by Tara Lain
René leaned in. “We guessed that you didn’t have time for dinner, so we ordered a lot of snacks to keep you going for the dancing.”
Tom smiled. “Yum. These look good. I’m hungry.”
Aaron waved a hand. “Eat up.”
The waiter put small plates in front of each of them, and Aaron passed the meatballs to Tom who took two, glanced at the others’ empty plates, and put one back.
René laughed. “Please, Tom, help yourself. We can always get more.”
“Thank you.” He took back the meatball and ate both of them with appetite. “I’m ready to dance whenever you want.”
Aaron put a hand on his arm. “That sounds great. Let’s go.” He slid out and pulled Tom behind him.
For the first time, Merle got a look at what Aaron was wearing, and the leather pants should have been banned in at least twelve states. On top he had a long-sleeved super-stretchy knit shirt that clung to his perfect body like a lover.
Well, shit. Heads turned as Aaron and Tom walked down the steps to the dance floor. From the position of the booth, Merle and René could see most all the dancers, so Merle stared, watching the two find a spot to occupy near the edge of the floor.
With zero hesitation, Tom started to dance. It was like someone plugged him into the big iPod in the sky, because every muscle and bone became a dancing machine. Graceful, fluid, wildly and unselfconsciously sexy, Tom commanded attention all around him. Clearly, Aaron wasn’t nearly as talented a dancer, but he tried to keep up. People stared at him—most likely because of his beauty—but the real center of adulation was Tom. Merle breathed out slowly. “Holy crap.”
“I’ll say.”
“Did I say that out loud?” Merle shook his head.
“Did you know he could move like that?”
“Not a clue. I mean, Tom’s really well coordinated, but that doesn’t make you a dancer. Still, he told us he could, and he wasn’t lying.” Not lying a little bit. People on the dance floor stopped to watch, which in jaded LA full of actors and dancers was high praise.
The music changed from crazy upbeat to slow and sultry. The boys in the cages geared down from manic shimmying to liquid undulations. Aaron extended a hand, and Tom took it with a smile. Aaron was taller than Merle by a bit but was a few inches shorter than Tom. Still, Tom took the follow position and slipped into Aaron’s arms. Merle’s stomach clenched, fists tightened—and cock rose.
“Would you like to dance?”
“What?” He looked up at René.
“Dancing.” He made a jiggly motion with two fingers. “Like moving together to the music.”
“Oh, sure. Let’s.” Merle took off down the steps at speed, vaguely aware of René behind him. When they got to the dance floor, Merle lost track of Tom and Aaron in the crush. He turned, and he and René did a little pantomime deciding who would lead. Finally Merle put his left hand on René’s shoulder. René took Merle’s right hand in his but then tucked it into his chest and pulled Merle tight against him. Okay, this is nice, right?
The disco ball revolved slowly, sending little flashes across the dancers’ faces; the music moaned and murmured and insinuated itself into the blood. René had the proverbial banana in his pocket, but even that felt kind of nice and welcoming. Merle settled in and let the music carry him—eyes closed, thighs rubbing.
He opened his lids languidly—and stared directly into Tom’s wide blues. His body jerked and he tensed. Tom smiled softly but then, like slow motion, Aaron reached up a hand and grasped Tom behind the head, then brought that head down, inch by inch, toward his lips. Tom’s eyes stayed fixed on Merle until they disappeared behind Aaron’s head.
“Do you want to stop?”
“W-what?” He looked down at René and realized he’d quit dancing. “No, sorry. I just started thinking about something and lost track.” Merle began to move again, but his eyes kept trying to roam away from their gaze on René’s face. Are they still kissing? He wanted to watch. He didn’t want to watch.
“That must have been a powerful daydream.” René smiled.
“Yes, I guess it was.”
The music changed to something pounding and backbreaking again. Merle started to dance, but René held up his hands. “Not my thing, I’m afraid. Too old.”
“Nonsense. But I’m happy to sit it out with you.” He turned to walk back up the stairs, and a hand grabbed his arm.
