“I’m beat,” he announced without looking at Ty. “If there’s nothing more we should go over right now…”
The disappointment prickled, but perhaps it was for the best. They shouldn’t get distracted, and Cary, with his close-to-perfect features and lithe body, was most definitely a distraction. They’d had their fun, once, and that was that.
“Sure,” Ty said. “You go ahead and get some sleep. We’ll do some actual recon tomorrow. I’ll finish up here.” He gestured to the papers.
Cary hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, took his bag, and headed toward the bed covered in white and purple pillows.
AN HOUR LATER, Ty looked up from his tablet to find Cary still awake. He was half sitting on the bed, with the bedside lamp turned off, tossing the silver quarter Ty had given him and slapping it on the back of his hand again and again.
“It’s not working,” Cary said. He was intent on the coin, but he must have felt Ty’s gaze on him.
Ty pushed the tablet away and stretched. He gathered all the papers in a neat pile and then went up to the bed, where he sat down next to Cary. It was late anyway, and he needed to get some rest. But a couple of minutes of showing Cary the ropes wouldn’t hurt. “Here, let me show you.”
Cary scooted over, making room for him on the silk satin duvet. Even without touching him, Ty could feel the frustration rolling off of him. That was unproductive for anything, most of all the kind of fine-tuning that magic practice required. Cary’s shoulders were set in a hard line, and Ty placed his hands on them, expertly finding the knots of tension.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh. Relax.”
Cary stiffened reflexively and gradually relaxed as Ty kneaded his shoulders, even turning slightly to offer a better angle. Oddly, it felt more intimate than their hurried sex in the San Francisco motel. Ty enjoyed running his hands over Cary’s smooth skin, feeling the muscles under his fingers. Perhaps a little too much. They were partners in crime, not fuck buddies. Not any kind of buddies, really.
“Now, close your eyes,” Ty murmured, pushing the thought and tentative stirrings of arousal aside for the moment. “Breathe. Feel the air pass through you. Feel the warmth around you. Concentrate on the coin. Touch it with your pulse.”
He could feel Cary’s breathing even out beneath his hands. It slowed, became deeper. His chest rose and fell steadily.
“How do you want the coin to land?” Ty asked.
“Heads,” Cary said quietly.
“Heads it is.” Ty kept the pressure steady, drawing the tension out of his muscles. “Now just tell it to be heads.”
Cary barked a laugh. “Seriously? I tell it? It’s a fucking coin.”
“I’ve told you, it’s a magic coin. It wants to be what you tell it to be.” Ty ran a thumb over the back of Cary’s neck, and he let out a little sigh of pleasure that made Ty’s cock perk up in interest. Focus, he told himself. “Feel the warmth flow into the coin from your fingertips. Now, flip it.”
Cary tossed the coin with a flick of his thumb. It spun in the air, flashing in the low light, and landed in Cary’s palm. It was heads.
“It could be just a coincidence,” he quickly pointed out. “It could land on heads a hundred times now and still be a coincidence.”
“Bullshit,” Ty said, giving Cary’s shoulders a final squeeze and letting his hands fall. “I could tell you felt it.”
He’d lied to Cary, of course. The coin was just a regular quarter, about as magical as a brick. But if Cary believed the coin had special powers, he didn’t have to come face to face with the fact it was his magic that made it work, and not some intrinsic mojo. It was a good exercise, though. Something simple yet visually compelling—something Ty could use later to prove his words when it was time to let Cary in on the secret.
Cary didn’t answer. Ty started to rise, but Cary stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Come to bed. You’ve been driving for hours. You must be tired.”
“I’m used to working nights. I just want to make sure we have all our bases covered.”
“You’re sure going to a lot of trouble. With all the money you must be spending on bribing the staff and paying for our stay.”
Ty made a noncommittal sound. Cary was dangerously close to figuring out Ty was counting on taking off with the amulet—if he hadn’t already. He’d be stupid not to be suspicious. It was just common sense.
