by Mia Kerick
“Christ, Bodie…”
I’ve only been physically intimate with three men in my life, but Bodie was right: blowjobs aren’t new to me. What he’s doing right now, however, is. After filling his mouth with as much of me as he can manage and rolling his tongue in a wonderfully frenzied way, he pulls off and studies my cock. To my surprise, he appears rather fascinated. “You’re so perfect, Oliver.”
When he’s seen whatever it is he needs to see, he bestows tiny kisses up and down my length, even flattening himself on his belly to lavish the same attention on my balls. The effect of Bodie’s painstaking thoroughness is honestly more mind-blowing than my very first blowjob—he doesn’t miss a single, sensitive spot between my legs with his lips. And then again, he gulps my dick to the back of his throat and slides up and down, all the while moaning as if he’s never experienced anything so sweet.
My entire body buzzes with an unrivaled pleasure. “Bodie, I’m gonna come…”
He pulls off with a pop. “Wanna see,” he gasps. Bodie strokes me twice, and I’m there.
Although I want so much to close my eyes and savor my climax, instead I’m compelled to watch him watching me. His gaze flickers, back and forth from my dick to my eyes, not wanting to miss a thing.
As soon as my breathing is almost back to normal, my brain engages. Bodie’s still kneeling between my legs, his boxers somehow lost to the bedsheets. And his gaze is now fixed on my face, a look of wonder in his eyes. I hate to ruin the moment, but there’s stuff that needs to be said—that should have been said before.
“You need to know that I got tested in April, and it was seven months after Jack and me broke up. I did it even though we always used condoms. But it’s just, Jack wasn’t the most faithful guy in the world and, well, the good news is I haven’t got anything.”
“That is good news.” He studies my face as he considers his reply. “I never got tested. Didn’t have to, though. I never did anything that would make me need a test.”
This is a stark reminder that I have no idea of the circumstances or the details of what went on between Bodie, the ten-year-old child, and the nameless adult man. But it’s information he’s going to have to volunteer. I refuse to drag it out of him. And so all I do is nod my acknowledgment.
The pain in my ribs has dulled through my pleasure, and I’m determined to give Bodie the same enjoyment, even if I’m not as free to move as I’d like to be.
“I want to show you how it feels. To make sure you find heaven, like I just did.” My voice is raspy with an urgent need to share the pleasure.
Bodie shakes his head. “Not happening ’til you’re feelin’ better.”
“I’m fine, Bodie. And I want to blow you. So much.”
He flops onto his back beside me. “Doing that to you…Well, let’s just say I managed to get to heaven without your mouth or even your hand on me.”
“You came?”
“Straighten out your leg if you want to feel the proof.”
I smile, although I still want to show him how good I can make him feel with my mouth. But he seems satisfied, and I don’t want to push. “You’re certainly something.”
“Something good, I sure hope.”
“Yeah. Something very good.” I brush my palm back and forth across his strong furry chest, and he sighs with pleasure. Then I lift my hands to his head and let my fingers twist in his auburn curls.
“Ollie,” he whispers and rolls onto his belly. He throws a strong arm over my waist and, within seconds, I hear soft, breathy snores. I drift off to sleep, forgetting to be afraid.
Chapter 11
With Bodie’s help, I make it to Surf’s Up. I’m not a pretty sight, but I’m here.
Mika drifts my way, almost shyly. “I was so freaking worried about you, Oliver.” She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes, which hurts, but is worth it. “Like, what the hell happened?”
“Uh…I had a little mishap in the alley by the Island Toolbox. No big deal.”
She shakes her head and then pulls me down by my shoulders to examine my face. “You’ve got quite a shiner there. And, judging by the way you’re moving, you’re hurting in other places too.”
“Maybe so, but honestly, I’m all right.”
Her glance is skeptical, at best. “Sure, Oliver.”
