by Sabrina York
Turning to her husband, she said in a falsetto, “Well!Garret has spoken.”
Jake laughed and Garret shrugged. He made no apologies for the blunt response but, to his surprise, Marty appeared taken aback.
“C’mon.” Jake dragged his wife away. “You have some new positions to study from that dirty book on your Kindle, and I have some windsurfing to do before dinner. Catch ya later, G.”
Once he had Marty all to himself, Garret flashed him a grin. “How about that drink?”
***
While pleased to see another happy 1Night Stand couple, after they left, Martin’s attention once again centered on the man behind the bar. A dark haired man with a dominant glint in his sexy, green eyes Martin couldn’t help but be affected by. Heart racing, an unexplained veneration overcame him. Never before had someone bewitched him so effortlessly, rousing his blood with a single look. And they had plansfor the evening? He should ask what they were, but he assumed Garret would tell him—eventually.
Even if he didn’t, Martin would go.
I’ve lost my bleeding mind.
Perhaps there was an ancient fairy knoll in Grand Turk, like the ones Da wove tales about, where babies were swapped for changelings and the spirits of the Fae bent people to their will. Surely a mystical influence reigned, leading Martin to follow this Garret on a mysterious journey.
Bloody hell, I almost called him “sir” and we haven’t even been properly introduced!
On cue, Garret extended a hand and Martin took it. That hand wrapped around his, similar in size, but worn and rough. Electric sensations ran through his blood at the lightly calloused fingers. This man did not sit around being idle.
“Garrett Fischer.”
“Martin Baird.”
“Nice to meet you, Marty.”
He should correct him—he hated being called Marty—but Garret had not let go, his playful gaze rendering him unable to assert himself. He swallowed hard, envisioning those palms running over his body with deep appreciation, stroking his budding erection, caressing his ass, parting him…spanking him?
Shite!
He dropped Garret’s hand at once, cheeks reddening.
Grinning, Garret returned to making the drink, his cocky demeanor a solid indicator he knew where Martin’s thoughts had wandered.
Damn Jagger for putting those ideas into his head—and awakening ones he’d not entertained in a long time.
Then again, maybe Garret Fischer held all the blame.
When Garret presented the cocktail—an illicit-looking, frothy, white concoction which again had Martin’s mind going to places it shouldn’t—he placed both arms wide on the bar, waiting for a reaction.
“Slainte.” Martin raised the drink to his lips, and the creamy, sweet beverage went down smooth. The alcohol warmed his blood but the intense way Garret studied him brought him to a full boil.
“Well?”
He placed the glass down, hand shaking. “Quite good. Not too sweet, either.”
“Glad you like it, Marty.” Garret leaned forward. “Here. You have something….”
Before Martin saw it coming, a masculine thumb brushed across his lower lip.
A visceral reaction shot molten fire through his center and he gasped. When Garret slipped that thumb between supple lips to suck away any residue of alcohol, Martin swore his cock grew two inches.
Garret pulled his thumb out of his mouth ever so slowly, purposefully. His green eyes, full of wicked promise behind those glasses, never left Martin’s. “Delicious.”
Throat dry, he wanted to ask if Garret liked how he tasted, wanted to taste more. But the notion of a different sort of whiteness dribbling down Martin’s chin, and Garret licking it clean, made him bloody incoherent.
“We’ll meet at the main entrance at eight.” Garret’s casual tone brooked no disobedience.
He nodded at once. “Um…right. Okay.”
Chapter Three
Marty looked nervous as hell standing inside the main hotel entrance, fists bunched into his lower back and posture ramrod straight. Garret still wore the same jeans but Marty had changed all his clothes. A fitted, navy silk shirt showed off his date’s well-built chest and narrow waist. Garret’s fingers itched to unbutton it, discover how far those freckles spread. White cotton shorts, snug at the inseam, appeared custom-tailored to make his backside even more scrumptious. He could already visualize burying his face in it until the guy screamed out his name in a come-to-Jesus moment, leaving them both covered in sweat and spunk. Then he’d slide his dick deep inside him, those round cheeks pressing against his groin while he fucked him….
