“She’s not a companion, she’s a captive,” Honey said. “All dog breeders—” “Do you know where the brush is?” Gavin cut off her memorized proselytization. “You passed it hanging up on the way in. Oh, and Father wants to see you in his study.” Although it was probably nothing, Gavin couldn’t stop the habitual reflection on any
potential misbehavior his father might want to point out. More often than not, being summoned meant his father wanted to know if Gavin could escort Lily somewhere while her husband bowed out to attend to an important golf game or whatever else placed such demands on his time. But Honey had relayed the information that special way only a sib-ling could employ to insinuate trouble. And as the baby by a dozen years, she was really good at that sort of instigation.
The condo in Federal Hill was long gone. But there’d be something else. After Lily had the baby and they were both, by the grace of God, healthy, Gavin could move out. He car-ried Annabelle into the back hall, grabbed the brush from its hook and settled her between his legs as he sat on the floor.
Annabelle wiggled toward the brush, her tail wagging in anticipation. Poor girl, she craved any attention. She’d been too well-trained in obedience classes to get it by chewing up furniture or jumping on people. Maybe their cook, Erica, who seemed fond enough of Annabelle to slip her treats, would take her home one day.
Gavin’s phone chimed with a text. Giving Annabelle a final pat, he pulled it out of his pocket. It was from his father. Didn’t your sister tell you I wanted to see you?
Definitely trouble. Gavin supposed he could have fallen into the role of bad boy easily enough, but he hadn’t had the heart or the energy for that level of rebellion. Like Annabelle, he’d been too well-schooled to demand that level of attention. He was careful about what after-hours activities filled his time, and was prompt and courteous on all his social assign-ments. The trip over the Key Bridge barricades had been the first negative publicity Gavin had garnered since his adolescent predilection for getting photographed at clubs or raves that the police decided to raid.
But that didn’t stop the coil of dread from tightening in his stomach as he approached his father’s study door.
A gleaming Ultrabook was open on his desk, the bare mahogany expanse polished enough to reflect the silver from both computer and his father ’s hair.
No greeting, no invitation to sit in one of the leather chairs. No preamble. “I want you to look at this.” His father spun the computer so that the screen faced Gavin. The video was grainy, black and white, but after a second Gavin recognized Jamie’s
truck, the camera zooming to the license plate for a brief moment before panning back out. The coil of dread became a nest of writhing snakes.
“It records every vehicle.”
Gavin watched himself get out of the truck and walk toward the gate post. Jamie fol-lowed. Then they disappeared. The camera panned the driveway, back to the truck, then along the fence, pausing when it picked up Gavin and Jamie moving under the willow branches. The light green leaves didn’t provide as much cover as Gavin had thought. Des-pite the tree and the faint light, with the night vision of the camera, the motion of their figures was obvious, even if the details were hidden by the closeness of their bodies.
Gavin swallowed once, then imagined the blood and nerves retreating inward under his skin, until his face was deprived of the ability to make a betraying sign of guilt or shame. He buried the snakes in ice, managing to control the flash of satisfaction as he watched Jamie collapse against him for an instant, turning back the heat that wanted to stir in his cock as he remembered Jamie’s breath through Gavin’s hair. He knew he had complete con-trol when he was able to note with detached amusement the time stamp as Jamie emerged from the willow, and inwardly rolled his eyes at his hair trigger.
The video showed Jamie climbing into his truck and backing out. After a moment, it tracked Gavin’s much slower gait as he started up the drive.
In the silence that followed, Annabelle nosed her way past the partly open door and after looking at both of them, jumped up on his father ’s lap.
Gavin fixed his eyes on her adoring gaze rather than the disgust and disappointment ra-diating from his father’s blue eyes.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” his father said, a hand dropping to awk-wardly pat Annabelle’s head.
Gavin tucked his hands into his pockets. What did his father expect? There was no dis-puting the content of the video, no one else to blame but Gavin. Screw it. He’d never be what it was his father wanted. Gavin met his father’s eyes. “I can assure you I usually have more stamina.”
His father pushed the screen closed with one finger. His motion was calm, but Annabelle must have sensed his anger because she whimpered and jumped down.
