The house is quiet apart from the sound of waves rolling against the shore. I consider donning my wet suit, the slick material totally functioning as a disguise, and leaping into the water for an evening swim.
But the energy that soars through me won’t be relieved by swimming through the salty ocean. The slender palm trees that jut out, thrusting into a dark blue sky unmarred by clouds, are beautiful, but looking at them won’t shift my mind from the thoughts that race through. Nor, I’m afraid, will looking at the women that strut along the beach this time of evening in flowing maxi dresses, their skin smelling of coconut body lotion and their hair of the salty water.
I stride to the window and shut it with a bang. I pull the curtains down and then remember I better press the button that will close the blinds shut as well. The whirring sound of the blinds causes my cock to twitch. It knows what’s coming next, and I make my way to my desk. I unplug my laptop and carry it to my bed. My heart plummets down even as my cock hardens and expands.
Maybe it’s experimentation. Maybe it’s like people watching porn of women with big breasts, even though they might not actually want their wives to have breasts as big as their heads.
But the reasoning seems flawed, and I can only push it aside with the excitement that I have privacy now. I’m not on tour, I’m not in the studio, I’m not making small talk with Caleb about the beautiful babes. Not that we’ve been doing any of the latter lately. Not since he came out.
And maybe I will need to come out.
I’m in my room in an almost empty house. The walls are thick, and Mom’s bedroom is far away anyway.
I flick my laptop open and scramble onto my bed. I double-click the icon to the internet and slide my pants off, flinging them across the room. My hands grasp onto my cock, and I give it a tug.
I moan and allow myself to be swept away with the sensation. Sweat dampens my t-shirt, and I lift my torso off my bed to remove it. I run my fingers down my chest. I’m built, and the women I’ve slept with—groupies I met on tour—have adored it, licking and sucking on my hard planes, moving their tongues down my firm stomach to my cock.
But it’s not them I’m thinking about now. It’s not their long, flowing hair, their curvy figures and full breasts, or any of the other things I know I should be thinking about. Should be fantasizing about.
No. The images that dance across my mind, slicing through any more appropriate thoughts, are all male.
All hard male.
I open my bookmarks folder and make my way through several innocuously titled folders until I reach the one I want. The images I crave appear before me, and I flick the lights of my room off. Remote controlled lights have their uses.
The screen lights up with images of men. Their husky voices groan and murmur to one another, and I scroll until I find a new video that interests me. My cock is rock-hard now, and pre-cum drips onto my stomach, filling the air with a musky, masculine scent.
My legs fidget, and my cock aches with the need to be touched. I tell myself I should leave, find some other kind of porn, but instead I grab hold of my shaft and slide my fingers down it. A jolt of electricity soars through me, and each cell of my body seems to perk up. I’m tempted to jerk off quickly, to release the tension that swirls inside of me, a tension that only seems to grow stronger, unbearably so.
Brawny bodies and deep voices seem to have a direct line that goes straight to my cock.
The video fills the screen, and I bite my lower lip. One of the guys has dirty blond hair, but it’s the other tattooed guy that my eyes feast on. His spiky hair and the way his muscles bulge fascinate me in a way that they shouldn’t. And I moan when he pushes the blond onto the bed.
The room in the video is dimly lit, the carpet cheap, and the red-and-green striped floral curtains remind me of something from the nineties.
It’s nothing like the fancy parties I go to with Caleb and the rest of the crew, where we accompany well-dressed women in designer clothes.
My whole mind focuses on the tattooed man, and I run my fingers over my body, my actions more frantic at the sound of the rapid breathing and moaning on screen, before I grasp hold of my cock again. The blond sucks the tattooed man’s cock, and my mouth salivates at the thought of one day doing the same thing. The tattooed man flips the other man over and licks his way down to the man’s ass. He widens the guy’s cheeks, and I moan at the pink flesh of his hole. I’m not sure if it’s the thought of one day seeing someone else’s hole or the thought of large, strong hands squeezing my buttocks and spreading them open that makes me desperate with need, but I’m squirming on the bed.
