by Sabrina York
“Josef, this is Martin.” Garret pulled his flustered date close, placing a proprietary hand on his chest, informing Josef he might play the familiar with Garret, but his date was off-limits. The moment Garret touched him, Marty’s defensive posture subsided.
Josef quirked a brow. “Bonsoir, Martin.”
“Bonsoir, enchanté.” Marty had a flawless accent—as if that were a surprise. When he extended his arm for a shake, Josef laughed and slipped into the crowd of half-naked men.
Marty said something about the owner’s mysterious exit, but Garret couldn’t hear him clearly him over the reggae band.
“Let’s get a drink.” He slipped Marty’s hand into his back pocket and shouldered through the crowd. Marty followed close, as if he’d been put on a leash and Garret held the other end.
Finding an empty place at the end of the bar, Garret told the bartender, “Tequila.”
Removing Marty’s death grip on his jeans, he switched their positions until Marty stood against the wall, taking a protective stance so no one took any liberties with him. Garret replaced his hand in his back pocket. Thus shielded, but still able to take in the sights, the tension in Marty’s body lessened, Garret his anchor in this unfamiliar environment.
Marty watched the half-naked men coupled on the dance floor, twisting and moving in the ancient, erotic rite of sensual dance. His eyes got huge when a shirtless guy with mountainous biceps walked by in assless leather pants, body glistening from oil and sweat.
“How can he wear leather in this heat, right?” Marty leaned in to ask.
Garret laughed and swore he was in love. Marty’s innocent curiosity reminded him of Baby in Dirty Dancing. If he turned to Garret and said, “I carried a watermelon,” Garret might to have to get on his knees suck his cock right there in front of everyone.
Fuck, maybe he would do it anyway.
Chapter Four
Where in blazes did he bring me?
Though grateful for his hold on Garret’s jeans pocket, Martin worried such behavior might be unwelcome after too long. However, the soft, reassuring brush of fingertips over the back of his hand let him know Garret wanted it, maybe even liked being connected with him that way.
In his secure position between the bar, the wall, and Garret, his pulse calmed and he watched two attractive Latin boys grinding on the dance floor. The taller one pressed his backside into his partner while the shorter chap stroked his bare chest, their movements so much like intercourse Martin’s skin flushed with self-conscious arousal. He had been to plenty of gay-friendly establishments in his lifetime, but nowhere like this. The smoke in the air and the heat roused his groin, making his head woozy. Straight out of an illicit fantasy or pornographic film, he wondered if there were glory holes in the bathroom. His blood pounded at the prospect of finding out.
Garret placed a shot glass into his palm, and he tore his attention away from the erotic sights.
“What was the toast you made?”
Collecting himself, Martin leaned in to be heard over the music—getting a nose full of Garret’s decadent sweat and no doubt illegal smoke, as well. “Slainte.”
“Slainte.”
Clinking glasses, Martin tossed back the shot, the alcohol burning down his gullet. He winced, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. Drinking would either make him lose all control of himself or calm him down.
He didn’t know which he wanted more.
Garret laughed, taking the empty from him and placing it on the bar. “You drank it too fast.”
“Sorry, sir.”
His cheeks warmed and his fingers tightened on the edge of Garret’s pocket. Where had this “sir” nonsense come from? And why didn’t Garret correct him?
“Let me show you.”
Curious, he allowed Garret to pry his fingers free. Lifting his hand to his mouth, Garret licked the back of it, and a powerful shudder wracked Martin’s entire body…bloody hell!
Before he had a chance to enjoy the feel of his tongue on him, Garret pulled back, the devil in his eye, and salted the wet spot.
“Slainte.” He downed his shot of booze then raised Martin’s hand to lick the salt, causing him to shiver once more. Biting into a lime from a dish the bartender must’ve brought, Garret winced. “That’s how you do it, love.”
The endearment stole his breath.
Setting the glass down, Garret pulled him closer. “C’mere.”
Unable to deny the man anything, he went.