Damn! His skin flushed all the way to his toes. Without wasting another moment, Garret stepped forward. “Hey.”
Marty jumped, spinning to face him. His demeanor brightened, relief flooding those expressive brown eyes. His face had the smooth appearance of freshly-shaven skin, his hair gelled to perfection.
Cute as a goddamn button.
Garret couldn’t help himself—didn’t want to. He kissed him.
A light kiss, barely a brush of lips, but Marty stepped back in surprise, fingering his mouth. “Oh…right…hello.”
Hiding his amusement at Marty’s adorable discomfiture, Garret licked his lips to savor the hint of cinnamon toothpaste. “You ready?”
Cheeks flushed, Marty nodded. “Um…right. Yeah, I’m ready…i-if you are?”
He couldn’t stop the chuckle. Taking a firm hold of Marty’s hand, he dragged him toward the exit. “You need to relax, babe.”
Hurrying after him, Marty squeezed his grip. “Yes, sir.”
Garret stopped dead on the threshold of the exit.
He’d finally said it.
Sir.
Reaching out, Garret cupped his chin, thumbs stroking over those freckled cheeks, the cool, ordinary A/C on one side, the sultry, hedonistic tropics beckoning to him on the other. Marty smelled of a crisp aftershave. Lemony and tart. Fucking delicious.
With an awkward intake of air, sounding both excited and nervous, Marty leaned in. Disappointment colored his expression when Garret didn’t kiss him again.
Not releasing his face, Garret offered him a reassuring smile. “Trust me. I’ve got everything under control, okay?”
With an awkward nod, Marty let out the breath he’d been holding, the tension leaving his body. Their eyes held for a moment longer, a silent exchange of understanding. Words were unnecessary. They had said it all in their first glance.
Taking his hand, Garret led him to the Jeep he’d rented and opened the passenger door. Without hesitation or questions, Marty moved to climb in. Observing such willing trust, to get into a car with a stranger in a foreign land, made Garret hot so fast he halted Marty with a touch on his arm. “Hold up a sec.”
When Marty turned in expectation, he pressed him against the vehicle, eliciting another surprised gasp from his date. Intoxicated by the display of submissive obedience, Garret couldn’t hold back any longer. One little taste had not been enough. He wanted that lean, compliant body pressed to his own, to sample those full lips. They were the same height, perfect for kissing and the Jeep shadowed them from view so Garret took full advantage and slanted his mouth over Marty’s.
A fire consumed Garret the moment their lips united. Marty didn’t resist at all, offering up his lips, his tongue, for Garret to taste and savor. He sucked the wet muscle all the way into his mouth, swirling his own deeper into the exquisite warm and slippery inside of Marty’s mouth, pulses of heat and desire working through his middle.
Melting into his embrace, Marty eased into the kiss, his cotton shorts thin enough Garret could feel his erection grow. When he took a long awaited grip on that fantastic bubble butt, he groaned, the firm cheeks yielding under pressure.
“Damn, this ass is all I’ve been able to think about.” Garret squeezed him in illustration and made an approving grunt. “It’s so firm and round. I can’t wait to slide my dick inside it.”
Dartin
g a nervous glance over his shoulder, Marty actually giggled, the sound making Garret harder. “Um…right. Okay.”
“Am I moving too fast, Marty?”
Eyes glazed, his cheeks turned red and his voice went husky. “Um…no, I’m okay.”
Garret chuckled and nibbled on his neck, tasting the tang of face lotion or aftershave over the flavor of man. A man he wanted so suddenly, so desperately that his head spun from all his senses kicking into overdrive. Seized with hunger, he wound his fingers into Marty’s blond hair, the scent of his shampoo fruity and crisp, and licked up his throat until he claimed his mouth once more.
Marty arched his chest against him, and for a moment Garret considered hauling him back to his room and getting on with the main act. Despite his willingness, Marty wasn’t the kinda guy for a hurried, casual fuck. He required special care only someone like Garret could provide. And he wasn’t about to take advantage of the man’s submissive nature or the fragile trust they had established, no matter how bad he wanted him.
