The Valentine's Day Resolution
Page 15
Paul thrust up. “You’re killing me here.”
Huxley chuckled around the mouthful of cockhead, then sucked Paul down. The noises Paul was making made him purr. Huxley pulled off with an audible pop.
“Now there’s a fine piece of true north, strong and free.”
Paul groaned. “You’ll go to hell for that.”
“For what? Complimenting one of your finest assets?”
“You can’t use the national anthem that way. It’s sacrilegious.” Paul jerked his hips straight up as Huxley dropped his mouth over the asset in question again and worked it until Paul was shaking.
AT LAST Paul pushed Huxley away gently. “You won’t get fucked if you keep that up. Come here.”
He ran his hands over Huxley’s pecs, rubbing his nipples until he elicited a gasp, then a moan. Paul smiled as Huxley bit his lip.
“Do me now,” Huxley whispered. “Right now.”
“I’m just getting started.”
Huxley glared. “You can be romantic later. Right now I need you to fuck me.”
Paul’s cock jerked. “Yes, sir. And how may I serve you today?”
“Me on my hands and knees. You behind me.” Huxley grabbed the lube from Paul’s nightstand drawer and began to prep himself. “Now.”
Paul laughed. “Someone’s impatient.”
Huxley dropped to his hands and knees, facing the dresser, flowers reflected in the large attached mirror. He arched his back and shivered. “Now, Paul. Please.”
Paul ran his fingers up Huxley’s crack and around his rim. He pushed in a finger and Huxley jolted. “I’m ready.”
“Hmmmm.” Paul stroked a circle, slow and lazy.
Huxley bowed his back, and he gasped. “Ready.”
Paul pushed in a second finger. In the mirror Huxley’s face tensed in concentration, eyes shut, mouth open, tip of his pink tongue just visible. Huxley’s expression could make him lose his mind.
Huxley groaned. “Today would be good.”
Paul suppressed a chuckle and leaned over to whisper in Huxley’s ear. “Another outburst like that and I might have to… take steps.”
“Would they involve my ass?”
Paul laughed. He gloved up, then pressed himself to Huxley’s hole. “Don’t think I’ll forget this.”
Huxley pressed back, pushing himself onto Paul’s cock. “Don’t think I’ll forget when it’s your turn.”
Paul pressed in until he was fully seated, then draped himself over Huxley’s back, holding him tight around the chest with one arm. Huxley watched him in the mirror, eyes half-lidded like a cat being stroked. Paul smiled at him, kissed Huxley’s nape, and started to move.
Huxley closed his eyes in pleasure. He pushed back to meet each thrust. “Faster. More.”
The room smelled of sex and roses, musky and rich. The sounds coming from Huxley turned Paul’s cock to iron. He began stroking Huxley, who bucked, driving him almost past the point of control.
Huxley stiffened and shot, crying out as he spent, his face contorted in pleasure. The sight of Huxley coming hard under his touch sent Paul over the edge. He slowed his thrusts as he pumped through his climax.
When Paul opened his eyes, he saw Huxley’s smile in the mirror over the roses. Paul disengaged carefully, tying off the condom and tossing it, and then pulled Huxley down with him onto the mattress, the little spoon to Paul’s big spoon.
Huxley grabbed Paul’s thigh and pulled his leg over, holding him close. Paul pressed his nose into Huxley’s neck and breathed in his scent.
“I was going to come by this evening,” said Huxley. “After the store closed. I even wrote out what I would say. I missed you.”
Paul tightened his arm around Huxley’s chest. “I was afraid you hated me after the way I treated you.”
Huxley snuffled. “I would never not have come to find you.” He was drifting off.
“I would never not have tried to get you back,” Paul whispered. “And even if you didn’t want to see me, I had a secret weapon.”
“Whuh…?”
“I still have your Ripley books.”
Epilogue
July
HUXLEY TOOK another bite of Chocolate Guinness donut as Amelie wrapped up her presentation of five potential designs for company branding. Once they selected the company’s new look, Marketing would tackle a complete redesign of all their product packaging.
Meredith would follow up with a report on development of new cookie flavors undertaken after review and analysis of the marketing research project findings. She would also report on the test kitchen’s results after testing new product formulations—gluten-free, low-sugar pasta sauces and breakfast cereals were the current focus.
Much work remained, especially in their biggest—and oldest—factory, which hadn’t had an infrastructure update in a long time. Huxley glanced at Alexandra, who was focused on Amelie. Bringing her on board had been his best decision so far. Wait, no. Second best.
