Come in From the Cold

by Tymber Dalton

  He ordered himself a scotch on the rocks and perched on a barstool, half turned toward the room so he could survey the other patrons.

  There looked to be a fairly equal mix of Tops to bottoms right now, but that ratio could easily shift back and forth over the course of the evening, the natural ebb and flow as the resort really started cranking. As he sipped his drink, he started narrowing his choices based on other criteria. Some guys wore collars, but that didn’t mean they were taken or not available. Some bottoms, especially if they didn’t come from a leather background, wore them more as a fashion statement than a literal sign of ownership.

  What he was more concerned about were wedding rings, of which a couple of potentials wore, immediately knocking them out of contention no matter how fucking hot they were, or if they were trying to catch his eye or not.

  Consensual swinging was fine and well, but it wasn’t his thing. If someone else had put a ring on it, he wasn’t touching it.

  Period.

  He needed his entanglements completely without strings of any kind, including messy ones on the other guy’s end of things.

  Halfway through his drink he settled on one guy in a gathering of five standing around a high top and sipping two-for-one margaritas that were more ice and lime juice than bottom-shelf tequila. One of the guys stood about six inches shorter than his own six-four and had curly red hair and green eyes. Skin so pale he looked like he’d explode if he stood in the sun too long. Trim, older than a twink, and what looked like a runner’s build.

  The guy had caught his eye a couple of times, finally arching his eyebrows at Connor and giving him a quick head tip to coax him into approaching.

  Connor took his time sliding off the stool and walking over, now with his gaze locked on the man, who licked his lips.

  The men parted enough to make room for Connor to join them and start chatting with all of them. After fifteen minutes, Barry, the ginger, was leaning into him and smiling, but not draping himself over Connor.

  Connor liked that.

  The two of them eventually peeled off to go sit in a short booth along the far wall.

  “So what are you looking for tonight?” Connor asked. He sipped his ginger ale, which he’d switched to after finishing his first drink.

  “I don’t know. Guess it would depend on a few things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Neg?”

  Connor nodded. “Test results in my room.”

  By the time they finished negotiating twenty minutes later, sex was on the table, but not guaranteed. Barry had deliberately put a hold on that, contingent upon how the play went.

  Even better, far as Connor was concerned. Give him a chance to work for it.

  Barry whispered in the ear of one of his companions as he passed him on the way out, presumably to give the guy Connor’s room number, in case he went missing. Up in the room, they quickly swapped IDs and test results, looking through them before returning them.

  “I’m a power bottom, and I’ll back off for the right Top,” Barry told him, “but I’m more interested in the play than the sex. Unless the play is spectacular, because I can get dick anywhere. Spectacular play will likely lead to sex.”

  Connor stepped in close, into the guy’s space, forcing him to look up into Connor’s eyes. “Define spectacular.”

  “Any asshole can make me call red. Takes a good Top to bring me to the edge and hold me there for a while. That’s what I need. Been months since I’ve met a Top who can do that well. I have a super-high pain tolerance, and it’s damned hard to surf that sweet spot.”

  Connor’s gaze narrowed as he smiled. “Challenge accepted. How can I be sure at the end of play that you’re really into having sex and not just subspaced out of your mind? Not sure I like changing limits mid-play. Like you said—I can get ass anywhere. I don’t mind taking sex off the table.”

  Barry grinned. “Because I’ll devour your fucking cock after you finish beating me. If I want to do more than that, I’ll beg for that, too. I never get so out of it I can’t make that call. Once I do that I’m all-in, and feel free to use me hard however you want from that point.”

  Connor grabbed him by the throat and kissed him, hard. It was even better he was a redhead.

  That meant he in no way reminded Connor of a certain person he never could forget.

  Or of a different person he never wanted to remember.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, after Connor had used every implement in his toybag more than once, Barry had eagerly—and quickly—swallowed Connor’s cock all the way to his balls and was begging for that fucking Connor was more than happy to give him.