Garret drew their bodies together, his warmth a welcome sensation despite the humid air in the bar. Wearing a hungry expression, he rubbed the flat of his palms up Martin’s back, then around front, caressing his hips and thighs, close to his cock. “You’re so sexy,” Garret whispered.
“Right.” He gave a sarcastic chuckle, pleased by the compliment, yet feeling exposed from the way Garret searched his face, as if he could see past what Martin wanted the world to know. Maybe seeing something he didn’t even understand himself.
The steeliness of Garret surrounding him, the sensation of touch, felt so good, he rocked his hips closer, begging for Garret to stroke him again yet terrified if he did, he might burst in his pants.
Why hadn’t he thought to wank before he left his room? If they made love—please, God, let it happen—he prayed he wouldn’t embarrass himself. It had been far too long.
Garret’s fingers trailed up his chest but when he began to unbutton his shirt, Martin flinched. “W-what are you—?”
“I wanna see if you have freckles all over.”
“Are you out of your bloody mind?”
But Garret continued to work the buttons, his faint chuckle lost in the music. Martin couldn’t have stopped him if he’d tried. Deep inside his soul, he knew he had no right to stop him from doing whatever he wanted. The fact that he didn’t want to embarrassed and excited him.
I’ve lost my mind….
“You’re blushing!” Garret spread his shirt open and ran his hands over Martin’s chest. “You’re even blushing down here!”
His cheeks heated further. “C’mon, don’t tease.”
“Relax, Marty,” he purred, kissing his throat and making him tremble. “I won’t hurt you.”
Why he believed him, he couldn’t be sure.
Eyes drunk with wonder and admiration, Garret glided his palms over Martin until he forgot such questions. Thumbs stroked his nipples, flicked and teased. He hissed as ghostly sparks of promise worked across his skin.
“Like that?”
Breathless, he nodded.
Cupping the back of his neck, Garret brushed a kiss over his throat, leaving a tiny wet spot behind. “I love your freckles.”
Martin’s head rolled back a little, and he had a difficult time getting enough air with those questing fingers exploring him, tracing the definition of his abdominal muscles.
“So sexy….” Garret murmured, tonguing first one nipple then the other.
Martin groaned, but all too soon, Garret broke contact.
Appearing completely collected despite all the intimate touching, Garret poured two more shots. “Let’s try it the right way this time.”
When Garret salted his nipple, Martin flinched from the unfamiliar sensation, but did not back away, knowing what sinful treat would follow.
Garret selected a wedge of lime, and Martin held his breath. Grinning that dominant grin which made his prick leak like a sieve—damn, are the front of my shorts wet?—Garret threw back his shot.
Martin groaned when Garret’s tongue swept over his nipple, the wet heat raising goose bumps across his skin. Garret held so much mastery over him, and it felt so damn good he barely noted the men nearby watching them. Embarrassed, but praying it would never end, he closed his eyes while Garret cleansed the salt away. When he withdrew, Martin sighed in longing.
“Your turn.” The smack of the empty shot glass on the bar punctuated Garret’s words.
Eyes still closed, he gave a faint smile, savoring the memory of
Garret’s touch. “Right….”
But anticipation to get his hands on the other man spurred him back to reality. Fingers fumbling, he reached for him, pausing to get permission before he touched. Garret nodded, the blood pounding louder in Martin’s ears than the music. Trembling with excitement, he inched Garret’s V-neck open, licking a line across the exposed collarbone. He groaned. Salty with sweat, he tasted manly and marvelous.
Unable to resist licking him a second time, Martin allowed his tongue to linger on his pounding pulse. Garret drew in a long, raspy breath through his nose, and lust fired in Martin’s groin.
Breathing him in, Martin drew back, so their eyes met. With shaking hands, he sprinkled a dash of salt on Garret’s skin, only breaking their gaze to ensure he hit the right spot. Under Garret’s potent scrutiny, he selected a lime then picked up the tequila.
His mouth watered, and his breath came short. “Slainte.”
