by Lucy Lennox
Facing West
A Forever Wilde Novel
Lucy Lennox
Copyright © 2017 by Lucy Lennox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Designer: Angstyg - www.AngstyG.com
Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar Photography - www.wanderaguiar.com
Editor: Anne Victory - www.VictoryEditing.com
Professional Beta Reading: Leslie Copeland ([email protected])
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Contents
Series Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Letter from Lucy
About the Author
Borrowing Blue
Taming Teddy
Jumping Jude
Grounding Griffin
Moving Maverick
Delivering Dante
Free Made Marian Short Stories
Series Note
The Forever Wilde series is set in the same world as the Made Marian series but will feature a different family and locations. It is not at all necessary to read the Made Marian novels to enjoy the Forever Wilde novels.
Facing West, Forever Wilde book one, introduces the very large Wilde family from tiny, fictional Hobie, Texas. Each Forever Wilde novel will tell the story of a different Wilde child finding true love.
Happy reading!
Facing West is dedicated to those of you who know how unlikely a predominantly gay family is but happily allow me to create one anyway. Realistic or not, these families are a joy to create and get to know. I hope you enjoy meeting the Wilde family as much as I enjoy writing about them.
Prologue
West—sixteen years ago
“Someone might hear us.”
I honestly didn’t care. I finally had a cute guy’s hands on me and was having a hard time keeping my breathing under control. I was sixteen and horny as heck, so my biggest concern was trying not to come before there was even a hand on my dick.
“Right there, yes.” I gasped as his hand finally fumbled awkwardly over my fly. Any shred of concern I’d had over making out in the movie theater of my small town had flown out the window the moment one of the hottest guys in school had leaned over during Spanish class and whispered those words into my ear.
“Quiero chuparte.” I want to suck you off.
What I’d originally thought was a joke had turned out to be an invitation.
I’d agreed to meet him at the movies the following night. I hadn’t known the guy very well since he was fairly new in town, but I was flattered as all hell he’d picked me to ask out. We’d been on the same baseball team for half a season, and I’d only just noticed him checking out my ass in my uniform pants a few weeks before.
Oh, he was sly about it for sure, but it was there. I’d tested my theory after a game one night when I made a show of leaning over to pick up some stray equipment right in front of him. I thought for sure he was going to stab someone with the wood he popped. When I’d caught him staring, he’d blushed crimson and spouted off a bunch of bullshit about my having something on the back of my uniform pants.
It had surprised me, to be honest. He was the kind of guy who cracked queer jokes and called everything he didn’t like “gay.” A typical sporty dude who fit the homophobe jock stereotype to a T. But once I realized he was into me, I assumed all that bluster was for show, done out of fear of being discovered as gay in small-town Texas.
I’d gotten up the nerve to throw him a wink, letting him know I was cool with it. After that, it was just a matter of dropping flirty hints here and there to see whether he’d flirt back or punch me in the face. Lucky for me, he’d flirted back. Well, maybe not flirted so much as whispered the hottest line of Spanish that had ever been spoken.
He fumbled for my zipper and finally got his hand into my pants. Thank fucking god.
“Yes,” I hissed as his hand wrapped around my cock.
“Shut the hell up or someone’s going to hear us,” he growled.
Like I cared. I was so hot and turned on my head was beginning to buzz.
“Oh god” I couldn’t help but gasp as his hand squeezed pressure up and down my raging hard-on. I remembered the giant wad of paper napkins I’d grabbed in the lobby and wanted to be ready so I didn’t have to walk out of the theater with giant come stains all over my clothes.
“Shh,” he snapped again. “Cut that shit out, or I’m stopping.”
Jeez, what was his problem?
“Gonna come.” I hissed through my teeth as quietly as I could. There was no telling why I even warned him. Maybe I had some fantastical notion he’d want to lurch forward and suck down my release like it was a gift from the gods or something. No such luck.
Regardless, my release hit in a blaze of fucking glory. I felt like the king of orgasms with come shooting everywhere. In my imagination, it spattered my chest, my face, my partner, the popcorn bucket, the seat in front of me, and the projector high above our last-row seats.
In reality, it barely covered the guy’s fist.
Because, let’s be real, I may or may not have already jacked off three times that day in anticipation of the hookup.
After tossing him some of the rough paper napkins from my pocket, I used others to wipe myself off before tucking everything away again.
