Thinking of You

by Rachel Kane

  But I’d learned something important. Getting hurt is nothing. You can recover. You can heal. As long as there’s trust, as long as there’s faith that someone is looking out for you, you can get over anything.

  I would have laughed at myself for having these deep thoughts right this second, but I had a cock in my mouth, and really just needed to focus.

  Cam was shuddering beneath my ministrations. His hands had crept down, stroking my head, urging me closer, urging me to take more of him in, and I obliged. There were few things better than this feeling, this knowledge that I was making him happy.

  My tongue and lips working over him, he hummed and sighed and began to thrust his hips against me. “I’m close,” he whispered. “I’m almost…I’m almost…”

  With a great gasp, he filled my mouth, and I swallowed him down. His hands pressed me fully against him, and I felt my union with him strengthen with every pulse of his seed. Looking up at him, I saw his eyes were closed, and a calm, blissful smile was spreading across his face.

  I felt myself smile too, full of pride for having given pleasure to such a beautiful man.

  My cock ached for its turn…but we had a party to get to.

  “Cameron Thomas Carlyle, oh my god, you look great!” exclaimed Jane, kissing Cam on both cheeks. “This is so exciting. Can you believe the publisher popped for this spread?”

  Cam and I looked over the buffet. His eyes were wide. “You know, for my first book, I brought three boxes of crackers and a few two-liters of soda to my party.”

  “You’ve come a long way,” she said, giving him a hug. “This is the start of something brilliant!”

  A waiter came by with glasses of champagne, and both Cam and I turned him down. After my truly humiliating blackout in front of Micah, I’d decided to let my system rest for a while, and lay off the sauce. Cam thought it was a good idea, and had done the same. We weren’t making a big deal out of it…but I had to admit I felt better now, more in control of my emotions.

  A group of excited fans had spotted us, and came rushing over to greet Cam. I stepped back and watched, chuckling at the fearful glance he gave me, like he was saying, Stay with me, don’t let them tackle me!

  But tackle him they did. Lots of introductions, Cam leaning forward to learn their names, where they were from, their favorite books. One thrust her phone into my hand, and they all posed for a picture. I snapped the photo. Looking down at the screen, I saw Cam absolutely beaming, in love with being loved by the public.

  For all of Cam’s fears, the one thing I’d had to remind him about over and over was, his scandal, as painful as it had been, was very small in the grand scheme of things. There were thousands and thousands of people out there who were picking up his books at drugstores, bookstores, off the rack at the airport, who never knew anything about the scandal at all. They didn’t care what some random blackmailer had said about him, all they wanted was a good story, something that would grip them for a few hours of their lives.

  By the end of the night, I thought he’d probably come to see it my way. Not a single one of these fans felt any ill-will toward him. They were star-struck, pleased to meet him, desperate to ask about the next book. Would Katie and Roger get together? Would Roger ever find a boyfriend? Would there ever be a movie or TV series, and if so, who would play Roger?

  The tide of people had pulled him away from me, but gradually he came swimming back through the crowd, to pull me towards the long table where he was about to introduce his next book.

  It sat on a little stand on the table, a red-velvet cloth covering it. Ah, a secret.

  “In a moment, I’ll show you my latest Katie Clemmons mystery,” said Cam to the quieting crowd. “But first, I want to say just a word.”

  A murmur passed through the gathering, all eyes on Cam.

  “One of my favorite parts of any detective novel is the sidekick,” he said. “Whether it’s Sherlock Holmes’ Dr. Watson, Poirot and Hastings (if only he’d shown up in more books!), Morse and Lewis, Nero Wolfe and Archie, the portrayal of that friendship and trust against a backdrop of suspicion and crime has always been important to me. There couldn’t be a Katie Clemmons without Roger. Who would she talk to? Who would make all the pastries?

  “We all need a sidekick in life. Someone who knows us, knows when to take us seriously and when not to, someone who is indispensable as we go about solving the mysteries of our own lives.

  “I wanted to take a moment to single out my own personal sidekick.”

  I was horrified when he gestured at me. My role at this party was to support him, not for people to look at me!

  For the first time in my life, I realized I had a little stage fright. No wonder my whole career had been behind the scenes.

  I realized he wanted me to stand up. Hesitantly, I did.

  “Everybody, this is Alex. Now, you wouldn’t know it if you just looked at that awful tie, but Alex is an amazing man. He is the most caring person I have ever met. Deep, supportive, a hell of a kisser. Yes, it’s true,” he said, basking in the laughter and applause from the crowd. “Without him, I’m not sure we’d be having a release party today. I’m happy to introduce him to you as my sidekick, my partner, my boyfriend.”

  Never in my life had anyone clapped for me. But as Cam put his arm around me, the room rose to its feet.

  It was a strange feeling. For all my work to make the public see celebrities in a different, more positive light, for all that I’d tried to do the same for Cam, I’d never felt this before, the public adulation. They knew nothing about me except that I was Cam’s boyfriend, and yet, in this moment, they loved me as much as they loved him.

