by Tara Lain
Daisy smiled in relief. “Thanks so much, Ian. I’ve been down those steps, and I’m not dying to repeat the adventure.”
“No worries. I just live a couple of blocks from here, so I have Thousand Steps thighs.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow. “I’ll say you do.”
The older boy, Phillip, yelled, “Mother!”
Ian snorted. “Come on, guys. Let’s get wet.”
Two hours later, he’d boogie-boarded with the older kids, built castles with the little ones, and finally lay buried in sand almost to his neck with all the kids piling on.
“Now I know how to keep you from running off to big cities in foreign countries.”
Ian’s eyes flipped up to find Braden standing above his head, wearing only a pair of blue board shorts and holding a plastic glass of something most likely not a soft drink.
Braden took a swig. “Hold him down, kids. Don’t let him get away.”
This inspired a new burst of enthusiasm in his sand-pilers as they hauled pails full of damp, itchy stuff to add to the layers they’d already created. Not comfortable, but shit, what a view. Looking up above his head, he could only see Braden’s face after a perfect view of his package neatly outlined in the tighter-than-average shorts. Braden’s body half-naked had that same easy, not-too-much-just-right proportion and balance he had in clothes. Lean, broad shoulders, and hips so narrow they barely held up the low-slung shorts. But Ian’s eyes fixated on the narrow trail of auburn fuzz that led from Braden’s muscled but largely hairless chest into the top of his shorts, like a sign pointing to the Promised Land. He licked his lips.
Braden squatted. Oh, bad idea. My eyes! Do not stare at the cock of your boss’s boss’s boss. “Are you thirsty, little sandman?”
Shit, he could think of a few things to drink. “Yeah.”
Braden leaned over, blowing some mildly alcoholic breath, and dribbled whatever was in his plastic glass into Ian’s mouth.
Ian sucked it in. Shit! Lemon and alcohol. He choked and coughed.
“Are you okay?” Braden started pawing sand off him.
“No. It’s okay. Just startled me.”
“You sure?”
Ian smiled. “Yeah. Let the kids have fun.” He whispered, “I can get out.”
“Okay.” He didn’t move from Ian’s view, which was damned fine. “You ever go through the tunnel to the cove?”
“Yeah. I love it over there. But I don’t like the kids to hear about it. Tide’s coming in. They could get trapped over there—or worse.”
Braden nodded. “Wish Jo-Jo and Mireille were here.”
“Me too.”
“Maybe we can make a date, uh, for Mireille to see Anderson sometime soon.”
“Sure. He’d love that.”
Braden stood and took another slug from his drink, then started wandering down the beach. People stopped to talk to him and he chatted, but the minute they stopped focusing on him, he resumed his solitary meander.
Shit, what a gorgeous ass.
Ian flicked his eyes to the sky as another bucket of sand landed on his chest. Why are you noticing men’s asses when you just had your heart cut out and stomped?
My dick didn’t get stomped. And it sure as fuck didn’t get sucked.
Okay, here he lay, late in the day, covered in sand and Rico’s shit. How exactly did he feel? Brokenhearted? Yes. Well, kind of.
More like pissed.
Let’s examine that. Angry, lied to, ready to beat somebody up, betrayed—hurt, lonely—horny.
Very, very horny.
Not one of those things is brokenhearted.
A kid started to pour more sand, and Ian pulled his arm out from under the shallow layer he’d created and held his hand up. “Okay, somebody else take a turn.”
Three little boys yelled, “Me!” “Me!” The group’s focus shifted to the new victims, and Ian swept the layers of sand off his torso and stood, brushing grains from his skin and shaking it from his shorts. He returned the hug of one little girl and walked toward the surf line. Do I love Rico? Did I? If he ran onto the beach right now and asked me to marry him, would I do it? Probably. Why? Because I love him? Maybe. Yes, I must, right? He sighed. But it’s not going to happen, so get the fuck over it.
He reached the end of the beach and turned back, walking toward the place where the kids still played, toward Braden’s house on the cliffs where people crowded the decks, and toward the rock tunnel that led to the small cove beyond—a “secret” cove known to thousands of people. At low tide, the water allowed you to walk through the tunnel with only splashed feet, but at high tide, you had to swim. It could be hella spooky.
