by Pandora Pine
Gregor stroked his hand in the air like he was jacking off. “Eat a dick, Drake.”
“Ohh, I see what’s going on.” Gregor’s shitty attitude all made sense now.
“You see what? I’m a busy man. I don’t have all day to wait while you dick around with your boyfriend.”
“You’re not jealous that Pres is with me. You’re jealous that two of your friends are coupled up now.” It wasn’t something he’d ever faced before, but he could see why it would upset Gregor that he was still alone.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gregor’s stern mask seemed to crack a bit.
“From what I’ve seen, you’re always in the kitchen. You rarely go out and if you do, it’s usually to go to Whole Foods.” Drake rolled his eyes.
“And your point is?” Gregor uncrossed his arms and rolled his shoulders as if he was trying to work out the tension.
“If you’re wanting to find someone to spend your time with, you’re not exactly setting yourself up for success.” God, he sounded like one of those self-help gurus on daytime television.
“Yeah, well, not all of us can have our Prince Charming just knock on our doors, can we?” Gregor’s voice dripped with bitterness.
Drake had to admit Gregor had a point. “The business meeting you interrupted could throw some very interesting people your way very soon.” Drake’s mind was still spinning with ways to get press coverage of the hotel.
Gregor walked to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. He set one in front of Drake before draining half of his in one sip. “What kind of interesting people?” Gregor sounded mildly interested.
Gregor’s nonchalant tone didn’t fool Drake for a second. “Presley wanted to go the traditional route with newspaper articles and television coverage for the opening of the hotel. I want to invite food bloggers and critics.”
“Are you serious?” Gregor’s mouth dropped open with obvious shock.
“Yeah, I’m sure there must be local bloggers and critics who’d love to come up here and taste your food.” Drake knew the way to Gregor’s heart was through his sauté pan.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gregor ran to his computer which was sitting on a clean prep area near the window. “There are five bloggers in Massachusetts alone who I’d love to invite.”
“So who’s to say that while you’re serving them your amazing food that one of these bloggers won’t fall madly in love with you, just like…” Drake stopped, sucking in a deep breath. He’d been about to say like he’d done with Presley, but he wasn’t ready to think about feelings like that, let alone tell Gregor about them. “Like Landon and Noble.”
Gregor raised an eyebrow, but seemed to be listening.
“Look, all I’m trying to say here is that once the hotel is open, there are going to be a lot of opportunities for you to meet some single guys. Why don’t you come up with a list of bloggers, critics or magazine columnists you’d like to get out here to try your food and get them to Presley? Then he can start making phone calls to get them here.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Gregor didn’t sound convinced.
“What about that show called Shadow Eats?” Drake had been transfixed by the show that featured New England restaurants frequented by the Shadow. No one knew the Shadow’s identity, so restaurants were unable to trot out their finest service and food when he or she came in to dine. At the end of the segment, the host of the show, a local radio personality, would announce how many stars the restaurant got for the food, service and the staff.
“How do you know about that show? It’s local to New England.” Pres looked confused.
“Pres and I were flipping channels the other night because Crisley Knows Best was a repeat and he stopped on that show. They were profiling some restaurant in Boston with a triple cheeseburger that was almost as tall as I am.” Drake’s mouth had been watering while the show featured the meal that came with a stack of homemade onion rings as well.
Gregor snorted. “I saw that episode. It was the called the Triple Bypass burger.”
“Think about our exposure if that show came to Sand Dollar Shoal!” As good as that juicy burger had looked, the first thing Drake had thought of was how a show like that could help the hotel.
“I can’t imagine the Shadow coming here…” Gregor shrugged.
What Gregor didn’t know and what Drake wasn’t about to tell him was that he’d already submitted an application for Sand Dollar Shoal to appear on Shadow Eats.
“What about applying to be on that food channel show where the contestants get weird shit in a basket. What’s it called? Sliced? Diced? Cleavered?”
“Chopped?” Gregor grinned. “I’d kill to be on that show.”
“So fill out an application and see what happens. The exposure a show like that could bring to the hotel would be amazing.” Drake could see the wheels turning in Gregor’s mind.
“And if they cast me, and I had to fly to New York to compete, who would cook here?”
“Me!” Drake shouted.
“Jesus Christ, anything but that.” Gregor shook his head as if to get it out of the clouds. “Actually, cooking is the reason I brought you in here.”
“I wondered when we’d get around to that.” He was hoping Gregor was going to take him up on teaching him to cook Presley’s favorite meal.
“Well if you hadn’t come in here shouting at me and accusing me of being jealous, we would have gotten to it a damn sight quicker.” Gregor took half a step toward Drake before he seemed to realize what he was doing. “Thanks, for the suggestions about the food bloggers and about me, uh, finding someone.” He awkwardly slapped a hand against Drake’s shoulder.
Drake nodded, trying to keep a smile from blooming across his face. Gregor was always tough as nails, but it was nice to see a crack in his armor. “What are we cooking?”
