“Oh, yeah. Subtlety has always been your specialty.” I grimaced. “And dear God, I hope my niece and nephew don’t ask to watch The Lion King anytime soon. I’m pretty sure Simba is ruined for me forever.”
“You’re no fun.” Paulie zigzagged his finger over my body. “I wasn’t going to mention it, considering I love you, but what is this getup you’re wearing? And don’t think I don’t know you chose the wolf face just so no one would know who you are.”
I didn’t even consider trying to deny it. Chances were low I’d run into someone I knew from Lavender Shores at my friend’s private party in his San Francisco mansion, but I wasn’t going to take the chance. Therapists were like preachers. People wanted to believe we were above such base desires. Even if I was a single gay man. Even if it was the beginning of Pride weekend. “I’m the wolf from Into the Woods.” I straightened my leather jacket. “And Danny Zuko from Grease.”
“Oh, sweet mother Patti LuPone. Grease? Why am I not surprised.” Paulie snatched my drink and placed it by his wine and began tugging off my jacket. I’d learned years ago to not fight him. “It’s bad enough that I had to stock pineapple juice for your ridiculous piña colada addiction, I refuse to have you pull a John Travolta. At least a boring one.” He yanked the sleeves off my arms. “Take off that ridiculous white T-shirt.”
“No, Paulie. I’m not going to stay. This was a mistake. Maybe next year.” I reached for my jacket.
He held it away, but the teasing had left his tone. “Donovan. I haven’t seen you in months. You can’t leave. You’re the one here who’s known me the longest.”
“Trying to tell me that I’m old.” I attempted levity.
“No, darling. If you’re old, I’m old.” He cocked a brow and pointed to my salt-and-pepper hair with his free hand. “Though one of us is quickly qualifying as a silver fox.” He grinned. “Which goes well with the wolf face, come to think of it.” He leveled his gaze at me. “Take off the damn shirt.”
I took it off. It was pointless to argue with Paulie, I wasn’t even sure why I tried.
He snatched my shirt, but gave me my jacket, which I put back on. “No matter what the gray might say, that body of yours could belong to a thirty-year-old.” Paulie ran a hand over my chest and down my stomach. “How is it you still don’t have a belly?” His gaze met mine, and there was a spark of longing.
If I didn’t know him so well, I wouldn’t have seen it. Maybe it was because we’d dated eons ago. Maybe it was my therapist abilities, but I saw it. And it stung. I also knew when he realized I’d noticed.
Paulie glanced over my shoulder, his gaze unfocused for a moment, then his eyes went wide. “Holy mother Patti LuPone indeed! I’ve found the man that’s going to take home my lion’s tail!”
Relieved to have his attention captured, I turned to see the poor guy who had no idea what he was in for. I spotted him instantly, though my shock made me take longer than it should’ve to turn back around. Connor Clark was a mountain of a man. Gorgeous, covered in equal measure with muscles and tattoos. Even though his face was painted green, he was easily discernible. Probably feeling my stare, he glanced my way. His eyes narrowed, he paused, checking out my body, then lifted his hazel eyes to mine again.
I whirled around and nearly hissed. “I thought you said no one from Lavender Shores was going to be here.”
Paulie still studied Connor. “That gorgeous hunk of meat is from Lavender Shores?”
“Yeah. And another member of a founding family.”
He rolled his eyes. “I swear that place is a cult with all its founding family bullshit.” His gaze traveled away, and I assumed he was watching Connor walk across the room. Thank God he wasn’t coming over to us. “I don’t know him, but I’m glad someone brought him. Now, I’m going to hunt that green-faced Elphaba down, see if he can’t help me hit the high note.”
I gripped Paulie’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t you dare. I don’t need anyone from Lavender Shores knowing I’m here right now.”
Paulie grimaced. “You know, for being a therapist, you’re a little self-absorbed. Trust me, darling, I don’t plan on bringing you up while I get into that man’s pants. And don’t worry, that stupid wolf face makes you unrecognizable. Even I wouldn’t have known it was you if you weren’t drinking a piña colada and had stick-in-the-mud written all over you.” He kissed my cheek, smacked my ass, and took off to hunt his man.