He tossed back the shot then dove in to taste the salt from Garret’s neck, stopping the ascent of his tongue when the heavy growth of facial hair tickled his lips. Blood racing, he longed to taste more, but with reluctance, he pulled back to bite the lime. Though he winced, the burn, tartness, and salt went down smoother than expected.
Taking the shot glass and rind, Garret placed them on the bar then pulled him in for another mind-blowing kiss, his hands sliding up the back of his shirt. Martin would never tire of his lips. Tasting his mouth and savoring the warm wetness, or the way Garret sucked on his tongue and licked the circumference of his mouth, slow and languid. With unhurried exploration, he made love to Martin’s mouth, kissing his lips, one cheek then the other.
“Damn,” Martin whispered. “You’re the most brilliant kisser.”
“I could kiss you all day.” The hands under Martin’s shirt continued to rub his back, sending tremors through him, his body charged and ready.
“Sounds like a fabulous plan.” Quiet laughter bubbled out of him, and he buried his face against Garret’s shoulder, sensing every eye in the place on them, though it surely had to be his imagination.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Like what?” Garret teased, running his tongue up and over Martin’s chin before nuzzling his nose. “Licking a man in public?”
“Um…right. Among other things.”
“Do you wanna leave?”
Hell no! Martin’s head popped up, and he shook his head fast.
“Let’s dance.” Garret gripped his hand.
“Oh, I’m not sure ’bout that….” Martin dug his feet in the ground.
“Marty….”
Maybe night should be blamed—the way a man could hide in its shadows—the alcohol or the mysterious, sweet smoke in the air, but he silenced his protests and allowed Garret to lead him onto the dance floor.
Taking hold of his hips, Garret began to sway to the tropical sounds of the small band playing steel drums and guitars while the singer filled the bar with his sultry tones. Martin remained still, feeling foolish as men moved like liquid sex around them. While the sight aroused him—or could it be the taste of tequila and Garret still in his mouth?—he felt grossly inadequate. Having been trained in classic dance, this grinding was completely foreign to him. Sure, he’d seen it, but such dancing had been designed by the trendy, those with rhythm and confidence.
A familiar panic grew inside him, but then Garret’s masterful eyes twinkled out from behind his glasses. “Trust me, Marty. I got you.”
Despite being scared of where they were and what he already felt for Garret, the tension in Martin’s back eased the instant Garret took his arms and placed them around his neck. Heart pounding, Martin buried his face against his strong throat, stubble scratching him, beard tickling him. Unbelievable gratitude and attachment swept over him, and he relaxed into Garret, allowing him to roll their bodies as he saw fit.
How had he managed to stumble across this glorious man today? Moving to the exotic music, he decided he didn’t care what beautiful accident had brought them together. He closed his eyes and went with it. Though it might sound crazy, he felt safe with Garret.
He trusted him.
The tempo of the reggae tunes and beat of their hearts set the rhythm of their bodies. Garret slid a leg between his thighs, flush to his balls, and began a sensual undulation of hips, gripping Martin’s butt and pressing their groins together.
Damn, he loved how those big hands almost covered both his cheeks.
Squeezing, Garret pulled his ass open a little bit, and Martin moaned at the delicious stretch of tender skin. Their hard cocks rubbed together as they moved, exciting his blood. He’d never danced with a man before. Like making love on a dance floor, fully clothed, with no one staring, judging. Two men doing something straight people took for granted all the time. It was sheer heaven.
Garret whispered his name and when he raised his face, Garret claimed his mouth—no foreplay of lips this time, just raw hunger. Whimpering under the dominant way he fucked his mouth, Martin arched into him, craving closeness to this force of sexual heat and power. Though, the only way to be closer would be naked with Garret buried deep inside him.
Fire scorched his middle as they kissed, and he found himself thrusting in time with the music, begging for what he suddenly needed—to be claimed in the most carnal way. Garret ground their erections together, his hands clutching and drawing Martin closer still. Their breaths came rough through their noses, as if neither wished to break the connection of their mouths. Hunger, electric and wild, raced through him when Garret trailed frantic kisses up his neck, over his jaw, finding erogenous zones heretofore undiscovered. He trembled when Garret sucked on his earlobe, taunting him with what his mouth might do to his dick.
