by V. L. Locey
Fade In
A Tales of Bryant Romance
V.L. Locey
Will Devon and Caiden discover that their new love is a wrap after the filming ends?
Weddings, champagne, and slow dancing. It’s a lethal combination and one that has led film student Devon Maxwell into one awkward predicament. Brought in at the last minute to help his friends Isamu and Brian during their Bryant Park wedding, Devon was not prepared for Caiden Dell to sweep into his life. The spark of attraction between him and the hip film executive was instantaneous. That spark led them right into Caiden’s big bed for a night of pleasure that Devon will never be able to duplicate no matter how many takes life gives him.
To make things even more complicated, Caiden offers the recently vacated job of office intern to him. He’d be a fool to turn down an offer to work at Budgie in the Dell, the hottest LGBT film production company in the Big Apple. Looks as if Devon’s hopes of working in film are about to come true. He’s ready for days filled with tiring shoots, long hours, and irate actors. He just never dreamed his nights would overflow with passion, laughter, and whispers shared with a gorgeous, older lover.
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Fade In – A Tales of Bryant Romance
Copyright © 2019 V.L. Locey
First E-book Publication: January 22, 2020
Cover design by Meredith Russell
Edited by Rebecca Cartee
All cover art and logo copyright © 2019 Meredith Russell
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PUBLISHER: V.L. Locey
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Contents
Acknowledgments
Fade In
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
A note from the author…
Meet V.L. Locey
Other books by V.L. Locey
Acknowledgments
To my family who accepts me and all my foibles and quirks. Even the plastic banana in my holster.
To my alphas, betas, editors, and proofers who work incredibly hard to help me make my books the shiniest we can make them.
To Rachel who helps keep me on time, in line, and reasonably sane.
If you want to keep up with all the latest news about my upcoming M/M releases, sign up for my newsletter by visiting my website:
http://vlloceyauthor.com/
Chapter One
Great. The damn call had been lost.
I looked up from my phone to the man in the mirror. It was me, but a sexed-out version of me and that sexed-out part of me was the major issue. I’d just fucked Caiden Dell. My friend Isamu’s boss and owner of Budgie in the Dell Films. A man I’d met just today. Well, I guess it was yesterday now since it was today. Not that the time particulars mattered…
Now I was hiding in his cavernous bathroom making phone calls to someone who was on their honeymoon. What kind of loser did something like that? As if Isamu gave two shits about my questionable morals and choices. He was off being married to Brian Gilles, the man who had broken a thousand male hearts when he’d said ‘I Do’ less than twenty-four hours ago. I glanced down at my cell, wondering if I should just call an Uber and make the dash of shame. There would be no walking. Nope, it would be a sprint of shame. Caiden was probably sleeping it off—it being the champagne and the sex. Christ, but it had been incredible sex. His ass was so—
“Everything okay?” Caiden’s voice right behind me startled me. I fumbled my phone, catching it just before it hit the gray marble sink. My gaze flew to the mirror. Yes, fuck, he was still as gorgeous as he had been when I’d slipped from his side. He was shorter than me by about four inches, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in personality, drive, and pure talent. Oh, and looks. The man was jaw-droppingly hot. And I was staring, open-mouthed, grasping my phone like a lifeline. “You’ve been in here for twenty minutes talking to Isamu and then yourself.”
I lowered my eyes, turned, and found his bare feet. Nice feet. Neatly tended. A recent pedicure obviously given how the nails were buffed to a nice shine. I wished I had clothes on. My eyes roamed upward. Okay, so my lack of clothes wasn’t a huge issue. Caiden had pulled on this short blue satiny smoking jacket sort of robe but hadn’t bothered to tie it so his dick was swinging free. I wet my lips. He had a great dick, fat with a nice curve upward. Not as long as mine but far girthier. He manscaped as well as took care of his feet. Maybe all at the same salon?
“Are you having regrets?” His voice was deep, gentle. I shook my head, ripping my gaze from his flaccid cock to look into his Kelly green eyes. Eyes that saw the world through the magical lens of film. Imaginative eyes. Artistic eyes. Beautiful eyes.
“No, I’m just…processing,” I lied. He slid a hand up my chest, his fingers splaying over my throat then slipping around to rest on my nape. “I don’t usually do this.”
“Hide in the bathroom after a great fuck and whisper to your friend aka my employee?” He pulled me down to his mouth. I didn’t put up a fight. Why would I? His tongue lapped at my lips, seeking entry, which I gave him with a soft sigh of submission. My cock began to plump up as he sucked on my tongue while fondling my ass. When the kiss broke I was wobbly and breathless and hard as a phone pole. Caiden shrugged his old-fashioned robe off, baring himself totally, before easing around me to lay over the bathroom counter. “Or fuck power bottoms?”