After a few moments of pretending to study the titles in the bookcase, I retrieved my drink from beside Paulie’s abandoned wine, and slowly turned around. Not seeing Paulie or Connor anywhere, I relaxed a bit. I spared a glance toward the lavish backyard. Elle and Elliot had vacated the area, thank God.
Despite the previously fucking couple and Paulie’s pursuit of Connor, the masquerade had yet to turn into true bathhouse quality. It was part of the reason I actually enjoyed attending the annual Pride kickoff party once in a while. On one hand, it was everything I stood against. Paulie’s crowd was the A-list of San Francisco gay’s A-list, but that very quality provided some safety. Lavender Shores, even if it was A-list, was a different monster entirely. And despite Connor’s presence, the two rarely crossed. And even by San Francisco standards, the guests were gay men of status. Lawyers, judges, politicians, actors, the Richie Riches of the city. Men who liked to get down and dirty just like the rest of us, but held fast to the “walls never talk” rule. This was a safe place to play and still be professional the next day.
I sipped my piña colada and indulged my natural state of being; I observed. While Lavender Shores didn’t lack for cash, even its largest homes had a cozy charm to them. Not here. Paulie’s mansion was decked in gold, marble, fur, and museum-quality art. And nearly all the costumed yet half naked men walking around, lounging on the expensive furniture, and pressing each other up against linen wallpaper, were just as exclusive. Not all with perfect bodies but each primped and plucked and pampered. And like every party I’d attended, most were unrecognizable behind masks and costumes.
This could’ve been my life. Twenty years ago I thought Paulie and I were going to be together forever. But Lavender Shores had called. Or at least a few of the people in it. And I’d been growing increasingly uncomfortable with Paulie’s and my open relationship. I didn’t have a problem with open relationships, in theory. Still didn’t. However, the idea of one appealed to me even less as I watched the beautiful men filling Paulie’s house, than it had all those years before.
But I was single. So very, very single. And the last time I’d had sex…. I started to think back and realized just how long it had actually been. Whoa. I’d be lucky if I even remembered what went where.
I should take the opportunity. It would be my only chance during Pride. I had to be back at Lavender Shores for the next two days. And I didn’t sleep around at home. Ever.
The idea left me feeling lonely. I couldn’t even label why. Maybe the thoughts of what could’ve been with Paulie all these years… no. No, that train of thought didn’t go happy places. Who knew why. Some therapist I was. Couldn’t even label the source of my own emotions. But I knew enough that I should listen to them.
With a sigh I left my spot by the bookcase, paused to grab Paulie’s wine, and took the glasses to the bar in the ballroom. Yeah, ballroom. Something the homes in Lavender Shores definitely didn’t have. I’d made the right decision moving home. Even if I didn’t feel like it in this very moment.
I considered trying to find Paulie before I left. He’d carried off my T-shirt. But if he’d convinced Connor to free him of his lion’s tail, then I needed to stay away. I could zip up my jacket and be fine. Hell, I could stop by a Target on my way home and pick up a shirt if I was that worried about it.
Actually, that wasn’t a half bad idea. I’d had a couple drinks. I could take a cab to purchase a shirt and by the time I was back, I’d be more than fine to make the hour drive back to Lavender Shores.
I was in the process of zipping up the jack
et and had almost made it to the front door when a man stepped in my path and put his hand on my chest. A white Phantom of the Opera mask covered half his face. The other side was striped tan, white, and black makeup and fur. Cat ears protruded from his dark brown hair. Phantom of the Opera and Cats. He was a walking Andrew Lloyd Webber wet dream. This was the man Paulie should be with. They were his favorite musicals. I hated everything Webber did.
