom gave him was unreadable. He held a bundle of fabric out to Ian. “Put this on, at least.” Ian took the bundle. Tom turned to go. Ian unfolded the cloth, unsurprised to see a warm, fleecy jacket. The knot of guilt, regret, anger, and fear in his chest tightened. Before he knew what he was going to do, he spoke. “Tom?” Tom stopped but didn’t turn. “Yeah?” Ian slipped the jacket on. The thick fleece blocked the icy wind, warming him. What kind of guy brought a jacket to the dumbass jerk who had fucked him and left? A better man than he was, that was for sure. He rubbed at the ache in his chest. “Thanks.” Tom nodded and kept walking. Ian watched him until he disappeared into the house. Part of him wanted to run after Tom, to go back into the warm house and those warm arms. Would it be so wrong to pretend, just for a little while? The longing that welled up stole his breath. No! When the door shut behind Tom, Ian slammed the door on his wayward thoughts and turned back to the street. Leaving was the right thing to do. If he stayed, he’d end up worse

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off than he already was. So he was standing outside the house of a guy whose last name he didn’t know at God-knew-what time of night? At least his heart was intact. Nothing else mattered.

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Chapter Four

It was way too early and he was still tired, but Tom didn’t bother trying to go back to bed. Instead, he took off his coat and went to the kitchen. After Ian’s abrupt departure, he was restless and unhappy. The last thing he wanted to do was lie around in bed and think. He washed a few dishes from the day before and puttered around a bit. Finally, he decided to make a cup of cocoa. He moved on autopilot. Heating the water in the microwave and digging out a packet of cocoa mix, with extra marshmallows, distracted him for a few minutes. When he’d stirred the powdered mix into the hot water, he took his mug into the living room. A glance out the window on the way revealed Ian climbing into a cab. He frowned, a stab of hurt going through him at the sight. If Ian had asked, he would have driven the man home. Tom wracked his brain, trying to understand what had happened. He’d thought everything was going well. Sleeping with someone on the first date wasn’t his usual M.O., but a few hours ago, he would have sworn Ian was just as into it as he was. Something had spooked the younger man. Had he done something? The more he thought about what Ian had said and done, the more Tom realised he hadn’t done anything. Ian had tried to explain, in an awkward and confusing way. He hadn’t understood then, and still didn’t, not really, but he believed this particular version of the old ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech. Apparently affection or anything more than a quick one-off was not Ian’s style. Knowing that didn’t make everything better. Tom couldn’t help being hurt and disappointed. He’d thought they had a real connection, at least in the physical sense. The second time he’d felt like they were making love rather than fucking. If Ian had stayed, they might have had more than just the physical in common. Or maybe not. He’d been known to read too much into things on occasion. The second time they’d had sex had probably been same-old, same-old for Ian.

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He sighed and curled up in the corner of the sofa, pulling a blanket over himself. Last night hadn’t been all bad. He’d gotten back out there, picked up a hot guy, and had incredible sex—twice. Hurt feelings seemed a small price to pay for learning he wasn’t too old or too scared to get back into the game. He’d have to chalk tonight up as experience and move on.

**** Tom would have been content to lay low and lick his wounds for a month or two before he tried another date, but Lorenzo wouldn’t let him. On Sunday afternoon, he’d given Lorenzo and Denny a short, edited version of what had happened Saturday night. On Wednesday, Lorenzo called and said he had a guy he wanted Tom to meet, and was Tom free on Friday night? Although he wasn’t eager to try again so soon, especially with what amounted to a blind date, Lorenzo was a hard man to say no to. He agreed to meet Denny, Lorenzo, and Lorenzo’s friend at an Irish pub downtown. As Friday approached, Tom managed to conquer most of his nerves. Unfortunately, he didn’t manage to dredge up much enthusiasm for the date. Blind dates were usually excruciating. At least he’d have Denny and Lorenzo there to help him keep the conversation flowing and act as a buffer if he and his date didn’t click. It didn’t help his enthusiasm level that his thoughts kept returning to Ian—smiling at him in the bar, moving against him in bed, teeth chattering as he waited for a cab in the cold… Thinking about Ian was stupid. He knew that. The man clearly had issues. Tom told himself not to be an idiot every time Ian crossed his mind, but his self-chastisements didn’t stop the wayward thoughts. On Friday morning, Tom awoke determined to make the best of the situation. He put thoughts of last weekend’s disaster out of his mind and concentrated on the present. All day he focused on positive thoughts. When he dressed Friday evening, he chose his best jeans and his favourite white shirt.

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On the short drive to the pub, he considered the scant information Lorenzo had given him. All he had was a name, Craig, and an occupation, firefighter. He didn’t even know what Craig looked like or how old he was. Lorenzo needed to fill him in a lot better in the future. He found a parking spot near the pub and parked. Then he got out of the car and walked briskly, huddled in his jacket. The weather had improved from last week, but not enough to make walking pleasant. At the door, the hostess told Tom his party was waiting. She escorted him to a table in the back. On the way, he glanced around at the pub, which had a worn but homey appearance. The place looked exactly like what he imagined a pub in Ireland would look like, although he’d never been there. In his distraction, he forgot to be nervous, or to pay attention to where they were going. He was surprised when the hostess stopped at a table. She smiled at him. “Here you are, sir. Enjoy your meal.” Tom had just enough time to thank her and turn towards the table before Lorenzo started talking. “Tommy! How was your drive?” Before Tom could answer, his friend indicated the other side of the table. “This is Craig Lewis. Craig, this is my good friend Tommy Garner.” Tom followed Lorenzo’s gesturing hand, right to Craig. Craig was attractive, with black hair, light eyes, and a nice smile. He stood and offered his hand, and Tom noticed he was also tall and muscular. “Nice to meet you, Tommy.” Tom cringed. He hated being called Tommy. He let Lorenzo and Denny get away with the nickname, but no one else. “Tom, please.” After that, they settled into pleasant small talk. They discussed Craig’s firefighting for a few minutes. They were talking about Tom’s photography business when someone approached the table. Expecting their waiter, Tom turned. And stared. Ian stood next to him, dressed in the typical waiter’s uniform of black pants and a white shirt. He was as beautiful as Tom remembered him being, if not more so.

