“I had a full ride ’til the end of last semester, but the endowment got cut.” He pushed his plate away with a sigh. “My folks died in a car wreck when I was little. My aunt and uncle raised me, but they’ve got three kids of their own to put through school.”
A sad story, especially for someone so young. Appetite fading, Connor put down his burger and wiped his mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“You know, I’ve never figured out why people say that.” Wes’s blue gaze skewered him, though his tone held no trace of rancor. “Why should you be sorry? You didn’t know them. Hell, I was only four. I barely remember them.”
Connor wanted to rewind the last few minutes and just ask the kid how his burger was. “It’s what everyone says, I guess. What we’ve all been programmed to say.”
“Yeah. Just like, ‘The check’s in the mail’ or ‘I promise not to come in your mouth.’” When Connor nearly choked on a sip of water, Wes winced and bit his lip. His gorgeous, pink lower lip. “Sorry about that.” Another grimace, exaggerated for comic effect. “See? Now I’m saying it.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Connor chuckled and checked his watch. It was almost five. Time to head back to his room and get cleaned up for tonight’s schmooze-fest with Steve and whoever he’d roped into having drinks with them. Oh, joy. He tossed his napkin onto his plate. “Why don’t you go home and rest up for tomorrow? Presentation’s at ten. I’d like you here an hour beforehand.”
“Okay, but . . . you sure there’s nothing else I can do?” Wes looked at him the same way he had that night on the balcony, just before he’d kissed him. Thank God he wasn’t on his feet yet, or Connor might’ve been tempted to let him try it again. Right here in a room full of fast-food guzzling people.
Heat crept up his throat, his pulse tripping so fast he could hear the blood thundering between his ears. “See you tomorrow,” he rasped, grabbing his laptop bag, and made a beeline for the nearest door.
Connor’s alarm jolted him awake, splitting his skull like an ax. He fumbled for the “off” button, cracked open one bleary eye. Eight-thirty. Shit. He could’ve sworn he’d set it for eight.
Groaning, he grabbed the landline and called down to room service for breakfast. He usually only had coffee when he first got up, but considering the way his stomach was churning, he hoped a little oatmeal and fruit might help it settle. The woman on the other end of the line said it’d take about forty-five minutes, so he staggered into the bathroom for a quick shower.
Head throbbing, he slumped against the cool tiles and let the water sluice over him. Too much scotch, followed by staggering up to bed after midnight, had left him with a hangover he could ill afford. He climbed out and dragged a razor over his face, glaring at himself in the mirror. Christ, he looked like hammered shit. Couldn’t even recall who he and Steve had been drinking with, or if Steve had managed to sweet-talk them into writing a check.
His breakfast arrived just as he’d finished buttoning his shirt. He signed the bill, carried the tray over to the desk, and sat down, opening his laptop to scan his email while he ate. But his spoon froze halfway to his mouth as the screen flickered on, bright blue with a long error message that disappeared before he could scribble it down. The laptop automatically rebooted, flashed blue again, then went completely blank.
Oh, God, this can’t be happening. Not today.
Ice-cold panic surging through him, he shut down the machine, then grabbed his laptop bag and emptied it onto the bed, hunting frantically for his backup CD—but it wasn’t there. Shit! Just what he needed an hour before the fucking presentation! He did a hard reboot, breath hitching as the desktop finally reappeared. But now the PowerPoint icon was gone.
He searched every possible directory to no avail. Luckily, he had a copy on his flash drive. He loaded it up, stomach plummeting when he realized it was the original file Steve had sent him last weekend. He’d revised it since then—hell, he’d practically rewritten the entire second half. He checked every file on the flash drive, but the updated version wasn’t there.
A knock at the door jolted him from his chair. It was Wes, handsome as hell in a charcoal suit with a white shirt and dark blue tie. His forehead crinkled with concern as he stepped inside. “What’s wrong? You look like you just got hit by a bus.”
“My fucking laptop crashed. Presentation file’s gone.”
“You sure? Didn’t you back it up?”
“Goddamnit. Yeah, I did, but the backup’s on my desk at home. I left in such a hurry yesterday, I grabbed the wrong flash drive.” He sank onto the edge of the bed. “It’s official—I’m screwed.”