“You taste so good, Marty. I can’t wait to eat your ass,” Garret murmured in his ear. “Taste your cum.”
A violent thunderbolt of desire ripped through him. “Bloody fucking hell! Aye, please… I want ya, too…soo verra much.”
Garret jerked his head back. “What did you say?”
“Aye,” Martin pleaded, unbearable craving consuming him. “Evera thing ya said. I want it, too. Please, sir….”
“Where are you from? I’ve been trying to place your accent all night.”
“Scotland.”
Garret groaned, his grip on Martin’s ass tightening. “That is so fucking hot,” he said, dragging him off the dance floor, and once more into the unknown.
He didn’t resist. Rather, just like he had been doing all night, he ran after him, a dog in heat. “Where are we going, sir?”
Whirling on him, lust blazed in Garret’s face. “To find somewhere I can get your dick in my mouth.”
“Um…right. Okay.”
Chapter Five
Martin had no idea where Garret led them, but he didn’t care. He didn’t give a damn about the groans coming from the shadows behind the bar, propriety—nothing. Nothing mattered but being with Garret.
Halfway to the beach, past tall grasses flickering in the breeze but still within plain view of the patio above them, Garret pressed him against the rail lining the path, kissing him with a sudden passion. Formidable hands cupped his face, and Martin groaned, his entire body hungry.
Despite the pleasure of Garret’s teeth nipping at his neck, his mouth sucking and drawing up a love bite, Martin could not ignore the sounds of men laughing and dancing on the patio above. When he glanced up, he caught a guy with a beer watching them, smiling.
“Garret…people can see….”
“So?” He stroked Martin’s chest, making it extremely difficult to think. “Maybe I want them to see.”
“But….”
“Shhh,” he whispered, his lips feather-light on Martin’s neck, hands snaking down the back of his waistband to grip the bare flesh of his ass. “Maybe I want them to see you’re mine.”
His fear dissolved at that word.
Mine.
Garre
t kissed him then. Lost to his power, Martin closed his eyes and let his mouth hang open so Garret could do what he chose. He would anyway.
Which was just how it should be.
No one had kissed him so thoroughly before, taking his time, exploring the inside of his mouth, and lips, licking him everywhere and leaving him breathless. He held still, savoring and being savored, while Garret taught him a whole new definition of oral sex.
When Garret retreated to catch a breath, Martin’s tongue followed, needing more. Garret flicked it with his own, then sucked on it, teasing it like a glans. Martin whimpered, his dick so hard it had become painful. The fervent way Garret caressed the length of his back made all the skin on his body tingle. His thumbs slid to the front of Martin’s trousers, brushing his abdomen as they fiddled with the button.
“I’m gonna blow you.”
Martin shivered, loving the coarse, American terms, the sinful promise in his tone.
Until reality hit him.
Fear cut through his passion fast, and his eyes went to the men on the patio, some of whom had paused to watch them. When the weight of what Garret intended hit him, he gasped, arching away. “Right here?”
Garret’s grip on his waist tightened, his expression heavy with carnal authority. “Right here.”
“But—”
Another impassioned kiss cut off his protest.
Martin whimpered under the assault of mouth and tongue. Damn, he would sell his soul to Garret if he would promise to kiss him like this forever. His resolve dissipated, and he swayed his hips to the rhythm of the music drifting from the bar, his reasoning power obliterated as his dick took over all normal brain function.
My God, what is this man doing to me?
Garret withdrew, turning his hat backwards and tucking his glasses into the V of his collar. “Trust me, Marty.”
Breathing heavily, Martin’s eyes darted to their spectators.
Garret tsked. “Only me, Marty. Only look at me.”
Unsure, terrified—and harder than he had been in all his life—he nodded, attention locked on Garret kneeling in the sand before him. Off in the distance, he heard someone say, “Get a load of that.”