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Their eyes met. The professional smile Ian wore slipped a little when he saw Tom, but he quickly regained his composure. Tom watched him, wondering if he would pretend they’d never met. His question was answered moments later, when Ian spoke. “Hello, Tom.” Ian held their eye contact for a couple of seconds more, his dark blue eyes seeming almost regretful. Then he moved his gaze to the others. “Hi guys, I’m Ian. I’ll be your waiter tonight.” Tom’s stomach churned. He tuned out the waiter spiel. He needed something to do, so he opened his menu and pretended to look the selections over while Ian told them about the specials. He let out an inner sigh of relief when Ian took their drink orders and left—until Lorenzo pulled his menu down. His friend peered at him suspiciously over the lowered menu. “Ian?” Tom sighed aloud. “Can we not do this now?” Lorenzo scowled. “All right, all right. Later.” The words sounded like a threat. Tom sighed and turned to Craig, who looked confused. “What kind of movies do you like?”

In the kitchen, Ian stood against the wall and sucked in a deep breath. Tom was here. He’d never expected to see the man again, and now he sat at one of Ian’s tables. Why, why, why had he agreed to help out tonight? He should have told his mother he had plans or something. His brother Declan paused in his preparation of a plate for one of Ian’s tables to stare at him. “You all right, bro?” He forced a smile. “I’m fine. You got my order ready?” Declan appeared unconvinced, but he motioned towards the plates of food in front of him. “Yep. Take it away.” He piled the food onto a tray and fled the kitchen. Back in the dining room, things only got worse. First, he dropped a plate of food and had to get a new one in a hurry to placate the hungry customer. He got that taken care of and returned to Tom’s table to take the orders. Tom and the cute black-haired guy sat closer together than they had before, seeming deep in

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discussion. They stopped their chat to give Ian their orders, but the second he finished and turned to the other two guys, they went right back to talking. Tom must be on a date. By the looks of them, they were having a good time. Ian thought of Tom touching the black-haired guy the way he’d touched Ian a week earlier. Nausea churned in his stomach. Unwilling to let his upset show, Ian maintained his professional mask. His fake smile and genial chatter appeared to fool the customers. Unfortunately, nothing could fool Fiona. He ran into her right after taking food to Tom’s table. As the manager, she often made the rounds of the pub to make sure customers were happy. He tried to walk past her without saying anything, but she snagged his arm and pulled him into the kitchen. “What’s wrong, Ian?” He laughed. “I’m fine. What’s with you guys tonight?” Fiona peered at him, her gaze concerned. “You don’t look fine. You look upset.” What could he say to satisfy her? He couldn’t say, “This guy I fucked last week is out there, and I think he’s on a date, so I feel like crap.” Instead, he pasted on his sunniest smile. “I’m not upset. See? Fine.” The scowl she gave him could have stripped the paint from the walls. “You are such a liar. If you don’t want to tell me, whatever. Get out there and finish your tables and you can take off for the night.” Her face softened. “Thanks for the help. Really. I was freaking out when Polly and Chris both called in sick.” He nodded. “You’re welcome. I’ll go finish up and talk to you later.” Tom’s table turned out to be Ian’s last of the night. His other customers all cleared out, most leaving good tips. Tom’s group talked and laughed while they lingered over Irish coffee and apple cake. Anyone with eyes could see how much fun they were having. Ian hovered on the fringe in good waiter mode, refilling water glasses and taking empty plates away. Other than the occasional murmured thank you, Tom ignored him. For some reason, Tom’s apparent indifference hurt. A lot. Later, after Tom and his friends had left, Ian wondered why he cared. What reason, what right, did he have to be upset? Tom had a date and seemed to like the man. So what?

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Ian had no claim on Tom. They’d had sex once. Okay, twice, but in the same night. Ian had never gotten upset over seeing one of his one-night-stands with another guy before. Something had changed inside him, and whatever it was, Ian didn’t like it. He’d had enough introspection a few months ago to last a lifetime. Going down that road again would only lead to more pain. Besides, he’d been happy these past few months. Happy enough, anyway. Who needed relationships? No-strings sex kept him from getting bored, or hurt. Not that he was worried about that. He’d learned his lesson after Billy, and Steve, and Anton. Three strikes and he was out of the dating game for good. He cashed out and went into the break room to change into his street clothes. A glance around the small room showed no one, for which he breathed a sigh of relief. He stripped off his uniform, tossed the crumpled garments into the hamper, and pulled on his jeans and sweater. He sat down to put on his shoes, satisfied he would get out without having to talk to anyone. “What’s up, little bro?” His eldest brother, Teague, sauntered into the room. Before Ian could make a quick escape, Teague sat beside him and threw a casual arm around his shoulder. “Where’ve you been lately, anyway? Haven’t seen you at Mom’s.” After Fiona, Teague was Ian’s favourite sibling. Despite being ten years older than him, Teague had never treated him like a baby. Teague had always defended him, no matter what. Ian heaved a sigh and leant against his big brother. “Yeah, I know. I forgot last time. She was mad, I bet.” “She wasn’t mad, she was worried.” His brother paused for a moment, which couldn’t be a good sign. “Is everything okay?” Ian bristled. He’d had about enough of his siblings meddling in his life. He pulled away from Teague and stood. “I’m fine! Why won’t everyone leave me alone?” The words came out sharper than Ian had intended. Teague’s eyes widened. Unlike Declan, he didn’t back down. “Probably because we can all see you’re not fine. You haven’t been fine since that asshole Anton.” The sick feeling in his stomach came back full force. No one in the family had mentioned Anton in months. They’d all hated the man. Ian had dated Anton for a year, and lived with him for four months of that, and none of the family had ever warmed up to him.

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Maybe Ian should have taken their dislike as a sign. Anton had certainly turned out to be a bastard. A lying, cheating, heart-shredding bastard. He scowled. “Anton has nothing to do with anything. I’ve been over him for months.” A raised eyebrow told him what his older brother thought of his assertion. “Really. You’re so over him you sleep with anything with a dick.” Hurt and angry, he lashed out. “Fuck you, Teague!” He tried to storm out, but his brother caught his arm. “That came out wrong. I’m not trying to insult you. I’m saying you need to stop letting the past control your life.” “Whatever.” Ian shook off Teague’s grasp and strode out of the room. His brother had it all wrong. He wasn’t letting the past control his life. He controlled his life. He decided who to sleep with, and when to leave. A trip to his favourite club would banish the confusion and unhappiness plaguing him. Another guy would put Tom, and Anton, out of his mind for good. Ian entered the packed club at ten. He plunged into the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor, determined to shake his bad mood. There had to be a guy here who could fuck Anton, and Tom, right out of his brain. The guys on the floor welcomed him in like a long-lost brother. He danced for hours, sometimes alone, sometimes with someone. Several guys invited him to a back room, or their homes. He turned each one down. None of them drew him the way Tom had. He tried to summon up some interest, but he couldn’t. At two a.m., Ian conceded defeat and went home, alone.