“Hey, Merle, wanna dance with me?” Tom bobbed away on the dance floor as Aaron looked on, clearly trying to appear magnanimous about his date dancing with someone else.
Merle glanced at René. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. After all, you were friends first. Aaron and I will cool down.” He raised an eyebrow and gave an acerbic smile.
“Come on, Merle.” Tom danced backward, and Merle grinned. Okay, then. He’d always loved to dance and seldom found good partners. Well, he seldom found good partners of any kind, but dancing was one.
Tom was obviously going easy on him with just some simple bobbing and weaving until Merle threw in some Dougie and Tom lit up like an electric slide. He performed a couple of isolations, and Merle mirrored him. Tom laughed. He moved into a full-on dubstep dance, and Merle took a breath and plunged in. Now people really did stop and watch, clapping as they moved. Merle glanced up to see René and Aaron staring down from the booth. René smiled and clapped along.
Aaron didn’t.
Chapter Thirteen
THE WILD-ASSED music stopped, and Merle hung on Tom’s arm, gasping for breath. “I need more gym time, I guess.”
Tom shook his head. “No. I’m breathing hard too, and I run every day.”
“You do?”
“Yep. I take the boys, and they can barely keep up. Sometimes I have to carry them while I run.”
The music turned slow again. Tom looked a little shy. “Wanna?”
Shouldn’t do this. Definitely shouldn’t. “Sure.”
“Shall I lead since I’m taller?”
“Okay.”
Tom held up his arms and Merle stepped in, forcing his eyes to not look toward the booth, where Aaron must be shooting giant daggers. Wham. Body contact. He’d never touched Tom beyond a hand on the arm. In one box step he made up for all the lost time. Tom’s just so big. A simple dance hold amounted to total immersion in Tom’s body—heat, power, and the smell of something clean and fresh, like rain on grass. Tom’s hand holding his surrounded his fingers and palm in rough, callused skin, but so damned warm. His other hand on Merle’s waist seemed huge and potent with banked force.
Tom’s slow-dance skills almost rivaled his fast dance, and he led Merle across the floor in smooth circles and lines. Even though they maintained a more than respectable distance, thighs inevitably bumped. The first time it happened, Tom stumbled. He smiled apologetically, but his eyes were wide. They got back in rhythm.
Tom hummed softly with the music.
Is he holding me tighter? Their chests touched frequently and their thighs bumped more often. Every contact created a tingle that zapped straight to Merle’s balls. Uh-oh. Here comes Mr. Happy. His pants fit tight but the fabric was soft, so it had to show. Damn. He sucked in his belly and wiggled his hips to get the damned thing to retreat, but that made it worse.
Someone slammed into Merle’s back. “Whoa!” He stumbled forward and hit hard against Tom, throwing them both off balance. Tom stumbled back with Merle glued to his front. Releasing his dance hold, Tom wrapped his arms around Merle to keep them upright and—holy shit. Their big height difference meant Merle got stabbed right in the belly button with a rock-solid, nine-inch hard-on.
He gasped. Every cell in his body wanted to climb Tom like a fire pole and shove their erections together. The effort not to do that had him breathing like a horse after the Kentucky Derby.
Tom just stood there holding him, not letting go. “Are you okay?”
Merle nodded. “Y-yes.” Move away, damn it. Probably imagination, but it felt like Tom’s cock rubbed ever so sl
ightly against him. His balls screamed more. His brain fought back, but he still couldn’t move. When would he ever get to feel this—just this again?
“May I cut in?” Aaron’s cool voice came from behind him.
The steel band that held him bound to Tom broke, and he turned. “Sure. Sorry. Somebody about knocked me flat on my face. Tom saved me.” He couldn’t look up into those blue, blue eyes. I’m such a shit.
He walked away from Tom and Aaron, climbed the stairs, and collapsed onto the banquette.
“You really got a workout.”
Merle forced himself to laugh. “Yeah. I haven’t danced like that in quite a while. Wore me out. Then somebody slammed into me, and I only stayed on my feet because Tom caught me.” He grabbed a full glass of ice water from the table and drank it down. Maybe that would cool off his damned libido.
