My legs feel wobbly and I shuffle to the king-sized bed in the middle of the room, collapsing on the cool sheets. Heat rushes through me as I watch Seth’s naked body move across the room with sure strides to his discarded clothes, retrieving condoms, and condiment-size packets of lube from the inner compartment of his wallet.
“It’s been a year. I didn’t think you’d have . . . supplies.”
“Made a stop before I got on the plane. I knew you’d be here and deep down I wanted this—us—to happen.”
He stands in the dark, his body awash in the moonlight, a sight to rivals Michelangelo’s David, and I can’t think of anything I’ve ever seen that is more arresting. He opens one of the foil packages, tossing the other two on the edge of the bed. He pumps his hand up and down his shaft a couple of times before he rolls the latex down his length and tears the corner off the lube packet.
He crawls up the bed, dragging his body up the length of mine, hands fisting in my hair as his mouth aggressively fucks mine with long licks and deep twists of his tongue. He’s everywhere at once and it’s driving me out of my mind.
There are too many sensations to process: the clean, masculine scent, the whispered grunts and moans, the taste—that goddamn flavor I’ve been dreaming of since my last taste over a year ago—the sight of deeply tan skin stretched over well-sculpted muscles, twitching and vibrating under my fingertips.
My hips grind against his and we both gasp as our dicks collide. Seth runs a hand down my leg, hooking my knee with his arm, positioning it over his hip. His slides a slick finger over my taint.
“Fucking hell,” I curse at the heat creeping over my body. It starts at my groin, moving out to my limbs in cresting waves that roll my senses with the intensity. I open my legs wider to give him better access and that finger travels farther, delving between my ass cheeks. My other leg comes over his other hip, pulling him closer.
“You like that?” he says, injecting lightness into his voice, but that light dissipates like steam off a pot of boiling water when he breaches the tight ring of muscles to ease one finger inside. “I’ve never felt anything like you. You’re so fucking tight.” He breathes into my ear.
I’ve never felt anything like you either. I tried to bottom once but we were both young and didn’t know what we were doing and stopped before it really got started. Whatever that was doesn’t begin to compare to this—to Seth.
We both moan as that finger stretches me open. After a minute or so, he works me up to two fingers and then three. There’s a slight burn with each addition but he takes his time. Not pushing me too much or too hard.
“You ready?” The question comes from above me. I look up, taking in his high cheekbones, straight nose, and his lips reddened from kisses and bites. Seth is braced on his elbows on either side of my head, eyes steady on mine.
“Yes.”
He drops his head down, taking my lips, owning my mouth the way I want him to own my body. He applies the remaining lube to his dick and, with a hand around his shaft, he guides his erection into me with one sure stroke.
I involuntarily tense. “Ahhh . . .” I hiss, breaking the connection of our lips, my muscles icing over at the burn.
“Breathe, baby.” He runs kisses over my jaw and neck. I do what I’m told and take in a shaky breath, my chest raising and falling with shallow breaths. “I’d never do anything to hurt you,” he says, leaning forward until his face comes into view over mine. His eyes tell me the truth. He won’t hurt me.
My body responds to that silent request, unbinding one group of muscles at a time. “There it is,” he whispers, slowly pulling his hips back and thrusting back inside.
My eyes roll closed because it feels . . . “So fucking good,” I groan, reaching up to pull his head to mine.
This kiss is bone melting, ardent in its intent and emotion. The complete opposite of his hard thrust. I shift, raising my hips a little higher, needing him . . . “Right there,” I pant as he hits my spot. He drives into me again and again, his control slipping, his thrusts coming faster, harder, wilder. Beads of sweat trickle down his temples and glisten on his rounded shoulders and broad chest.
“Baby,” he groans through clenched teeth. He drops his forehead to mine and grips my dick. “You go, we go.”