“It’s not necessarily money. I’m calling in a lot of favors on this one,” Ty said. “Besides, Bas has connections here. He’s no stranger to gambling, and he had pulled some local folks out of hot water when they were down on their luck.”
“Look,” he continued at Cary’s dubious silence. “I know it’s not gonna be easy, but you gotta trust me on this. I know what I’m doing. But if you’re not on board with the whole thing, you can still back out. I’m telling you, you don’t need the amulet to be a good stage magician.” Or a real magician, for that matter. A sorcerer. If Cary told him right now he wanted out, Ty would tell him about his magic. He couldn’t let Cary go without preparing him to deal with something like that.
“I’m in,” Cary said stubbornly. “I just don’t want to end up in prison again because I trusted the wrong people.”
“Nobody’s going to prison,” Ty said. He meant it, too. Whatever happened, and regardless of the fate of their ultimate prize, he didn’t want Cary to be left handling either Giordano or the authorities on his own. “We’re partners in this. We watch each other’s backs. Okay?”
Cary looked at him and nodded slowly. Despite the acquiescence, all the tension was back with a vengeance. Ty rose from the bed, hiding his disappointment.
“You’re right—it’s late. We can continue in the morning,” he said. “I’m gonna hit the shower.”
TY GRABBED SOME clean underwear out of his duffel bag and headed for the bathroom. It was all done in cream and white marble, with gold fixtures and an ample supply of soft, fluffy towels. There was even a TV fixed on the wall to be conveniently watched from the tub, and a vase with freshly cut white flowers on the vanity.
The shower was separate, though, and that was all Ty needed. He took off his clothes, grabbed a lavender-scented complimentary soap, and stepped inside the sparkling glass enclosure. The warm water felt good after the artificial chill inside the bedroom.
He was working the soap into heavy lather when the bathroom door creaked. Ty spun around, ducking for good measure, but it was only Cary. Ty opened the fogged glass door to see that he was wearing nothing but his briefs and holding two small foil packets between his fingers. Cary whistled appreciatively at the sight of Ty all wet and soaped up.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, and walked up to the shower without waiting for an answer. He chucked his underwear, displaying a half-mast erection.
“No, I don’t mind. I thought you weren’t in the mood,” Ty said, straightening and making room for Cary in the stall—not that it felt crowded, even with the both of them. He’d kept his tone neutral, though he couldn’t deny his heart (as well as some other parts of his anatomy) leapt at the sight of the other man.
“I am now.”
Cary stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He turned on the tap, and the water from the large rain showerhead splashed over his head and shoulders, instantly plastering his hair to his scalp. He placed the condom and the lube packet on the soap dish and ran a hand over Ty’s chest, smearing the lather over the lightly tanned skin before the water washed all the traces of soap away. His eyes became a little glazed, his breathing shallow.
Ty was flattered that the sight of him naked could have that effect, and the truth was, Cary himself looked good enough to eat. Ty hadn’t had a chance to get a good look at him the other night, when they’d fumbled in the dark, but he appreciated the view now—the lean frame, the deep golden-olive skin, the long, dark eyelashes. He was beautiful. Why he’d dismissed Cary as not being his type at first was beyond him. He cupped the side of Cary’s fa
ce, and the other man leaned into the touch, allowing Ty to draw him in for a kiss.
Cary tasted of spearmint gum and something distinctly unique that reminded Ty of wild honey. The kiss was thorough, unhurried, their lips parting and locking again in a sweet enticing dance. When they finally drew apart, it was with palpable reluctance.
Cary’s eyes dropped, and he traced a finger over a tattoo that spanned the length of Ty’s left flank. Interwoven runic script created dense patterns that coalesced into the shape of a serpent, covering a long, jagged scar.
“An accident?”
“Something like that.” Cary’s touch was featherlight, and it sent pleasant shivers straight to Ty’s groin.
“What does it say?”
“It’s a healing hex. Keeps it from pulling.”
“Looks pretty deep.” Cary frowned as his fingers hovered over the scar tissue.
“It happened a while ago,” Ty said reluctantly.