“Let me take a look, okay?” Wes scooped Connor’s mug and bowl of oatmeal off the tray and handed them to him. “Chill out a sec and finish your breakfast.”
The oatmeal had congealed into a sticky mass, but he managed to swallow a few bites, chasing them with bitter, lukewarm coffee. He’d just knocked back his last sip when Wes swung around, flashing a proud grin. “Well, well. Look what I found in the trash.”
Connor nearly dropped his mug as he crossed to the desk and clicked on the PowerPoint icon, caught between chagrin and sweet relief when he saw that it was, in fact, the right version. “Jesus. Talk about the most obvious place.” He clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Thank you for saving me from my own fucking idiocy.”
“Hey, it happens. You were rattled. Nobody likes the blue screen of death, right?” Wes stood, glancing at his watch. “We’ve got twenty minutes to get you downstairs, and you don’t even have your tie on.”
Connor grabbed a black silk tie from the bureau drawer and tried to put it on, but his shaky fingers refused to cooperate. Finally, Wes walked over to him and tied a quick, stylish Windsor knot, his fingers lingering at Connor’s throat. Their gazes met, fixed for a moment until Connor broke away to pull on his jacket. Wes grabbed the laptop and followed him out the door.
The powers-that-be had scheduled the presentation for the largest ballroom, which was already packed when they arrived. One of the organizers escorted them backstage, where Wes handed the laptop over to the conference’s audio-visual technician. Connor held his breath until the machine booted up with no apparent problems, and then leaned in to open the PowerPoint file.
The A/V guy plugged it into his system, the image from the laptop’s screen now mirrored on his own monitor. “Looks like we’re a go here, so anytime you’re ready . . .”
God, all those people out there waiting for him. His heart nearly skidded to a halt when Wes’s fingers closed over his. “Nervous?”
“How can you tell?”
“You’ll be fine. Just pretend you’re saying it all to me. And believe me, I can’t wait to hear it.” His lips hovered a scant inch from Connor’s ear. If Connor turned his head, they’d be close enough to kiss. So he did. Wes just looked at him, eyes twinkling, as if he were considering it—and for one wild, what-the-hell second, Connor actually wanted him to. “Better get out there before they start pounding on the tables,” Wes whispered.
Connor let his eyes drift shut for a moment, then walked onstage, greeted by a swell of applause. He stepped up to the podium, darting a glance offstage at Wes, who flashed him a pink-lipped grin. All right. He could do this. Just act like he was speaking only to Wes. The one person he knew would get it.
Then, the first PowerPoint panel cued up on the screen behind him, and he started talking.
Forty-five minutes never flew by so fast. Next thing Connor knew, he was engulfed in applause, the presentation’s final frame fading from the screen. He walked gratefully offstage to find Steve waiting for him, grinning like a proud papa at his kid’s first recital.
“I caught the last few minutes. You were fucking terrific.” Steve threw both arms around him, pounding him on the back so hard it hurt. “I knew you could do it.”
“I’m just glad it’s over.” For a second, he wondered where Wes had gone, until he spied him standing by the A/V station, Connor’s laptop tucked under his arm.
Wes smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. Well, okay then. He really had finessed his way through it.
“C’mon,” Steve said, dragging him toward the backstage entrance. “Noriyuki wants to say goodbye, and there’s a whole bunch of people dying for some face time with us.”
That was the first and last time Connor had a chance to catch his breath for the rest of the day. The afternoon spun past in a blur of interviews and brief chats with colleagues, with barely enough time to scarf down the sandwich Wes picked up for him. The kid was an absolute marvel, magically appearing with coffee before Connor even realized his energy was flagging, at the ready with his phone whenever he needed someone to take notes.
Around seven, a handful of potential investors insisted on taking them to dinner at the hotel’s ritzy steakhouse. Prime rib with all the trimmings, washed down with pricey Australian Shiraz. Delicious, though Connor was too wrung out to do more than pick at his asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes, eyelids drooping after a single glass of wine.
