The Veranda (Lavender Shores Book 3)

by Rosalind Abel

  Any chance I’d had at protesting vanished, not that there’d been a chance at all. I went slack against the wall, panting instantly.

  His tongue trailed over my jawline, his breath hot against my skin. Hands roaming over my chest and stomach battled to pull my attention away from what his lips were doing. The heat between us nearly radiated. Every inch of my skin was on fire. My cock achingly full in my pants. My brain fuzzier than anything the rum was responsible for. He pulled away slightly, and I thought he was going to kiss me. Wanted him to kiss me.

  I swear he wanted the same thing, but he jerked away, then returned to my neck. The wolf prosthetic. Damn it. I’d forgotten. I started to reach up to rip it off my face, no longer caring if I was recognized, but my range of motion was limited by my jacket. I tried to jerk an arm free, but the man began fumbling with my belt and all thought of kissing the stranger flitted away. I let my head fall back against the wall and closed my eyes.

  His hands were unsteady and he had to use both to unfasten my belt.

  That lack of contact was enough to let my brain clear for a moment. I was leaving. I needed to leave. I remembered that much. Though I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.

  His hands were back on me, but they didn’t feel right. The contact lost the heat it had mere moments before.

  I looked down. Not his hands. Another man had joined us, one of his hands moving over my chest, the other stroking his erection. I shook my head, starting to protest, but I didn’t have the chance. The first man let go of my belt and lightly pushed the newcomer’s hands off me and shook his head.

  “Come on, dude. Suck both of us off at the same time.” The man waggled his erection.

  “No.”

  I glanced down at the sound of the man’s voice. There was something familiar. Or maybe just a tone or tenor that called to me.

  “It’s a sex party, asshole. Have some fun.” The other man reached out to touch me again, and I shook my head, still not able to move my arm.

  “No. He said no.” I hadn’t really meant to say that. I’d meant to say no, but no to both of them. Just a no. But again, my body wasn’t following any of my brain’s directions.

  “Lame.” The man took a step back. “I’m still going to watch.”

  I didn’t care. It was enough that he’d stopped touching me. I focused on the man on his knees. He didn’t look at me. “Keep going.”

  Without waiting, he unzipped my pants, pulled them down mid-thigh and then did the same with my underwear, trapping my legs as securely as my arms. I thought I heard him exhale a breath that sounded like awe at the sight of my cock, but his reaction was cut off as he engulfed my dick in his mouth.

  I let out a startled cry.

  “Fuck yeah, dude. Take his big dick.”

  I glared at the other man, having already forgotten he was there. Maybe I should’ve been thankful for him. Without his annoying presence, I probably would’ve orgasmed the second the blowjob began.

  The onlooker was eclipsed once more by the man at my feet, who began to bob up and down on my cock, running his tongue up my shaft, around my head, and then swallowing once more.

  “Holy shit, yes.” God, it had been so long. Despite the distraction, I wasn’t going to last long. I adjusted so I could move my arm a bit and reached out, palming the man’s head, accidentally smashing one of the cat ears. I couldn’t feel where his glued-on cat fur ended and his hair began.

  It didn’t matter, I held the back of his head as I began to thrust, fucking his face.

  The man watching us continued to groan, making louder noises than either of us, and I was vaguely aware that he was jerking off.

  I didn’t care. I looked down, watching my cock move in and out of those beautiful lips. I wasn’t going to last no matter how much I wanted to. Shit, I so didn’t want this to be over. I warned him, as much as I didn’t want to do that either. “I’m about to come.”

  Blue eyes met mine for the first time, and I saw recognition. He looked away before I could place him and increased his speed on my dick, making it clear he wanted my load.

  The building orgasm captured me completely, taking away every thought. Of those blue eyes, of any melancholy Paulie had brought with him, of the man crying out his own orgasm a few feet away. I held the back of the man’s head still and tight against me as I thrust into his mouth. One time, then another. Then with a cry, I came. The orgasm surging through me with enough force that I released the man’s head, and would’ve crashed to the floor if I hadn’t already been pinned to the wall.

