The Alcove (Lavender Shores Book 7)

by Rosalind Abel

  Maybe reading my mind, he flinched again, then snagged his towel off the floor and wrapped it around his waist. “Sorry.” His mutter was barely audible over the distant thumping techno. He seemed nervous, and if I didn’t know better, scared. He started to step around me. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Don’t. I wasn’t trying to disturb you.” Shocking myself as much as him, I grabbed his forearm. We both looked down at the touch.

  I released him instantly.

  His gaze lifted to mine. Yes. He was nervous. And, though I couldn’t imagine how such a man would ever feel that way in my presence, afraid. And… sad. There was something in those brown depths that was so very sad. Lonely.

  We stared at each other. Probably not for very long, though I couldn’t be sure. His breathing grew heavy, the muscles of his chest heaved. Not breaking eye contact, and without considering, I lifted my hand so my fingertips touched his chest hair. I held still just long enough for him to object and then smoothed my hand over his chest.

  Yeah, he was why I’d come. He’d help me turn the page, and then when I woke up the next day, I’d start life all over.

  “I’d like it if you stayed.”

  Prologue - Part Two

  Russell

  His words broke through my panic. I’d like it if you stayed.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been at the bathhouse. A few hours at least. Most of the time I’d spent in the private room I rented. I locked myself in there, trying to get up the nerve to go back out as I watched the porn playing on the screen. It took less than ten minutes to make a full trip around the Male Box, squeezing through the hallways, so narrow I had to turn sideways to allow the other guys to pass. And each time they took it as an invitation to touch me or rub their bodies against mine.

  Over the past nineteen years, I’d been in countless life-and-death situations. Looked down the barrel of a gun more than once, grappled with men just as big as I was but strung out on drugs that increased their strength and lessened their sense of self-preservation. Walked down hallways and kicked in doors, knowing at every turn there could be a person who wanted me dead.

  And I had never, not once, been as terrified as I felt walking the hallways of the Male Box. So much so, I’d nearly turned and ran away as soon as I paid the room fee. But at that point, it was a matter of pride. Stupid, really, when I didn’t have any pride left, but what little thread remained secured me to the bathhouse. I was going to see it through.

  Up until that point, I’d managed less than a minute in every single place. The steam room, some pitch-dark dungeon, a room with a sling and restraints on the wall. Between each, I darted back to my room, locked the door, and nearly broke. I made it the longest in the room with the glory holes, and that was only because I could squeeze myself in a little cubby and pull the curtain. I was in there a good five or ten minutes until somebody shoved their cock through the hole. By that point I hadn’t been paying attention and bumped against it with my hand. I’d nearly screamed.

  Screamed. At a cock, for fucks sake.

  I didn’t, but with the speed I raced back to my little room, I might as well have.

  Discovering the sauna had been a small miracle, if miracles could happen in such a place. It’d been empty. I clutched the condoms and packet of lube that had been left for me in my room. I’d carried them around from place to place for protection. More as a literal shield, something to hold on to, rather than the sort of protection they were intended for. I walked through the sauna, saw the little nook over to the right, and settled in.

  Every once in a while the door creaked open, and I’d hear the footsteps of someone walk in, but they never came all the way to look into the other section before they’d leave. Maybe the room was too bright, at least compared to the rest of the place, or too hot. I didn’t care. At least I wasn’t cowering in my room. Maybe there wasn’t any difference between hiding there or in the back of the sauna, but at least I could pretend I was trying to follow through on my goal.

  I had no idea how much time passed, but somewhere in there, with the heavy, warm heat and the utter exhaustion following the worst couple of weeks of my life, I fell asleep.

  I awoke, feeling someone’s presence close by. I was disoriented, my mind fuzzy. It all came back as I saw the nearly naked man standing in front of me.

  Bathhouse. Right, I’d ended up in a bathhouse.

  As I jumped, ready to attack, I readjusted my perspective. The person I was about to clock was barely a man. Twenty years old at the most.

  He apologized for startling me. He was half my size, and even he could see how terrified I was. Half my size and beautiful.

  At that thought, a different sort of reaction began to take over my body, and I realized my towel was on the floor. The shame at that was enough to stop the blood flow south, and I scooped up the towel and tied it around my waist, knotting it so it would better hide a reaction if my body started to betray me again.

  Back to my room I’d go. Hide out there until I managed to quit shaking and then give up. It was time to wave the white flag and get the fuck out of there.

  I started to squeeze past him, but he spoke, then touched my arm.

  I lost count of how many times I’d been touched that night. Passing others in the hallway and the brief moments as I darted into one room or the other. No touch asked for, and not a one wanted.

  His touch hadn’t been asked for either, but I wanted it. At least, judging from the lightning that rocketed through me at the contact of his skin on mine, I wanted it.

  He released me, almost instantly.

  There was my chance. The moment to run back to my room. But I made a mistake. As if they were calling to me, I looked down into his blue eyes. They were bright, gentle. Vibrant and clear in the way that only the young possessed, but already I could see pain in their depths, and it called to me.

  Like recognizing like, or some shit.