“Fortunately, the security tape was first viewed by someone with more loyalty than a de-sire for infamy or you would already be an internet sensation.”
“I didn’t intend—”
“There are thirty rooms in the manor. Have I ever given you the impression that a…” his father’s voice faltered for only an instant, “…companion of yours would be unwelcome?”
No more than Gavin usually felt in his own life. “No.” “You’re scarcely an adolescent.”
Again, it was not a point Gavin could dispute, so he didn’t. His father leaned back in his chair. “Why?”
“I wasn’t aware the cameras would track motion. I apologize for any embarrassment you may have suffered as a result of—”
“Gavin, what’s going on? First the incident on the bridge, and now this.” He knew his father had never believed it was an accident. “I apologize again.” “That isn’t what I asked you for. I want an explanation.” Those moments, wanting Jamie and Jamie wanting him back enough that where and
when hadn’t mattered, made Gavin feel more alive than any he could remember. Even more than fighting for survival in that freezing water. But those feelings were his, and he wasn’t going to trade as much as a second of that memory on some hope that his father would un-derstand him. “Then I’m sorry again, because an apology is all I have to offer.”
When Jamie called a few days later, Gavin hopefully packed a toothbrush. Chapter Ten
Jamie flopped against Gavin’s back then rolled off. Every inch of Gavin’s skin buzzed, all his nerves alive with satisfaction. Jamie’s hand landed heavily in Gavin’s hair and fumbled through it.
“Gimme a second.” Jamie panted.
“Oh, I’m fine.” Gavin shifted onto his side to face him. Jamie’s gaze swept the streaks on Gavin’s belly. “Okay then.” Jamie’s eyes crinkled. He
propped himself up on his elbows and peered at the back of Gavin’s shoulder. “Sorry ’bout that.” But Jamie’s wicked grin suggested he wasn’t sorry at all.
“Don’t be.”
Jamie’s mouth dragging the blood to the surface to create a mark on Gavin’s shoulder had been the trigger for an amazing orgasm. One Gavin had been sure was out of reach after Jamie had sucked him dry the minute he was inside Jamie’s apartment. In fact, he hadn’t seen anything but that hallway and then…it was something of a blur before he was clinging to the mission-style headboard to keep from being fucked through the wall.
Jamie dropped onto his back and Gavin matched him, sweat and come leaving cool spots that tingled. Jamie flung an arm onto Gavin’s chest, and the contrasting heat of that palm as it glided over his skin provoked a shiver.
“Cold?” Jamie’s voice was still rough-edged.
“No. That was the good kind of shiver.”
Jamie laughed, and his hand rubbed harder for a few seconds before coming to a rest. He was so still, Gavin wondered if he’d fallen asleep.
“You have servants, yeah?”
Gavin turned his head on the sheet. He vaguely remembered shoving the pillows onto the floor at some point. “We have a cook, a housekeeper, a driver, and Perry.”
“What’s a Perry?”
“He does everything else.
He’s been working for my father since before I was born.” Though there was a company that handled security, Gavin was sure Perry had been the
one who had shown his father the file of Gavin’s return that morning three days ago. The idea that Perry had seen Gavin acting like a hormone-driven fourteen-year-old bothered him more than having to watch that video in front of his father.
“Like a butler?”
“No, more like security-handyman-secretary.”
“So you can’t just push a button and have someone bring you something?” Gavin stared up at the ceiling. “Like a cigarette, you mean?” “Right now I was thinking of a drink.” Jamie ran a bare foot down Gavin’s calf then
nudged in a gentle kick. “Man, what’s the point of being rich?” “What do you want?” Gavin sat up. He was reasonably sure he could locate the kitchen. “There’s a couple bottles of KZ Cola in the fridge. Help yourself.” “Is help yourself code for bring me one?”
“You offered, Montgomery.”
Maybe two orgasms in less than an hour screwed with Gavin’s ears, because he didn’t hear the insult in his name this time. As if it were any other surname, and not attached to everything that being a Montgomery meant.
“At your service.”
Jamie snorted. “Like you don’t already owe me a blowjob.” As Gavin found his way back to the hall, Jamie called after him, “And don’t think this gets you out of it.”