“Both,” I admitted and turned slowly, my gaze dropping from the image of myself and my blown-out pupils to his back and ass. “I…the champagne and the dancing…” My feeble excuses dissipated as my eyes skittered along his spine down the crack of his ass. There was still lube smeared over his cheeks from round one. My dick throbbed with need. I reached out with a finger to touch his pucker. He groaned, rolled his hips, then grabbed my hip.
With a jerk, my cock was resting between his ass cheeks. “Honesty is a good quality so stop trying to put your sexual choices on dancing and bubbly. You came here because you wanted to fuck me. And now you want to fuck me again. I want you to fuck me again. So, find the lube over there by the mousse, boot up, and get inside me.”
“You’re really push
y,” I muttered, knocking cans of hair care products to the floor in my mad quest to find the lube and condoms.
“It’s my job. The condoms are in the second drawer.”
“Right.” Lube in hand, I yanked the second of three drawers open. My eyes flared when they touched on the dildos, beads, vibrators, and cock rings. Oh, and a massive box of condoms. Fuck. I was lucky to get laid once every six months. This man was buying Trojans by the lot. “And here I thought directors ran the show.”
He scoffed then flattened himself more tightly to the counter, spreading his legs even wider. Rolling the condom on with such big, goofy fingers was challenging.
“If you ever need to ascertain who’s the most important, simply think about who gets the Oscar. Is it the director? Use lots of lube…yeah, nice, no, don’t use your fingers, work it into me with your dick. Ah shit, Devon.”
Hands on his hips, I slid into him, pausing to catch my breath and to let the lightning dancing around the base of my spine slack off. How could I be so close to blowing a nut when we’d just fucked not an hour ago? He was molten inside though, tight and slick. And the sounds he made and his firm commands were the hottest fucking thing ever.
“Balls to skin, yeah. Shit, yeah. Producers get the Oscar. Seems a film student would know these things. Fuck me. Harder, yes, yes…” His fingers dug into my thighs, his nails scoring my skin. I pounded away, balls slapping skin, grunting with the impact of each thrust. “Faster, Devon, faster.”
He was in charge so I did as told. I fucked him so hard the mirror on the wall was thumping. His stomach squeaked across the counter with every rock of my hips. Sweat ran into my eyes, and I was a whisker away from coming when he called for a change of scenery.
“My belly hurts, bed, in the bed,” he panted as I withdrew and reached for him. He spun, slung his arms around my neck, and climbed up over me, his mouth slanting over mine as he worked to wrap his legs around my waist. My cockhead bounced against his hole as I walked and kissed us back into the bedroom. When my knees hit the side of the King-sized mattress, I lowered him down, my dick driving back into him when I fell over him.
“Fuck, oh fuck,” he gasped, arching up to get more. I didn’t have any more, but I did have a little more stamina so I went to town. Hips moving like a mad piston, my head lowered, I fucked Caiden with everything I had and then some. He shot all over himself a moment later, his fist a blur on his cock. The tightening of his muscles around me as he came set off that tickle in my balls. A flare of pleasure and sparks went off at the base of my spine. He curled around me, yanking me downward, his mouth crushing against mine as I rocked into him one final time.
“Grind, grind, yeah, ah yes,” he huffed, moving from my mouth to my neck where he sucked so hard it made me wince. That jolt of soft pain added to the orgasm. I came so hard and for so long I was worried I might blackout so I withdrew. Caiden moaned at the loss, rolled me to my back, and kissed me over and over. “Jesus you’re an incredible lay.”
He dropped down over me like a firm, sweaty man blanket.
“I can’t feel my fingers or toes,” I coughed out weakly. He chuckled against my throat then slithered off me and flopped to his back. The room was dark, the only light a thin strip of streetlight glow sneaking around the closed blinds.
“That’s the sign of a good fuck or a stroke,” he countered, his breathing ragged and rough just as mine was. “You take direction well. Want to do this again some time?”
I stared at the dark ceiling. “Sure, yeah, that would be awesome.” I went to sit up. His hand on my arm stalled me.
“You don’t have to leave.” I felt stupid and awkward and incredibly young right now. Young and naïve in comparison to the older man beside me.
“I probably should. I have to work tomorrow.” I didn’t move even though my mouth was saying I should.
“So Babette bakes on Sundays?”
Shit, yeah, I’d forgotten it was Sunday. “We open at noon.”
“Then you can hang around a while longer. I’ll drive you to work. We’ll do breakfast.” He rolled to face me, his hand moving from my arm to my chest. His fingertip deftly traced a stiff nipple. I bit down on my lower lip to keep the whimper of pleasure from escaping. “We’ll make a night out of it, in celebration of Isamu and Butthole’s wedding.” I thought to argue because my whole ‘I was tipsy and caught up in the romance of the day’ excuse was pretty much already shot in the ass with my second load—which had just been shot in his ass. A third time would just make me a slut. He pinched the nipple he’d been teasing, then found it with his tongue. My dick stirred, just a little, but enough to cement my slutdom firmly in place.