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Chapter Five

The shrill ring of the telephone pulled Tom out of his thoughts. The cordless handset lay in the middle of the kitchen table, bathed by a shaft of early-morning sunlight. A quick check of the caller ID revealed Lorenzo and Denny’s number. Lorenzo must not have been able to wait until a decent hour to pump him for information about how his and Craig’s evening had ended. He grinned and took another sip of his coffee. Lorenzo could wait a few more seconds. At the last possible moment, he answered the phone. Lorenzo jumped in before he could say hello. “Tommy! How’d it go after we left last night?” He sighed. “Craig’s a great guy.” “Oh, no. You seemed to be getting along so well.” Lorenzo’s despondent voice made him laugh out loud. “We got along fine. I told you he was great. There just weren’t any sparks. He felt the same way. We made plans to meet up for coffee again next week. As friends.” He stressed the last word, not wanting to give his persistent friend the wrong impression. He and Craig had clicked as friends right away, but neither of them thought anything more would happen. “I was so certain. Never mind, I’ll not give up.” Lorenzo paused for a moment. Unfortunately, he spoke again before Tom could tell him to stop looking for dates for him. “Our waiter last night, he was Ian from last week, wasn’t he?” Damn. Tom had hoped to avoid the subject of Ian. “Yes.” He leant back in his chair, prepared for a long and unpleasant conversation. Forty minutes later, Tom managed to end the call. He had four appointments for portraits today, and he needed to get to the studio. He loved his work. The majority of his business consisted of family and senior portraits, wedding photos, and team and school pictures. Those jobs provided him with the money and equipment to do other photography in his spare time. Unlike some photographers who took pictures of families and weddings

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only to pay the bills, however, Tom liked all aspects of his field, from family pictures to abstract art and nature shots. His first appointment, a couple and their two dogs, went very well. The dogs behaved better than many humans he’d photographed. The woman laughed when he told her as much. The next two appointments, an engagement portrait and a set of senior photos for a group of giggling girls, took a bit longer. The bride-to-be couldn’t decide on a pose. The girls kept asking to change outfits for every picture. Accustomed to fussy and flighty customers, Tom didn’t bat an eyelash. The picky fiancée and fashion-conscious girls left happy, and he kept his cool. Until his final appointment of the morning arrived. A pretty blonde woman of about thirty came in at eleven. A young boy held onto one of her hands. A little girl, a miniature version of her, clutched her other hand. She smiled. “Hello. I’m Fiona Tate. These two are Sean and Thea. We have an appointment.” He rounded the counter, smiling. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tom Garner. I’ll be taking your portraits.” The bell above the door chimed again. Tom glanced towards the door and stopped dead. Ian stood in the doorway, holding a toddler. The tiny blond boy curled against Ian’s neck, his thumb in his mouth. Ian looked comfortable and natural, as if he held children all the time. For a second, Tom had a horrifying thought: Ian hadn’t wanted to stay with him because he had a wife and children at home. The woman dispelled the notion. “This is my brother, Ian. He’s here to help wrangle the kids. That sleepy little one is my youngest, Rory. He’s been pouting all morning, but I’m hoping between the three of us we can coax a smile out of him.” A weak half-smile appeared on Ian’s face, at odds with the sudden tension in his stance. He looked nervous and ready to bolt. Somehow Ian’s reaction eased Tom’s own anxiety. He nodded. “Hey, Ian. I seem to be running into you a lot lately.” Ian’s sister looked back and forth between the two of them. “You know each other?” Ian shrugged his free shoulder but didn’t say a word. His body language remained tense and watchful.

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Tension didn’t lead to good photos. The last thing they needed was for the kids to pick up on the vibes between him and Ian. His best bet would be to get things started quickly. “Why don’t you come on back?” Tom ushered Fiona and the two older children through to the portrait sitting area. He motioned towards some of the setups he had ready. “What kind of backdrop would you like?” Fiona released the children’s hands and walked around the room, commenting on the various backdrops. Tom tried to focus on her, but his attention kept wandering to Ian, who hovered in the doorway. Sheer relief rushed over him when Ian’s sister pointed to a simple winter backdrop. Her selection allowed him to drop into photographer mode. He grabbed his two favourite cameras, one digital and one thirty-five millimetre, and set to work. In minutes, he had everything ready. Fiona told him she wanted individual photos of each child, as well as a photo of the three of them together, and if there was time one with her as well. The oldest child, Sean, volunteered to go first. Taking pictures of Sean didn’t take much time at all. The boy listened well and smiled on command. Thea went next. She clearly loved getting her picture taken. In between shots, she chattered on about her daddy in Iraq, and how the pictures were for him. Tom couldn’t help being touched by her obvious desire to make her father happy. Next came Rory’s turn. By that time, Rory had surrendered his position in Ian’s arms and was running around near his mother. The toddler ignored Fiona’s request for him to stop and listen. Fiona heaved an annoyed sigh and lifted her son onto the low platform. He frowned. “No picture, Mama!” “Sean and Thea got theirs done,” she coaxed. Rory would have none of that argument. His lip began to tremble. “No! Wanna play.” “You can play when we’re finished with pictures.” The lip tremble dissolved into full-on tears. “Why didn’t I make him take a nap?” Fiona rubbed her temples, her frustration written on her face. Tom had seen a great many crying children over the course of his career. Sometimes the best course was to let the child cry it out, other times distraction or bribes worked better.

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Before he could decide which to try, Ian approached the platform and sat next to his wailing nephew. “Come ‘ere, Ree.” Rory threw himself into Ian’s arms, still sobbing. Ian rubbed the boy’s back. The volume level of the crying lowered after a few minutes, and Ian spoke softly in his ear. Rory nodded. “‘Kay, Unca Ian.” Ian grinned. “Good. I knew you were a tough guy.” Fiona stepped in to wipe Rory’s face and smooth his hair, and the boy sat for his pictures like an angel. Tom sneaked glances at Ian between shots. The younger man watched his nephew, his love for his family shining in his face. The sight both touched and saddened Tom. The Ian he saw here couldn’t be more different than the Ian who’d run into the cold to get away from any semblance of intimacy with him. Someone who could care about his family the way Ian obviously did shouldn’t be content with a string of one-night stands. As his finger clicked the shutter for the last time, Tom allowed himself a mental sigh of relief. Ian would leave, and maybe this time they wouldn’t run into each other again. Part of Tom hated the idea of never seeing the other man again, but he knew it would be for the best. He’d already seen Ian wasn’t built for commitment, and no matter how hot the guy, and the sex, Tom wasn’t built for anything less.