My brain told my body to step around him. I was heading home. Well, I was going to sober up and head home. My body didn’t listen. And I was pretty sure the Phantom-Cat man’s body was to blame. Or maybe it was the cat portion, as I could swear he was giving off pheromones. Whatever was happening chemically was helped along by the sight of him. He wore a long black cape and black pants, but in between? Solid muscle, tan skin, completely hairless. Primped and plucked and pampered—and in this case, obviously waxed clean. Though I typically liked a man with a hairy chest like my own, there was something about the hidden face combined with the formal pants and the cape framing his body that made the smooth skin intoxicating.
Or maybe it was the touch of his hand on my chest.
It had been so long since I’d been touched. Though Paulie had put his hand to my chest in a similar way only minutes before, this was different. There was heat in this man’s touch, desire. And force. There wasn’t a request as he pushed against me with one hand and used his other to roam over my flat stomach. It was a demand.
Following his lead without even thinking about it, I stepped backward until my back hit the wall of the foyer. We were the only two people in the entrance, and I glanced out the oval glass of the front door. Dusk was falling, and I had no doubt that with the lighting of the house, we were completely visible from the street. The high-walled backyard was one thing, but a street show?
My hesitation was cut off as the man gripped both sides of the jacket, pulled it over my shoulders and down to my elbows, trapping my arms at my sides. Simultaneously, he lowered his head and captured my left nipple between his teeth, causing me to hiss. Then he released it and ran his tongue over my chest and up my neck.
Any chance I had at protesting vanished, not that there’d been a chance at all. I went slack against the wall, panting instantly.
His tongue trailed over my jawline, his breath hot against my skin. Roaming hands over my chest and stomach battled to pull my attention away from what his lips were doing. The heat between us nearly radiated. Every inch of my skin was on fire. My cock achingly full in my pants. My brain fuzzier than anything the rum was responsible for. He pulled away slightly and I thought he was going to kiss me. Wanted him to kiss me.
I swear he wanted the same thing, but he jerked away, then returned to my neck. The wolf prosthetic. Damn it. I’d forgotten. I started to reach up and rip it off my face, no longer caring if I was recognized, but my range of motion truly was limited by my jacket. I tried to jerk an arm free, but the man began fumbling with my belt and all thoughts of kissing the stranger flitted away. I let my head fall back against the wall and closed my eyes.
He fumbled with the belt and had to use both hands to unfasten it.
That lack of contact was enough to let my brain clear for a moment. I was leaving. I needed to leave. I remembered that much. Though I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.
His hands were back on me, but they didn’t feel right. The contact lost the heat it had mere moments before.
I looked down. Not his hands. Another man had joined us, one of his hands moving over my chest, the other stroking his erection. I shook my head, starting to protest, but I didn’t have the chance. The first man let go of my unfastened belt and lightly pushed the newcomer’s hands off me and shook his head.
“Come on, dude. Suck both of us off at the same time.” The man waggled his erection.
“No.”
I glanced down at the sound of the man’s voice. There was something familiar. Or maybe just a tone or tenor that called to me.
“It’s a sex party, asshole. Have some fun.” The other man reached out to touch me again, and I shook my head, still not able to move my arm.
“No. He said no.” I’d not really meant to say that. I’d meant to say no, but no to both of them. Just a no. But, again, my body wasn’t following any of my brain’s directions.
“Lame.” The man took a step back. “Then I’m going to watch.”
I didn’t care. It was enough that he’d stopped touching me. I looked down at the man on his knees. He didn’t look at me. “Keep going.”
Without waiting he unzipped my pants, pulled them down to my mid-thigh and then did the same with my underwear, trapping my legs as surely as my arms. I thought I heard him exhale a breath that sounded like awe at the sight of my cock, but it was cut off as he engulfed my dick in his mouth.
I let out a startled cry.
“Fuck yeah, dude. Take his big dick.”
I glared at the other man, having already forgotten he was there. Maybe I should’ve been thankful for him. Without him, I probably would’ve orgasmed the second the blowjob began.
The onlooker was eclipsed once more as the man at my feet began to bob up and down on my cock, running his tongue up my shaft, around my head, and then swallowing once more.