  Connor put Barry on his hands and knees on the bed and gave him a reach-around as he plowed the ginger’s ass. Nice, tight ass, too, not a sloppy, loose one. Barry even clamped down on Connor’s cock as he fucked him, making Connor laugh and slap the man’s ass.

  “Don’t make me come too fast. I worked too damn hard for this fuck to blow my load this soon.”

  Barry cast a smile over his shoulder at him. “Sorry, Sir.”

  Sure, there was a little bit of brat in the guy’s tone, but Connor didn’t mind. He’d had fun tenderizing the guy.

  Connor slowed his thrusts, long-stroking him, taking his time. This was another reason he’d been picky when cruising downstairs. He rarely got time like this to himself—he wanted to make the most of it. Getting off was the least of his concerns.

  He needed more than that and had been going stir-crazy lately without someone to unleash his sadistic side on.

  Edging Barry’s cock was nearly as much fun as edging the man in subspace. The guy undulated under him as Conner fucked him, speeding up, slowing down, stopping and stroking the guy’s cock for him.

  Hell, from the sound of Barry’s voice, the man had dropped deep into subspace again.

  Fine with Connor. He would do the guy again, if he was interested. He’d make sure to exchange numbers with him.

  Just in case.

  Not like Connor would get back up here anytime soon, but if the guy could come down to Sarasota for a few hours, he could meet him somewhere one evening, or for a long lunch break, or…something.

  Well, it was possible.

  Not very likely, but possible.

  Connor got a solid thirty minutes of fucking out of the guy before he knew he couldn’t hold it any longer. He jerked the guy’s cock for him, grunting when he felt the ginger’s ass contract around his cock as his orgasm hit. Connor gave him a couple more pulls just to make sure he got him over, then grabbed his hips and went to town.

  It roared out of his balls, not the best orgasm he’d ever had, but then again, none were anymore. Hadn’t been for…years. They were no more than the equivalent of scratching a deep, phantom itch, and he’d long ago made peace with that.

  Grabbing the base of the condom, he pulled out and went to clean up in the bathroom. When he returned, Barry had flopped onto his side on the bed and wore a happy, sated smile.

  “I take it you had fun?” Connor stretched out on the bed and turned on the TV, praying the guy wasn’t a snuggler because he didn’t want to be rude.

  “Dude…” He actually giggled. “That was fucking amazing. You feel like a round two later?”

  “Not sure your ass can take that. You’re going to have a bunch of damn marks.”

  Barry wore a sly smile. “I saw the rope in your bag. Tie me up and choke me on your cock and promise to jerk me off again, and I’ll be happy to hang around for a while. Haven’t been fisted in a couple of months, if you want to try that. Long as you respect a safeword, if I need to use it.”

  Hmm.

  Connor laced his hands together on top of his head and studied him for a long moment. It would be easier not having to go out and find someone else to finish up the rest of the night with. “I don’t bottom.”

  The guy shrugged. “I don’t Top.”

  “If I order a pizza and have it delivered, you want to chip in

?”

  “Sure. No anchovies or pineapple.”

  Connor smiled. “Deal.”

  Chapter Four

  Douglas lay in bed early the next morning with his eyes closed as he prayed his way through the fifth decade of beads on his rosary, working them with his right hand.

  It was his third time through it since he’d awakened a little before dawn that Saturday thanks to the sounds from the rooms around them, people getting their showers or closing doors as they left to continue their journeys or start their days.

  Honestly, now? He wasn’t even sure why he continued to pray it, except it kept his mind focused anywhere but on his losses, and the comforting routine helped numb and distract him, for a little while.

  Like kneeling in silent prayer in the sanctuary used to.

  He’d been prepared to spend the rest of his life with Mackie, even knowing where his heart would truly lie. He had loved her, been in love with her, even if she wasn’t first in his heart and she both understood that and was fine with that. She also knew he would always be faithful to her, that when he asked her to marry him, he meant it for life. That it was a vow he was prepared to completely give himself to.