  The man’s throat constricted around my cock, and then he choked. Poor guy probably hadn’t counted on such a pent-up load. He attempted to take my cock deeper once more, but choked again and pulled off my dick. He sputtered, and sucked in a panting breath. He lifted an arm and wiped at the mess I’d made over his mouth. At the motion, his cape slid over his shoulder, and my heart shuddered to a stop at the sight of the ugly tattoo on his shoulder blade.

  “God, that was fucking hot.” The observer sounded nearly as out of breath as I was.

  “And you’d better clean up the mess you made over my hardwood floor, Clint.” Paulie’s voice cut into the scene, startling me. His tone turned playful. “And look at you, Wolfy Danny Zuko. Guess you’re not such a stick-in-the-mud after all.”

  The man at my feet scrambled to a standing position, his cape back in place, though he still wiped at his mouth. I tried to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at me.

  “I’ll clean it up. Just let me take care of this guy’s cock first.” The third man, Clint, it seemed, took a step forward.

  The Opera-Cat man flinched away.

  No. Not Opera-Cat man. Spencer.

  I should’ve realized at the sight of his blue eyes. I’d been too caught up in the moment. But that tattoo had made things all too clear.

  Spencer.

  Spencer shook his head and darted into the other room.

  “Hey, come back, dude!”

  “God, Clint, could you sound more desperate?” Paulie’s mocking tone brought the attention back to him.

  Clint glared. “What’s the point of me wearing a mask if you’re going to announce my name, Paulie? For fuck’s sake.” He stepped over his load on the floor. “Clean it up yourself. I’m gonna go find that Phantom guy.” He followed Spencer.

  “Did he…? What the fuck…?” Paulie stared after him, openmouthed. He glanced at me. “Glad you got your rocks off, sweetie. You needed it. But you’ll have to excuse me. I have a bitch to kill.” He followed the same path Spencer and Clint had taken.

  I stared out the window to the street, so overcome with emotions that none of them could get a solid hold.

  Finally, panic settled in.

  Fuck. What the fuck had I just done?

  I hadn’t known. Hadn’t realized.

  Suddenly I remembered I was still standing there, pants around my knees, cock, now completely soft and attempting to hide in shame, out there for the world to see. I yanked up my pants and didn’t even bother with the belt before I rushed through the front door.

  My car. I needed to find my car and get the hell outta there.

  In the back of my mind, a warning went off about the two piña coladas. I ignored it. I was sober.

  I could’ve had ten drinks and been clear as a bell.

  But then again, I supposed that made sense. Realizing your sister’s husband had just given you a blowjob was enough to scare anyone back to sobriety.

  Two

  Spencer

  Four cups of coffee were too much. I avoided the mirror in the restroom of Lavender Leaves. I knew I looked like shit, no reason to confirm it with my actual reflection. I’d barely slept Friday night, only to work like a dog all day Saturday at the firm, then another night tossing and turning on the pullout couch in the office. Maybe I should’ve gone home to Lavender Shores, but the thought of being alone in my bed was too… well, lonely.

  Because two nights sleeping in the of
fice was so much better. Plus, there’d still been work to do before driving back to Lavender Shores. Work on a Sunday morning. I supposed that was a small price to pay for my malpractice lawyer paycheck. Although, maybe a few less weekends working in the city and my marriage wouldn’t have fallen apart.

  Right, work was the reason….

  I stared in the mirror. The bags under my eyes made me look close to fifty, and I wasn’t even forty yet. “This job is killing you, Spence.” Startled at my own voice, I scowled at the mirror. “Damn it. I wasn’t supposed to look at you. And I sure as hell wasn’t supposed to get all reflective.” The scowl wasn’t helping me look any younger. I turned from the mirror and dried my hands. Although I thought I’d already done that. “And I’m talking to myself to boot. Though that’s not new.” I caught sight of my reflection once more and rolled my eyes.

  Goddammit. Now I’m talking to myself about talking to myself.

