“Night,” he whispers back.
It takes a while for his muscles to unwind and relax into me. Sooner rather than later his breathing evens and his arm drapes around my waist. I place a gentle kiss on his forehead before I close my eyes to sleep too.
The sound of an obnoxious horn forces my burning eyes open to my phone on the bedside table. The first thing I notice is that the other side of my rumpled bed is empty. I rub a tired hand over my eyes and tap the button to quiet the noise, yawning loudly and stretching my arms over my head. The room doesn’t look that much different but, fuck, it feels like it should be. I feel different, well used, and supremely fucked.
The sun outlining the curtains in the window casts the room in that in-between light only found in hotels that, until the curtains open, feels like perpetual twilight. In this light it’s easy to drift between fully awake and the edge of sleep. Every time I so much as blink, memories of Adam bombard me.
Adam’s sexy mouth.
Adam’s long fingers.
Adam’s body.
Adam fucking me over and over.
Jesus, I’ve never had anything like him. Ever. He was insatiable, which in turn made me insatiable. As the night went on, one of us would inevitably reach for the other. Our hands and lips explored, which would lead to kissing and eventually fucking. Deep dicking that hit every spot, and he kept getting better, upping his D game. We finally passed out with our limbs tangled around each other and our sweaty cum-stained skin sealed together. A well-placed kiss or a wandering hand would start us up all over again.
After round four (or was it five?) I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I passed out, Adam’s warm weight on my chest, fingers laced with mine. That was three hours ago.
I can’t say I’m surprised Adam is gone. He said one night, but I’m disappointed. Last night was the kind of sex people fantasize about. The kind that makes me question what I’ve been doing and who I’ve been doing it with. It completely obliterated my backlist of lovers. And it’s never going to happen again.
I get to my feet and relish in my aching muscles as I walk to the bathroom. I quickly shower, towel off, and lotion up. I catch my eyes in the mirror and stop. My lips are deep red from endless kisses. Dark bags have unpacked under my eyes from lack of sleep. A purple hickey blooms on the skin just above my collarbone, and small bruises the size and breadth of fingertips stand out on my hip bones. My reflection is one of a man well and truly fucked.
One more reminder of what I couldn’t get enough of and will never have again. I quickly dress in my typical black T-shirt and jeans. I dig through my luggage for a baseball cap and pull it down low on my forehead, hoping to hide some of the evidence. I check my email, skimming through the messages marked urgent by Aiden. The last one gives details about the studio and photographer Sin will be doing a photo shoot with today. I type out a quick response and slip the key card for the room into my wallet, clip the gun onto my waist, and snag the handheld radio off the charger.
The hallway is still quiet. Most of the hotel’s guests are still in bed. Softly, I knock on the door right next to mine and it immediately opens. Sin stands in front of me, rested and bright-eyed. Her clothes as bright as the smile on her face.
“Good morning,” she all but sings.
“Good—” I clear my throat. My hoarse voice sounds exactly like I cried out loudly, uncontrollably, again and again last night. Fuck, that was good. “Good morning.”
“How was your night?” She steps out of her room, letting the door slam behind her with a loud thud.
“You know. Same old, same old.” I shrug. “You ready to head out? The photographer’s studio isn’t that far, but we should leave now if we don’t want to be late.”
“And you’re so full of shit.” She laughs as she starts to walk toward the elevator. “I didn’t end up going to the club with Rivaldo after all. He didn’t seem to want to take no for an answer.”
“Did he?”
“Aiden was there the entire time. Nothing happened that I didn’t want to, but Rivaldo can be a little much. He said he’d waited long enough and he wanted . . .” Her face scrunches as her words die off. He wanted her. That’s what’s she’s not saying. He wanted her, and she wanted something or someone different. She rubs her hands on the outside of her thighs. “I was cool heading back to the hotel. But when I got in my room and tried to settle in bed to read, guess what I heard?”
We arrive at the elevator lobby and Sin presses the down button.