I truly detest sharing anything more privileged than drink ingredients with my fellow employees. The saddest part of this is that I have no “friends” other than them. I’m such a closed person, which I can only assume is a direct result of an abnormal upbringing. Since Bodie came into my life, though, I’ve surprised myself by letting Mika peek inside my private world. But I’m still not prepared to be an open book. I shrug and head for the blender to make frozen mango margaritas, a crowd favorite.
It’s a Friday night, and the first clear evening since Monday, so the bar is swamped. Jack has seen fit to help me at the bar so Mika can join the other servers on the floor. I appreciate the help, but not the scrutiny. Every time I turn around, he’s gawking at me.
“I thought the cowboy called you guys in sick so he could spend a night off fucking you.” His glares at me briefly and pours himself a shot of bourbon and sucks it down. Then he steps up beside me and traces my eye with his thumb. “But it looks like you really were under the weather.” I bat away his hand and step back, uncomfortable with his encroachment into my well-guarded personal space. “I’d ask what happened to you, but I’m sure you’d tell me to go fuck myself.”
I roll my eyes even though it hurts.
“Did Bodie look after you well?”
“As a matter of fact, he did.” I turn on the blender to drown out his un-witty banter.
But Jack can be patient when he believes it’s to his benefit. “Are you two a thing now?”
“What do you care?”
His eyes gleam with either curiosity or envy. Not adept at reading people, I can’t say which.
“I care because I’m hot for both of you. Still dreaming of a ménage but fucking that hot cowboy will tide me over until I can get both of you in bed.” The waggling of his eyebrows is easy to read. “And one way or another, I’ll get what I want.”
“You’re wasting your time on unattainable dreams.”
Jack curses beneath his breath as I empty the blender into two wide glasses, skipping the garnish because I need so badly to step away from him. His creepy small talk is making my skin crawl.
“Give the guys at the end of the bar a couple of Bud Lights. They’ve been waiting too long.”
Jack’s eyebrows shoot up in resentment of my demand. “You know what? I’ll slam down a couple of Buds on the bar and then I’m going to hang with my pretty bouncer for a while. He won’t be as hostile as my bartender.”
“Don’t count on it,” I mutter, not sure why I taunt him. I’m over the sting of Jack’s infidelity. I’m almost over the embarrassment that I once gave a shit about him. What still pisses me off is that his regret at losing me seems only to extend as far as missing me in his bed. Which makes abundantly clear my limited value to him. It fucks with my ego.
I glance at Bodie, as he does his best to work the door and deal with whatever Jack is now babbling in his ear. The tight set of his lips informs me that Jack is suggesting more of what he’d mentioned to me. And I’d bet my life Bodie’s not in the market for a threesome.
“Oliver James.”
Fuck me.
“Hey, Mom.” It requires the strict discipline I perfected over my twenty-five years on earth to force myself to look at her. Even features and eyes as cool and gray as mine, both framed by a soft blonde bob. And her fair eyebrows are, as always, arched in intrusive interest.
My mother is a physically beautiful woman. According to Dad, when she was my age “everybody” wanted her. And many men had her, even when my father was officially in the picture. He accepted this, thankful to be the one to seal the deal and put a ring on her finger. But the ring didn’t change anything; she was not a faithful wif
e. Mom’s overwhelming need for approval demanded that random men continue to prove her attractiveness with physical worship throughout their marriage.
As her child, my method of worship had to be different. I was expected to demonstrate my adoration by allowing her unfettered access to every aspect of my life; a demand to which I refused to comply. So she used her own methods to learn what she wanted to know.
“Your eye. It’s disfigured!” She crows her assessment, uncaring of who overhears. But already I’m aware that our confrontation will not be about me or my eye. This will be all about her. As usual. “What on earth happened?”
“Ran into a little trouble the other night,” I reply. “What can I get you, Mom?”
“Why don’t you surprise me?”
Her wish is that I’ll size up her mood and concoct the perfect cocktail for her, the way they do at my favorite bar on the island, Ivory Tower. I don’t play those games with her anymore. “I’ll make you today’s special. A blueberry martini.”