  And then he touched my chest. Barely contact at first, but enough that I could feel the question, the request for permission. I was frozen. By fear, by desire.

  I couldn’t look away from his eyes.

  He sank his fingers into my chest hair and slid his palm against my skin.

  There was no way to knot a towel to hide my body’s reaction to his touch. Though, he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze never left mine.

  “I’d like it if you stayed.” His voice was a soft, gentle tenor. And though I could discern the lust and desire in his words, I heard his need. It matched the pain I recognized in his eyes.

  He’d like it if I stayed.

  His request broke something in me. For the past weeks, stone after stone after stone had been piled on top of my shoulders, weighing me down so my heart struggled to beat, my feet could barely move, and my lungs became incapable of catching air. But his words, so quiet and gentle, exploded through me, shattering every rock I’d been carrying around. It didn’t destroy them; they were there. There was no mistake about their weight or their presence. But somehow air began to slip through the fissures, and with his blue eyes looking into me, and his hand stroking over my heart, I took the first breath I could recall in a long, long time.

  Though I hadn’t been aware of my mind giving the command, my hand lifted and I stroked my thumb over his cheek then traced his perfectly smooth jaw. He was beautiful. “You are so beautiful.” No sooner did the words flash in my mind than they spilled from my lips. I tried to think of a way to pull them back. He was a man. Not beautiful. Handsome. I should’ve said handsome. Or sexy. Something.

  But he was… beautiful. Sure, he was a man, but there was a gentility to him. Porcelain skin, finely etched features. His body was thin and perfectly smooth. Blemish free.

  Innocent.

  So innocent that he didn’t deserve to be touched by the likes of me. But I couldn’t pull my hand away. Couldn’t force myself to quit touching him.

  All hope was lost as his face pressed into my hand, resting in my palm as he breathed
out a sigh.

  I reached out with my other hand, ready to touch his chest, but I paused, a terrible, terrible thought rocketing through me. I’d never been to a bathhouse before, but I’d shown them my license. Signed all sorts of waivers when I’d entered. I was certain he had as well. But I had to ask. “How old are you?”

  He stiffened, straightening so his head left my hand’s embrace, and he dropped his touch from my chest.

  At the loss of him, I regretted my words.

  There was a flash of irritation in those blue eyes. A spark of fire that only added to his beauty. “I’m twenty-three.” His anger faded instantly, giving way to what sounded like an embarrassed sigh as a flush rose to his cheeks. “It’s not your fault. Chances are, I’m going to get carded until I’m a hundred and one.”

  Twenty-three! Legal by several years but still a baby.

  As if reading my mind, he tilted his head and lifted his chin in defiance. “How old are you?”

  Feeling utterly and completely ancient, I took a step back. “Forty. Old enough to be your father.” Maybe an exaggeration. Although I suppose I could’ve started early. Lots of seventeen-year-olds had children.

  Mimicking me, he flinched and took a step back as well. “Is that what you want? Me to call you Daddy?”

  Whether the man radiated gentle beauty or not, there was the spike of anger in his tone, one that I appreciated. “No. Most definitely not.”

  “Oh.” He flinched again, and once more those blue eyes studied me. It was easy to see he was judging me, determining whether or not I was being honest. It only took him a moment to realize I was. “Good.” He stepped forward once more, returned his hand to my chest, exactly how it had been. “Will you stay?”

  The whirlwind of emotions that seemed to rocket through him was so transparent that it was nearly overwhelming. With his touch, the lust returned. There was no attempt to hide his desire. Nor his sincerity.

  I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at me in such a way. Couldn’t remember the last time someone had wanted me to stay anywhere. But he did. Clearly he did.

  He wouldn’t if he knew. If I lay the shambles of my life in front of him, he wouldn’t want me to stay. Not even for a moment.

  He lifted his other hand and mirrored his touch on the other side of my chest as he leaned closer and looked up into my eyes. “I’d like you to stay. Please. I’m starting my life over. I’m finally free.” His left hand traveled from my chest over my stomach, and the thumb dipped behind the knot of the towel. His right stayed over my heart. “Stay, help me celebrate that, okay?”

  Help him celebrate.

  I nearly laughed. Or cried.

  He was at a bathhouse to celebrate the beginning of his new life. While I was there to put the final nail in the coffin of my own.

  Maybe that was perfect. I could give him that. I would celebrate with him. This beautiful man, so young and fresh. I could help him celebrate, maybe take whatever darkness I saw in his eyes, have him pour it into me—it wasn’t like I’d even notice the addition—and then he could start fresh. Truly fresh and clean.

  “I’ll stay.”

  He smiled up at me then. And though there was still lust in his eyes, his smile was so pure and so bright there truly was no other word for him but beautiful. “Thank you.” He twisted his fingers, releasing the knot, and my towel fell away. And for the first time in what felt like hours, his blue gaze left mine to travel down my body, and the smile on his lips changed as his fingers wrapped around my straining shaft.

  My cock had been grabbed several times that night. Quick tugs, caresses, and yanks through the towel. Each one had caused me to turn away. But I nearly came at the contact from him

  Just as with the desire, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been touched. Not like that.