Wes sat at the far end of the table, effectively excluded from their conversation. He got up when the waitress came by to take their dessert order, shooting Connor a wan smile before drifting over to the bar.
Connor slipped off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, tuning out Steve’s never-ending sales pitch. He’d already heard it half a dozen times today, with minor variations. After another moment, he made his excuses and rose, his cramped legs grateful for the stretch. He’d intended to head straight for the elevator, but the bar was on the way, so he stopped to say goodnight to Wes.
“Hey.” Wes glanced up from his phone, then set it aside to take a sip from the glass in front of him. Something fizzy, with plenty of ice. “Tired of playing to your captive audience?”
“Just plain tired.” He slid onto the neighboring stool, resting his elbow on the bar. Funny, but now that he’d gotten away from Steve, he could feel a second wind. Much as he loved Steve, the guy was like a black hole, sucking energy from everyone around him. “Thanks, by the way. I appreciate all your help today.”
“My pleasure.” Another sip, followed by a decidedly pregnant silence, punctuated only by the soft jazz music wafting overhead. An old Billie Holiday tune Connor hadn’t heard in ages. “I’m A Fool to Want You.” God, talk about on the nose. He started to get up, until Wes’s hand glided over his, their fingers entwining.
Fresh heat shot down Connor’s spine, pooling in his groin. Pure, naked desire, reflected back at him in Wes’s impossibly blue eyes. Why the hell was he still fighting this? They were both adults, both sober enough to know what they were doing. It didn’t have to be complicated. What was wrong with a little warmth, a little human contact?
His other hand cupped Wes’s chin, thumb skimming over his cheek. Such soft, pale skin. He bent down, ready to steal a kiss from that beautiful mouth. Everyone in the whole fucking bar was probably staring at them, but he didn’t care.
Wes drew back at the last possible instant, laying a finger across Connor’s lips. “You want to get out of here?”
“Fuck, yes.” Hands still clasped, he sprang up, yanking Wes along with him to the elevator.
The gray-haired couple riding down with them was all that kept them from tearing their clothes off before they’d even reached Connor’s room. He nearly sprained his wrist wrestling his card into the lock. Once inside, he kicked the door shut and shoved Wes up against it. Their hands went everywhere, twisting in each other’s hair, tugging shirts free from belts, skimming underneath for that first heavenly touch of heated flesh.
At last, a kiss—hot, wet, teasing, with softly nipping teeth and silky-smooth swipes of tongue. They took their time, tasting each other, the spicy tang of red wine lingering in their mouths. Connor tore himself away to lick a stripe down Wes’s throat, fastening on a delectable patch of warm, salty skin, sucking hard. Wes let out a half-strangled sound and rasped, “Bed. Before I fall down.”
They landed on the mattress in a tangled heap, fingers fumbling. Connor tugged Wes’s shirt off, then sat back on his heels and stared. He was surprisingly well-muscled for such a slight, compact guy, his skin dusted with pale gold freckles. Had them on his nose and cheeks, too. Why hadn’t he noticed before?
“What’s the matter?” Wes followed Connor’s gaze, which was still glued to his chest. “Did I just sprout a third nipple or something?”
Connor grinned. “I had no idea you were so . . . cute with your clothes off.”
Here came that adorable pink blush again. “You make me sound like a damn puppy.”
“You are, kind of. Loyal, faithful, fond of fetching things . . .”
“Well, I draw the line at licking my own balls. Though I’ve got no objection to licking yours.” Another kiss, and they attacked each other’s clothes again. Connor’s shirt cuff tore at the seam as Wes pulled it off without bothering to unbutton it first. Connor faked a flash of anger, but quickly melted into laughter at Wes’s horrified expression. Shoes next, then socks, pants, boxers. Naked at last, they stopped to look at each other, their soft panting the only sound in the room.
“Not bad,” Wes murmured, fingertips tracing Connor’s lean torso. “You a runner or a swimmer?”
“Neither. Just a lot of walking. And volleyball, whenever I get the chance.”
“Nice.” His hand traveled lower, closing around Connor’s cock. “Especially this part.”
Connor bit back a moan as Wes gave him a few gentle strokes, his dick swelling from the attention. “Glad you like it,” was all he could say.