His thrusts are perfectly coordinated with the tugs on my shaft. It doesn’t take long before I bellow, “Ohshitohshitohshit. I’m coming.” I manage to grunt, my abs tightening before long ropes paint my stomach and chest. My ass contracts around Seth, milking him in time with my release. He comes in magnificent fashion, head thrown back, hips rolling in shallow pumps, arms shaking.
I want to stop time right here, keep him exactly as he is right now, skin flushed, hair messy from my hands, lips red and swollen. He places a kiss on the hard line of my sternum; it’s the gentle caress of a lover satiated.
Seth
Ever so slowly, I pull my arm from under the curve of Adam’s neck. I pause when he lets out a sigh but then I roll to sit on the edge of the bed as he settles back into sleep, peaceful, the picture of a man well fucked and happily put to bed.
This is what I miss the most. The quiet moments where the world is limited down to us, our bed, our kisses, our connection . . . our love. Last night obliterated any remaining insecurities about his feelings for me.
Seth. Fuck me. That’s what he’d said into my mouth.
Seth. Fuck me.
That request whispered in crude words from a man who holds the reins of his control with a tight grip and an even firmer disposition. He took my breath away and broke through every reservation. It eliminated any chance of me being able to walk out the door. In the face of his vulnerability I couldn’t give him what he wanted. Instead of the fuck he asked for, I gave him love.
I made love to my man, in our own little private world, and it was better than every time that came before it because for the first time it was just him and me, no pretense, no shadows, no supposed to. We just were.
That’s why I have to go. Why I can’t accept the dark corner I’ve been relegated to when we’re in public. It doesn’t work for me.
We—our dynamic—doesn’t work.
That’s not entirely true; we work, just under very specific guidelines. Our chemistry is crazy hot. The kind of hot normally reserved for make-believe and fantasy. The kind of hot that is soul consuming. That inspires you to want grand, unnecessary gestures like leaving everything and everyone. For him, I’d forget the world and bask in every touch and every moment I was blessed to have him. It’s not the sex. Okay, I’m going to keep it one hundred, it’s not just the sex, but I can fuck anyone.
Adam is bright colors thrown on a white canvas and out of those colors emerge vibrant images of us together, in public, with vows, and rings, and all the mundane shit that comes with being one part of a whole.
I’ve never seen my future more clearly or understood with crushing certainty that the future I see isn’t mine to have. Maybe it was never mine to ask for.
Part of a whole. I wince at the unexpected ache in my chest that comes at the thought of Adam as my other half. How would that look? I feel a grin tug at the corners of my lips. I bet he’d be super protective, trying to control everything, even when I’m the battle-tested marine. I run my hand on the smooth golden patch of skin visible around the sheets.
My man, so fucking sweet.
In the gray light of predawn I can still hide from the reality of us, but as it always does, the sun will eventually hit its apex, and we can’t withstand the light of those rays.
I have to let him go.
No, I have to be okay with letting him go.
Every atom, every cell in my body rebels, stages a mutiny that has my heart pounding, the muscles in my arms flexed with the violent urge to fight for this, for him.
Deep down with a knowledge untaught or influenced by anything other than common human decency and complete adoration, I know that Adam needs time. Time away from me to learn how to be the
man of his own volition in a world that demands he conform.
So, I’m going to take these last minutes to admire the night’s growth of whiskers that darkens his jaw and the long ridge of his nose. Because he’s here and beautiful to me, and I can’t control the urge, I slide my fingers through the variegated strands that make up his blond hair. Even in his sleep he turns toward me, seeking my heat, needing to be close.
But he’s not mine.
That’s the crux of us, right? He’s content to keep me in the shadows and I need his light. It’s easy to let it go when I have him in my bed, his scent staining my sheets, his body possessing mine, our sensual sounds filling my ears, but when we step outside of us, it’s hard to ignore reality. He’s closeted in an unforgiving industry. He finds shame, not pride, however tentative, between us. I let my smile drop. Reality is a chilly bitch, and in the case of Adam and me, she’s brutal.