A tall figure in blue shorts walked toward the tunnel.
Thought he went home.
Braden looked over his shoulder toward the kids—like he was trying to be sure none of them were watching him—then ducked into the sea tunnel. For a minute his blue trunks stood out against the rocks, and then he was gone.
Ian stopped. His pulse beat hard in his throat. What are you thinking? Not thinking. He took a step. Another. Then walked faster. When he got to the tunnel, there was no sign of Braden, but that made sense. The tunnel was narrow and hooked at the end. You could barely tell it led anywhere. The tidal surge pushed the water about halfway up the wall of the opening. Time to get wet.
He stepped onto the rocks, and the warm/cold surf climbed his legs. A splash slapped against his chest. Whoa. He sucked breath. Chilly. He guided himself with his hands on the slick rocks, since in the late afternoon light, not much illumination reached inside the tunnel.
At the end, the tunnel curved and bam—he emerged in the cove. Nobody. No guests from the party—and no Braden. Where did he go? Could he have turned at the last minute and gone back to the house? Not likely. Ian had been watching.
About halfway down the small cove beach, an outcropping of rocks stretched toward the encroaching tide. Ian walked toward it. As he approached, he noticed he was kind of tiptoeing. He leaned over the rock and—pay dirt! Braden lay on the sand behind the rocks. Probably to be sure no one from his house could see him. He had one arm thrown over his eyes and the other—Ian’s eyes widened. The other gently played on a massive erection pushing up the fabric of his board shorts. Up, down, up, down the fingers stroked. Even the ridge on the head of his pecker was outlined against the wet material. Holy shit.
Ian swallowed. Again. His own cock rose like sunrise and throbbed. Horny. Horny. Shit!
Stop. Think. Do I have any reason to believe I won’t get fired in the next five minutes? Maybe one or two. The way Braden looked at him. Sought his company. The way he’d held him that night when Ian cried.
Wishful thinking.
Yeah, maybe.
Braden’s fingers really dug in on that big shaft, his palm pushing down as his fingers pinched the crown.
Ian bit down on his back teeth to keep from screaming.
“Ohhhhh.” The moan murmured out from Braden’s beautiful mouth.
Double shit!
Ian moved fast. Circled the rocks, cast one last look to be sure no visitors had showed up, fell to his knees beside Braden, and ripped the shorts down over his erection. He barely had time to register a longer than average dick, also pretty thick, with a big head, all snuggled in a nest of curling red-brown hair.
Braden yelled, “What the fuck?”
Ian looked up. His gaze met Braden’s. Those wide blue eyes widened and his nostrils flared.
That’s all, baby.
Ian pounced! Oooh, just wrapping his lips around that big mushroom thrilled him to his balls. Gotta get past the point of no return. He licked and plunged—deep. Deeper.
“Holy shit!” Braden’s hips lifted so far off the sand he could have tried out for advanced yoga. “Oh God. Oh God.”
Ian settled into one of his favorite all-time activities. Giving head. The first time he’d done it, he’d been thirteen and trying to run from the inevitable—an inevitable he already suspected his dad would hate. But on
e taste, one mouthful, and his whole brain and heart glowed with certainty. I’m gay. So fucking gay. He’d hoped people would accept it. Prayed his family would embrace it. But he never questioned the truth again.
Braden’s cock was a revelation. Wonderful shape. Nice and big without being gross. Just right, like all the rest of him. It needed appreciation from a connoisseur. Ian qualified. He sucked and licked and swallowed, again and again.
Like a big fish on the end of a line, Braden flopped and twisted, flung his arms, moaned, yelled, even shrieked, and Ian just kept enjoying. Too fucking long since he’d gotten to appreciate sucking a man. He’d been waiting. Staying faithful, while fucking Rico got fucking sucked by fucking Karl.
He swallowed deeper, pulled back and thrust his tongue in Braden’s piss slit, then swallowed again.
“Shit! Shit. Gonna come. Oh God.”
Should pull off. Not gonna.
