by Shawn Lane
The bathroom had one of those old-fashioned claw-footed tubs, which was cracked, next to a tiny standing shower. Mace would never accept this as our bathroom, so that would definitely need to be redone as well.
“Owen.”
I turned to see who had spoken, but found no one.
Leaving the master bedroom, I briefly looked into the other rooms and bathrooms to see what shape they were in and what kind of work would need to be done. All in all, not really as much work as I’d thought, but still something I could tinker with. And I could envision changing up a few things, too.
I walked to the top of the stair and glanced toward the master bedroom. I absolutely did not believe in ghosts, but I could have sworn I’d seen a man by the window who looked exactly like Dexter Larabee. I should be scared enough to go running down the stairs and out of the house.
But I was not. I was…intrigued.
And I suddenly found myself wanting to return to that room. I turned to do just that.
“Mr. Ridgely?” Georgia Tran called from the foot of the stairs.
With a slow exhale, I shook myself and headed down to where she waited. “We’ll take it.”
Chapter 3
The actual day I took possession of the house turned out to be the twentieth of October, and on the twenty-first I actually entered our new house for the first time after having seen it in September with the Realtor.
Mace wouldn’t be able to come up for a visit until close to Thanksgiving as he was working on a pretty big murder case, but we had laptops and cell phones and face-to-face video chats. They would have to do. We’d faced length separations before.
I’d met Mace when we were both kids, then for a time—in middle school, actually—Mace’s family had moved away from the area. It had been devastating for both of us, but I think most especially for me. I’d had a big crush on Mace then, though, at the time we were only friends.
Mace didn’t come back into my life until his family ended up moving back when he was a junior in high school. It was then we ended up confessing, both that we were gay, and had a thing for each other. After high school, Mace had joined the Navy, which had separated us again for four years.
Once he was honorably discharged, he’d joined the police academy and we’d been together, completely, ever since.
But this separation was temporary and we both knew it. We could deal.
I’d gotten the electricity turned on, made sure at least one of the bathrooms worked, and arranged for Internet and phone service. Also, I had a new bed with a mattress and bedspring delivered on the twentieth, with a bedside table and a few lamps. The basics, really. Television and other furniture could be dealt with later.
As she had promised, Georgia made sure the place had a good cleaning, and when I stepped into my house, it smelled of bleach, wood polish, and window spray.
I couldn’t help but smile the way the sun shone through the bare living room windows. None of the windows had coverings and I wasn’t even sure if I wanted any. It was an incredibly private place so that wasn’t a worry, and I kind of liked the idea of the sun coming in whenever it pleased. Ultimately I would leave it up to Mace whether he wanted some or all of the windows covered.
I could go anywhere in the house now, as it belonged to me, to us, but somehow I found myself turning toward the staircase and walking up to the second floor.
It was here that the bathroom—the Jack and Jill one, between two of the bedrooms—actually worked. I bypassed it for now and went immediately to the master bedroom, which belonged now to me and Mace.
The room was empty, save for the new bed, still barren of sheets and blankets. I’d carried in a box with linens when I’d come into the house earlier, but I’d left it downstairs. I stepped to the window that looked out to the sea. There were two windows in the room, but the other faced the backyard, overlooking the pool and gazebo.
I turned that way next, hit with the scent of that same masculine cologne I’d thought I’d smelled in September when viewing the house. I leaned against the window, closing my eyes. It wafted over me, clinging to the air so faintly I was certain I imagined it.
“Owen.”
That whispered name again. So passionately spoken. I shivered. Fingertips stroked across the nape of my neck, hardly a butterfly’s touch of wings. I kept my eyes closed, seemingly unable to open them. I tried, but they remained closed, heavy like in sleep.
I was suddenly achingly hard, my cock rising in my jeans, pushing against the confines of my boxer briefs. My thoughts grew hazy and far away. Lips, chapped and a little rough, grazed along the cord of my throat. I arched closer, my hands scrabbling for purchase against the wall.
“Hello, baby.”
A hand on my jaw had my face turning as lips covered mine, so soft, so sweet…intoxicating. I could feel fingers threading through my hair, and my head leaned back as those lips, that mouth, took possession of mine again and again.
Still I could not open my eyes.
In the silence of the room I could hear panting, heavy breathing, then the lowering of a zipper. Mine. It was all me.
My jeans and briefs were pushed down to my ankles. A hand curled around my erection, hot and urgent, jerking my length with dizzying expertise. I turned to face the wall, of my own free will or because someone had turned me, I could not say. A rustle of clothes, then a rigid, hard cock rubbed against the crack of my ass.
A loud crash, like logs being dropped onto a woodpile some distance away, suddenly broke through the haze and my eyelids flew open.
Breathing in short gasps, I realized at once I was completely alone in the room, and also that my jeans, my briefs, had not been pushed down to my ankles, but were exactly where they were supposed to be.
I was still achingly hard, but it was no wonder.
“Damn, what a fantasy,” I said, shaking my head. “Must be hornier than I thought.” I’d take care of that in bed that night, but for now, I needed to get out of that room and get busy.
I went downstairs for the boxes I’d brought with me earlier, then, after finally making the bed and putting away a few other things, I left the Manor to do grocery shopping.