Once we were cleaned up and facing front, I watched the group of actors preparing to rob a bank on the big screen. My movie partner mumbled something, and I turned to face him.
“What?”
“That’s a little selfish, don’t you think?”
The high I’d been riding came crashing down with his words.
He continued. “Seems to me, you owe me one,” he said with a smirk, unbuckling his belt and opening his own pants.
It’s not that I disagreed—for sure I wanted him to feel as good as I had, but I’d just kind of thought we’d go for round two after catching our breaths and then he could be on the receiving end.
Honestly, it didn’t matter to me. I was horny enough to make out like that all night long. And with someone that sexy? Yes please. Sign me up. If things kept going that way, I’d have an actual boyfriend by the end of the night.
I threw up the armrest between us and lunged for his face with my own, crashing my lips down on his in what was probably an overeager kiss. He shoved me off, sputtering, and put his strong hands on my shoulders to push me down. Ah, okay. He wanted a blow job.
I was cool with t
hat. It was for sure on the long list of sex acts I’d barely gotten a chance to begin checking off in my brief time on earth. Despite never having done it before, I had full confidence in my abilities to at least give it my full enthusiasm.
After quickly dropping to my knees on the nasty cement floor, I reached for his open fly and took him out.
Oh god I might come again just from touching it. It’s a hard fucking penis. In my hands. And it’s not mine. Jesus.
I lurched forward with little to no grace and put my mouth on it. We both groaned, and I felt the chair at my back shift. Was someone sitting that close to us and we hadn’t realized it?
Who the fuck cares—I have a cock in my mouth. An actual stiff cock.
I licked and sucked like a newborn calf, hungry for any positive reaction out of the guy above me. The sounds he made were like gold stars on a child’s work sheet, and I tried diligently to earn more. It seemed to last forever but was probably only about ten point five seconds before he was yanking on my hair and coming all over my face.
Thank god for the supply of napkins I still had in my pocket.
After cleaning up the second time, I lay back in my chair, feeling triumphant. I was the king of sex. I was the motherfucking king of cocks and orgasms. Hopefully, someone had seen that display of manly perfection I’d just put on. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
I just gave Curtis Billingham head and rocked it.
Who was I going to tell first? For sure my brother Hudson. And maybe—
“Don’t tell anyone what we did,” he warned in a growly voice—the mean kind of growl, not the sexy kind.
I let out a breath. Fuck.
Fuck.
I should have realized he was one of those guys—happy in the closet and not about to tell anyone his “shameful secret.” His antigay rhetoric hadn’t been a front after all. It had been real.
My face felt numb. I couldn’t decide if it was from the oral calisthenics I’d done or the sting of humiliation I felt at having gone down on someone who clearly didn’t want me for more than that. Had I really not realized the guy was only using me to get off?
I felt like an idiot. Like I should have known it was all too good to be true.
“Why not?” I asked anyway, unable to look at him.
His voice came out high and squeaky. “Are you fucking kidding? My dad would kick my ass. And probably yours too.”
“He will not. What makes you even say that? Tons of people in this town are gay.”
After I used the “g” word, he sucked in a breath. “Will you lower your goddamned voice, West? I’m not gay, you idiot. Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Fine,” I said, lowering to a quieter whisper. “You just got blown by a dude. Wanna explain how you’re not gay? You asked me out, remember?”
If looks could kill, he’d be sitting next to my corpse.
“I’m sixteen and horny as fuck,” he snapped. “Assumed a pretty mouth like yours could suck cock with the best of them, so I decided to test my theory. You’ve been making eyes at me for weeks. It doesn’t make me gay to take someone up on their obvious desire to blow me.”
Humiliation bloomed hot all over my body. He hadn’t been interested in me, just a willing orifice? I stared at him. “You gave me a hand job first. Not to mention you’re the one who offered to blow me in Spanish class, not the other way around.”
“So I got the words wrong. I never was any good at Spanish.”
Seriously? The guy was an ass. Why hadn’t I seen that? Was I that bad of a judge of character? No, mostly just that blind with lust and hormones. I felt so stupid. I’d thought it was the start of having my first boyfriend—someone who’d show me off and flirt with me in halls at school. Someone who’d come to family dinner and cheer for me during our family’s crazy board game competitions.
Someone who’d smile when I walked in a room and kiss me just because.
I’d been so wrong. So naive.
“Not a word about this, West,” he snarled. “You don’t want this getting back to my father. Trust me on that.”
“What makes you think he’s such a homophobe?”