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Chapter Six

“Do I have to?” Ian sounded pitiful, even to himself, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “Thea’s sick and I’m exhausted. I told Mr. Garner I’d be in to pick up the pictures today. You know I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t in a bind.” Fiona’s weariness came through even over the phone. Guilt for whining at her piled onto his already chaotic emotions. “Okay, I’ll go.” His sister sighed. “Thank you. What’s with you two, anyway?” Her insinuation, unmistakable as it was, grated on his nerves. An instinctive denial sprang to his lips, but he bit the words back. “Let’s just say I met him once and made a bad impression.” She snickered. “You? Never. Why don’t you just use your famous charm to get back on his good side, then?” He doubted charm would get him back into Tom’s good graces. Despite the fact that Fiona couldn’t see him, Ian rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so, sis. I’ll bring the pictures over later, okay?” On the way to Tom’s studio a few minutes later, Ian contemplated what a mess he’d made of everything. Two weeks had passed since he’d accompanied Fiona to the portrait appointment, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Tom. Nothing about his fixation made sense. Since his relationship with Anton had ended, he’d developed a ‘type’. The men he slept with were always similar—his age or maybe a couple of years older, attractive in a flashy, vain way, gym-toned, and more interested in sex than conversation or connection. After sleeping with any of them, he had no trouble moving on to the next guy, which was the whole point. In retrospect, Ian had no idea why he’d picked Tom up in the first place. The man couldn’t have been less his type. Rather than flashy and vain, Tom came across as shy and self-conscious. His build, while large and solid next to Ian’s wiry frame, lacked the defined muscles Ian normally went for. His face shouldn’t have drawn Ian either. His features, taken alone, were average. Somehow, however, his wide mouth, prominent nose, and hazel eyes

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combined to form a pleasant whole. When he’d smiled at Ian for the first time, Ian had found him almost beautiful. The sex threw Ian further off kilter. The way Tom touched him, with such passion the first time and such tenderness the second time, didn’t fit with the image of how sex should be in his new life. It was supposed to be about hook-ups and quick fucks, not passion and tenderness. After he freaked out and ran, he hadn’t expected to see Tom again, or think about him. He’d been wrong on both counts. Thoughts of Tom had consumed far too much of his time in the past few weeks. His mind often turned to their night together, Tom’s smile, or Tom bringing him a jacket as he stood shivering in the cold. His wayward thoughts scared him. One-night stands were safe. Anything else wasn’t. He knew that. Any time thoughts of a relationship tempted him, he could remind himself how his earlier relationships had turned out. He’d invested his whole heart in each of them, and each time it had been thrown back in his face, broken. As a freshman in college, he adored his roommate Billy. Billy claimed to feel the same way, right up until he dumped Ian for a bigbreasted cheerleader. A couple of years later, Ian met a junior professor, Steve. Convinced Steve was the one, he began to make plans for a future together. Unfortunately, he hadn’t taken Steve’s wife into account. Steve had acted as if his being married and keeping it a secret from Ian was no big deal. It was a huge deal, at least in Ian’s mind. Steve’s wife probably would have felt the same way, if she’d found out what, or rather who, her husband did behind her back. Two years ago, he’d met the last, and worst, mistake of all: Anton. They’d dated and moved in together, and he’d been blissfully happy. Then one day he came home early and found Anton fucking some twink in their bed. As he told Anton to get the hell out, Anton had smirked at him and said the words Ian still hadn’t managed to shake. “What did you think would happen, Ian? You’re pretty, but you’re so boring. I could get a better lay from a guy in a nursing home, and I bet he wouldn’t talk as much as you.”

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The words bit deep. For the first few weeks after Anton left, he’d been despondent. He’d wondered over and over what he had done wrong, because he must have done something or Anton would never have cheated. Then he got mad. One day, he’d gone to a club and picked up a guy whose name he could no longer recall. The guy had wanted him and praised his skill in bed. After that night, the desire of random guys, and the feeling of control he got from leaving them right after, had become almost an addiction. He frowned. Teague’s words from a couple of weeks ago came back to him. You’re so over him you fuck anything with a dick…you need to stop letting the past control your life. In his preoccupation, he had arrived at the studio without noticing. He shut off the car and sat back in his seat to gather his thoughts. His brother had given him good advice. He hadn’t wanted to admit it at the time, but Teague was right. He had been letting the past control his life for months. If he searched his heart, he knew what he would find—he wasn’t happy, not really. Quick fucks and random hook-ups were all fine and good, but they left him empty and alone. Lonely. Misery washed over him. He dropped his head to the steering wheel. The months of pretending to be happy and fulfilled weighed him down, crushed him. How could I have fucked everything up so badly? He’d been so afraid of getting hurt again, he’d pushed away every opportunity he’d had for true connection. That night with Tom could have been the beginning of something real. Instead, he’d run away like always. He’d hurt Tom, a kind and decent person, in a misguided effort to protect himself. I’m an idiot. The sound of a nearby truck horn jerked him out of his self-flagellation. He sat up and peered out the windshield of his car at Tom’s studio. With a sigh, he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out. Sitting here all day wouldn’t do any good. He needed to pick up Fiona’s pictures before she started calling him. His heart pounded as he crossed the street and pushed the studio door open. Tom glanced up from a sheet of photos, smiling. Ian could see the exact moment Tom realised who he was, because Tom’s smile faded.

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He forced a smile of his own. “Hi. I’m here to pick up Fiona’s pictures. She would have come herself, but Thea’s sick…” He trailed off, embarrassed. Tom didn’t want to hear his stupid babbling. Tom nodded and reached under the counter. He rummaged for a moment and came up with a large plastic sleeve. “I’ve got them right here. Your sister’s all paid up. Have a look at them, if you want, to make sure everything’s the way she wanted.” “I’m sure they’re fine.” Ian took the few steps necessary to get him to the counter and hesitated. His stomach churned with nerves and regret. Tom pushed the sleeve towards him. “Go ahead. I like to make sure my customers are happy before they take their photos home.” Tom’s calm, professional veneer hurt more than insults or sneers would have. From Tom’s behaviour, no one would guess anything had happened between them. Ian lowered his gaze to the counter. He picked up the plastic sleeve and slid the photos free. Careful not to get fingerprints on them, he spread the top three out. The pictures were stunning. Sean, Thea, and Rory gazed out at him, captured perfectly. Tom had caught Sean’s sweet seriousness, Thea’s outgoing high spirits, and Rory’s mischievousness in a way Ian hadn’t believed possible on film. Awed, he stared down at Tom’s work. “Wow. They’re beautiful.” “I had good models.” Ian shook his head. “It’s more than that. You caught them. Not just the way they look, but who they are.” He shuffled the photos until he found one of Fiona and the kids, her face shining with love. His sister had never been lovelier in his eyes. Ian raised his head to find Tom smiling. “I love my job.” He smiled back. “It shows.” He liked Tom smiling at him. If he hadn’t screwed things up, he might have been able to see Tom smile all the time. He sighed and dropped his gaze. No doubt Tom had other things to do, and he had to take the pictures to Fiona. He gathered up the photos and slipped them back into their sleeve. In a minute, he would leave Tom’s studio and probably not see him again. If they did see each other, they might have a stilted, awkward conversation, or maybe just nod at each