Our whole situation is a noose at the end of a long rope.
I creep out of the bed, hop in the shower, and quickly dress. When I come back into the room Adam is still sound asleep, curled on his side, his hand tucked under the pillow on my side of the bed. I stand there for a moment taking him in, his long dark lashes fanned on his cheeks, full lips slightly open, and his lean body relaxed and graceful. This is the only time I see him like this, stress-free and unguarded.
Don’t be a pussy, Seth. Wake him up. Tell him you’re leaving.
Approaching the bed, I drop one knee on the mattress and lean over to press my lips to his. “Bye, baby.” His lips twist a little but he remains under.
If he wakes up, if he looks at me with those bottomless blue eyes and asks me to stay, I will and that isn’t right for either one of us. I straighten up, grab the duffel where I dropped it by the foot of the bed, and with one more backward glance I leave.
Adam
I run my hand across the mattress and come up with nothing but cool air and even colder sheets.
He’s gone. I don’t have to open my eyes to confirm it, but I do anyway. And yep . . . he’s not here. From my position on the bed I have a view of the entire room, from the bathroom with its open door and dimmed interior to the closet now empty and seemingly cavernous.
Why not wake me? Why not say good-bye?
Shit, it was my intention to wake him up with a very special good morning.
I shouldn’t be pissed, right? This is what we do. Stolen nights. Lonely mornings. Leave before anyone can see, before photos are taken and tweets are sent. Keep it private and hidden. He was just following our M.O. So why does his leaving this time feel like rejection?
Because this is rejection. After last night I thought we’d turned a corner and were finally easing into greener pastures. Apparently, that vision was limited to my side of the fence.
The lightness I felt when I closed my eyes to sleep is nowhere to be found. A wariness at his absence, at the role I’ve played in my own unhappy ending, makes my body sluggish. Slow to respond to my mind’s requests to stand, get dressed, and return to my own room.
With stiff legs and a sore body, I make my way to the door. I look one time around the room. I take in the drawn curtains, the neutral carpet, the generic white sheets that hold our combined scents and smell like sweat, and sex, and lust, and love. The rumpled comforter that, up until I got out of bed, still held the heat from our bodies. This room is a standard hotel room. Nothing over the top or extravagant. In a couple of hours, the maid will come in. She’ll wipe down the surfaces, change the sheets, and remake the bed. She’ll never have a clue that this room was the stage for one of the best nights of my life.
I open the door, step outside, and wait until it closes behind me with a thud. I shut in last night’s memories and this morning’s disappointment. I wish . . . so many things. I wish I had handled things differently between us. That I had never set the precedent it was okay to leave my bed without a proper good-bye. I wish words came to me as easy as the sex, and I could look him in the eye and express emotion, genuine emotion, that didn’t start with my tongue in his mouth or finish with my hands on his body. Lord knows he has a beautiful body, but that heart though. That’s what gets me every single time.
My mind immediately flashes to a couple of hours ago when he gazed at me with tenderness and understanding.
“Deeper,” he had said.
An involuntary shiver shakes my shoulders. That’s exactly what he gave me. Sex that transformed to lovemaking. Lovemaking that connected two bodies but also intertwined two people, two hearts. Two hearts that, for at least a couple of hours, carried the same beat, the same hurried rhythm, and the singular intention of going deep.
His absence this morning is an open gash bleeding out regret. Oh, I don’t regret following him from the reception and seducing him on this walkway. Not at all. I regret I ever made him feel like we weren’t worth good-byes and early morning kisses.
My room is one of the bungalows on the other side of the resort and it’s slow going. I’m deliciously sore in all the right places, but I embrace it as evidence for one night he was mine again. I’m strolling like an old man. Navigating these winding paths with half attention when I hear the hushed voices of two people trying to argue without being heard. I stop short when Dan comes into view.