Since Jamie didn’t suffer from a lack of directness, Gavin didn’t expect to find any sur-prises in his refrigerator. The standard staples, leftovers in stacked containers, a few bottles of a local beer that Soren sneered at and Beach liked. The sodas were in a row along the left side, amber bottles with dark green and bright yellow labels, and metal crown caps, but he didn’t recognize the soda brand.
He grabbed the first two and headed back.
Jamie had picked up the pillows and rescued the top sheet and covers. Sitting up against the headboard, he twirled Gavin’s Burberry boxer briefs on one finger. “Do you get these in neon colors so you can find them in the dark?”
The green was a little bright, but he liked the fit and the feel. “Of course. Never can tell if I’ll need to make a quick getaway.”
“Yeah, been there some nights.” Jamie rolled his eyes and sent the briefs flying. Gavin put a knee on the bed. “Which one do you want?” He held out the bottles. “You pick. I like ’em all.”
Gavin studied the labels: X-treme Creme and Ginger Peachy. Jamie leaned over and matched his scrutiny. “It’s just soda, Gavin. You don’t have to live
with the choice forever.”
“I’ve never had it.”
“Soda?”
“Well, yes I’ve had soda but—”
“Try the cream. Everyone likes it. I can’t believe you’ve lived in Balmer all your life and never had KZ.” Jamie popped the cap on his with a quick twist. “They were our reward on Sundays for being quiet in church.”
Gavin looked at the cross and the medal around Jamie’s neck, wondering if Jamie still went. Gavin hadn’t set foot in a church since his mother’s funeral. He wouldn’t ever again. “My mother didn’t allow us to have soda.” He struggled with the cap for a second before it came free with a moist hiss.
“I gotta say I wouldn’t expect you to just follow the rules.” Jamie took a swig and leaned A flash of pride brought a smile to Gavin’s lips that surprised him. “Didn’t occur to me to break that one.” He sipped with caution. The cream taste was rich but overly sweet, over-
powering the carbonation. “Now I know why.”
“Try this one.” Jamie offered his bottle.
Gavin eyed it with suspicion, then drank. Much better. The peach served as background to the spicy ginger and was completely unlike any bland ginger ale he’d ever been served. He nodded.
“Switch.” Jamie tugged the other bottle out of Gavin’s hand. Gavin was glad he’d swallowed the sip because it made it easier to control his laugh. He
glanced down at his dick. “Well, give me an hour and I’ll see what I can do.” Jamie had the bottle to his lips and choked. “Nice work, Montgomery. I’m stuck swal-
lowing the cream again.”
Gavin smirked. “You asked for it.”
Jamie’s laugh burst from him the way it had that night at Soren’s. So full and strong Gav-in had to join in. Jamie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and caught his breath.
They hadn’t kissed at all tonight, which wasn’t something Gavin usually noticed the ab-sence of. As with affection or a name, kissing wasn’t a prerequisite to shared orgasms.
But with Jamie, Gavin noticed. More than noticed. He’d missed it. If, after the soda, Gavin and his Burberry-clad ass were going to be back in the Bentley, he wanted to kiss Jamie.
Leaning in quickly, Gavin caught Jamie in between his fading chuckles, finding stillness and a pause that made Gavin’s chest tighten with fear for an instant before Jamie cupped Gavin’s head and kissed him back.
Gavin should have thought out better what to do with the soda bottles, but Jamie never stopped the kiss as he took Gavin’s from his hand and thunked both onto the nightstand. Gavin settled against Jamie’s chest, kissing away the too-sweet soda until there was noth-ing but Jamie. Their dicks were definitely out of commission for a while, but it still felt good. Still made Gavin’s skin hum as everything else fell away.
Jamie didn’t seem to be in any hurry to stop either, stroking his fingers through Gavin’s hair, the other palm pressed into his back. There was no urgency in the slide of lips and tongues, but it wasn’t the soft kiss of a goodbye, or like the casual open-mouthed kiss Gav-in would share with a friend. It was intense, demanding his focus, full of the force of Jam-ie’s personality and confidence from the rub of his fingers through Gavin’s hair, the deep-throated sounds of satisfaction that vibrated against his lips.