That night, I made myself a simple pasta with fresh tomatoes, basil, olive oil, and garlic. I poured myself some wine, pinot grigio, then as I sipped from my glass, I looked out at the backyard and checked in with Mace.
“How’s it going up there, babe?” he asked, but sounded distracted. Like maybe he was reading something while talking to me.
“Good. The place is amazing. You’re going to love it.”
“I bet. Have you started any work?”
“No. Tomorrow I plan on going into the cellar.”
Mace chuckled. “How come it’s a ‘cellar’ instead of an ordinary ‘basement’?”
“I guess because Dexter Larabee called it a cellar.” I grinned. “Beats me. How many homes in California have basements or cellars anyway? The basement is part of the foundation and usually smaller than a cellar. Anyway, I think it will be perfect as a wine cellar. I’ll check it out for sure tomorrow.”
“Great,” he said absently.
“Busy?” I took a sip of wine.
“Yeah, this case is turning into a bitch. Sorry. I probably should go. I’ll give you a call tomorrow when I get a chance.”
“Don’t work too hard, Mace. I don’t want you to have a heart attack before you retire and move up here with me.”
“No way. I can’t wait to be there, too. I love you, Jules.”
“Love you, too. Goodnight.”
I disconnected the call and set the phone on the kitchen island.
A sudden burst of laughter followed by big band music had me turning around.
“Who’s there?”
But just as quickly, the house fell silent again. Nothing but a little wind outside moving the backyard trees.
Still, I found myself drifting through the first floor, looking behind doors and even a few cabinets, but of course, I fo
und nothing unusual.
“Probably some party noise from another house nearby,” I muttered. That was the problem when you were alone—you tended to talk to yourself.
I went back to the kitchen, washed the few dishes by hand, then finished off my glass of wine. I found myself oddly eager to go to bed, even though it was only around seven-thirty. It was dark out, though, and a little lonely without even a television for company.
So I turned off the downstairs lights and went upstairs, stopping first at the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth before heading to the master bedroom to settle down for the night.
Once in the room, I realized I’d forgotten my cell phone in the kitchen, but I felt disinclined to retrieve it. My brain felt a little fuzzy from the wine, and laziness was seeping in.
I closed the bedroom door, even though I was alone. Habit, I supposed. Eventually, when Mace joined me, we would get a dog and maybe even a couple of cats, but for now, it was just me.
The window overlooking the sea beckoned, so I headed there, pulling off my shirt as I did. Never in my life had I slept naked, but I had a sudden, weird urge to do so. I kicked off my sneakers as I stood at the window. I could see the lighthouse beam In the distance, rolling around, side to side.
It really was a gorgeous place. The house, the village.
I sat on the bed to remove my watch, which I placed on the nightstand, then my jeans and briefs, leaving them piled on the floor. A definite luxury when Mace wasn’t around. He would have pitched a fit if he had been. Love Mace to death, but he was a neat freak.
I strutted across the bedroom floor to the light switch, flicking it down to send the room into darkness. I found myself back at the window once more, without much thought. I couldn’t see any other houses, so I doubted anyone could see my, anyway, but tomorrow I’d look around in the daylight to make sure I wasn’t giving anyone a show.
When I reached the bed, something pushed me into it, face against the mattress, hands all over my back and ass.
“Wha—?” My question faded before it could fully form, and the fuzziness returned. I closed my eyes as the weight of a body covered mine.
“Owen. Baby.”
My cock rose hard and painful against the sheets as a hot, wet mouth trailed over my bare back. A leg wedged between mine and a hand went to my ass. I gasped and arched against the unseen intruder as a wet finger shoved inside me. The mouth moved to the back of my neck, nipping playfully.
“Dexter,” I moaned.
A hand scooted under me, closing around my hard length, and my cry in the night broke the almost eerie silence that had descended on the place. A second finger entered me, scissoring inside me, spreading me. I would go mad if he didn’t fuck me soon.
The window rattled from the wind, but I hardly noticed.
He shifted behind me, then his fingers withdrew as he pushed my legs wider apart.
“Yes,” I urged, face in the sheets. “God, please.”
His cock pushed into me, past the ring of muscle that had loosened. I rose on my elbows, glanced back, seeing nothing but his solid bulk in the darkness.
He thrust inside, pushing all the way in, then pulling out to push in once more. Over and over. Sometimes he fucked me fast, then he’d change to slow and back again.
His hand continued to stroke my length as I pushed back into him. His arm encircled my waist, lifting me slightly so that I rested on my hands and knees.
“Come for me, baby.”
And I did, shouting “Dexter” on my release, cum splurting from my cock onto the sheets. I came hard and long, my ass clenching against the thrusting and throbbing dick.
Hot cum filled me as he gave a low, throaty groan as his own release shook through him and into me.
I collapsed onto the bed, Dexter joining me there, lying on top, keeping me from moving, as though I would, or even could. I fell instantly into a deep and complete sleep.
I woke in the middle of the night to him entering me again, taking me while I lay on my side, thrusting slow and sweet into me—no hurry, we had time. When we both finally came, he whispered directly into my ear, “I love you.”