Splat. Hot cum hit the back of Ian’s throat like his own elixir from heaven, and he swallowed and swallowed.
Braden shivered and shook, making funny “Unh unh unh” sounds. Finally his arms flopped to the sand beside him and he dissolved into a puddle of goo.
Ian wiped his mouth with his arm and smiled. Too late to frown. He reached up and pushed a shock of hair off Braden’s forehead. “Okay, my friend, I figure since you’re giving up a lot to be gay, you might like a preview of what you’re gaining. I know it’s not fair to make you start at the top. I mean, I don’t want to brag, but you’ll have trouble finding anyone that good again.” He laughed. “I also hope my assumption that you don’t have any diseases is correct. I’m not usually so impulsive.”
Braden’s deep blues fluttered open. “I’ve been tested. I’m clean. Haven’t had sex much.”
Ian grinned at him. “Well, add a notch to your belt.”
“What, uh, what about Rico?”
Ian frowned. “Another story for another time. I need to be sure all the kids get up to their folks.”
Braden pointed to the wonder woody stretching the front of Ian’s trunks. “What about him?”
“Also a topic for another time. One plunge into that cold water should persuade him to go back into hiding.” He stood and cupped Mr. Downtown. “But he’s happy to see you.” Laughing, he turned and walked back toward the sea tunnel—maybe not quite as happy-go-lucky as he appeared, but feeling one fuckload better than he had an hour ago.
Chapter Fourteen
The good feelings lasted about half an hour. Then all the other crap intruded. He’d cheated on Rico. True, Rico cheated on him first, but if Rico decided to come back—shit, Rico’s engaged to somebody else. He’s not coming back.
Okay, but one absolutely incontrovertible fact remained. He’d just sucked off his boss. No, his boss’s boss’s etcetera. And how does that make you feel, Mr. Carney?
Let’s table that.
He loaded two more sandy, sleepy kids into the van as their parents piled all the junk that seemed to accompany kids into the back.
The young mom, one of the admins from the design department, smiled at him. “Thanks, Ian. You sure are good with kids. Bet you want a pile of them.”
He just smiled and nodded. Did he want kids? Hell, yeah. He’d love treating them way better than his father had treated him.
After the last of the families were loaded, he finally wandered into the house. Funny, he’d missed all of the adult party except when the parents came down to the beach to visit their offspring. He hadn’t exactly planned it that way, but hell, he often felt more comfortable with kids. That probably speaks to my general level of maturity.
Inside the house, pandemonium reigned. Caterers rushed around collecting chairs and clearing tables—mess disappearing and the casual comfort of Braden’s home being restored. Such a nice place. One of the women from the committee waved at him as she directed some of the men to pull up chairs from the lower decks.
He grabbed the bag he’d left in the hall closet and stepped into the guest powder room. Laying a towel on the floor to catch the excess sand, he changed to his jeans and T-shirt. When he looked in the sink mirror to try to comb his hair, a rosy face stared back. He’d gotten some sun today, even more than he was used to. He gathered the towel to take to the laundry, then walked out to the living room.
No Braden. Was he still lying on the beach recovering? Hell, the tunnel could be treacherous at night. For a second his pulse pounded. Then he heard Braden’s voice coming from the deck.
Whew. That raised another question. Should he slip out and not face the music, or stand his ground?
Gotta see him sometime, unless you want to quit your job and move to Kansas.
A definite possibility.
Braden walked into the living room. Too late to run. The moment he saw Ian, a pink blush splashed across his high cheekbones. “Hi.”
Well, that was fucking cute. “Hi.”
“Thanks so much for wrangling all the kids today. Everyone said you were amazing. You didn’t have to do it, but I really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.” One of a couple of pleasures he’d had today.
Braden glanced toward the kitchen. “Do you have to go? They’re almost done cleaning up. I was thinking we could have a glass of wine.” He smiled. “Since you kind of missed out on the party.”
Ian’s heart lurched. He looked around at the women from the office who still supervised the caterers. Lowering his voice, he said, “How about I come back after everyone’s gone and we can have our drink? Reduce gossip.”
“Oh, right. Good idea.”