His brain finally shut off in favor of pure sensation right about the time Jamie raised his head. There was something in Jamie’s expression, in the way his blue eyes scanned Gavin’s face, like a question, then his eyes gleamed as if he’d found the answer he’d been after all along.
Gavin would have been afraid his own face showed way too much interest in what was going on behind Jamie’s eyes if Gavin hadn’t conditioned himself to perfect blandness years ago.
Jamie’s mouth curved slowly. He blinked once and rubbed his thumb across Gavin’s lip. “What?” Gavin was certain his tone had sufficient disinterest. Jamie’s smile got bigger. “Just looking forward to that blowjob you owe me.” Three nights later there was no blowjob at the door, though they were kissing as soon as
the lock clicked behind Gavin. He ended up on his back on the couch, legs over Jamie’s shoulders and Gavin had to approve of the venue change because at this angle, the curve in Jamie’s dick was put to perfect use. Jamie’s focused eyes seemed to know everything that was going on inside Gavin’s body. Jamie stopped moving, or pulled back until Gavin was squeezing down on only the head, the sweet rush of almost melting out from his balls in a hot ache. Jamie took him to the edge twice, then backed off. When Gavin reached for his cock, Jamie grabbed Gavin’s hands and held them over his head, grinding deep and hard, bending Gavin nearly in half, and Gavin’s orgasm exploded from low inside, pulsing and washing his balls and cock in heat as he rode out the jerks that shook his whole body. Jam-ie’s smug expression would have pissed Gavin off if he didn’t feel so damned good.
Gavin was feeling a little smug himself as Jamie’s face went slack and he shook, shud-dering inside Gavin, his fingers squeezing Gavin’s hands until he thought he heard the bones grind. Gavin expected Jamie to push off and go get cleaned up, since the couch wasn’t exactly designed for a post-fuck cuddle, but Jamie slipped out and, half-lifting, half-shoving Gavin, climbed over the arm to drape himself on top while they caught their breaths.
Gavin’s muscles had stopped twitching and his pulse was under one hundred when Jamie said something incomprehensible. It was
muttered into Gavin’s armpit, which might have something to do with it.
“Huh?” Gavin was usually far more precise in his word choices, but that orgasm was still floating in his body like a hit of ecstasy.
“Sarsaparilla.” Jamie raised his head. “I got you some to try. And birch beer.” Gavin tried to get that to make sense. “Are you talking about soda?” “Yeah.” Jamie made it sound as if it were obvious. “How many flavors do they have?”
“Twenty-seven are out at a time. They retire some.” It seemed elaborately complicated for soda. Jamie peeled himself off Gavin and after a
minute, returned with two of the amber bottles and a towel. Gavin took the towel first, rubbing at his chest, and to Jamie’s ill-concealed amusement,
Gavin wiped his chin and armpit as well.
“I was kind of proud of that.” Jamie gestured with a bottle. “I noticed.”
Jamie offered him both bottles to sample, and Gavin settled on the birch beer. It was lighter than root beer, but could do with more carbonation.
“The mom that wouldn’t let you drink soda. I’m guessing that wasn’t the blonde preg-nant lady I met.”
“No. Lily is my stepmother.”
“Yeah?” There was an invitation for more information in Jamie’s answer. “My mother died when I was seventeen.”
“That sucks.” Jamie tipped back his sarsaparilla. “My dad just died. Lung cancer. From smoking.”
Which explained why Jamie had quit the habit.
“My mother died of cancer too. Ovarian.”
As if there was some signal they both heard, they turned to hold each other’s gaze for an instant before clinking the bottle necks together then nodding and raising them up in a silent toast.
Jamie finished off his sarsaparilla and rubbed his chest after a mild burp, his stare in-viting Gavin’s comment. It had been a long time since he and Chip had engaged in belch-ing contests, which Taisy had demonstrated some affinity for before she turned eight and deemed it unladylike, but Gavin took a healthy swig with air and managed a decent re-sponse.
Mitchell, K.A. [Bad in Baltimore #3] Bad attitude Page 11