I suck my finger and drop my hand lower. I’ve never done this before, but suddenly I can’t stand another moment of not doing this.
The tattooed man holds his cock at the camera, and my teeth press into my bottom lip as I contemplate his size and firmness. I want to run my fingers against the velvety surface, and I want to lick the pre-cum and test if it is as salty as mine.
Instead, I press my finger against the crinkly ridge and move it experimentally up and down as I stroke my shaft.
It’s awesome.
My blood pulses, and my whole mind focuses on the delicious sensations. The sounds from the video drive me on, and I cup my balls before pressing my finger more firmly against my entrance. I shiver as I slide my finger in. I thrust in and out, timing the movements of my finger to the fucking on screen. My breath is heavy, and my heart races, but there’s nowhere I need to go, just everything about myself I need to explore.
Masculine bodies fill my mind, and when I come, it’s hard.
I wonder at how I’ve never done that before, though at the same time my chest tenses.
I’m gay, I say to myself. Gay and closeted and not the man whom everyone claims to know. Not the boy next door, the clean-cut rock star whose face decorates thousands of girls’ lockers according to the teen magazine editors who interview me.
The pleasure I’ve experienced melts away, leaving me with a feeling of shame. My hand is sticky, and I scramble to clean myself. I pad to the marble bathroom that adjoins my bedroom. My eyes close when I return to the bed, too heavy now to do much of anything, and it’s all I can do to close the screen and place my expensive laptop on the expensive carpet in my expensive house.
I groan as I remember I promised Brad I would hang out with my attractive new stepbrother tomorrow. I can do this, I tell myself. I turned myself into a rock star. What’s the worst that can happen in one day at the beach?
Chapter Five
Alec
My mobile phone buzzes, and I snap it open.
Dad hates that I still have a phone from five years ago, but the thing works fine.
“Morning, Alec.” Ezra’s velvety voice is seductive, even if the man would probably be horrified to think I thought so. His best friend might be gay and out, but I’ve seen Ezra on the cover of tabloids accompanied with leggy women, famous in their own right, too often to imagine it’s true of him.
“So you wanna join me at the beach?” Ezra asks.
My throat dries as I envision Ezra swaggering around in swim trunks. “Absolutely.”
“Great!” His voice wobbles though, and I rub my hand through my hair. This is so not a good idea. “Actually, um . . .”
“You busy?” Ezra asks.
The back of my neck prickles. None of my dad’s genes for lying made their way to me, and I squirm underneath my covers. My morning wood bumps against the sheet, and I resist the urge to give it a quick stroke when Ezra is on the phone, even though every note of his sultry voice begs me to do so.
“Not busy exactly . . .” I just don’t want to go. I don’t think spending time with a man whose mother my dad hopefully won’t marry is good.
“Come on. It’s gorgeous outside. And ever since Caleb and Mateo hooked up, they’ve been much less fun to hang out with.”
“Right.” I scratch the back of my neck. Dad will want me to go, and I don’t have a good excuse
not to. “What the hell.”
“My house?” Ezra asks.
I snort and look around the shabby furniture in Dad’s apartment. I would bet a grand that Dad’s never brought Angela here. I don’t know how he gets around it, but the man is just that charming. “Sure, buddy.”
“Cool. See you later, dude.” Ezra’s voice sounds forced, as if he’s not feeling as jovial as he sounds. I bite my lip. No wonder. He’s probably not eager to get a new brother either. He probably values his privacy. Even if Dad does seem to have fooled everyone by thinking we’re some sort of glamorous family in our own right.
I lift my torso up and tap my fingers against the wall. I wish I could tell Ezra and Angela everything, but my dad is still my dad, and I’m not going to do anything that could get him in trouble with the law. I owe him that much.
I’m the reason Dad never got a proper career. He’s always been good to me, and he was good to Mom. I can’t imagine doing anything to send him to jail. It would break Mom’s heart if she knew, not that she ever could.