  He stroked me a few times—his soft hands traveling up and down my length in a slow exploration, swiping over the head and using my precome to heighten the sensation. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

  I’d never been called beautiful before either. A whole list of other words. I had many, many flaws, but my looks weren’t on that list. But still, beautiful had never been a descriptor, and if it had, I would’ve been insulted. But coming from him, I wanted to hear it again.

  As he continued to stroke, he pulled his hand from my chest and released his own towel, allowing it to fall away.

  Leaning back to get a better look, I arched deeper into his fist as my gaze traveled over his body. Tight curls that matched the red of his hair framed a surprisingly long, thick erection. I was bigger, quite a bit, but I hadn’t expected his size to be quite so impressive given his stature.

  At the sight of his cock, what we were doing became utterly real. Beautiful or not, there was no denying his masculinity, I couldn’t delude myself that he was anything other than what he was. Nor could I pretend I didn’t want him completely. Even with a nearly mind-blowing level of terror coursing through me, I reached out and took him into my hand.

  We both shuddered at the same time.

  The feel of him was remarkable. So familiar and yet completely foreign. In many ways, the same as touching myself, but so very different. The weight of his heavy shaft in my palm, the warm smoothness of his skin against my calloused fingers. A bead of precome spilled over his head, and I stroked it with my thumb, marveling at the sight, the feel.

  Though it was hard to tear my gaze away, I met his eyes once more. “You are the one who’s beautiful. Unbelievably beautiful.”

  Another blush rose to his cheeks, only enhancing his beauty, and he bit his lower lip nervously.

  I could tell he was waiting for me to take the lead. To tell him what to do. Or simply make him do it. But I had no clue. I wanted him to do everything. Anything and everything. But I wasn’t sure what all that was. And even less sure how to make it happen.

  Was I supposed to take him back to my room? Were we supposed to stay there, in the glowing heat of the sauna?

  Did I get on my knees and take him into my mouth? Or did I have him do that to me? Both options were nearly enough to make me light-headed, with desire and fear.

  Did we simply stand here and jerk each other off? Even that sounded like heaven. And maybe more than I could handle.

  Did we fuck?

  Surely not. We weren’t going to fuck. We couldn’t. We shouldn’t.

  At the thought, I glanced over at the condoms and lube packet a few feet away on the bench.

  No. Not fucking. We shouldn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  So what did we do? I looked back at him, forcing myself to meet his eyes and stroke him again. Then again. And again.

  I kept stroking to figure out what to do next. Nothing came. No option. Nothing. Defeated, I let my hand fall away, overwhelmed by the possibilities in my increasing fear.

  Clearly he wanted me to take the lead, and I couldn’t do it.

  Just add it to the long list of failures.

  This beautiful man needed me to do one thing, one thing only, and I couldn’t.

  He stopped stroking me, then pulled his hand away from my chest. “Did you change your mind? Do you not want me?”

  My gaze flashed back to his. Maybe if he’d said it in any other way, my answer would’ve been different. But I did. I wanted him. Maybe more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. I shook my head. “No. I didn’t change my mind.” I couldn’t hold the intensity, so I glanced away once more, looking back to the bench, to the condoms, and then the other way, toward the door on the other side of the sauna.

  “Oh. You want that?” He sounded nervous, questioningly.

  His words confused me for a moment until I realized he was looking over at the condoms. I started to shake my head, to deny, but his hands were on me again, stroking my cock once more, and this time, as his hand touched my chest, he pushed slightly.

  “Okay.” He still sounded nervous, but when he looked up at me again, it wasn’t nerves or fear I
saw in his eyes. It was only lust, only desire. “Okay.” The second time he said the word, it had completely changed and matched what I’d seen in his blue depths.

  At his guidance, I moved until the back of my knees bumped into the wooden bench, and I sat back where I had been what seemed like lifetimes ago.

  He reached around, pulled a band from his ponytail, and his hair fell around his shoulders. From my seated position, he was now above me, and he stepped closer, so his legs were on either side of mine. Both of his hands lowered and sank through my chest hair to stroke over my chest and then traveled down my abs in an agonizingly slow yet firm sort of embrace.

  His pale skin nearly glowed in the dim lights, and his thick red hair shimmered like fire.

  Beautiful.

  The word began echoing repeats in my brain. Beautiful. He was so fucking beautiful.

  And then my hands were traveling over his body. His perfectly smooth, white skin. His thin, masculine body a marvelous combination of delicate strength.

  I could get lost in him. Though his body was smaller than mine, I could spend years exploring. Memorizing each swell and curve with my fingertips.

  And my tongue? To explore him with my tongue? To discover his taste?

  The thought gave me pause and nearly took my breath away, not that I had much left.

  A glistening trail of sweat caught my attention as it made its way over his clavicle, down his chest, and over his smooth stomach, drawing me back to his straining erection.

  Again, I wanted to taste. I could only imagine the taste of him.

  Before I could decide how to make such a thing happen, he bent slightly, picked up one of the condoms and ripped it open. Before I could quite make sense of what was happening, he was fixing it on the head of my cock and then rolling it down my shaft. And in another heartbeat, the packet of lube was opened and spilling into his hand.