  Wasn’t like he hadn’t proven himself in that department.

  Except he hadn’t been prepared to lose her. Especially not this soon.

  He’d been even less prepared to be a single father. This wasn’t how life was supposed to go. They were supposed to raise Zee together, loving her, loving each other.

  Happy.

  Finally, both of them finding a degree of happiness that they could accept and reconcile and latch on to.

  Caught somewhere between Father and father, adrift and alone, he’d never felt more scared in his life.

  But he remembered his vow, one he thought he’d abandoned by marrying Mackie.

  What if he doesn’t want me? He must have moved on by now.

  The only reason Douglas was seriously contemplating going to see Connor once he returned to Sarasota was Facebook. The man posted on there fairly regularly. No mention of a significant other. At least, nothing set to publicly visible.

  Douglas had a few friends in common with Connor, people they’d known in high school, and he’d finally broken down and asked one of them last week, when talking about what was going on and that he was returning to the area, if they’d heard anything from Connor lately.

  As far as they knew, Connor was still single.

  Yes, of course he’d saved every last photo of Connor onto his phone. The man still looked gorgeous, had grown from a handsome boy into a stunning man.

  Which made it even harder to imagine that he could possibly still be single.

  Except if he had a relationship status listed, it wasn’t visible to Douglas.

  There was also the fact that Douglas jealously scoured Connor’s posts to see if anyone seemed to pop up commenting or liking things more frequently than others.

  Again, nope.

  Douglas had gone so far as to look Connor up in the voting registration list, and had found he actually did still live in what had been his mom’s house. That had been confirmed by the property tax records.

  As recently as last year.

  When he searched further, he didn’t find anyone else registered to vote at that address.

  He wasn’t proud of himself for feeling so desperate, but he would readily admit both to the desperation, and that he wasn’t proud of it.

  This was a sentence that had remained unpunctuated for too damn long. He knew he was likely setting himself up for more heartache, but better to get it out of the way now, so he could finally start healing and figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

  He had a baby depending on him. He didn’t have the luxury of idly wallowing in his grief and loneliness any longer. That disappeared the moment Zee was born and he lost Mackie.

  As he finished that round, he brought the rosary’s cross to his lips and kissed it. Mackie, his sweet and playful little atheist, had given this rosary to him. She bought it for him in college and gave it to him when they’d said good-bye when he left for the seminary.

  Over all those years, he’d used it daily, kept it close.

  He could still picture her playful smile as he’d unwrapped the box.

  “Had to look everywhere, and it took me damn near forever, to find one without the creepy dead hobo on it.”

  He still smiled when he conjured her smile and teasing tone as she’d said it. Amethyst had been her favorite stone.

  “I want you to have something to remember me by, because I’ll never forget you, Doug.”

  She’d smiled when she saw that he still used it.

  All those years later, she’d sought him out, trusted him, and he’d opened his arms and heart and life to her.

  Okay, so that was the second reason he was willing to risk this crazy venture. He’d kept his vows. She’d kept hers.

  He’d had room in his heart to love her even as he’d still loved Connor.

  Maybe Connor would still have room in his heart and life for him.

  He prayed.

  * * * *

  Douglas wasn’t in a hurry to climb behind the wheel of his SUV again. A Saturday on southbound I-75 would be fricking miserable.

  First, a long, hot shower to loosen his back and shoulder muscles. He thought about shaving and said fuck it, because with his luck and exhaustion, he wasn’t convinced he might not accidentally slit his own throat. Shaving could wait until Florida, once they were settled and before he started his new job.

  Zee was still asleep, and he didn’t want to wake her up yet. Couldn’t bring himself to wake her yet. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful there, that he smiled and had to take a couple of pictures of her. Then he carefully picked her up and snuggled with her sleeping on his bare chest.