From my position he can’t see me, but I can clearly see him. He looks like he hasn’t slept all night. The rumpled linen shirt from last night’s wedding, long, dark hair flowing down his back tell me this.
I pause midstep, not wanting to interrupt what is quickly escalating into one hell of a kiss.
He breaks away from his partner, whispering something that I can’t hear, and to disentangle himself from his lover’s arms, but she pulls him back in. She raises up on tiptoes, tangling her hands in his long, dark hair and draws his lips back to hers. He resists for maybe a nanosecond, not even that long.
Then he backs her up against the wall, bringing one of her finely muscled leg around his waist, and I take that moment to move as fast as my body will allow toward my room. It’s only when I’m steps from my door it strikes me who the woman is.
What the . . . ?
I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that woman was Jessica Johnson. Sin’s super young, have-no-business-messing-with-a-grown-ass-man-that-is-almost-ten-years-her-senior sister-in-law. Jessica Johnson, heiress to the Johnson gaming empire. If Jake finds out, that shit is a wrap. We may never find Dan’s body.
I enter my room with its view of the ocean and unused bed with the sheets politely turned down by the hotel staff and immediately wish I could go back to the other room.
But I can’t.
Maybe that’s the universal message I’m supposed to be learning. You don’t always get a second chance. No matter how much you love, how much you want, how many of the wrongs you attempt to right. Sometimes you can never go back.
I let that thought percolate but no, I call bullshit on that one.
I’m going back. Maybe not to the room but definitely to that man. I just gotta figure out a way to get him to open the door when I get there.
Seth
“When did you get home, mijo?” my mom asks, running a hand over the closely cropped strands of my hair.
“Just a little bit ago. I want to see you and Pop before I head up north.”
She pulls the pink robe that has seen better days tighter and reties the belt at her waist. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then come in the kitchen and keep me company while I get breakfast going.”
Just like I did as a young boy, I follow my mom into the kitchen, perch on one of the old stools at the kitchen counter, and watch as she starts to take ingredients out of the fridge.
“How was the wedding? Good?”
I nod. “Sin and Jake seem really happy. His mother didn’t show up, but other than that it was good.”
“His mother didn’t show up?” she asks stunned. If she’d ever met Danielle Johnson she wouldn’t be. I think t
hat woman could enter the bowels of hell and walk out with the crown.
“She doesn’t think they should be together.”
“But Sinclair is such a sweetheart. Did I tell you she sent me flowers on my birthday? She remembered even when my own son forgot.” I roll my eyes because she reminds me every chance that she gets.
“She doesn’t think Sin is . . . Sin isn’t like Jake. His family has money and influence back in Vegas. I think his mom wanted him to end up with someone more like her.”
“I can understand that. When you told me and your dad you were gay, it took us time to adjust our vision for your life.” I’d never heard that. From my perspective it seemed like they took it all in stride. I’d never felt anything but acceptance from my parents and rock-solid love.
“We talked about the fact that we may never have grandbabies that share our features, or at that time a wedding to attend. We struggled with knowing your path would be difficult, and your sexuality would make it that much harder.”
She wrinkles her nose in distaste and pulls a mixing bowl from the cabinet, setting it on the counter. She then reaches into the egg carton to pulls out four eggs and cracks them on the bowl. She takes out a large chopping knife and a plastic board and slides them across the counter toward me.
“Start with the ham and then bell pepper.”
“I know, Ma.”
“He knows?” She looks up at the ceiling. “This is why my omelets have no distinct flavor when he helps. Dios mio.” Her eyes drop back down to mine, laughter in their depths.
Meaningfully with big movements, I make a show of pulling out the ham and placing it on the chopping board.
“Anyway, back to what I was saying. You already had a hard road as a child whose momma is Mexican and whose daddy is black. We didn’t know where you would fit, if you’d be accepted. The world out there isn’t like the one in this house. We never wanted you to have to choose one culture over the other.”
Exquisitely Hidden: A Sin City Tale Page 22