  I felt like I understood then what Cam had been trying to protect all along. What he’d truly been scared of losing: This life he had built, where people loved him. He hadn’t had that in his childhood, and he couldn’t find it when he was a young man. But now, he had these people. A group of people who would love him unconditionally, who cared about his words and eagerly awaited everything he had to say.

  This is what Micah had meant, when he’d talked about Cam building something. This is what he had built. A life of love.

  I held him close. I couldn’t speak, just raised a hand to wave at the applauding people. In a moment everything would settle down, and Cam would reveal the book, and their attention would be drawn to that, and we’d get on with the business of the party.

  But for a moment, for just this moment, I was wrapped in the love of the world, in the love Cam had for his public, in the love he had for me, and it was the most amazing moment of my entire life.

  Epilogue: The Case of the Working Honeymoon

  “Come with me to the bathroom,” Cam told me.

  I ruffled my newspaper until I was able to fold it in half. In the sun-bathed breakfast room of the Hotel St.-Gens, the morning had gradually brightened until the glow on the waves outside was blinding, reflections playing off the walls and ceiling. Later we were scheduled to take a boat out to see the dolphins, but after last night’s sweaty romp through all the clubs in town, I was determined to have a quiet morning, catching up on current events back in the US.

  At least, that was the plan before he made his proposition.

  I raised a curious eyebrow. “This time of day? In public? I mean, it is our honeymoon, but…”

  He gave me a wry grin and shook his head curtly. “Not that. Stop being insatiable, we’re married now!”

  That made me laugh. I loved the way he mentioned our marriage as many times per conversation as he could. As though he was still getting used to the idea, as though it were surprising every time he thought about it.

  Hell, it still surprised me when I thought about it. As for my friends, I think they were all still in shock. Micah had stood up for me at the wedding, a startled smile plastered on his face. I never thought it would happen, he’d told me, but I’m glad it did. Finally someone to drag you out of that damn garden.

  Speaking of which, I wondered how
the garden was doing. I’d hired a neighborhood kid to come over and water it, and pull any weeds. It had been so much work to bring it back to life, after all that neglect. But it was beautiful again…just in time for me to leave.

  Coming back to life. That was a real theme of these past few months.

  It turned out Cam was amazing, when he didn’t feel like his life and reputation were threatened at every turn. He was a dynamo. Every morning since he’d moved in, I’d wake to hear the clacking of keys downstairs. I’d come down and find him on his second pot of coffee, charts and notes all around him, his thoughts deeply embedded in his next mystery. I knew not to interrupt him during those hours, but sometimes I would sit and just stare at him. He never even noticed, his attention was so fixed on his book.

  He truly was beautiful. An otherworldly beauty.

  And he was mine.

  But I was taking too long. He leaned toward me and hissed in a harsh whisper, “Alex! If you want to help prevent a crime, come with me right now!”

  There was the other thing about Cam. Occasionally you had to surrender rationality and just go with the flow. Once he had an idea in his head, he had to play it out, and wanted you to come along. His sidekick. His Watson.

  I loved it all. It was one of his charms. And I felt like a stabilizing influence in his life. Not to mention…well, left to my own devices, I could be a bit dull, doing things like insisting on reading the newspaper when we had a gorgeous sea just behind us.

  Still, though: “Crime?”

  I was speaking to an empty chair. He was already halfway to the restroom. I dropped my paper and followed.

  There was a man at one of the sinks. Plump, balding, with the bright-red pate of someone who had forgotten his hat while walking on the beach, he scrubbed his hands under the steaming water of the faucet.

  Cam, meanwhile, was picking up a stack of paper towels, looking for all the world like he meant to pocket them to add to a secret hoard.

  He glanced at me in the mirror, and inclined his head toward the other man. I positioned myself by the door, still not knowing what to expect.

  As the man finished with his hands, he looked over for the paper towels, only to find Cam had taken them all.

  Cam, looking abashed, said, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” and held a handful out to the man…and then dropped them, just as the man reached out. “Oh no,” said Cam, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry…one too many mimosas at breakfast, I’m afraid.”

  The man tutted and bent to pick them up at the same time Cam did, and they knocked into each other.

  “Sir!” exclaimed the man, rising. He huffed, turned aside, and walked straight for me. In a moment of panic—what do I do?—I looked at Cam, who nodded.

  “Good morning,” I told the man, and let him pass.

  When the door shut, I stepped over to Cam. “Okay, do you mind explaining what just happened here?”

  He stood up, holding a small glass bottle. “Kiss me,” he said, “I just solved a theft.”

  * * *

  “I’m surprised you didn’t notice him,” said Cam. “He’s been on my mind since we checked in to the hotel.”

  “I only have eyes for you,” I pointed out.

  “For someone whose whole job involves public images, I’d think you’d pay more attention to the public!” he said, pulling on my hand so I drew closer to him. He gave me a quick kiss as though to forgive my lack of attention to heavy balding criminals.

  We were walking to the boutique at the other side of the hotel to return the bottle which contained, as it turned out, an expensive perfume.