“Presley’s favorite dinner. What the fuck else?” Gregor grabbed his red do-rag and started laughing.
XX
All Presley wanted to do was eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and crawl into bed. As much as he’d liked Drake’s ideas about using social media to drum up interest in the hotel, he still felt like he was letting Griff and the guys down by not being able to get a bigger media commitment.
He’d stayed in his office after Gregor dragged Drake out, resurrecting his long abandoned Facebook page. Not only did he reactivate his profile, he’d also spent time looking up friends and acquaintances from Andover and Harvard who hadn’t been on the site before he’d stopped using it. By the time he’d gotten up from his desk, he’d sent out two hundred or so friend requests.
When he walked up to the house, he noticed that it was dark. “Drake must still be with Gregor,” Pres mumbled to himself.
Unlocking the door, he swore he could smell fried chicken. It would almost be worth going back to the dining room to have Gregor’s famous fried chicken, but he was too tired.
“That you, babe?” Drake called out, running out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a red dish towel.
He hoped Gregor had sent Drake home with some of his famous fried chicken, but what the hell was going on? “Why didn’t you turn the lights on?” Presley went to flip the light switch, but Drake hurried forward to stop him.
“Come with me.” Drake took Presley’s hand and tugged him toward the kitchen.
Presley gasped when he saw the kitchen was lit by candlelight. “Drake, what is this?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. Sitting on the set table was a platter filled with fried chicken, a bowl filled with creamy mashed potatoes and what looked like some of Gregor’s homemade rosemary biscuits.
“I made you dinner.” Drake pressed a kiss to the back of Presley’s hand.
"You made this?" Presley couldn't believe his eyes. So far as he knew, Drake was only helping Gregor out in the kitchen, not actually cooking the meals himself.
"Mostly. Gregor showed me how to do it and I just followed along with him." Drake was grinning with pride from ear to e
ar.
"Why?" No one had ever made a romantic dinner for him before.
"I wanted you to feel as special as you make me feel. May I?" Drake held out his arm and when Pres took it, he led him to his spot at the table. Drake unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap before brushing a kiss against his temple. He took the seat next to Pres and handed him the platter of chicken.
Presley hadn't realized he made Drake feel special. "It smells so good." He forked a wing and a breast onto his plate and held the platter up for Drake who took it and added a leg and a thigh to his own dish. "Was this the reason Gregor grabbed you out of our meeting earlier?"
Drake nodded. "I'd asked him about doing this for you earlier and he said he'd think about it. I guess he ruled in my favor."
Presley laughed. "Gregor can be a bit of tough nut to crack, but once you do, he's your brother for life. He's the most loyal friend I've ever had and that was before he joined the Navy."
"I think he's lonely." Drake dumped a heap of mashed potatoes on his plate and dug in.
Presley nodded, taking a bite of his chicken. The coating was perfectly crisp and the chicken was moist. He never would have guessed this was Drake's first time making fried chicken. "Why do you say that?"
"It's a couple of things. I can see the way he looks at Noble and Landon when they're loving all over each other. He looks like he wants the same thing for himself."
Pres had noticed Gregor had become a bit more distant with him since Drake had come to Sand Dollar Shoal. He had wondered if it had to do with his growing relationship with Drake. "I was the same way with Noble and Landon. Part of it for me was being so damn happy Noble was moving on with his life, but the other part of me wished I had someone like Landon in my life."
"Did that wish come true?" Drake leaned over to kiss Presley before he could answer.
The answer was a definite yes, but Pres wasn't sure how much to tell Drake. He settled for kissing his boyfriend back with all the love he had in his heart. "You are definitely my dream come true."
Drake's eyes darkened as he stood up and reached for Presley. "Let me take you to bed, Pres."
"God, I love cold fried chicken." He squeaked when Drake scooped him up and carried him toward the bedroom.
13
Drake dropped Presley to land in the center of his king-sized bed. He figured it would be better to do this in Pres' room because the bed was bigger. Drake was going to need all the room he could get to maneuver. "Take your clothes off."
"God, you're bossy." Presley sat up and went for the hem of his blue polo shirt.
"Is there a problem with that, Pres?" Drake's eyes were so dark they were nearly black with need. He loved being in control like this. Presley’s willingness to obey made his dick hard.
Pres nibbled his bottom lip and shook his head no before pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it at Drake.
Drake caught the shirt before it hit him in the face. It smelled like Presley's aftershave and something else unique to his lover. "Oh, is that how it's going to be?" Drake threw the shirt to the floor and gave Pres' bare chest a shove.
Presley fell back to the mattress with his legs dangling off the side of the bed. His breath was coming in short, fast pants like he’d just run a mile.
Drake climbed above him, hovering over Pres' half naked body. "Mine!" Drake grinned before slamming their lips together. He felt their teeth collide but didn't care. He wanted Presley more than he'd ever wanted another man in his life.
Pres moaned when their tongues tangled in his mouth. His hand slipped under Drake's tee shirt to skim up the hot, silky skin of his back.