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other. The thought was more than he could bear. The loneliness welled up again. His shoulders slumped, he picked up the pictures. Without looking up, he said, “Thanks. Fiona’s going to be thrilled with these, and I know her husband will too.” He turned to go. Tom’s reply reached him just as he got to the door. “Take care of yourself, Ian.” The words, and the tone, stopped him. Tom sounded as if he actually cared what happened to Ian. For a long moment, Ian stood, confused and conflicted. The moment reminded him of when he’d stood at Tom’s gate, shivering in the cold, and Tom had brought him a jacket. He could have made another choice then, a better choice, but instead he had chosen pride and fear over hope. He didn’t want to make the same mistake again. He turned and strode back to the counter, determined to seize the chance this time, no matter how terrified he felt. He halted at the counter in front of a startled Tom. “I made a mess of everything. Can we start over?” Tom didn’t reply. He cocked his head and watched Ian, his expression guarded. Ian held out a shaking hand. “Hi. I’m Ian Abernathy.” Tom stared down at his hand, and for several heart-stopping seconds, Ian thought Tom would turn away from him. Finally Tom’s large hand engulfed his, and they shook. “Nice to meet you Ian. I’m Tom Garner.” When the handshake finished, Ian didn’t let go. Neither did Tom. Ian drew in a deep breath and took another risk. “Could we get some coffee or something?” Tom seemed to consider. “When?” “Tonight? Eight?” He held his breath, hoping. At last, Tom nodded. “Sure.” A heavy weight seemed to lift from Ian’s back. He grinned, free and light for the first time in months.

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Chapter Seven

Tom’s watch read eight-ten as he arrived at the coffee shop Ian had specified. He frowned and pushed the door open, wondering if Ian had left, or shown up in the first place. He’d find out in a few seconds. He spotted Ian the moment he walked in. The younger man sat in a booth near the door, his expression worried. His eyes lit up when he saw Tom in the doorway, and he grinned. Tom walked to the table and sat across from Ian. “Sorry I’m late.” Ian didn’t appear to be upset with him. “No problem. What would you like to drink?” “Just black coffee, please.” He had to watch Ian walk away. The view was too good to miss. Ian returned about five minutes later, carrying two cups and a plate. Along with Tom’s black coffee and some kind of cappuccino drink for himself, he’d bought a small assortment of miniature cookies and brownies. Tom accepted the coffee gratefully. “Thanks.” Ian nodded. They sat in silence for a bit as they sipped their drinks and each selected a cookie. Ian broke the silence by asking him about the last movie he’d seen. They spent the next hour talking about movies, music, books, and television. Their tastes turned out to be different in most things, but they shared a fondness for mystery movies and books. Tom snickered when Ian confessed to watching that TV show about what people shouldn’t wear. Of course, Ian laughed just as much when Tom admitted he sometimes watched American Idol. After they ran out of movies and TV shows to discuss, they talked about their families. An only child, Tom found Ian’s tales of being the youngest of six fascinating. Ian’s large Irish Catholic family sounded both fun and overwhelming. Ian rolled his eyes when Tom said as much. “They can be annoying. Since I’m the youngest, they all try to mother hen me, even now that we’re all adults.” Tom laughed. “I can’t imagine you needing a mother hen.”

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Ian shrugged. “They think I do. What’s worse is when they’re right. They all told me the last guy I dated was bad news, but I didn’t listen.” Now he would find out why Ian had run a few weeks ago. “I’m guessing it didn’t turn out well.” “Not at all. He cheated on me.” The corners of Ian’s mouth turned up in a wry halfsmile. “I’ve had some pretty bad luck with guys. I guess I thought not letting myself have another relationship would keep me from getting hurt, but it wasn’t working out so well either.” Tom could sympathise. For months after Michael died, he’d believed he would never date again. “You have to get back on the horse. That’s what my friends all told me.” “Did you have a bad relationship too?” “No, I had a wonderful relationship. We were together for seven years.” Ian touched his hand, as if he knew something bad was coming and wanted to comfort him. “What happened?” He turned his hand to catch the tips of Ian’s fingers. The contact, and the thought behind it, helped him continue. “He died. Cancer. We knew what was coming, so before he got too bad we took some trips, did a few things we’d always wanted to do.” He managed to smile. Time had dulled the pain enough to allow him to dwell on good memories rather than the black depression he’d sunk into after Michael’s death. Ian’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry.” He was silent for a long moment. “I admire you for having the courage to get back out there after something like that. I was too scared, and all I had to deal with were cheaters and losers.” Tom squeezed Ian’s hand. “Everybody deals with loss in their own way. And I waited two years before I tried to date again.” “And then you met me. Tell me I wasn’t the first guy after two years.” He couldn’t say anything to that, since Ian had been the first guy. His silence must have clued Ian in, because the younger man grimaced. “God. And I was such an ass.” He grinned. “It wasn’t all bad.” Ian looked surprised. Then he laughed. “You’re right, it wasn’t.”

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**** A week after their coffee date, Tom met Ian at the movies. The ridiculous action film they saw wasn’t anything to write home about, but their dinner and discussion afterward was fun. The next week, they went to an Egypt exhibition at the history museum. Tom enjoyed all the time they spent together. Ian made him laugh like no one else could. He also appreciated the slow pace of their relationship. Hopping into bed before even going on a date hadn’t been the best choice to make. This time he was determined to do things right. He thought Ian shared his determination, as they hadn’t done anything more than sweet goodnight kisses. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to do more. The mere sight of Ian made him want. At night he tortured himself with memories of how responsive Ian had been in bed, and the heat of his smooth, supple skin. If the longing glances Ian shot him occasionally were any indication, the younger man felt the same way.