“What?”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Before we step into the car, a disheveled Adam steps off. A cup of Starbucks coffee in his hand, still in the wrinkled shirt from last night, and his long hair tucked behind his ears. I notice his lips are the perfect shade of raspberry that only comes from a night of use. His turbulent blue eyes meet mine and our gazes hold for just a second. That gaze is fucking fire; scorching sweeps that lick up one side of my body before dropping down the other. When his eyes drop to Sin, it’s a lot easier to breathe when I’m not enveloped in heat.
“You’re up early,” Sin says.
“Yeah, I needed coffee. Long night.” His eyes flit to mine, and we share the understanding. Last night might have been long, but it still wasn’t long enough.
“Everything okay?” She looks at him, worried.
“Yep, just a little tired.” He takes a sip from the cup, and I flash back to last night when he took a sip of water after he sucked me to the point my balls were completely empty and heaving with my climax. My pulse kicks up, the blood rushing to my tired, worn out dick.
Don’t throw wood in front of Sin. Have some control, Marine. I conjure images of straight porn and my grandparents having sex, which seems to do the trick until I watch his tongue glide along those lips. My semi is quickly moving into full category. When I see the smirk on his lips, I know he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Touché, baby.
“We gotta head out, Sin, if you don’t want to be late.” I step into the elevator, taking the second with my back turned to adjust my erection into the waistband of my pants. We could stand here another thirty minutes and not be late, but I know how much she hates missing appointments or not showing up in a timely manner.
She squeezes Adam in a tight hug and steps back, her nose crinkled. “You need a shower. You smell like stale sex.” I open wide eyes to him and mouth “what the fuck” over Sin’s head.
He burst out laughing. The sound deep and raspy. I smile in return because oh, the irony. “Thank you for the suggestion. I’ll get right on that.”
Sin steps on the elevator and presses the lobby button, and the doors close on his smiling face. We start to descend.
“Am I the only person not having copious amounts of sex on this tour?”
“Define copious,” I say just to be a smart-ass.
She eyes the hickey peeking from under my shirt. “You and Adam must think I’m as sharp as a dull spoon.” She snorts and my hearts starts to beat fast again. Panic rises in my throat.
“You were going at it last night like today was Armageddon and you’d never have another chance with the person who was in your room.” She said person, not Adam. Thank you, God. I throw up a silent prayer. “And Adam shows up looking like something the cat dragged in, ridden hard and put away wet.
I damn near choke on my spit because she summed that up to a T—except he was the one riding me.
“Jealousy is not a good look, Sin.”
“And smug is even worse, Seth. For real, who was the lucky girl?”
“Guy,” I say in a rush, and the muscles low in my stomach automatically clench. Telling people, or maybe it’s feeling like I have to tell people, is always awkward. I can never gauge how they will react. Since I don’t fit the stereotype or preconceived notion, it’s like they can’t wrap their heads around the concept I’m a man attracted to men.
Sin doesn’t so much as blink. She arches an eyebrow up to her hairline. Not in the I-can’t-believe-y
ou’re-gay kind of way. More in the did-you-fuck-my best-friend-last-night kind of way.
“My bad. Who’s the lucky guy?” she asks, but the question sounds more like a statement. Her skeptical gaze tells me she’s put one and one together.
“It doesn’t matter. It was just . . .” I grip the back of my neck, squeezing the column, looking away from her to corral the residual emotion hanging on from last night. “It was just a one-time thing.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I grab the remote from the bed to mute the TV and look toward the front of the room where the sound is coming from.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
This time I roll out of bed. On instinct I grab the Glock from the bedside table before taking a few steps to the door. I dip my head to look out the peephole and can’t stop my wide grin. Adam is on the other side of the door, his long hair pushed behind his ears and his eyes so intent on the door I’m surprised the metal isn’t dented. He raises his hand to knock again, but I open the door and tuck the gun into my waistband at my back.
“Hey,” he says.