"I wanted you the second I saw you, half-awake with your hair sticking up." Drake bit and nibbled his way down the salty skin of Presley's throat. He could feel his lover’s heartbeat fluttering under his tongue as he licked over his stubbled skin.
"Me too. Me too." Presley was gasping for breath as he struggled to get Drake’s shirt off.
"I wanted to shove you against the front door and take you right there with your pants around your thighs. I wanted to fuck you until you were shouting my name and begging me to fuck you harder."
"Jesus, Drake. Do it now."
"No," Drake said simply before sucking a bruise over Presley’s heart. He climbed off his lover and tried to catch his balance on his rubbery legs. If this is what Pres did to him from just a kiss, he couldn't imagine how it would be after they'd both come. He might not be able to walk for a week.
"No?" Pres sat up, a confused look on his face. "Come back here."
"Obey me and I will." Drake waggled his eyebrows and hauled his LA Clippers tee shirt over his head. He went for the button of his jeans, knowing Pres was watching his every move.
"What did you tell me to do?" Pres tilted his head to the side as if that would help him remember.
Drake pulled his jeans down to the center of his thighs. His erection was clearly visible, outlined by his black boxer briefs. He palmed his still-growing cock through the flimsy material.
Presley's eyes were glued to Drake's hand as it squeezed the bulge. He licked his lips, scooting toward the edge of the bed.
Drake snorted. "Take off your clothes, babe. I can't taste you when you’re dressed."
"Fucking yes!" Pres wiggled off the bed, his hands shaking so hard it took a try or two to get the button undone and the zipper pulled down. He shoved his jeans down to his feet and shuffled around trying to free his feet, which weren't coming out.
"Slow down, cowboy." Drake knelt in front of him, pushing Presley’s jeans up until his shoes were visible. "Helps to take these off first." Drake held up a brown loafer before tossing it over his shoulder. The second one soon followed.
"I can't wait. I need you to make me yours, Drake." Presley took half a step forward, sinking his hands into Drake’s silky dark hair.
Drake’s heart fluttered in his chest. He knew Pres meant every word he was saying. He slurped his tongue over the leaking head of Presley's cock and stood back up. "Condoms and lube?"
"In the drawer."
"Take them out and get yourself ready for me." Drake pulled him in for another kiss. He didn't want to let Pres go, but he was still wearing his jeans and sneakers.
"Okay," Pres' voice was barely above a whisper.
Instead of working on taking his pants off, Drake watched Presley move across the room. He moaned out loud when Pres bent over to dig through his nightstand drawer.
With the bottle of lube in his hand, Pres laid himself in the center of the bed, spreading his legs wide. He gave his cock a few quick strokes, his darkened eyes on Drake's the entire time.
Drake growled, stalking toward the bed, shoving his pants down as he walked. He toed out of his shoes and somehow managed to kick out of his jeans without falling on his face. "Get that tight hole ready for me, Pres."
Pres grabbed the base of his cock and took a few deep breaths before doing as Drake asked.
He wasn't totally sure, but Drake thought Pres had been about to come from the sound of his voice. Fuck, he needed to get his dick inside Presley before he was the one spilling his seed before the main event even started. He watched, with his mouth hanging open as Presley coated two fingers and shoved them inside his passage.
"That's so fucking hot, Pres. Have you been practicing with your giant dildo to get ready for me?" Drake gave his weeping cock a few slow pulls.
Pres nodded, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Drake would guess Presley’s fingers had found his prostate. "My turn." Drake grinned, climbing up on the bed. He picked up the bottle of lube and started slathering himself with the slick liquid. No matter how much practice Pres had with a rubber dong, it wasn't going to be enough for him to be able to take all of Drake's length.
"Fuck me, Drake. Now! I'll die if I have to wait another second for you." Presley’s eyes were crazed with need and lust.
"You're not gonna die, handsome." Drake couldn’t help laughing at Pres. He couldn�
�t ever remember a lover this anxious to fuck him. Well, at least a lover that wasn’t getting paid to be on camera.
"I will. I've waited thirty years to find you. I don't want to wait another minute to make you mine."
Drake knew Pres needed more prep time, but he couldn't resist a plea like that. "Grab your knees and keep them as far apart as you can." Ripping the condom wrapper open with his teeth, Drake made quick work of rolling it down his length. Thank God Pres had bought the biggest size otherwise they would have had to settle for blowjobs.
Pres pulled his fingers from his loosened hole and did as Drake asked. He grabbed his knees and pulled them as close to his chest as he could, nearly rolling himself in half.
If they weren't in such a hurry, Drake would have rimmed Pres to within an inch of his life, but there would be plenty of time for that later. Lining up his cock with Presley's hole, he pressed forward, feeling the muscle start to open up for him. There was no greater feeling in the world than Presley giving himself like this.
"Oh fuck!" Pres wailed. "Faster, Drake. Shove that huge fucking cock inside me. I'm not gonna break."
"I don't want to hurt you, babe." Drake's base instincts were with Pres. He wanted to surge inside Pres' tight passage and fuck him raw.