“I love it,” Wes said. “But you’ll have to take it easy. I’m not used to so much of a good thing.”
“You’re assuming I want to be on top.”
“Oh.” Wes sat up, blinking. “You mean—”
“I’m versatile, though it’s been awhile for me in either case. But don’t worry. We can go as slow as you want.” A couple minutes ago it would’ve killed him to say that, but now he was perfectly content to lie back and savor the experience. He tossed his glasses on the nightstand, blinking as the world went fuzzy. But when he tried to tug Wes down next to him, he refused to budge. “What’s the matter?”
Wes stared down at the bedspread, biting his lip. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.” Connor’s heart started tripping. Wes looked like he was ready to bolt. The silence dragged on until Connor couldn’t stand it. “C’mon, what is it?”
“This morning, when your laptop crashed, I . . . well, I didn’t find that PowerPoint file in the trash.”
“Where did you find it?”
“On the flash drive in my pocket. I copied it yesterday, when you sent me up to fetch the computer.” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, I really am. I know I shouldn’t have, but I wanted a sneak peek at your project. I wasn’t planning to . . .” He looked like he was about to be sick. “Sell it, or show it to anyone else, I swear.”
A long moment ticked by, Connor staring at the naked young man on his bed. Irritation snaked up his spine, but he shrugged it off. While he had ample reason to be pissed, under the circumstances it seemed ungrateful. If not for Wes, there would’ve been no presentation.
Talk about a ridiculous stroke of luck. He couldn’t help chuckling. “God, you’re adorable. You saved my ass today, and you’re apologizing for it?”
“You’re not mad?”
“I should be, but I’m not. I would’ve been royally screwed today if you hadn’t done what you did. Speaking of . . .” He shoved Wes onto his back, planting another hot, wet kiss on those luscious lips.
This time Wes tore himself away first. “I can’t believe you actually want me.”
Connor laughed again, gently, reaching up to caress Wes’s cheek. “I’d be lying if I said the same thought hadn’t occurred to me.”
“Jesus, why wouldn’t I? You’re brilliant and gorgeous and hot—”
“Okay, okay, you can lay off the flattery. In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve already gotten me in
to bed.”
“Guess I’d better get to work, then.” With that, Wes rolled on top of him and started kissing down his chest. God, what was it about this kid? The faintest brush of his lips and fingertips set every nerve ending in Connor’s body on fire. Torn between drawing this out and wanting Wes’s mouth on his cock right now, he buried his hands in that dark hair and pulled gently, just to let him know who was boss. Because damn it, this time he wanted to be on top.
Those pink, pink lips promised untold delights. When they closed over the tip of his cock, he let his hands drop to the covers, grabbing rough handfuls, moaning through gritted teeth. What the fuck was Wes doing with his tongue? Running the flat of it along the ridge between the crown and shaft, flicking the slit. Bobbing his head up and down a few times before starting all over again. Christ, where the hell had he learned to do that?
Wes coaxed him right to the brink, until Connor had to push on his shoulders to get him to stop. “Amazing as that feels,” he panted, “I don’t want to come yet. Not ’til I fuck you.” Then he remembered . . . “Shit! I don’t have any condoms or lube.”
“S’okay, I do.” Rolling to his feet, Wes grabbed his crumpled slacks off the floor, fishing a small tube and a strip of shiny foil squares out of one pocket. Connor’s eyes widened, though he didn’t know why he was so surprised. The kid had already tried to seduce him last weekend, after all. Wes tore open the condom with his teeth and smoothed it on, Connor’s breath huffing out in a tortured hiss. “How do you want me?”
The instantaneous mental image of Wes on his back, splayed wide open for him, brought him that much closer to losing it. No, better not. It’d probably hurt Wes more than either of them would enjoy, never mind the fact that he couldn’t imagine lasting longer than a few strokes. Might be a good idea to let Wes do the driving.
His cock was still in Wes’s hand, cradled against his palm. It pulsed so hard, Connor could feel it in his veins, inside his skull. “Climb on and ride me.”
Riptide Rentboys Page 7