About ten years ago, to be more precise. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen at the time.
“My mentor, Leland, took me on a job. We were supposed to break into a mansion somewhere in northern Italy to score some Gaelic grimoire from a private library. A fucking beautiful place. Anyway, I climbed the outer wall and tried to undo the magic wards that sealed the windows, but the guarding spell was too strong for me to handle. The blowback flung me right onto the spiked ironwork fence below.”
The memory made him wince, and he looked away from Cary’s shocked eyes that mirrored his own pain.
“Leland was furious with me for failing to undo the spell and for botching the job. He made sure I wouldn’t bleed to death, but was too angry and too busy getting us off the property before the owner had the chance to call in the local law enforcement to heal me properly. He always said the scar was a reminder that incompetence carried a price.”
But later, Leland had tattooed the healing runes along Ty’s mangled flank, just as he’d done with Ty’s fingertips, so the scar didn’t bother him that much anymore. Sometimes, he forgot it was even there, unless one of his quick lays made a face at it.
“Your mentor sounds like a real piece of work,” Cary said, his voice tight. A dark emotion blazed in his eyes, sharp and unpleasant. Anger?
Ty had had plenty of people angry at him throughout his life, but never someone angry for him. The thought of Cary being upset on his behalf was like a shot of hard liquor, spreading sudden warmth through his veins.
“He wasn’t that bad,” he nevertheless insisted, almost automatically, and then shook his head. All this talk about Leland and the wounds of the past, open or otherwise, was draining his desire and making his erection flag. But he knew just the thing to remedy that.
Ty grabbed Cary, pinning him with his back against the wall before he could offer any insights, or worse, pity. He really didn’t want to talk anymore. Instead, he went down to his knees, more than happy to return the overdue favor.
Cary made an impatient whimpering noise and bucked, his now fully erect cock pointing toward Ty’s open mouth. But instead of taking him in, Ty dipped lower and lapped at his balls. Cary hissed and spread his legs wider, leaning back against the marble wall, giving him more access.
“Shit,” he breathed. His fingers slid over Ty’s wet hair, failing to get a good grip. His engorged cock nudged at Ty’s face insistently, but he ignored it in favor of gently sucking on one ball, and another, and then licking the sensitive spot at the base, drawing a keening sound from Cary. Finally Ty wrapped his lips around the leaking head and sucked hard, reaching down to stroke his own erection. He shut his eyes against the streams of water and applied himself to the task, working himself with one hand while holding Cary’s thigh with the other.
“Oh, god,” Cary panted. He threw his head back, moving his hips. Ty could feel his muscles working, could taste the salty presage on his tongue. “Wait, I want you to fuck me.”
The words and the breathless note in his voice nearly set Ty off. It was an exercise of will to pull away and let go of his own cock, but the temptation to have Cary under him, to fuck that nicely taut ass, was too great to pass up.
Cary regarded him through half-lidded eyes, his chest heaving. Drops of water clung to his lashes and ran in little rivulets down his flushed cheeks. Ty got up and splayed a hand on the marble wall next to his head.
“Turn around.” He would have liked to fuck him like that, watching his face being transformed by pleasure, but in this setting, it wasn’t really practical. They’d just have to do this again somewhere less slippery—if there was going to be another time.
Cary tensed, his eyes going dark for a second, but he complied, turning and resting his forehead in the crook of his arm against the wall. This presented Ty with a very nice view of his ass, and he took the opportunity to grope it, eliciting another hiss from Cary.
“Come on,” he urged, and it was Ty’s turn to obey. He ripped the lube packet Cary had so thoughtfully supplied and slicked his fingers before pushing them into Cary’s tight entrance. Despite the roughness of the intrusion, Cary was pliant, offering himself up uninhibitedly. The tension was still evident in the line of his back, but he was bucking against Ty’s fingers, silently begging for more.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Ty whispered in his ear and then twisted his fingers. Cary’s huff turned into a moan, and Ty pushed harder.
“Jesus, Ty, just fuck me already,” Cary panted in frustration, and the desperate edge in his voice shot right to Ty’s cock.