“Because I heard him tell Father Roman that the only reason he wouldn’t marry his girlfriend was because of her queer kid. Well, that and the fact the kid’s a troublemaker.”
“Who?” I asked, knowing pretty much everyone in town.
Curt snorted. “Nico Salerno. That kid’s got problems, just like his sister. No wonder my dad can’t bring himself to pop the question.” He said that last part with a laugh but not before I heard a sharp intake of breath from the next row.
Suddenly a scrawny guy stood up from where he must have been crouched down in the seat in front of us. He whipped his face around to us, eyes flashing and dark, overgrown hair hanging in his face.
“Fuck you,” he spat before bolting out of the row of seats toward the exit.
“Shit, he’s going to tell the manager.” Curt stood to go after him. “Gonna beat his fucking ass if he tells anyone.”
I shoved him back into his seat, deciding I was done with this “date” anyway. “I’ll take care of it.”
I raced out of the theater and caught up with the kid before he reached the lobby. “Wait up,” I called.
His steps faltered, and he glanced over his shoulder at me. There was something familiar about him, and I realized with a sinking stomach that I recognized him. He was the kid Curt had just been talking about, the troublemaker. He was a couple of years younger than I was, but had a sister around my age.
“Nico, right?” I asked.
“No.”
That was the first lie Nico ever told me. But it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.
I stepped closer, holding my hands out in an effort to keep him from bolting. “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry you heard that.” And I meant it.
He studied me from under thick, dark lashes, lips tightened in anger and face flushed in embarrassment. He shoved his hands in his pants, and that’s when I noticed the bulge straining against his zipper. He’d heard us getting off. It had turned him on.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s the truth,” he said in a huff. “Everyone in town knows it. Makes no difference to hear him say it.”
I could see the hurt and anger coming off him in waves, and I hated I was one of the causes.
“The guy’s full of shit.”
“This whole town is full of shit,” he said defiantly.
I couldn’t help but smirk at him. Nico was kind of cute with those stormy eyes and pouty lips. I shook my head to clear it of the stupid lust haze. What the hell was my problem? It was thoughts like that that had landed me in that damned movie theater to begin with. Never trust the lust thoughts, West, I thought.
“What’re you going to do? Leave?”
I’d meant it as a joke, but his eyes darkened at the suggestion.
“Come to think of it, yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Six weeks later, Nico Salerno disappeared from Hobie, Texas, and his family never saw him again.
Chapter 1
Nico—current day
“Where’s the king?” I asked when my best friend Griff and his husband Sam showed up at my tattoo shop empty-handed. I’d been looking forward to their visit to San Francisco all week but was surprised to see them show up without the baby.
“Don’t worry, we dropped Benji off at Mom and Dad’s so you wouldn’t have to deal,” Griff said, leaning in for a hug.
“What do you mean, wouldn’t have to deal?” I said.
Sam rolled his eyes and started looking at some of the premade designs hanging on the walls. “Everyone knows babies aren’t your thing, Nico. Whenever you’re around him, you get weird.”
My eyes flashed to Griff. “I do not get weird.”
“You do. It’s okay. I get it,” he said with a laugh. “It’s too bad though, we could use a competent babysitter. Blue and Tristan have their hands full with
their own crew, and Mom and Dad are going to be torn between Benji and Wolfe when we’re in town.”
What I should have said was that they were wrong, that I was fine babysitting, but we all knew that was a load of crap. As much as I hated to admit it, babies truly weren’t my thing. I’d never been interested in them. Maybe it’s because they were so damned vulnerable or breakable. Or they were loud and covered in puke all the time. I didn’t know, and it really didn’t matter. As a single, gay man, it wasn’t something that came up often in my life.
Until my best friend had moved to Napa and started a family.
“Well, it’s true I don’t make a good babysitter, but I can help in other ways,” I said, reaching behind the counter to where I’d stashed my notebook. “Here are a few sketches based on Sam’s concept for the tattoos.”
I opened the book to the page I’d dog-eared. On it was a dragon that looked a lot like the one I’d inked on Griff’s shoulder years before. But instead of a large, adult dragon, it was a little roly-poly baby version, and instead of bright green eyes like Griff’s, it had warm brown ones like Sam’s. Woven into the pattern of the scales on its tail was the name Benji.
Griff gasped from over my shoulder, and I turned to face him. His watery eyes skipped past me and locked onto Sam’s.