Get a fucking grip, man. Tom’s not your property. And he’s not your problem unless you behave like an idiot. Jesus, here he was sitting with the director of the film he was willing to give his left nut to star in, and he was drooling over a blue-collar worker who—loved dogs. He sighed. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. “So, René, tell me how you got started in directing.”
René smiled and started talking. He warmed to the subject as Merle looked attentive and threw in little comments of “That’s so interesting” and “No kidding?” Merle felt his gut relax. Okay, this is good.
When Aaron and Tom came back to the table, Merle barely looked up.
Aaron said, “We’re going to take off. I want to show Tom some of the city.”
Merle’s breath caught on his heart. He’s not your property. Remember that. He glanced up with a smile—maybe not his most sincere effort. “So I don’t need to drive Tom home?”
“No. I’ll make sure he gets wherever he needs to be.”
He looked up at Tom. Does he look anxious? He stood calmly enough. It’s probably just me that’s concerned. “Have a good evening.”
Tom waved a hand like a little kid. “Bye.” He walked behind Aaron down the stairs, but halfway down he stopped and looked back.
Merle wanted to fly off the seat, grab him, and force him to go back to Mrs. Allison’s and his dogs. The dogs? “Tom. Who’s taking care of the boys?”
“Uh, Mrs. Allison said she would.”
“Okay.” He grabbed his phone from his pocket and waggled it. Tom just turned and walked out of sight. Did he understand I meant he could call me?
“Uh, uh, uh. You’re protecting him again.” René smiled.
“I know. I can’t seem to get over it. I tell myself he’s an adult, but he just doesn’t seem like it.” If you don’t count holding me in his arms on the dance floor.
“Would you like to dance some more?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m beat. I had two intense days of shooting, and all I can dream about is sleep.”
“Oh dear. That doesn’t portend well for the rest of our evening.” He smiled, but it looked as forced as Merle’s smile at Aaron had felt.
“I guess not. I’m sorry.” I’m an idiot!
“Can’t I take you back to my place and ply you with liquor? It’s not even midnight.”
“I’ll take a rain check. Us TV slaves got no life left for party.” Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
“I’ll have to make sure we don’t work you quite so hard during filming.”
His stomach flipped. “Yeah.” He reached in his pocket. “Let me get the bill.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “I invited you, more or less.”
A few minutes later, they skirted the teeming dance floor and exited out into the cool, dry California night. Come on, give this guy a chance. He reached for René’s hand and held it all the way to the Ferrari. At the car, he turned to René. “Thank you for a fun evening. I’m sorry I’m not better company for the balance of it.” He leaned in, and René got the drift. Their lips met in the middle, and René wrapped both arms around Merle, tight and intentional. The kiss escalated, hotter and tighter with more tongues. René turned their squashed bodies so Merle was against the car, and then leaned in and fit them together so their cocks rubbed side by side. Thrusting his hips and mimicking the motion with his tongue, René breathed intensely as he humped like a madman.
Okay so it felt good, but some piece of Merle’s brain worried about who was watching in the parking lot and how soon he could legitimately break away without seeming uninterested. He kissed back and tried to get into it. His cock wiggled but didn’t rise. Right, I left my wood on the fucking dance floor.
René didn’t really seem to notice. He kept thrusting, and his breath got louder and faster until he gave a little shriek and froze. “Oh God, oh God.”
A giggle almost escaped. Is this what women feel like when a man comes in them and they just lie there?
René murmured, “Oh God, that was good.” He looked down. “Messy but good.”
“I’m glad.” He grinned. “About the good part.”
René grinned. “You sure you wouldn’t like to repeat it naked and lying down?”
“Can’t tonight.” Because then you’d see that I don’t have an erection.
René pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—a real cloth one—and shoved it into his trousers, pulled it out, and gave Merle a raised eyebrow at the messy results.
Merle kind of shifted back and forth. If René wanted to assume he was escaping his own in-pants ejaculation, he could.