No, if Angela cancels the wedding, it has to be for a completely different reason. An idea rises in my mind, and for the first time since last night, I smile. I stretch my hands over my head, and energy rushes through my body. I’m ready to tackle the world.
Things might not be so bad after all.
***
Ezra
When the doorbell rings, I know Alec has arrived. I glance in the mirror before I head from my room, even though I know my hair will soon be completely destroyed, drying in all sorts of directions and smelling of the ocean.
This is my first time hanging out with Alec, and my heartbeat races just enough to make me uneasy.
It’s my first time hanging out with my stepbrother-to-be, I remind myself. Perfectly normal to feel a twinge of nerves. This day needs to go right. I don’t want to experience awkward Christmases and Thanksgivings in the future because the man thinks I’m a stuck-up celebrity.
Alec’s back is turned to me when I enter the room. Or rather, he’s leaning down, reading a magazine on the counter. His backpack is army camouflage, as if he would be totally fine with trudging into the jungle and shooting people. His clothes are plain and tough looking.
Nothing like the designer clothes that get sent to the house in droves, everyone anxious to see me wearing their clothes. Not that I don’t buy lots of clothes myself, but there is a certain irony that once I don’t have any money troubles, I get free stuff delivered straight to me.
My eyes drop to his butt, only natural because his jeans definitely belong to the skinny variety. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, but it’s tight, revealing taut, well-formed back muscles. His arms are tan, and his tattoo is on display, adorning his muscular arms.
His hair is spiky. Definitely not just brown hair. And once again I fight the urge to run my fingers through the butterscotch strands, and his eyes—
I swallow hard. When did he turn around? Heat rushes to my face.
“Thought I heard you.” Alec leans against the counter, the picture of nonchalance and—sexiness. “How are things?”
“G-good.” I frown. I never stutter. Singers aren’t the type of people to do that. I inhale. “Ready to go?”
“Just about.” Alec stretches his arms out. His pecs are as well-shaped as every other part of him. I press my lips together. Nope, not going to lick them. Don’t need to do that. And don’t need Alec to misconstrue anything. I rub my hand through my hair. Part of me wishes Caleb had never met Mateo. Caleb was my best friend, and he ran off with the publicity manager. Caleb’s happy—deliriously so—and it’s obvious now that he wasn’t happy before.
Normally, I would just go to the beach with Caleb, and now . . . well, now there’s a big empty gap in my life throwing me off edge.
“So you want us to go swim in front of your house?”
I shake my head. ” Let’s go farther up the coast. Too crowded there.”
Suddenly, I want to be where no one else can see me. I sort of wish Brad hadn’t been so insistent I take his son swimming. I settle down onto the sofa and sprawl out. Maybe I’m going to too many lengths to appear absolutely, completely relaxed in front of Alec. “Um . . . maybe you can’t do a long trip though? Totally understand if you can’t. It’s the fame thing—it’s a pain, really.”
My voice may sound a tiny bit hopeful, and something flickers in Alec’s eyes. I know he’s thinking about backing out.
Finally, Alec shakes his head. “Far away is cool. I should see more of California.”
I lift my torso up. “Right, you’re from Kentucky. Tell me about it? Are people as wealthy and into horses as Brad says?”
Alec’s face darkens for a moment. “You got it.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together, but Alec removes his keys from his pocket. “Your car or mine? And by that I mean Dad’s.”
“Yours is probably less conspicuous,” I say. For some reason, I don’t want the paparazzi to see me alone with a handsome guy. Maybe it will be different once our parents marry. Any tension will disappear. We’ll just be one big happy family, I will totally be over my strange pornography choices, maybe moving on to something less controversial, like BDSM, and everything will be great.
Alec shrugs. “I’ll put the top up for you.”
He slings his leather jacket over his shoulder and saunters out the door. I grab my things and follow him out.