  I practically ran from the bathroom to cut off the downward spiral. And since when was four cups of coffee too much? I had at least two pots every morning at the office. Of course, that wasn’t typically followed by a drive to Lavender Shores. I hurried over to the counter. “Hey, Pete. Large Americano and throw a couple extra shots of espresso in there, will ya?”

  Pete stared at me, bug-eyed. “I didn’t even see you come in, Mr. Epstein.”

  “I ran straight to your restroom. Sorry, long drive. And since when did you start calling me Mr. Epstein?”

  He shrugged. “Since you come in here wearing a suit on a Sunday. For the Pride parade no less.” He winked. “Plus, that ex-wife of yours might make you take your maiden name back now that the divorce is finalized.”

  “Always up on the gossip, aren’t ya, Pete?” Although who wasn’t in Lavender Shores? I shrugged out of my jacket. I hadn’t even realized I’d been wearing it. Or had absentmindedly thrown on a tie. “I’ll be staying an Epstein. Need to keep the same last name as the kids, after all. Mind if I leave my jacket here during the parade?”

  “Of course you can.” Pete didn’t offer any more words, resorting to clucking his tongue as he fixed my drink. Knowing him, he had all kinds of advice, the least of which was about keeping Erica’s last name. Probably all good advice. I just didn’t have the energy.

  A glance around the shop revealed I was the only customer; everyone else lined the sidewalk outside the window. “You’re not joining in on the parade?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. However, I’m letting the marching band go by first. Last thing I want to hear is a bunch of high school kids blowing their brains out on trumpets.” He handed me my drink. “On the house, Spencer.”

  “First you call me mister, and now you’re giving me a free drink?”

  Pete leaned on the counter, concern etched over his aged face. “You don’t look good, kid. Seems like you could use some kindness.”

  Considering that my throat tightened at his words, I supposed he was right. I set the liquid energy down, drew a ten out of my wallet, and placed it on the counter. “I don’t deserve it, Pete. Not today.”

  “Yowza, boy. You truly are in a dark place. You need to have a chat with that therapist brother-in-law of yours.”

  I snorted. “Now there’s an idea.”

  He tilted his head in thought. “I guess Donovan is your ex-brother-in-law now.”

  “Not sure that helps anything.” I grabbed my drink and turned away before Pete could drag more out of me. I raised my hand without looking back. “Thanks, Pete. Enjoy the parade!”

  “You too, Spence. Do something nice for yourself after, or at least get some sleep.”

  With a final wave, I joined the crowds outside. I weaved through the throngs, past Reyes Art Gallery and Lavender Realty, and came to a stop on the corner of Bluffs Boulevard and Ocean Way. I’d barely gotten situated when, sure enough, the sound of the Lavender Shores Sea Lions trumpeted in the distance. They were pretty good for a high school band, but I couldn’t blame Pete for wanting to miss it. All the blaring, clanging, and drumming was already making me edgy. Or at least it joined in with the caffeine, the lack of sleep, and the dark guilty conscience.

  I glanced around the charming downtown. Picture-perfect as ever. Honestly, part of me wanted to hate the place. I’d come here thinking I’d start fresh. Instead, my prayers had been answered. Only, they hadn’t been. Not even close.

  But Lavender Shores was charming, and even if it didn’t offer all I’d initially thought, it was home. And it had given me the two people I loved most in the world. No matter what else happened, I would always be thankful for that.

  Soon the color guard cavorted by, their lavender-and-silver flags and streamers keeping time with the following marching band. The Pride parade was such a strange sensation for me. Always had been. My first year here, with Erica by my side, her gay brothers and uncles such big players in her life, it had seemed an odd celebration of love. By the third year, it only represented what I couldn’t have. But now… now it was just dark.