As if he could get any more aroused than he already was. This would have to be enough; there was no way he was going to hold off any longer. Ty withdrew his fingers to the accompaniment of Cary’s sigh, slid the condom on, and used the last of the lube on himself. He grabbed Cary’s hip and guided himself in small, measured thrusts, until he was lodged all the way inside that maddeningly tight heat.
Cary shuddered and leaned further back against him. His hand dropped to his own cock, but Ty swatted it away, taking hold of him instead. It was his turn to take the stage, as it were, and he was going to make the most out of it.
He went slowly at first, careful despite the overwhelming need to claim that lithe body with everything he had. Christ, it had been a long time. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps this silly fascination with the wannabe magician was simply misdirected lust stemming from a too-long dry spell, and no more than that.
But the sounds Cary made—raw, needy, and bordering on obscene—were urging him on, and he drove deeper, harder, working his hand in time with his thrusts, while Cary pumped his hips, eager for everything Ty had to give to him. They were both burning so hot, he was surprised the water raining down and sliding between their bodies didn’t evaporate right off their skin.
“God, yes, don’t stop,” Cary panted.
“I’m not stopping,” Ty said, planting a half kiss, half bite on his shoulder. Not that he could stop even if he wanted to. Pleasure began to pool at the bottom of his spine, and Ty had to make a conscious effort to maintain the rhythm. But it was growing more and more difficult. Ty buried his face in the back of Cary’s neck in a desperate attempt to hold on. He focused on their mingled breathing above the noise of the running water, on the sound of wet skin slapping against skin, on the velvety touch of Cary’s cock sliding against his palm.
“Ty,” Cary said brokenly. “I’m gonna—”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Ty felt the muscles clamping down around him and Cary going rigid in his grip.
“Go on, baby,” he urged, breathless, and then Cary was coming, shooting against the marble wall. Ty didn’t have the chance to admire the mess because he was coming too, the searing sweetness of the orgasm lancing through his body, rocking him to the core, and leaving him breathless and wrung out, quivering with little aftershocks of pleasure.
Go on, baby? The hell was wrong with him?
Ty loosened his hold as he pulled put. Cary turned around and slumped against the wall with a laz
y, satisfied smile that made Ty forget everything else.
“That was the best shower sex I’ve ever had.”
Considering the probable scope and nature of Cary’s past experiences, it probably wasn’t much of a compliment, but in this case, Ty was inclined to agree. He grunted his assent and turned off the tap, resisting the urge to kiss away the water droplets from Cary’s jaw.
“Come on. We have a long day tomorrow.”
They tumbled out of the bathroom, barely pausing to towel off, and got into bed. The sheets, for all their luxury, smelled faintly of cheap detergent, and Ty tried to ignore the smell and the ghost feel of other bodies on the bedding. Thankfully, Cary snuggled close, his sweet scent pushing everything else out of Ty’s mind, and closed his eyes with a contented sigh that lanced right through Ty’s heart.
Ty drew the covers on top of them and sank back into the soft pillows. On the verge of sleep, he watched Cary breathe. The feel of Cary’s skin against his, the sharp line of his jaw, the spill of his dark hair against the crisp linen—it all blended into an image of such precious beauty it made Ty ache. If he could have one wish, it would be to stay in this moment just a little bit longer, even if it meant yearning for something he could never really have.
Chapter Eleven
THE WAY CARY was staring, wide-eyed, at the pretentious lavishness as they strolled down the fake St. Mark’s Square, made Ty a little sad. It was nothing but a gaudy tourist attraction, a sleek illusion to hide the undercurrents of greed that flowed beneath.
Cary wandered off to take a look at the gondolas, and Ty wished he could show him the real Venice. The shabby, old beauty of it and the wild history etched into the stones. Let him smell the stench of rot and stale water and feel the chill drifting off the canals at night. Venice had plenty of its own illusions to offer the naive traveler, but none of them as clean and sparkly as a Christmas ornament, like it was in Vegas.
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