**** The doorbell’s loud ring told Tom seven-thirty had come. He pulled the sweater he’d been considering over his head and smoothed his hair. Figuring he was ready as he’d ever be, he went to answer the door. Ian stood on his doorstep, beaming. “Hey, Tom.” He grinned back. Ian’s obvious pleasure at seeing him was flattering. “Hey, Ian. You’re in a good mood.” “I hope you will be too, after you see what I got.” Ian held out an envelope. Tom took the envelope and opened it. Two tickets slid out. A quick glance showed the title of a play he’d been dying to see. He’d mentioned wishing he had tickets to Ian a few days earlier. Apparently Ian had been paying close attention. “I thought this was sold out.” Ian shrugged. “I knew you really wanted to go, so I called a guy who gets season tickets every year. He let me buy them.” Tom’s heart warmed at Ian’s thoughtfulness. The younger man had gone out of his way to get the tickets, which couldn’t have been cheap, just because Tom wanted to go. “Thank you.”

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Ian laughed. “Don’t thank me now. We haven’t seen the play yet.” Laughing, Tom locked the door and followed Ian to his car.

If someone had asked Ian what he thought about the play afterward, he wouldn’t have had much to say. Instead of watching the events onstage, he spent most of the night watching Tom. Tom’s expression of rapt interest filled him with more pleasure than sex with anyone else had. In fact, while he really wanted to sleep with Tom again, Ian was content to sit beside him in the darkened theatre. That should have scared him, but somehow it didn’t. The month they’d been dating had allowed them to learn about each other and build a tentative trust. The shell Ian had constructed around his heart crumbled a little more each day. During the intermission, Ian put his arm on the large armrest between his seat and Tom’s. Tom’s arm already occupied half of the space, his hand curled over the end. Needing the contact, Ian covered Tom’s hand with his own. Tom’s gaze flickered from their hands to Ian’s face. His lips curved up slowly, and he shifted his hand to twine their fingers together. The second act began.

**** The crisp, cool night air was a welcome change after the stuffy atmosphere in the theatre lobby. Ian took a deep breath, glad to be free of the crush of people. He and Tom strolled down the sidewalk side by side, neither of them rushing. Near the car, Tom broke the not unpleasant silence. “That was wonderful. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Tom’s evident enjoyment of the play had been thanks enough. Would it be too sappy to admit he liked making Tom happy? Probably. He’d keep that little tidbit to himself. The drive to Tom’s house flew by as they chatted about the play. Ian didn’t talk much, content to listen to Tom’s assessments of the characters and their motivations. Before he knew it, he’d pulled up in front of Tom’s.

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Almost surprised by how fast the evening had gone, he put the car into park. “We’re here.” Tom nodded in response to his unnecessary announcement. Rather than replying, he closed the distance between them and kissed Ian, the contact a gentle brush of lips. Ian had craved Tom’s lips on his all night. All week, if he were honest. Unable to help himself, Ian let out a tiny moan and leant into the kiss, parting his lips. Shivers of pleasure chased up his spine at the first brush of Tom’s tongue against his own. What had probably been intended as a brief contact deepened. Panting, they both drew back at the same time. Tom’s hot hazel gaze bore into him, ratcheting up his desire. Ian looked away to get himself under control. They had been taking things slowly for the past month, and he didn’t want to push. This time he would take the time to build something real and true, not rush into a meaningless encounter based on sex. “I should go.” The brush of Tom’s fingertips over the back of his hand, now clutching the steering wheel to avoid touching Tom, sent more shivers through him. He dared to glance at Tom, only to find the older man’s gaze still locked on his face. “You don’t have to go.” Ian wanted to go inside with Tom more than he could remember wanting anything else. Could he trust his instincts this time? He couldn’t afford to rush things again, not with Tom. Tom was too important. His inner debate must have shown on his face, because Tom leant back against the door, not breaking their eye contact. “I want you. Not any random hot guy, but you. We went way too fast last time, so if you want to wait, I’ll respect that. But I need you to know this—” Tom gestured from himself to Ian, “—is about you, and about us, not just sex.” Sincerity and truth rang in Tom’s words. Ian shut off the car’s engine before he realised he’d made his decision. Tom peered at him, searching his face. Ian smiled and unbuckled his seatbelt. “I want you too.” Without another word, they both scrambled out of the car and up the sidewalk into the house.

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Once in the bedroom, Tom took Ian’s mouth in a hard kiss. Ian experienced a bit of déjà vu for a moment, remembering their first time together. Instead of tearing at Tom’s clothes like he had then, he kissed back, spearing his hands into Tom’s short, silky hair. He teased Tom’s tongue with his own, and the smooth, wet glide elicited a moan from Tom. Ian relished the small sign of desire. Determined to get Tom as turned on as he already felt, he pressed his body to Tom’s and did a long, slow grind. The sweet friction backfired, affecting him as much as Tom, who let his head fall back, breaking the kiss. The smooth skin of Tom’s exposed throat beckoned. Ian latched onto the base of his neck and sucked. He never marked his lovers, or let them mark him, but this felt different. The inner voice chanting mine took a possessive satisfaction from his action, as if Ian claimed Tom with the small red bruise he drew up on his neck. Tom didn’t seem to mind, if his hands sliding into Ian’s hair to keep him there were any indication. Ian sucked harder, and Tom groaned. “God, Ian.” The sudden need to see and touch his handiwork made Ian draw back. He tugged Tom’s shirt over his head and tossed the garment aside. At the base of Tom’s throat, a reddish bruise was already darkening to purple. Ian brushed a fingertip over the mark. The tiny, needy sound Tom made urged Ian on. He yanked off his own shirt and toed off his shoes. “Strip.” With a laugh, Tom removed his shoes, pants, and underwear. He kicked them aside. “Now what?” Ian smiled at the sight of Tom, tall and solid and his. “Now you come to bed with me.” “I can do that. But first, let me help you.” Tom closed the short distance between them and reached for Ian’s fly. He unfastened the pants and pushed them down over Ian’s hips. Ian closed his eyes and savoured the soft brush of Tom’s fingers. A little whimper slipped out as Tom came back for his boxer-briefs, teasing along the waistband before pushing them down and off. Ian shivered in the cool air, but his erection didn’t wane at all. If anything, it hardened, especially when Tom pushed him backward until he fell onto the bed. Warm, moist air blew over his cock. His eyes flew open. Tom knelt between his legs at the foot of the bed, mouth inches from Ian’s dick. “Tom. Please.” The soft whisper escaped before he could hold the words in.