  His miracle. His beautiful, precious miracle. The child he’d always wanted but never thought he’d have.

  Once she awakened, he changed her and prepped her bottle, sitting up in bed against the headboard with the TV volume low as he nestled her in his arms. She opened her eyes to look up into his face as she fed, and her blue eyes made him think of Mackie.

  “I wish she was here, Zee,” he whispered.

  Except if she was here, they wouldn’t be here. They’d be in their small apartment, being a family, loving each other.

  Happy. Maybe not rich, but they would have been okay, especially once Mackie returned to work after her maternity leave.

  After Zee finished feeding and fell asleep again, and he pulled his shirt on and prepped as much as he could before he had to load her in her carrier, he held his rosary and knelt at the end of the bed.

  This time, he closed his eyes and…hoped.

  It didn’t feel quite right, in terms of dogma, to pray for success for a reunion with Connor.

  Except God knew his heart. He’d shed his vows, lost his wife…

  All his old excuses to himself, all his old fears, they were worthless now. It was time to quit fighting.

  Unless there wasn’t anything left to fight for.

  He wouldn’t know that until he reached Sarasota and tried to rebuild his life.

  Build a new life for them, him and Zee. Be a father, a psychologist.

  Words finally filtered into his mind.

  Please remove the fear from my heart so it doesn’t interfere with me raising a strong, healthy daughter so she may grow into a fiercely strong and independent woman. Please allow me to guide her path in the right way, so she learns to make smart choices for herself. Please allow me the patience to not try to hold on too tightly out of my fears for her. Please give her the wisdom and courage I failed to find when I needed it most. Please let her be way smarter than her father ever hoped to be, and please let her grow up to be as beautiful and tenacious as her mother was. Amen.

  An hour later, they were checked out and on the road again. He knew he probably should try at least calling his parents since he was in Georgia and only a couple of hours from their house, but why bother when he was positive they’d simply reject him?

  Or worse, tell him to stop by and spend the entire visit picking him apart at the seams?

  No, thank you. Hard fucking pass.

  They’d never seen Zee, didn’t even know she’d been born. Hadn’t made any attempts to contact him after he’d told them he was leaving the priesthood despite them having his cell number and that he’d sent them his new address.

  He didn’t want them anywhere near Zee, either.

  He’d take his chances as a single father. He wanted to raise his daughter with an independent mind. If she wanted to be Catholic, she could. If she expressed an interest in some other spiritual path, he’d support her and help her with that.

  If she decided there was no god (big G or little g) he’d support her and love her regardless.

  He let Imagine Dragons, Three Days Grace, Cavo, and Drowning Pool fill the car’s speakers at a reasonable level as he drove, so as not to blast Zee out. After a quick lunch break south of Atlanta for him and Zee, and to change her, he continued on.

  He’d already reserved a room at a long-stay hotel in Sarasota, so he had a place to “land” immediately, along with a small storage unit nearby just large enough to hold what wouldn’t fit in the hotel room.

  He wouldn’t let himself think of his impossible hopes about maybe reuniting with Connor.

  He wouldn’t let himself get his hopes up at all.

  As far as he knew, he’d be spending the next week or so touring the apartment complexes he’d already scouted online before leaving Milwaukee. Niall had offered to help him unload and move, but Douglas had pared everything down so he could do it all himself.

  He didn’t even have a damn bed frame anymore, although he had kept the mattress and foundation because he didn’t want to sleep on an air mattress. That, the tiny discount-store two-chair dinette set he’d had since graduating from seminary, and the crib and other baby stuff they’d purchased for Zee together. Boxes of books and pictures, clothes. Some kitchen stuff, although he hadn’t had much of that to start with, just the bare basics because he hadn’t been much of a cook while living in the rectory. Then, he’d relied more on subs and salads from a little family-owned place across the street from the church. Or on food some of his older church members insisted on bringing him to keep him fed.

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