* * * *
I woke with so much sunlight streaming in through my windows, I knew I’d slept much later than I had intended. And I felt groggy as I sat up, rubbing my eyes.
I’d had amazing dreams the night before. Because that’s definitely what they had to be. In my dreams, Dexter Larabee had been in my bed and we’d had incredible sex. Before those dreams, I’d never realized how attracted I was to him. Yeah, from his pictures, he’d been gorgeous. But clearly I had been thinking about him a lot more than I had guessed.
It didn’t surprise me to find my sheets soiled with dried cum. I’d obviously released in my sleep. I would keep these dreams from Mace, of course. He didn’t need to know I’d had wild, passionate sex with an old-time Hollywood actor, even in my dreams.
I picked my watch off the bedside table and noted it was already past nine. Weird, since I’d gone to bed so early. Throwing back the covers, I slipped out of bed and went to the window. The day was bright, beautiful, and sunny, and as I had guessed the day before, I saw no other houses. That was a relief as I hadn’t needed some nosey, offended neighbor calling the police.
I grabbed some clothes and left the bedroom to take a shower. Strawberry shampoo had been my suds of choice since I was a kid. I don’t know why, but I just liked smelling like berries.
When I made it downstairs to the kitchen and my cell phone, I had only one voice mail from Georgia merely asking me how I was settling in.
Other than Mace, I didn’t really have a lot of family and friends. I’d been the only child of my parents, who’d had me late in life. During my second year of college, my father had died of a heart attack. Mom followed dad in death less than two years later from breast cancer. There’d been cousins, but they were distant and living in other parts of the country. I think I’d met one cousin a few years back when she’d come to California for sightseeing and my parents had let her stay with them.
I had a few casual friends in Los Angeles, but no one I’d miss living up here. And certainly none who would have checked on me. There was only Mace. As I went to the fridge to pull out a bottle of tomato juice, I wondered why I was such an introvert. I’d never really felt like my life was lacking or that I was terribly lonely. I liked to be alone and always found stuff to do that didn’t leave me bored.
Now in my thirties, I didn’t feel I owed anyone any explanations for the way I was. I liked the outdoors and working with my hands on building and redoing things. As a hobby, I made jewelry because I liked working with gems, beads, and metals. Eventually, I intended to make the cellar not only a wine cellar, but also my workshop, and Mace could have one of the extra bedrooms for a painting studio.
After a quick breakfast of coffee, tomato juice, and avocado toast, I pulled on my work boots and prepared to go to the cellar. I stopped to plug in my cell, as it needed charging.
Then finally, I grabbed the toolbox I’d brought with me yesterday, opened the cellar door, and headed down the stairs.
Chapter 4
I spent the rest of the morning in the cellar, cleaning up messes that had been left for God-only-knew-how-long and making small repairs, such as replacing the old nails sticking up on a few of the wooden steps and on the railing.
By the time I decided to break for lunch, it was close to one in the afternoon. As I was about to head upstairs, I spotted a group of old photos along the right wall. Some looked like they’d been matted for framing, but most appeared loose.
The first two photos showed a group of friends at a pool party, likely in the backyard of this very house. I bypassed them when I didn’t recognize anyone. But the third photo had been matted for framing, yet either it had been removed from the frame or never finished. It was a black and white portrait of Dexter Larabee, wearing a tuxedo, judging by the snowy white shirt, paired in an old-fashioned manner with a cravat rather than a
traditional bowtie.
The photo mesmerized me. He looked gorgeous, almost exactly how I imagined him last night. Dark swept hair, chocolate brown eyes, a five o’clock shadow done to sexy perfection.
A powerful wave of lust hit me, and I couldn’t help but recall the vivid dreams I’d had last night.
With a shake of my head, I pulled myself out of it and walked up the stairs, but I carried the photo with me. I set it on the island in the kitchen and stared at it, at him, while I ate the sandwich I made. Afterward, I checked my phone and found a message from Mace, so I called him back, but someone at the station told he was out doing interviews.
I decided to head to a local shop and get a frame for the picture. Once I returned home, I hung the photo on my bedroom wall and stared at it a good fifteen minutes before I dragged my ass back to the cellar.
This time, I worked until nearly eight before returning to the kitchen for dinner.
My cell sat on the island where I’d left it and I found another message from Mace. I phoned him.
“Oh. Hey. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to call back,” he said, sounding amused rather than irritated.
“Well, I called earlier but you were out. I’ve been working in the cellar most of the day. About to make myself something to eat. How are you?”
“Dead tired. Just got home myself, so I’m going to take a shower and crash.”
“You eat something?”
“Grabbed a burger.”
“Great for your cholesterol.” I pulled the partial bottle of wine from the fridge and poured a glass. “I won’t keep you then. You need your rest.”
“Yeah, I do. What are you going to do after dinner? I don’t suppose they have much nightlife there.”
I chuckled. “You’d suppose right. The town pretty much rolls up the sidewalks at eight, I think. Maybe earlier. There’s a bar or two off Main Street, but honestly, I don’t feel like making my way down there. Maybe in the spring when the time changes, you and I can go together.”