“What’s good?” I lean against the doorframe, letting my eyes drag down his body because how could I not? He’s gorgeous with his big eyes, pouty lips, and lean muscles. There’s a nervous flush staining his cheeks and, even after all the conversation we had earlier about this—us sleeping together being a one-time thing—he’s at my door.
“Can I come in?” He bites the corner of his bottom lip.
I push off the doorframe, my back coming to the door to hold it open for him as he steps inside.
The door is barely closed before his mouth is on mine.
Adam
MEXICO CITY
When I tiptoed out of Seth’s room after that first time, I’d convinced myself that one time with my best friend’s fuck-hot bodyguard would be enough.
I lied.
It wasn’t.
I’d found myself at his door later on the same night, and the following night, and the night after that, and the day after that. By the time we hit Mexico City, I was feening, always looking for the next touch, the next kiss, the next time I’d have him. In my bed. Under my body.
It started simple enough, me cornering him, convincing him to get naked.
Fuck, did I love to chase him.
Every time he looked up at me, his eyes glimmered with rebuff and conflict, giving me a firm no that always turned into a melting, head-lolling, sexy-ass yes. It was validation—a long stroke to my ego that came from his hard-won surrender.
What started simple has quickly moved into complicated.
So fucking complicated.
We’re tittering on the edge of a very slippery slope and I don’t care. There isn’t one fuck given because this thing between us, whatever it is—magic, chemistry, connection—is extraordinary, and I can’t let it go.
“Wanna get out of the city for the next couple of days?”
I glance up from the guitar in my lap, still idly strumming the chords. Looking expectantly at the open door. Seth strolls out of the bathroom with a plush white towel tied around his waist. His hair is still wet and dripping down his neck from the shower.
Good God. My fingers momentarily stall over the strings and my napping dick stirs in my shorts.
Seth drops the towel and roots around in his duffel bag.
“You hear me?” he asks, still bent over the bag. He pulls out a pair of boxer briefs and puts them on.
I clear my throat and pluck at the guitar strings. “We have sound check in three days. I’m not sure I can.” He stands, pulling a plain gray T-shirt over his head.
“Acapulco is maybe a four-and-a-half-hour drive in the truck.” He absently bends again to retrieve matching gray camouflage cargo shorts. “Think about it. No ducking or dodging. Just me and you, and the beach, and the waves.” He pulls the shorts up over his thick thighs, smiling at me as he snaps the button in place.
“Me and you, huh?” Hello, complication. Thank you for this kick in the dick. It’s great, truly, just fucking awesome.
His smile becomes something forced; it’s the brittle twist of his lips that falls from his face, splintering like a thin layer of ice on a once frozen lake. Tension crackles between us instantly. The feeling of rejection hangs in the air over us; it’s changing him. Or at the very least changing the way he’s with me.
The first time I noticed him sliding behind the proverbial wall was during a late-night snack grab in Brazil. We’d both walked down the hotel’s long hallway, sex drunk and giddy. I didn’t know what that feeling was, never having had it before. All I knew was I loved seeing my bite mark on his shoulder, and the flex of his tight ass under the basketball shorts that hung past his knees. I knew I didn’t want to be away from him even if it was for a couple of minutes to get food.
Dan was at the vending machine when we rounded the corner. We saw him before he saw us. Before he could ask a whole lot of questions I had no interest in answering, and before he could run his fucking mouth, I pretended Seth wasn’t there. I’d yanked my hand out of his, lengthening my strides so I arrived at the alcove housing the machines seconds before he did.
I greeted Dan with a fist pound and head nod, but the man I’d just had in my bed, the strong, beautiful lover I couldn’t seem to keep my mouth or hands off, him I looked through.
I anxiously stood by as Seth and Dan exchanged a few words and Seth made his selections: a Payday and Dr. Pepper. He walked away, head down, eyes focused on the garish hotel carpet, dejection clear in every line of his body and I felt like the biggest asshole.