Ian made a big show of leaving, asking all the office staff if he could help with anything and then heading out the door with lots of waves. He trotted down the sidewalk toward the crosswalk, then cut down the stairs toward Thousand Steps at the last second. About halfway down, he stopped and sat on the stair. Only the sound of the surf below filled his head.
A buzz in his pocket made him pull out his phone.
Sorry about everything. Hope you’re okay.
Rico.
First impulse? Throw the fucking phone in the fucking ocean. It took Rico all day to finally inquire if Ian was bleeding beside the road. Asshole. Ian’s fingers itched to type Fuck off, but he wouldn’t give Rico the satisfaction.
No reply required.
Another text, this one from Jim, said, Hope the party is fun. Left some chicken on the counter in case you’re hungry. Put in fridge if you don’t want it.
He smiled. They always thought of him. Hell, I’m luckier than most.
The clamor at Braden’s house was calming down. From his perch, Ian could see two guys close up the catering van and drive off. The women from the committee stood on the driveway for about ten minutes chattering but finally all piled into one car, probably to drive to the supermarket lot to pick up the rest of their vehicles.
Quiet.
So I’m going back there for “wine.” He shook his head at the same time. If I had the sense of a seagull, I’d text Braden that I have to go home and worry about facing him on Monday.
Seagulls were very, very stupid.
He sighed and stood. The chance to feel Braden Lord’s perfect cock in his ass trumped all other considerations at this moment. Yes, it had been far too long—for both of them, it seemed.
Besides, he was just plain horny. Braden had tons of shit going on in his life he had to deal with. Neither of them was looking for some giant commitment. They could make each other feel better and call it a day. A very good day. No need to get all wrapped up in emotions. Hell, he’d been there, done that, and the T-shirt said Stupid Idiot on it. This would be a perfect booty call without the side effects of fucking romance.
Braden stared at the bottle of pinot grigio in his hands. The line of liquid in the bottle looked like they were living through a California quake, his hands shook so hard. Do I really want to do this? No particle of sense intruded on the memory of Ian Carney’s mouth on his cock. The answer had to be a giant flaming yes.
Yes, he’s my intern. Yes, he’s fifteen years younger than me. Yes, I want to fuck him into another decade.
Braden leaned against the counter. In fact, the power of that lust amazed him. He’d known he was gay for a while, but all the hiding and living a different life always subdued his desires. He’d see cute guys, but the chances of having to introduce them to Mireille and Jo-Jo always made them less attractive. He’d think about going out to a bathhouse, but what if he caught a disease? Who’d take care of the kids? So he’d spent way more time being straight than gay. But now? Shit, all he could think about was fucking Ian Carney. His balls ached, his hands shook. More. He needed more.
“Hi.”
The glass rattled against the granite counter as he half dropped it, grabbed, and managed to save the bottle, if not his dignity. He looked over his shoulder. No, his memory wasn’t failing. Ian managed to be the cutest, sexiest creature he’d ever seen in the flesh. Hell, he outdid a lot of airbrushed photos. The slightly heavy-lidded green eyes, slim nose, a full top lip that made it look like he was always thinking about something seriously, and that damned, tousled, just-got-out-of-a-good-fuck-session sandy blond hair added up to way more than a nervous system could withstand. “Hi. Just pouring us some wine.”
Ian grinned. “I noticed.”
Braden shrugged. “While practicing juggling.”
“Noticed that too. Sorry to startle you.”
Braden poured the pale gold liquid into the two stemmed glasses. “Actually, that’s not the first time today you startled me.”
Ian grinned and accepted his glass. Braden nodded toward the living room, and Ian turned and walked back into the space. The open door to the deck let in the sounds of the surf while the fire in the two-story stone fireplace kept the evening chill at bay.
Ian sat on the long leather sectional, and Braden accepted the implied invitation to sit beside him. They both sipped and fire-watched for a minute.
Okay, ask. You want to know. Have to. “You want to tell me what happened with your boyfriend?”
He sighed. “No. I don’t want to tell you.” He forced a smile. “But I guess I better so you don’t think I’m some kind of cheating asshole.”