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Tom didn’t take Ian’s cock into his mouth like Ian had hoped. Instead, he pushed Ian’s legs up onto the bed so that his feet were braced on the edge. Confused, Ian leant up on his elbows to peer down at the end of the bed. “What—” The swipe of a hot, wet tongue over his hole turned his words into a choked gasp. He heard a soft laugh. Then Tom dragged his tongue along the edges of Ian’s entrance, featherlight. The rest of his question flew out of his mind, replaced by a steady chant of oh God, oh God. He had never been with anyone who liked rimming before, but Tom clearly did. Moments later, Ian’s internal chant became a steady stream of begging. Tom stopped playing and got serious, first licking and then penetrating Ian with the tip of his tongue. Ian spread his legs as far as they could go and gripped the comforter tightly. The moist glide of Tom’s tongue against the sensitive inner tissues of his hole sent little shocks of pleasure through him. “Please, Tom, please, oh, fuck.” The pressure—and pleasure—increased as Tom opened him farther with a spitmoistened finger. Ian cried out, his body arching involuntarily, close to coming way before he wanted to. He lifted his head again and met Tom’s eyes. “Tom.” His voice came out hoarse and desperate. The corners of Tom’s eyes crinkled like he was amused. He gave Ian’s hole one final swipe with his tongue and stood. “Up to the headboard.” Ian never considered arguing. He crawled backward until he reached the top of the bed. His first instinct was to turn over onto his stomach, but he didn’t. He lay on his back and watched Tom retrieve a condom and lube from the bedside table. Tom climbed back onto the bed and moved into position between Ian’s spread legs. “Is this okay?” Did Tom’s question refer to the position, or having sex in general? Ian couldn’t be sure. Looking up into Tom’s eyes, full of desire for him, he didn’t care. With Tom, a lot of things would be okay. He nodded and took the condom packet from Tom’s unresisting fingers. Tom’s gaze never left Ian’s face as Ian opened the foil packet and rolled the thin latex sheath onto Tom’s straining erection. Even Ian’s quick application of lube didn’t drag Tom’s eyes away, though he did suck in a quick, harsh breath.

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More than ready, Ian guided Tom’s cock to his entrance. He smiled up into those beautiful, intent eyes. Finally, Tom pressed forward in a long, smooth stroke. Ian’s body opened for him, barely protesting the intrusion. Tom set a slow, steady pace, alternating shallow rocking and deep, penetrating thrusts Ian could feel throughout his whole body. The heat and friction sparked on sensitive inner tissues, spreading from Ian’s ass to his cock, and farther. Even his fingers tingled with sensation. Through it all, Tom watched him. Tom’s fingertips skated over his face, his lips, his hair, as if Ian were something precious. Emotion built in his chest. He bit his lip to keep it back, determined to concentrate on his body, and Tom’s. A large hand closed over his prick, stroking in time with Tom’s thrusts. Fierce pleasure rushed through him. His orgasm took him by surprise. He cried out, arching, his eyes closing briefly. Ropes of hot, wet semen painted his stomach and chest. “God, Ian, you’re beautiful when you come.” Ian wrenched his eyes open at Tom’s soft words. The look on his lover’s face took his breath away. Rather than replying with words, he reached up and brushed his fingers over Tom’s cheek. Eyes lighting, Tom lifted him slightly and thrust a few more times, hard and fast. Then he let out a low groan. His face went tight, his body shaking as he came. Seconds after he collapsed onto Ian’s chest, Tom mumbled, “Am I crushing you?” Ian wrapped his arms around Tom’s wide shoulders and smiled, warm and safe and at peace for the first time in months. “Yes. But stay a minute anyway.”

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Chapter Eight

Tom awoke to a comfortable warmth and heavy weight on his shoulder. He blinked and looked down, unable to suppress a surge of joy at the sight of Ian’s tousled blond hair. Sometime during the night he’d shifted to his back, and Ian had curled up against his side, resting his head on Tom’s shoulder. The younger man looked soft and vulnerable in sleep, without his quicksilver energy and teasing humour. Would Ian stay this time? A little stab of anxiety pricked his heart at the thought. He wanted to believe Ian would stay, that he’d been ready to take their relationship further. Over the past few weeks, they’d learnt a lot about each other. They’d shared their thoughts and hopes, and talked about their families. He thought maybe Ian was beginning to trust him. And I’m falling for him. Okay, unexpected but not bad. As long as Ian felt the same way. “Mm.” Ian shifted against him and stretched. Long lashes fluttered, and those gorgeous deep blue eyes peered up at him. Tom smiled, hoping his conflicted thoughts didn’t show. “Good morning.” It took a minute, but finally Ian smiled back. “Morning.” Ian’s body seemed to tense. Tom brought his free hand up and rubbed Ian’s arm in a soothing motion. “You sleep okay?” “I slept great.” Ian shifted, and his morning erection poked into Tom’s leg. “But now I seem to be wide awake.” That was an understatement. Tom laughed. Before he could say anything, Ian wriggled down his body and took Tom’s own morning erection into his mouth. He sucked in a breath. Ian’s mouth was hot and wet and perfect. He sucked Tom fast and hard, tonguing the head and shaft as he bobbed up and down, the tight ring of his lips providing incredible friction. He jacked the base of Tom’s shaft with one hand while the other fondled Tom’s balls. Tom wanted to make it last, but Ian took him deep and swallowed.

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The added pressure was too much. “Ian!” He would have pulled away, but Ian kept right on swallowing. He came and came. Ian drank down every drop and licked him clean afterwards. The buzz of his orgasm hummed through him. He had the urge to go back to sleep. Only Ian’s still-hard cock pressing into his leg kept him from doing so. “Come here.” He reached down and pulled the smaller man up. He kissed Ian gently, tasting himself. Ian moaned and opened to him. Their tongues twined and stroked against each other. Ian shivered. Without any teasing, Tom gripped Ian’s erection and stroked. The shiver turned into a full-on shudder. Encouraged, Tom deepened the kiss, matching the movements of his hand and his tongue. Ian writhed against him, whimpering. Minutes later, Ian exploded, sticky heat pouring over Tom’s hand. Ian broke the kiss and let out a breathless laugh. “That’s a nice way to wake up.” He grinned and handed Ian a couple of tissues. “Yeah. Let’s go back to sleep so we can do it again.”

**** Thirst and the insistent demands of his bladder woke Tom again a few hours later. The clock on the bedside table read ten o’clock. On the other side of the bed, Ian slept on his stomach, the side of his face mashed into the pillow. He smiled and got out of bed, trying to be quiet. A quick trip to the bathroom solved one problem. In the kitchen, he drank a glass of water and started the coffeepot. He glanced down at his chest and grimaced. Shower time. Ian would no doubt want one too. Maybe they could save water. He headed back down the hall to the bedroom. Ian still slept peacefully, only now he had moved to the centre of the bed. Tom crept over and bent down to nuzzle the side of his neck. “Mm.” Ian smiled in his sleep and tilted his head, but otherwise didn’t move. Tom kissed his cheek. “Wake up, sleepyhead. Coffee’s brewing, and I’m going to go shower.” One eye opened. “Coffee? Shower?”