René looked around, saw a trash can, and walked over and dumped the cloth into it, then came back to Merle with a grin. “I’m anxious to start shooting. I have so many wonderful ideas I want to talk over with you.”
“I can’t wait.” And that was the truth. “I just need to get the series behind me for the season.”
“Did they renew the show?”
“Oh yeah.” He smiled like the bird-eating cat.
“You’re going to be such a big movie star soon, you won’t need TV.”
“May that be a fulfilled prophecy, but until then I’m grateful for every episode, since TV pays my bills.”
“Perhaps we can get together before we start the shoot to discuss my thoughts on the storyboard?”
“I’d love it. Oh, and my parents are going to be visiting from New York. Much to my surprise, since they barely watch television or movies, they’re big admirers of your work, so if it’s possible, I’d love for them to get to meet you.”
“I’d be delighted. I love being the only representative of film in a person’s lexicon.” He chuckled and put a hand to his ear in a telephone gesture. “We’ll talk.”
“Sounds good.” Merle leaned in again and gave René a soft kiss. Gratitude, maybe? “Good night.” He walked away to his car. All right, so I wasn’t into sex tonight, but there’s potential there. I like him. I admire him. He’s damned attractive. This is good.
He climbed into the Audi, started it, and hesitated. Where to? Drive to Laguna? It’s the weekend and I could work on the house, but it’s kind of late to be sneaking in to Ru and Gray’s place. Maybe I should go to the apartment?
Suddenly his head dropped onto the steering wheel. I wish I knew how Tom is doing.
He sucked in a long breath. Fuck, Tom’s with a gorgeous guy who thinks he’s all that. How do you imagine he’s doing?
He threw the car into gear and started driving toward the apartment.
A half hour later, he walked out of the tiny bathroom into the tiny bedroom that had been his home through climbing the ladder—eating ramen noodles and working as a waiter to pay the bills while he pounded pavements. His parents had ignored him, but then his uncle called with the tip about the series. He always wanted to believe he got the part thanks to all his talent—not his uncle’s influence. Yeah, right. At least now he could say René Montrose wanted him for his skill—couldn’t he?
If that was true, why the hell was he working so hard to see René as a prospective sex partner? Shit. He plopped his phone on his beds
ide table and crawled between the sheets. Just sleep, asshole. How you got the part doesn’t matter as much as the fact that you have it. You can prove yourself.
His eyes drifted closed.
The phone buzzed on his plastic-wood nightstand so hard it practically bounced off. Merle shook the sleep out of his head. Fuck! He grabbed for the phone. “Hello?”
“Merle.”
“Tom!”
“Would you—I mean, I’m not quite sure how to get home. I don’t know the bus schedule in LA or where the terminal is.”
“Where are you?” His hands shook as he crawled out of bed and started pulling on his clothes.
“Uh, in the hills.”
“The Hollywood Hills?” The phone slipped from under his chin, and he grabbed it.
“I think so.”
“Where’s Aaron?”
“In the living room.”
“Where are you?”
“In the bathroom.”
“Are you okay?” He clenched his fist.
“Uh-huh.” Shit, he sounded like he might cry.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, no, he didn’t. I just don’t want to stay here.”
Maybe that meant they already had sex and now he wanted out. “I’m coming for you, but I need to know the address.” Merle sat at the computer and typed in Aaron’s name. No such luck on the address.
“I don’t know it, and I don’t want to go look out the door.”
“You have to walk by him anyway, right? He’s not going to try to stop you, is he?” Shit, he’d kill Aaron.
“No. He just didn’t want to take me home. Says I can stay in the guest room if I want.”
Yeah, the old “stay in the guest room” trick. “Bullshit. Go out and hand the phone to Aaron.”
“I don’t know, Merle.”
“It’ll be okay. Honest. Just do it.”
“Okay.”
Merle heard a door open and footsteps. Somebody, probably Aaron, said, “What’s that?” Then he heard, “Hello?”
“Aaron, this is Merle Justice. I’m coming to get Tom and I need your address.”
Silence.
“Now!”