“Holy shit, yes.” God, it had been so long. Despite the distraction I wasn’t going to last long. I adjusted so that I was able to move my arm a bit and reached out, palming the man’s head, accidentally smashing one of the cat ears. I couldn’t feel where his glued-on cat fur ended and his hair began.
It didn’t matter, I held the back of his head as I began to thrust, fucking his face.
The man watching us continued to groan, making louder noises than either of us, and I was vaguely aware that he was jerking himself off.
I didn’t care. I looked down, watching my cock move in and out of those beautiful full lips. I wasn’t going last no matter how much I wanted to. Shit, I so didn’t want this to be over. I warned him, as much I didn’t want to do that either. “I’m about to come.”
Blue eyes met mine for the first time, and I saw recognition. He looked away before I could place it and increased his speed on my dick, making it clear he wanted my load.
The building orgasm captured me completely, taking away every thought. Of those blue eyes, of any melancholy Paulie had brought with him, of the man crying out his own orgasm a few feet away. I held the back of the man’s head still and tight against me as I thrust into his mouth. One time, then another. Then with a cry, I came. The orgasm surging through me with enough force that I released the man’s head, and would’ve crashed to the floor if I’d not already been pinned to the wall.
The man’s throat constricted around my cock, and then he choked. Poor guy probably hadn’t counted on such a pent-up load. He attempted to take my cock deeper once more, but choked again and pulled off my dick. He sputtered, and sucked in a panting breath. He lifted an arm and wiped at the mess I’d made over his mouth. At the motion his cape slid over his shoulder, and my heart shuddered to a stop at the sight of the tattoo on his shoulder blade.
“God, that was fucking hot.” The observer sounded nearly as out of breath as I was.
“And you’d better clean up the mess you made over my hardwood floor, Clint.” Paulie’s voice cut into the scene, startling me. His tone turned playful. “And look at you, Wolfy Danny Zuko. Guess you’re not such a stick-in-the-mud after all.”
The man at my feet scrambled to a standing position, his cape back in place, though he still wiped at his mouth. I tried to meet his gaze, but he wouldn't look at me.
“I’ll clean it up, just let me take care of this guy’s cock first.” The third man, Clint, it seemed, took a step forward.
The Opera-Cat man flinched away.
No. Not Opera-Cat man. Spencer.
I should’ve realized at the sight of his blue eyes. I’d been too caught up in the moment. But that tattoo had made things all too clear.
Spencer.
&n
bsp; Spencer flinched away, shaking his head, and darted into the other room.
“Hey, come back, dude!”
“God, Clint, could you sound more desperate?” Paulie’s mocking tone brought the attention back to him.
Clint glared. “What’s the point of masks if you’re going to announce our names, Paulie? For fuck’s sake.” He stepped over his load on the floor. “Clean it up yourself. I’m gonna go find that Phantom guy.” He followed Spencer.
“Did he…? What the fuck…?” Paulie stared after him, open-mouthed. He glanced at me. “Glad you got your rocks off, sweetie. You needed it. But you’ll have to excuse me, I have a bitch to kill.” He followed the same path Spencer and Clint had taken.
I stared out the window to the street, so overcome with emotions that none of them could get a solid hold.
Finally, panic settled in.
Fuck. What the fuck had I just done?
I hadn’t known. Hadn’t realized.
Suddenly I remembered I was still standing there, pants around my knees, cock, now completely soft and attempting to hide in shame, out there for the world to see. I yanked up my pants and didn’t even bother with the belt before I rushed through the front door.
My car. I needed to find my car and get the hell outta there.
In the back of my mind a warning went off about the two piña coladas. I ignored it. I was sober.
I could’ve had ten drinks and been clear as a bell.
I’d been shocked back into sobriety. But then again, I supposed that made sense. Realizing your sister’s husband had just given you a blowjob was enough to scare anyone back to being sober.
The Garden (Lavender Shores Book 2) Page 24