Her plastered smile remains stiff. “Fine.”
As I mix her drink, the questions roll in. “You should have called to let me know you’d been hurt.” She places her hands on her hips, a signal that she means business. “Now, tell me exactly happened to your eye.”
“Somebody hit me.”
“Oliver…” A warning—I hadn’t forked over the necessary detail.
“A guy had it out for me. And he got me alone.”
“Any son of mine would have given as good as he got. Did you?”
“I’m not much of a fighter,” I admit.
“Maybe not in the physical sense, I suppose, but you certainly do fight your mother’s concern and love.”
What I fight is the urge to roll my eyes. Last time I did it was painful.
Jack steps up behind her. “Mandy, it’s been so long. I just had to come and visit with you.” He kisses her cheek, and she manages to blush. “Make two of whatever you’re serving your mother. We’ll toast to her loveliness.”
Erg. “Coming right up.”
I busy myself with their drinks as they chat rather loudly at the bar. I’m clearly their intended audience.
“So Jackie, you’re looking marvelous, as usual,” Mom gushes. “You have to tell me your secret to the whitest teeth on Gillamour Island.”
He chuckles, pleased. “And you must tell me how you’ve managed to evade the aging process.”
Birds of a feather, I decide and throw up a little in my mouth.
“You’re too kind.” Mom covers his hand on the bar with her own. “Have you made any progress in winning back the fickle attention of my son?”
“Unfortunately, no. Although, God knows I’ve tried.”
“Oliver can be quite unforgiving of minor infringements.”
“You said it, Mandy, I didn’t.” More laughter. Naturally, at my expense.
“Enjoy your drinks.” I slide them hastily across the bar.
Before I can reposition myself at a respectful distance from them, Mom asks, “So who is that thug in the doorway? He certainly is intimidating.”
I linger to listen to Jack’s reply.
“That, my dear, is Nick Bowden. Your son’s new housemate and love interest. Oh, and Surf’s Up’s capable doorman.”
“Capable? Maybe so, except when it comes to protecting my son. Look at his poor eye.”
“Indeed. Oliver is quite a sight. It’s a wonder people can choke down their drinks with him in front of them, looking so gory.” Jack is in rare form tonight.
I’ve had enough, yet Bodie deserves defense. “I wasn’t at the bar when this happened. I was on my way back from the convenience store, picking up drink ingredients Jack forgot to order.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jack barks. “I get you everything you need.”
“Have you noticed that we don’t have any cherries, Jack?” Mika comes to my rescue. “Bars, like, need cherries!”
“Cherries are far from my greatest concern.” Mom stands and saunters behind the bar like she owns the place. “Darling, I’m devastated that you’re sharing your home with the likes of that…person…managing the crowd at the door. He certainly appears unsavory.”
“Mom, he’s a good man.” Better by a mile than your precious Jackie.
“Mika, please cover the bar. I need to speak to my son in private. Come with me, Oliver.” Jack watches our interaction with a giddy grin. He enjoys my torment. “Now.”
I follow my mother, dragging my feet, to the employee lounge.
The first thing she says is, “Take off your shirt. I want to see the damage to your chest.”
I should be surprised by this command, but sadly, it comes as no shock at all. “I’m not taking off my shirt, Mom.”
“Well, I’m not leaving until I see what has been done to you.”
I sigh. “Then you’re gonna need a sleeping bag, because you’ll be waiting all night. My shirt’s staying on.”
She rushes at me and yanks my Surf’s Up polo up to my chest. “Oh, darling, you’re terribly bruised! Were you sexually assaulted as well?” No sympathy. No concern. Just the usual fact-finding mission.
“Mom!” I tug down my shirt. “I’m not doing this with you. I got beat up. Bruises are part of the package. I’m fine. Now, let’s go back to the bar. I’ll fix you a fresh drink.”
“No. We need to talk about this Nick Bowden fellow.”