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He stood. “Yep. You want to shower with me?” Ian’s lips curved up. “Definitely.” Nearly an hour passed before they made it to the kitchen and coffee. Tom didn’t mind. Showering with Ian had been more than worth the caffeine delay. Ian guzzled his coffee, if the beverage he drank could be called coffee. Tom snickered. “Do you want some coffee with your cream and sugar?” Ian stuck out his tongue like a little kid. Apparently someone had been spending too much time with his niece and nephews. “Not my fault you don’t have a cappuccino maker.” He rolled his eyes and changed the subject. “Do you have any plans for today?” “No.” Ian paused for a moment. His eyes went wide. “Oh, shit! I forgot today’s Sunday. What time is it?” Tom glanced at the clock. “Almost eleven-thirty. Why?” Grimacing, Ian stood. “Damn! I have to be at my parents’ for lunch at noon. I can’t be late again, or Mom’ll be pissed.” Despite the disappointment he felt, Tom smiled. Last night and this morning had been wonderful, but they couldn’t last forever. Ian had things to do, and he did too. “I guess you’d better get going, then. Angry mothers are not good.” “Tell me about it.” Ian rounded the table and kissed him, quick and hard. “I’ll call you later, okay?” He nodded. “Okay. Have fun.” With a last smile, Ian turned. Halfway across the room, he stopped and faced Tom again. His forehead was furrowed, and he was biting his lower lip. He looked nervous. Tom frowned. What could be wrong? Ian spoke before he could ask, voice hesitant. “You could come with me, to my parents’. I mean, if you wanted. You don’t have to. I know we’ve only been dating a month—” “I’d love to come.” After a quick stop at Ian’s so he could change, they pulled up in front of a small, neat house. Several other cars already filled the driveway and part of the street. Tom remembered Ian’s five siblings and wondered what he was getting himself into.

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Ian didn’t give him any time to think about that. The younger man hustled him out of the car and up the walk. The door opened before they got there. Fiona stood there, one hand on her hip. “Look who’s here, and almost on time.” She caught sight of Tom, and her eyes widened. “Mr. Garner. Hello.” Tom had to smile at her surprise. Ian must not bring many men to the family luncheons. “Hello. Call me Tom, please.” She glanced from Ian to him a few times. A pleased little smile curved her lips. “Okay, Tom. Come on in, you two.” A few steps in, the three Tate children accosted Ian, who picked each one up in turn and swirled them around. Rory, last to be picked up, eyed Tom from Ian’s arms. “Hi, picture man.” “Picture” sounded like “pitcher” coming from the little boy. Tom laughed. “Hi, Rory.” Ian put the boy down, and the three kids ran away. Ian turned to him. “Come on, picture man.” In the living room, Ian introduced him to the other Abernathy siblings: brothers Declan and Teague, and sisters Bridgette and Aileen and their husbands. They all welcomed him as if he were a long-lost relative. Teague, who Ian had introduced as the oldest sibling, grinned as they shook hands. To Tom, he said, “So you’re the one who took the monsters’ pictures a few weeks back.” Tom didn’t get a chance to respond to that. Teague turned to Ian and continued, clearly teasing, “Develop a sudden interest in photography, Ian?” Ian caught Tom’s hand and laced their fingers together. “No. But I am interested in the photographer.” A frisson of warmth unfurled somewhere in the vicinity of his heart at the declaration, and the way Ian held his hand. Teague grinned. “Good for you.” “Yeah, it is.” Ian smiled at Tom and tugged their joined hands. “Come on to the kitchen.”

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The kitchen was a small, cheery room. The bright yellow walls and yellow-and-white checked curtains reminded Tom of sunshine. He sniffed the air, redolent with the scents of home-cooked food and fresh bread. A tiny woman stood at the stove, greying blond hair tied back, her green dress protected by an apron. Ian cleared his throat. “Hi, Mom.” Ian’s mother turned. Her blue eyes, very like Ian’s, lit up at the sight of her son. “Ian. Did you just get here?” She crossed the kitchen, smiling. “And who’s this?” Ian squeezed his hand and released it. “This is my boyfriend, Tom Garner. He’s a photographer.” Boyfriend. He had to restrain the sappy grin that wanted to break free. He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Abernathy.” “Call me Regan.” She ignored his hand and hugged him instead. Over her head, Ian beamed at him. He let the sappy grin spread across his face. Regan released him and hugged Ian. She murmured something to her son that made him laugh. Then she let him go and made a shooing motion. “Go introduce this nice young man to your father while I finish in here.” Tom nudged Ian on the way out. “She does realise I’ve got seven years on you, doesn’t she? I’m hardly a young man.” “Anyone under forty is young to her. Let’s go find Dad.”

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Epilogue

Weak late afternoon sunlight streamed through the open blinds and onto the bed where Tom lay, sated and smiling. Ian crawled back up the bed and flopped down beside him. “Did that make up for having to spend half the day with my family?” Tom pulled Ian close and kissed the hot mouth that had just sucked him off for the second time in one day. “That was incredible. And I enjoyed meeting your family. They were all very nice.” Snuggling up against him, Ian sighed. “Nice, and loud, and nosy.” The noise hadn’t bothered him. Neither had their curiosity. They had all seemed genuinely interested in him and his work. He shrugged. “People tend to get nosy when you say the word boyfriend.” The sudden tension in Ian’s body let him know the smaller man was upset. “I’m sorry. I should have talked to you first before I said anything to them.” “Hey.” He tilted Ian’s chin up until their eyes met. “I liked it when you called me your boyfriend. You’re not going to take that back now, are you?” Ian’s gaze searched his face for a moment, and then those tempting lips curved up. “Not a chance. Guys like you don’t come around every day.” Watching Ian sleep a few minutes later, he smiled to himself. Guys like Ian didn’t come around every day either. Tom curled up next to Ian and closed his eyes, happy and content. What they had may have started as a one-night stand, but he wasn’t about to let Ian go anytime soon. He knew a good thing when he found it.

About the Author By day, Cassandra is a (relatively) mild-mannered middle school teacher. At night, she lets the characters in her head out to play as she writes erotic romance. Unfortunately for her husband, neither of Cassandra’s personas enjoys doing housework. Email: [email protected] Cassandra loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

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