They would get there soon enough.
He glanced toward the hotel entrance. Someone could wander through the doors at any moment. “Not here, lover. And not yet.”
“When?” Marty whined, the hint of an accent trying to escape as he thrust his hips into Garret a bit.
“Soon,” he promised, reaching down to trace the outline of Marty’s erection.
“Oh…oh!”
Hands dug into Garret’s biceps and Marty’s head fell back. His mouth gaped while Garret explored, teased him beneath his shorts, stroking him in wicked preview, all the while keeping an eye open to guarantee they stayed unnoticed. Marty’s cock was wider than Garret’s at the base, not as long though, he noted with pride, but thick and juicy.
When Garret rolled one of his nuts between his fingers, Marty moaned, buckling over. “Oh, bloody hell!If you do that again, I’ll come.”
“Hmmm, wouldn’t want that yet.” He released him with a smirk. “Get in.”
Marty climbed into the Jeep—his movement hampered a little by his erection.
After adjusting his own stiff cock and buckling up, Garret turned the engine over and peeled out of the lot. Weirded out about by driving an American car on the wrong side of the road, he concentrated on the task at hand, trying to ignore the way Marty stretched his arm up to hold onto the roll bar, revealing the sexy veins in his forearms. He swallowed hard, lips still tender from that passionate kiss. If he allowed himself to stare too much at the other man, think about his warm cock under his palm, they would either end up driving into a ditch or fucking on the side of the road.
Neither outcome would probably receive the Madame Eve stamp of approval.
Garret couldn’t help it, though. No one had ever made him so hot so fast. He couldn’t believe his insane attraction for a man he’d met through a service. It was surreal. When they stopped at a sign, he allowed his disbelieving gaze to drink its fill.
Marty turned and their eyes met.
Green leaves kissed with blue moonlight and the sparkle of the sea framed him in a snapshot, burned into Garret’s consciousness for the rest of his days. Once tidy hair, now blown into disarray, the strong line of his neck still red from the way he’d ravaged him in the parking lot, but most importantly—the willing submission shining in his big, brown eyes.
Garret had never seen anyone more beautiful.
Blinking and breaking the spell, Marty let out a breathless laugh before glancing away. “Where are we headed?”
“Wondered when you were gonna ask.” Garret accelerated the Jeep.
“Riiight….” Marty broke off with another self-conscious chuckle. “I suppose I should’ve, right? You’re not an ax murder, are you?”
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, lowering his voice. “Unless you ask me to.”
Marty sucked in an audible breath. “Right.”
“Don’t worry about that yet,” he told him, seeing Marty tense when he allowed the word “yet” to hang in the night with dark promise. “Let’s have some fun first.”
He gave a half laugh. “Sounds lovely. I haven’t been out much since my arrival.”
“What do you do for the resort?”
“I am a personal concierge. I’m based out of Canada but I often travel to the different resorts to care for some of our more exclusive clientele. That’s why I’m in Grand Turk.”
“Wow, that’s great at your age.”
“I’m thirty-five,” he said, his tone defensive.
Garret sniffed in surprise. He’d presumed himself to be the older one after the way Marty folded under his authority. However, nothing as trivial as age could stop them from fitting into the roles they’d been born to.
Garret decided to change the subject to more pressing matters. “So what kinda stuff are you into?”
“I like all sorts of things. I like to read, and cook. Gourmet dishes mostly. My parents used to take me hiking. I’m not very good at sports—sure you guessed that—but anyone can walk, right? Though I do enjoy watching football on the telly once in a while. I believe you Americans call it soccer, right?”
“Yeah.” Garret hid a smile. He hadn’t been asking about his hobbies. Rather, he had intended to establish a set of ground rules for their sex play. But Marty’s infectious enthusiasm had him interested, so he let him talk.
“And I have a cat. Would you like to see a photograph?”
Enjoying his boyishness, Garret nodded. “Sure.”
Marty pulled out his cell and showed him a longhaired orange tabby on the home-screen.