I’m usually the person driving. Caleb’s so English; he doesn’t have the urge to drive like most others do. I regret not driving almost immediately. I don’t know what to do with my hands, and every time Alec shifts gear—the man is driving a stick—my eyes shift to his hand. I’ve already memorized the exact color of his tan, the length of his fingers, and the way the light catches the dark hairs on the back of his hand, as if begging me to stroke it.
I fumble with the radio.
When we arrive at a secluded cove, I practically fling myself into the water.
Alec follows me into the water, though he treads more gingerly into the ocean. My cock twitches even in the cold, rough water. I duck my head underwater, grateful when Alec follows suit and the way the sun hits his sculpted body is no longer on display.
Alec exits the water more quickly than I would have wanted and lays down on a white beach towel that makes his tan seem darker. I stay longer in the water, but guilt forces me out. This is my new stepbrother, I remind myself, and I need to build my relationship with him. My feet sink into the soft sand, as if preventing me from nearing him. He says danger to me in a way no one else has.
His black shirt and skinny jeans say bad boy. The other guys I meet tend to be fanboys, their eyes glazing over when I appear so that I know they’re not seeing me at all. I haven’t been to school since I was sixteen, never had the college experience. I don’t meet many people who aren’t celebrities or complete fans.
His eyes are shut, his lips turned up into a smile. My gaze drops to his body, and I tell myself I’m just comparing his muscles with mine, but I know I’m being foolish.
I don’t want to think about being gay. Caleb was lucky in a way; he found the perfect guy for himself, even if it took him getting amnesia to really understand that. If I came out . . . my mouth dries, and my fingers tremble as I settle onto the towel beside Alec. There would be no steady man to ease me through the process. I would be on my own in front of millions, battling interviews and increased paparazzi scrutiny. And the fans—they were good about Caleb, most of them, but I’m not sure the band could cope with having two gay members.
My mouth tightens into a line. Maybe I need to get laid again. The thought sounds more like a plea than anything else, and I groan when my body hits the towel.
Alec’s eyes flicker open, and he turns his body toward me. His chest gleams in the light, and his tattoo is visible, begging me to trace my fingers over it. I shut my eyes quickly.
“So what do you think about our parents getting together?” Alec asks.
I stiffen.
He’s going to be your stepbrother, my mind screams at me, and I squirm. My towel sinks farther into the sand as I consider all the close contact we’ll have when Brad and Alec move in. Maybe it really is time for me to leave home.
“Hmm?” he prompts me, and it takes me awhile to realize he wants an answer from me, and I can’t simply lie next to him and marvel at the sound of his deep voice.
I turn onto my stomach and shift my legs. Finally, I say, “They seem happy.”
“Your Mom had many boyfriends?”
My lips part, and I swivel my head toward him. “Um, no.”
“I see.”
But I don’t. “Why would you say that?”
“Curious.” Alec shrugs. How can watching his shoulders move be that hot?
My eyes narrow, but he continues speaking. “I wanted to know how serious she is.”
“Very serious. They’re getting married, Alec. We’re going to be family.”
“Right. But I don’t know much about her. Did she date a lot?”
I inhale. I don’t want to speak about my mother, and if it were any other person . . . but I remind myself that we’re going to be stepbrothers, going to be seeing a lot of each other, and maybe he should learn something about his new stepmom. I would rather he ask me than pester my mother about this.
I scramble up. “So my parents divorced six years ago. It was hard for my mom. California is expensive, you know. Not good for raising a family when you don’t have any job training, you know?”
Alec’s face pales. “I know exactly.”
I tilt my head at him. I think about Brad’s Harvard education and glamorous business job and don’t think Alec really can understand what it’s like to be so poor that you worry about every bill. Not that I’ll tell him that. “It was—well, my dad left us, and he didn’t pay us a cent, and . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Alec says.
I blink into eyes that seem to be filled with sympathy. “Thanks.”
My Stepbrother the Rock Star (Men of Midnight Dreams Book 2) Page 4