Huxley had overheard Bob shouting in the reception area one day and come out to investigate.
“I am not going to try to make sense of this gobbledygook on a computer screen.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tunney,” said Sherrilyn. “My staff and I don’t print documentation from the intranet. If you want a paper copy of something, you’re welcome to print it yourself.”
“Problem?” said Huxley.
“I want paper copies of these reports, and I want them now. What are we paying these people for anyway?”
Red splotches appeared on Sherrilyn’s cheeks.
Huxley frowned. “Not to print intranet documents. You know that. You owe Sherrilyn an apology.”
Bob glared.
“Now,” said Huxley.
“You can go straight to hell.” Bob turned, muttering under his breath, “Filthy pervert.”
Huxley’s heart rate exploded. His face went hot with rage. He took a breath and made sure he had control over his voice before speaking. “Bob, you’re fired.”
Bob spun. “You can’t fire me.”
“Sherrilyn, please alert Lola Soto that she’ll need to escort Bob from the office.” Lola would take his office keys and building access badge.
Bob turned pale as he realized Huxley was serious. In the end they had to have building security guards come up to get him out of the office.
Alexandra had agreed to work as an intern for the company through the end of her last semester to help fill Bob’s shoes. She had a real knack for overseeing the company’s day-to-day operations. It turned out Bob hadn’t been doing a whole lot, which gave Alexandra plenty of room to grow into the role of COO and make it hers. Huxley offered her the position as soon as she graduated with her MBA.
Not long after Alexandra transitioned into the COO position, Huxley found his father waiting for him when he entered his office one morning.
“Huxley.”
“Dad.” Huxley gave him a wary look as he set his belongings on his desk.
“I’ve released your trust fund,” said his father.
Huxley stared, mouth open. Seconds ticked by. His father raised a brow.
“I—you—why?”
“I see no need to retain control at this time.” Great nonanswer. “I like what you’re doing here,” his father added.
Huxley opted for caution and kept his thoughts to himself.
“I know you never intended to do this permanently, but I hope you’ll stay on.”
Huxley stared. “You do?”
His father’s lip twitched, and he gave one quick, sharp nod.
Huxley hesitated. Oh, what the hell. Why not ask? “I didn’t do anything the first nine months I was here.”
“I know. Believe me, Bob kept me informed. However, other people were keeping me informed too.”
People on his staff had snitched on him? His face must have revealed his thoughts.
“People I mentored and trusted. I placed a few of them here to see what was going wrong and if anything could b
e salvaged. Oilton Foods should be a touchstone company for Herrington Industries, but it was stagnating.”
Huxley flushed. He could imagine what his father was told when he started.
“I’d have given you a full year. You exceeded my expectations.” His father stood. “I’m due at a meeting in twenty minutes, but I wanted to let you know your funds are at your disposal.”
“I still don’t get it,” said Huxley.
His father was at the door, hand on the doorknob. “You will,” he said and then let himself out.
Huxley was free. He had the money. He could do anything he wanted. And he wasn’t going anywhere.
November
PAUL SMILED as he clicked to move funds from his business operations account to the bank account he insisted Huxley open for managing Huxley’s business loan to Floribunda. Finally—paid in full.
Paul had reimbursed himself retroactively for the missed paychecks—at Huxley’s insistence—and completely replenished the business’s cash cushion. His parents never learned how gullible he’d been. The business was back on firm footing.
Huxley had asked Paul about looking for a place they could share. Paul’s apartment was comfortable for a bachelor, but not so much for the two of them. And Huxley’s place was also small for two and only had one parking space.
Paul hadn’t been ready to discuss a move as long as he owed Huxley money. But now he was debt free—and just the previous month, Sukey mentioned that if Paul ever wanted to rent his apartment, she’d be interested.
Christmas was on the horizon. This year he could actually celebrate the holidays, and the best part would be sharing them with Huxley.
End of February
“SUGAR, THIS does nothing for my figure.”
Carson, Paul, Huxley, Alexandra, and Jay followed their surfing instructor across the beach, all wearing wet suits, gloves, booties, and hoods and carrying surfboards. Carson managed to do a runway walk in wet sand.
Huxley grinned as he followed Paul. The sky, the beach, the virgin forest in the distance, the big waves rolling in—it was difficult to pull his gaze away from the spectacular surroundings, but Paul’s wet suit molded itself to his hips and ass in a way that had Huxley filling his own wet suit a little more fully in the front.