  “The other night, I could have sworn I saw him steal a knife from the restaurant,” said Cam. “It was the oddest thing. I was thinking how much he looked like the accountant in my last Katie book. You remember. He was sitting there looking red and huffy, nervous, scanning the room. Then, once he was satisfied no one was looking at him, zoop! He slid a knife into his sleeve. Then, and only then, did he seem to calm down.”

  “Wait, that was the night I was telling you about how I wanted to replant the garden this winter. You were watching him instead of listening to me?”

  Cam smirked. “I can do two things at once, you know! But you were so in love with your tales of crocuses and snow-drops that it didn’t feel right to point the guy out to you. But that was just the first thing I spotted.”

  We had reached the boutique. Everything in here was far too pricey for me, but Cam enjoyed visiting, looking at all the nice things. The first day we’d visited it, he’d said it was for research. I think he really just dreamed of being able to afford all these watches and scarves and designer sunglasses.

  Maybe one day. His last book was doing surprisingly well. There was even talk of a TV series based on Katie. We were trying not to think about that. No sense in jinxing it. But that would really put him on the map, and I knew he had been trying to distract himself about it, so he wouldn’t get worried.

  Well, this was certainly a way to distract himself. I followed him to the perfume counter.

  I didn’t even see him set the bottle down. It was one smooth motion of his arm, like a magician. One minute there was no bottle, the next, the bottle was sitting on the counter in its proper place, with Cam still walking, not pausing for a single moment.

  Watch out for this one, I thought, not for the first time. Behind every mystery writer is a criminal mind.

  “So wait a second,” I said. “You’ve spent the whole morning with me, in the breakfast room. How did you know he’d stolen anything?”

  “Must I give away all my secrets?”

  We were out of the boutique now, walking out into the courtyard where a fountain splashed, each droplet catching the morning sun. I grabbed Cam and pulled him into my arms. “That’s the deal,” I said to him, kissing his cheek and jaw. “I get to know all your secrets, you get to know all of mine.”

  “Mm, maybe we should go back to the suite and discuss all this.”

  * * *

  “It was his pocket,” gasped Cam.

  Wait, you’re seriously going to explain this? I thought. I would have laughed, but I was busy sucking on him again.

  One thing I’d realized about Cam was, I could not get enough of his body. When we were clothed, out in the world, I ached for him. Ached for the minute we could be in private again, where I could strip him down.

  And for the first time in my life, I had someone who wanted me, as much as I wanted him. That night at the restaurant, while I’d been talking about gardening, and while Cam had been apparently spotting his thief, he had also been sliding his foot up my thigh, using his toes to stroke my clothed cock. I’d moved closer to the table, just to conceal what was going on, getting harder and harder.

  He really could do more than one thing at once.

  But explaining things while getting a blow job, that was a new one.

  I think he realized how laughable it was, but he didn’t care. He had one foot up on the bed, the other on the floor, thrusting into my mouth. He bit his lower lip and pushed his hips a little closer to me.

  “Oh…oh god…but there was this shape in his pocket, see…a heptagon…”

  “Mh mh-hm-hmmn?” I asked, my words muffled.

  “Yeah, a seven-sided shape. Which…oh, oh, a little softer, don’t make me come too soon…yeah, like that. Seven…it’s unusual. And then I remembered, I had been planning this book about a poisoned bottle of perfume, and even though—ahhh—even though I never ended up writing it, I’d done all this research, and remembered coming across a bottle like that, Vie de la Tempête, very expensive, and then I remembered seeing that at the boutique—oh god, Alex, harder, please, harder—”

  I obliged. It didn’t take much encouragement. I wanted to eat him up. Why did even his conversation turn me on? I don’t know. What mattered was, he was mine, he was mine forever, and I wanted him so badly.

  He groaned and fell back on the bed, his cock emerging from my mouth just at the point of his climax,
his shaft pulsing, delivering its seed to the open air. He wasn’t getting away that easily. I tongued his balls in their tight little sack, feeling them throb as he came. My hands were down below, pushing at my clothes, getting myself free from my pants, pulling at my buttons.

  “It’s a lovely story,” I said. “But now, as your husband, I need some attention too. Stop thinking about sweaty red-faced shoplifters, and start thinking about me.”

  In his post-climax glow, he reached for me, pulling me atop him, lifting his thighs to encircle me. “I never stop thinking about you. And I never will.”

  We missed the dolphins that day, and the boat, and lunch. I don’t think either of us noticed.

  * * *

  By dinner, we were ravenous. I think we would’ve wandered downstairs to the restaurant naked if we’d been any hungrier. I’d suggested room service, that way we wouldn’t have to get dressed, but Cam insisted that we shower (which took quite a while because it turned out I wasn’t quite done with him yet) and put on our good clothes and go be in the world.

  “I am going to eat five lobsters,” he told me, as we approached the restaurant.

  “Only five? I plan on ordering an entire swordfish.”

  “Aren’t those endangered?”

  “They’re going to be, by the time I’m done with them.”

  As the host showed us to our table, Cam paused and touched my arm. I looked in the direction he was looking.

  There was our red-faced man, sitting with a middle-aged woman, both of them looking dour and uncomfortable.

  “Leave him alone,” I said to Cam. “I think the hotel can afford it if he steals a soup-spoon tonight.”