“Okay, let’s do breakfast,” I replied, moving to pin him to the bed, arms over his head, and kiss him until we were both rutting and grunting against each other like feral hogs. Yes, I was a slut. A terribly slutty boy from the Midwest. My parents would curl up and die if they ever found out just how far their only son had fallen into gay depravity as they coined it. Caiden pumped his dick into my belly, snapping me from the memories. I was thankful, so I showed him just how grateful I was by following his directions to the tee for the third time that night.
Waking up in a strange bed was always confusing, but this morning was a double batch of confusion topped with embarrassment and a sprinkle of body aches. Not just my head, which could be blamed on the champagne that I hate but drank gallons of anyway. My thigh muscles felt like I’d run a marathon, my lower back was stiff, and my calves were tight. Even my dick was a little sore. Moving to my side, I blinked at the muted sunlight streaming into the cool blue and gray master bedroom. The space where Caiden had slept was cool to the touch. His pillow still smelled of dark spices that made my lashes flutter back down just for a second.
I sat up, the smooth sheets and thin summer blanket puddling in my lap. My eyes touched on the walls first: old movie posters and brightly-colored oils adorned the walls. The drapes were long and smoky, the carpet a silvery-blue that matched the bedding. Bedding that was a knotted ball of fine cotton dotted with dried semen. Moving took me a few tries. I limped into the master bath, the lube and empty condom wrapper lying in the sink where it had been tossed last night.
“God, I’m a slut,” I sighed, stepping up to the toilet to piss.
“Morning.” I glanced back at Caiden resting on the doorjamb in that untied smoking jacket of his. He was so sexy, so male, so confident and mature. Everything I wasn’t. “Feel free to shower, then we’ll go up top for breakfast. Luis is working on some crepes.”
“Uhm, okay.” I gave him a feeble smile. He gave me a wink in return and padded off to other parts of his condo. I recalled nothing of his home from last night. I’d been too intent on him, his mouth, his hands cupping my balls as he steered me through the darkened apartment to his bedroom. The shower was a big glass-walled sort of walk-in thing. It was seriously as big as the place I was jokingly calling my apartment. There were four heads that roared to life with blasts of hot water. Hot water that lasted through the entire shower. Back home I had to set my alarm to beat the Korean restaurant above me using all the hot water for their industrial dishwasher. Steam coated the glass doors. I lathered, rinsed, dallied, and lathered once again. Then I shampooed, inhaling the dark spice scent that Caiden carried on his skin. When I couldn’t justify it any longer, I turned off the water, toweled off, and went in search of my clothes. They were nowhere to be found in the bedroom. Not that I was in a hurry to get back into them. They’d been some sort of loaner stuff from Adrian the wedding planner, who may just be the gayest man I have ever met. The blue shirt had been too tight, and the pants a little too short and clingy in the crotch, but they were all I had. My work clothes were in Adrian’s van, which was who knew where.
I peeked into the hall, a towel around my waist. Using my fingers as a comb, I tiptoed down the corridor, past images of Caiden with other people, some famous actors, some probably family members, and one an incredibly handsome dark-skinned
man who was kissing Caiden on the cheek at a beach.
“Hello there, you look peachy clean!” I jumped, spun, and came nose to nose with a lanky Latino man wearing black-framed glasses, a twirled up green hair-do, a nose ring, and an apron. I prayed he had something on under the checkered apron. “I am Luis, Mr. Caiden’s personal chef and housekeeper. If you follow me, I’ll lead you up.” He twirled around. He did have shorts on; they were short shorts, pink as my cheeks, and tight as a second skin. I caught the flash of an anklet and several toe rings. “My name is Luis Dutan. Mostly Mr. Caiden is for pretty men of older faces, but I tell him many times young men is better. More tiger in the tank!”
His hips swayed like buildings on a fault line and his hands flew around his head. Maybe Adrian Pontimore had competition for the gayest man in Manhattan after all. Were we still in Manhattan? I’d been so absorbed in trying to swallow Caiden’s tongue on the ride home, I could be in Jersey now. God, I hoped not. I followed him to a small spiral staircase.
“Up you go! Tell himself I find you clothes, and the crêpes will be coming in two minutes.” He waved a hand at the stairs just like Vanna White waved her hand at a vowel. “Go ahead now, pretty boy!”
“Thanks.” I cinched the knot on my hip tighter and climbed the stairs, hand gliding over the wrought-iron railing. Luis was giggling like a madman below me. When I got to the top, I was in a small foyer with a wooden door. Pushing the door open, I stepped out onto a rooftop garden. The sun was bright. The sky robin’s egg blue. And Caiden was seated at a small table amid large potted plants that moved in the early morning breeze. There was a blonde woman sitting with him. A small nugget of fear ignited in my belly. The man wasn’t married, was he? And yes, we were still in Manhattan. I could see the Flat Iron Building in the distance.