They’d survived another Valentine’s Day at Floribunda and passed their one-year anniversary. Two days before, they flew into Victoria, BC, with the others and rented an SUV, then drove to Tofino on the most beautiful highway Huxley had ever traveled—and he’d been on some breathtaking Canadian roads. He’d even taken a turn driving. He’d come a long way from the man who sat in Carson’s van holding a paper bag a year ago.
“I’m quite sure I look like a whale,” said Carson.
“Orca or humpback?” asked Alexandra.
“Neither, dahlink. I could only be a sperm whale, of course.”
Huxley thought he looked more like a grizzly bear than a cetacean with all those muscles outlined in neoprene, but he wasn’t about to say so.
Ahead of them their instructor’s shoulders shook. He was the quintessential laid-back Tofino surfer dude and appeared unfazed by anything that came out of Carson’s mouth.
“It’ll be interesting to see if there are rumors of beach yeti sightings by the end of the week,” said Paul with a wink over his shoulder at Huxley.
“Mock away, surfer boy,” said Carson. “And just see how long it takes to get your built-ins in your fancy-schmancy new condo. How would you like to live out of cardboard boxes indefinitely?”
“Speaking of the new condo,” said Paul, “I was thinking about picking up some driftwood—you know, maybe for a coffee table?”
“You were warned,” said Carson.
Huxley breathed in the scents carried by the wind coming off the ocean and let the banter tumble past him like the cries of the seabirds and the rush of the surf. The world was an endless stream of amazing and potentially earth-shaking moments—like the glimpse of a man’s face on a dark January morning that changed his life’s direction. His Valentine’s Day resolution this year would suffice for now and for all the years to come. Savor all the moments, good or bad, because that was how the hell you had a life.
More from Ava Hayden
Nick DiGiaccomo waits tables at Fortissimo, an exclusive restaurant in Oilton, Alberta. He loathes drama, particularly the kind that makes its appearance on Valentine’s Day.
This Valentine’s Day is especially bitter. Eight months ago Nick’s heart was broken when his lover walked away without a word over a misunderstanding. Too proud to call, Nick’s heard nothing from him since. But on this, the most romantic day of the year, he keeps his feelings well-hidden and his professional smile firmly in place.
That is, until he sees his ex-lover, Mark Mishimoto, at a table for two in his section—and his Valentine’s Day goes from bad to downright horrible.
To make matters worse, a winter storm descends, hours earlier than forecast. When the restaurant closes, Nick finds himself stuck downtown in the middle of a blizzard with no way to get home and nowhere to go. Mark lives conveniently close by, and he’s offering up his couch. Nick could use a place to lay his head—but is it worth risking his heart?
Ren Murphy is a stagehand. He’s also a loyal friend, a gifted musician, and an inspiring teacher—but most people don’t see past his job. Ren knows that crushing on the Oilton Philharmonic Orchestra’s principal timpanist, Christoph Theoharis, is a waste of time. Christoph brushes off highly eligible would-be suitors regularly. What chance would a stagehand have? Christoph doesn’t even notice Ren’s existence—until one fateful night when chance or luck or maybe fate gets Ren Christoph’s undivided attention.
Old betrayals overshadow both men’s lives, yet each sees something compelling in the other, something that won’t let either walk away. Ren and Christoph may be each other’s best hope of finding a happy-ever-after, but to do that they’ll have to forgive old wrongs. They’ll have to let go of the pain in their past before it destroys their hope for a better future. Most of all, they’ll have to find a way to believe—in possibilities and each other.
AVA HAYDEN lives and writes in Canada but grew up in the southern United States.
When not writing, she loves hiking Banff and Jasper National Parks, Kananaskis Country, and Vancouver Island. She also enjoys seeing Canada by train and wants to ride the Polar Bear Express someday.
She is thrilled to be publishing with Dreamspinner Press.
Follow her on Instagram: avahayden.ab.
By Ava Hayden
Daniel’s Lynx
His Fallow Heart
Table for One
The Timpanist and the Stage Hand
The Valentine’s Day Resolution
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Valentine’s Day Resolution
© 2017 Ava Hayden.
Cover Art
© 2017 Alexandria Corza.
http://www.seeingstatic.com/
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
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Digital ISBN: 978-1-63533-701-3
Published August 2017
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America