“That’d be me, ma’am.” Bodie’s in the doorway. I wonder how much of our conversation he heard.
“Oh. Well, I’m Mandy Tunstead. Oliver’s mother.”
He holds out a hand, which she ignores. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mandy.”
“You can call me Mrs. Tunstead.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The flash of his eyes is obvious, as his Stetson is on a peg by the entrance.
“What is this I hear about you living in my son’s home?”
“I pay rent for my room, Mrs. Tunstead.”
“Of course, you do.” She purses her lips. “Exactly how much do you pay?”
“Not your concern, Mom.” Some things never change.
My mother glares at me. “Everything about you is my concern.” She clears her throat and redirects her attention to Bodie. “And where were you when my Oliver was attacked?”
Mom is fishing for information. If I won’t answer her questions, she’ll find another way.
Bodie shifts with discomfort. He still blames himself for what happened to me. “With all due respect, ma’am, if Ollie wants you to know the details, he’ll tell you.”
“Ollie? How sweet.”
“I think so,” I blurt, and heat climbs my neck having just showed my cards.
“Oliver, you should seriously consider returning Jack’s affections. He has the resources to get you somewhere in life. This character,” she gestures toward Bodie with a well-manicured thumb, “will get you into bed and no further, if you ask me.”
Bodie’s expression changes from stunned to stormy.
“Nobody asked,” I reply.
She springs forward and slaps my face, just as she did when I was the little boy who so regularly displeased her. “That was uncalled for.”
Bodie’s between us before my next breath. “I came in here to let you know that Mika needs your help at the bar. And Jack’s standing in at the door for me and he’s none too happy about it, so…”
He’s doing his best to rescue me. “Thanks, Bodie.” For a second, he places his palm on my burning cheek. He doesn’t make a move to leave.
“I’ve got to get back to work, Mom.” My eyes are wet with the sting of the slap as well as the humiliation, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing my tears. For just a moment, I bury my face in my hands.
“We need to talk. I’ll expect a call from you tomorrow.” She storms out the door, offering over her shoulder, “I’ll have Jack walk me to my car, so you needn’t bother with it, Oliver.”
“Don’t hold your breath waiting for that p
hone call.” I speak so quietly I can barely hear it myself. Maybe I didn’t say the words aloud at all. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
We pull into the driveway, but neither of us makes a move to climb off the bike. “So that was your mother.”
It’s not a question. “Yeah.”
“It explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“You live your life on the defense. And you never tell me a thing about what’s going on in your head. Now I get why.”
Bodie pretty much lifts me off his bike, and I’m glad for the help. I’m not sure I could get off by myself as I’m completely exhausted from the night at Surf’s Up. Between my mother’s disturbing visit, my fear of Dale showing up to finish the job he started, Jack’s alternating leers and glares, and general physical pain, I’ve had enough.
He slings his arm around my waist and, together, we make our way to the front door. “You must be a hurting unit.”
“No argument there.” I’m still thinking about what he said—that I live defensively. “You know, you’re not exactly an open book either.”
Bodie stops by the doorstep and stares at me. “Never claimed to be.”
“Looks like I finally met my match.”
“Looks like…” The ensuing silence is predictable as we both tend to clam up when a topic hits too close to home. Bodie lets us inside and says, “I’m gonna run you a bath.”
“Thanks, but I’m just going to bed. Too tired to even soak in the tub.”
He nods. “I’ll take Hugo out.”
“I really can’t thank you enough for all of the help.” I head straight to the bathroom, not waiting for a response.
By the time I’m settled in bed, Hugo and Bodie have returned to the cottage. My feelings about whether or not I want a visit from Bodie tonight are mixed—my mood is substantially less than pleasant. I’m angry at the world—resentful of my mother for refusing to mind her own damned business, outraged at Dale for making me feel so helpless, annoyed with Jack for a multitude of reasons, and irritated that Bodie stated the truth so plainly.