  Not actually dark. The parade, as all things Lavender Shores, was beautiful, colorful, and classy. It was unlike any Pride parade anywhere else. There were no scantily clad men, topless dykes on bikes, or drag queens tossing out candy penis suckers. Not because any of those things were wrong, mind you, they just weren’t sophisticated. If you wanted such base behavior, which was fine, it truly was, then go to the Pride parade in San Francisco which was happening that very hour. Or any other Pride parade anywhere else. I’d heard old Jonathan Epstein, Erica’s grandfather, drone on about it by the hour. At first, I was skeptical. The limitations the town enforced seemed a little too like the ones imposed by my religious upbringing. But I’d been convinced the founders truly had no moral qualms with any of it, just the taste level. Not that the Epsteins had any stone to throw when it came to morality.

  Maybe I’d earned my last name after all.

  I let the cheering crowd mix with the blaring band to form a rather soothing buffer in my brain, blocking out thoughts and memories. It was nice, or at least relaxing. I continued to sip my coffee as the next traditional part of the parade began. The marching band was a given, as well as the five founding family floats, but after that, each year was switched up with a different theme. And even though I was no longer married to Erica, I still knew the latest theme was transgender awareness. The last few years had seen so much political divide around that issue, it was only right to remind the town that Lavender Shores had been founded as a safe place for all members of the LGBTQ community. Not just the first two letters.

  The first float was the Kellys. Serious Debbra and her nutty husband, Robert. It took me a second to realize the horrendously ugly woman was Robert. It seemed he’d dressed in drag. Probably trying to make a nod toward the transgender community. And he looked utterly ecstatic about it. I couldn’t believe Debbra would allow him to make such a faux pas. Although, Robert could only be controlled so far. Their grown children, Heather and Andrew, waved from the float as well. Their oldest, Lamont, was nowhere to be seen. I was willing to bet he was hiding away writing another book. His hermit lifestyle might have been a better choice than the one I’d made.

  After the Kellys came the Bryants. Then the Riveras, followed by the Carlisles. My heart thudded, and it had nothing to do with the caffeine overload. There he was. Donovan Carlisle. He was smiling at his mother and had his youngest nephew in his arms. I didn’t notice the rest of the family. Just him. I hadn’t seen him for months before the damn party on Friday. That night I’d noticed he’d gotten grayer, but now, in the sunlight, his close-cropped hair nearly sparkled. It looked like one of those arctic foxes—the black undercoat with the glistening silver tips. He wasn’t clean-shaven like he’d been at the party, and the stubble coming in matched his hair. He was stunning. He’d always been beautiful. For a moment, I paused. Maybe he wasn’t. He was getting older. He wasn’t as young as when we’d first met. Although neither was I. But maybe I had the filter of the years filled with desire messin
g with reality. I tried to see him through fresh eyes.

  It didn’t work. He was still the handsomest man I’d ever seen. Thick dark brows, dark eyes, sharp jaw, cleft chin. A vision of him from the other night rose to the surface. Yeah, I wasn’t making up his beauty. I’d seen more of him than I ever had outside of my fantasies. That had been the kicker. He’d lived up to my fantasies. Sure, I’d seen him shirtless countless times as our families held pool parties and met at the beach. His tan skin, lean body, defined muscles, manly chest hair. All as known to me nearly as my own reflection. But I’d never seen him like I had in San Francisco. That cock was everything I’d imagined. More than. And the sounds he’d made. The feel of his release down my throat, in my mouth. I’d never done that before. Ever. That had been more than I’d bargained for too.

  I’d known him instantly, despite the wolf costume. I think I might have even felt him before I’d seen him. The hair and jawline gave him away, and those eyebrows. A million things really. Things I’d committed to memory over the past decade. A million characteristic features that made him Donovan, no matter what he wore. I’d nearly left the moment I saw him in the other room. Fear raging through me of being discovered, being outed. But my costume was better than his, at least better at concealing, and only in my fantasies had he memorized the essence of me as I’d done of his.

  Ultimately the fear of being discovered took a back seat to the possibility of finally having him. I’d never get another chance. I could have him, at least for a moment. He’d never know it was me. The rest of our family wouldn’t know. Even in those few seconds of deciding, I was fully aware of the guilt I’d feel later. Both because of him being family and because of my deceit. But I couldn’t pass him up. I’d dreamed of him for too long.