I stayed with Dan for the obligatory minute, wanting to get back to the man in my room, but it took longer than it should because Dan was talking my ear off about a club and a woman. Typical Dan shit I pay very little attention to most days, but I’d stood there hanging on every word because I didn’t want him to even suspect there was something going on between me and Seth. When I got back to my room, empty handed, still hungry, Seth wasn’t there. He didn’t answer his phone when I called or open his room door when I knocked.
When I saw him the following morning, he gave me his detached professionalism. The first bricks in his wall had been laid and mortared. It took a couple of days, but eventually I was able to climb over. Every time we have one of those moments that wall gets higher, and it gets a whole hell of a lot harder to climb. One day it’ll be so high, the climb will be impossible.
I hate that I do this to him, that I have to do it at all, but what’s the alternative? I learned at a very early age, at the hands of an evil woman, the only thing being gay could bring me was hurt and strife.
“Please don’t do this,” I whisper. Because I already know this conversation won’t end well. It never does. I’m a big enough asshole to come to him night after night, to use our mutual attraction as leverage to get in the door and under his very real convictions.
“No biggie,” he says, but the hitch in his voice proclaims the opposite.
“It was just a question. I need to get out of here for a while—clear my head.” My stomach falls like I just took a steep drop on the first hill of a roller coaster. The only thing clarity leads to is enlightenment, which doesn’t bode well for me.
“It’ll be dope. You know? Hitting the surf and drinking tequila under the Mexican sun. I haven’t had that in a while.” He lets out a tired sigh.
I dip my head, trying to catch his eye, but he avoids me. For the millionth time since we started, whatever we’ve got going, guilt snakes around my belly, tightening to the point that I wince under the pressure. I’ve felt it every time I’ve asked him to hide away and to take this duplicitous ride with me. Sitting here watching as he once again carries the weight of secrets that aren’t his to keep, it bares fangs and sinks teeth into my conscience.
“Aiden is in New York with Sin for the commercial and training the newbie, so I have a couple of days off to do . . .” His troubled eyes lift to mine and just as quickly drop away. “I have some friends in the ar
ea and maybe we can catch up.”
Friends? My brain immediately conjures some cock diesel motherfucker. One that won’t be afraid to hold his hand in public or rub suntan lotion on his back. Fuck that dude. Friend. Or whatever.
I have no business being jealous, but I can’t help it. I’m jealous of some nameless, faceless friend who gets to do all the things with him I can’t. I want to be his person even if he can’t be mine. He still doesn’t get it. The hiding isn’t a matter of don’t want, it’s a matter of can’t. I’m a coward. A scared little boy still held captive in a dark room, forced to practice being a real man and singled out because of who I was. Even when at the age of nine, I was taken the first time by Mrs. Norcross into the room for a lesson. I didn’t know enough to act on my same-sex attraction.
I can’t come out.
I can’t disappear from my life.
I can’t claim him.
I . . . just can’t.
“Baby, I know this isn’t fair,” I say softly.
“You know it, but you don’t care, right? It doesn’t matter to you that I’m putting my job on the line. That I’m betraying Aiden, my best friend, because I’d risk it all for one night, one hour with you.” His voice is hard, dripping with sarcasm.
“I care, babe. You know it’s not like that.”
“What I know is that I’d choose you every single fucking time, and the feeling isn’t mutual because you haven’t chosen me once. I’m the dirty secret you hide until it’s time to get your rocks off, but when you’re done, I’m relegated to the dark.”
Ouch. Is that how I make him feel? Like a used toy for my continence? I know his choosing me comes with consequences, but it soothes the lost little boy I can’t seem to shake. I also know how fucked it is that I never chose him.
“You’re not relegated to the dark. With you is the only time I find the light. When I’m with you I get to let it all go and take a break from my crazy life. In the stolen hours where I exist solely in our world, the one we crafted with mutual respect and concern for the people I love, with late-night food runs and eighties action movies, and lots and lots of sex. How could you even question whether I want to come with you? Of course I want to.”
Exquisitely Hidden: A Sin City Tale Page 7