“What a big poof ball.”
“A poof for a poof,” Marty joked.
Garret didn’t like the self-deprecation in his tone.
“Her fur is a bit wild, right? Positively hates to be brushed. That’s why I named her Hermione.” As fast as it had emerged, Marty’s pleasant mood faded, and he fidgeted in his seat. “Oh, you must think I’m pathetic, showing you a picture of my cat.”
“No, I don’t. I have two, Fred and George.”
“As in Fred and George Weasley?”
“Yup.”
“What a stitch.” Marty slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a Harry Potter fan.”
“Why not?”
Marty shrugged. “Don’t know, actually.”
“I’m not always serious.”
“Right,” he agreed—the word ‘right’ a bit of a word whisker for him, Garret had begun to realize. Who had made the man so insecure?
“Hermione is with my neighbor in Canada,” Marty continued. “I work so much she probably couldn’t care less if I even come home. The cat, I mean. My neighbor probably doesn’t mind either which way, right? She likes the cat.”
Once Marty opened up, he chattered on. Maybe it was nerves, or no one had listened to him in a long time. Sure, they saw him, but if Garret wasn’t off the mark, Marty served as scenery for the resort guests. Someone there, yet forgotten the moment he left the room.
Garret could guarantee the man would not be ignored tonight.
Warmth filled him when he realized he held exactly what Marty needed, so Garret took his hand. Marty stopped mid-sentence, and they shared a smile. Complete contentment and understanding between them, their grip on one another tightened.
“Where in Canada are you from?” Garret asked.
“Alberta, outside Banff, but I’ve put in for a transfer to our new casino in Toronto. I went to university there.”
“I hope you get it, Marty.” The drive between Detroit and Toronto was a piece of cake.
“Why do you call me that?” His surly tone softened when he added, “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Because I like it. It suits you.”
Marty scrunched up his face and did not reply.
Sorry for teasing him, Garret rubbed their clasped hands against his thigh, the scratch of Marty’s leg hair pleasant. “So do you have a lot of family, Martin?”
He offered a soft,
appeasing smile. “You can call me Marty.”
“Thank you.” Garret gave him a squeeze. “Family?”
“Just my da.”
“He’s probably proud of your success.”
Marty shrugged. “As proud as a steel-worker can be to tell his mates at the pub his bent son is a glorified waiter.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that about yourself,” Garret scolded at the sound of regret, the need for approval, in Marty’s tone.
“Not what I think, just how he sees it.”
He didn’t ask more since it seemed Marty had finished talking. They continued the drive in companionable silence.
Its hidden drive camouflaged by dense, jungle-like flora, No Woman No Cry, the club Garret had discovered on his first night of vacation, sat on a secluded stretch of beach, unseen except by those who knew where to look. Tinny tropical music wafted out of the ramshackle building. Garret parked in the nearby gravel lot, where two men stood, kissing and petting.
Marty climbed out, wide eyes taking it all in. Hair windblown from the open-top Jeep ride, Martin and his stuffy ways had been left behind at the hotel where they belonged. “Where are we?”
“A gay bar.”
“Oh, right.”
“You dance?”
“If you want to, sir.”
Garret took him by the arm and led him inside. “Good answer.”
Named as a tribute to the Bob Marley song No Woman No Cry—which Garret didn’t think the reggae singer had intended—the bar housed a den of homoerotic sights, strong alcohol, and Caribbean music. The kind of seedy place Martin’s drycleaner wouldn’t approve of for those white shorts. Air rife with cigarette and marijuana smoke, the tropical temperatures and writhing bodies on the dance floor had rendered the atmosphere thick and sultry. The ripe scent of sweaty male filled his nostrils, and a stir of arousal began low in his belly.
“Garret.” The French-speaking owner, Josef—mocha-skinned, exotic, and sexy—greeted him with a hug and a kiss on each cheek.
He didn’t stop Josef from stealing a third kiss on the mouth, wanting to see how Marty reacted. Glancing over at Marty, Garret noted his ruffled feathers, the forced but polite smile.
