Worlds Away

by Alexa Land

  He opened his eyes and looked into mine. “I don’t jump through their hoops for the money. It’s nice to have the means to do whatever I want, like this impromptu excursion, but I’m not selling out just for material gain, Sawyer. The thing is, my family needs me. Generations of Penelegions have worked so hard to make a name for us and to build a significant legacy. I’m the last of the line. My sister Penelope and my two cousins flat-out refuse to have anything to do with the family business, so it all comes down to me.

  “They need an heir, someone to carry everything they’ve built into the future. It’s a huge responsibility, and it’s not the path I would have chosen if it had been up to me, but it’s what has to be done. My family has poured their life blood into making the company what it is today. We didn’t start out wealthy. In fact, my great-great-great-grandfather was the son of a butler and a scullery maid. He opened a little shop when he was just fifteen to help support his parents and sisters. Eventually, it grew into that famous department store, and over the next few generations, the family diversified into manufacturing and other industries.

  “All of that isn’t just about lining our pockets. My family employs over sixteen thousand people in the UK alone, and more than fifty-five thousand worldwide. And my mother and grandmother work philanthropically and have given millions to charities that are making a real difference. It’s about all of that, and it’s also about pride, and family honor, and reputation, three things I care sod all about, but that mean everything to the people I love. I don’t have the luxury of shirking all of that responsibility the way my sister and cousins did. I have to step up, because literally thousands of people are counting on me.”

  I took him in my arms and said, “I get it now. For the record, you and I both know your family shouldn’t have the right to dictate your personal life. But since I haven’t even managed to come out to my dad, I won’t pretend it’s easy to make our families understand.”

  “No, it’s not.” He ran his fingertips down my cheek. “Sorry that turned into a long-winded speech. We’re here to have fun, yet I’m going on about family obligation and the almighty Penelegion empire. What must you think of me?”

  “That you’re an extraordinary human being with a hell of a lot on your shoulders.”

  He leaned in and kissed me before resting his forehead against mine. After a moment, he said, “While we’re on the subject of families, mind if I ask how your mum fits into the picture?”

  “She doesn’t. In the fitting into the picture analogy, she exists outside the frame.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Chicago. I hear from her every now and then, but basically, she and I exist in separate universes. Hers has deep-dish pizza, the Cubs, and a distinct lack of Sawyer.”

  Alastair knit his brows. “What kind of mother goes off and leaves her son behind?”

  I just shrugged. “She was in over her head when she had me. She got married young, to a much older man, and when the marriage failed…I don’t know. Sometimes I think I reminded her too much of my father. He got full custody, and she barely looked back. I’ve always said Dad and I were her practice family. A few years later, she married again and had two more kids. That one took, so I guess the trial and error paid off.”

  “You’re making excuses for her. I’d think you’d be angry.”

  “Nah. It just is what it is. You can’t make people love you. That’s a lesson I’ve learned more than once.” Okay, that sounded pathetic. I swung out of bed and clumsily changed the subject with, “Enough about that. I’m hungry, are you? That café downstairs may still be open. Well, then again, maybe not. I just realized how late it is.”

  He jumped out of bed and caught my hand. “If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t.”

  He picked up a leather binder and grinned as he held it out to me. “Then let me help in another way.” I took the room service menu and kissed his forehead.

  When I told him some dessert sounded good, he called downstairs and ordered ice cream and every topping they had on hand, and also asked that a full bar be set up in our room. Before he hung up, he also sent a top-shelf bottle of Scotch and a slice of apple pie to Roger’s suite down the hall. When I commented on that combination, he said, “Ro never treats himself, and I know for a fact he has a raging sweet tooth and loves pie. The whiskey, well, that’s just a given.”

  Later on, we sat on a blanket on the floor, because Alastair felt we should have a picnic, and he spooned a dollop of ice cream into his mouth and groaned with pleasure. Then he told me, “This is amazing! Here, try it.” He fed me a big spoonful, even though our sundaes were nearly identical, and I grinned at him and licked some chocolate sauce off my lip.

  I said randomly, “As a kid, I thought it was going to be so great to be an adult, because I could eat all the ice cream I wanted. I imagined I’d own a huge freezer that was jam-packed with the stuff. Needless to say, the whole grown-up thing hasn’t gone as planned.”

  “Isn’t that the truth! I imagined I’d have so much more freedom when I grew up. I’d come and go as I pleased, and I’d call all the shots. Granted, this four-year reprieve in the States has been wonderful, but overall, adulthood is just not what it’s cracked up to be.”

  When we finished our ice cream, I said, “I know it’s late, but do you want to go for a walk? I’d like to stretch my legs.” He readily agreed and shot a quick text to Roger before we left the suite hand-in-hand. I was glad the bodyguard didn’t feel compelled to join us.

  The Hotel Del Coronado had been built in the 1880s and was a thing of beauty with a warm color palette, and charming period details. A downstairs hallway was lined with photos of the many A-list celebrities who’d visited the Hotel Del during the golden age of Hollywood. It still felt every bit as glamorous.

  At two a.m., the hotel’s public spaces were deserted. I liked the feeling that we had the place to ourselves. We exited through a door at the back of the lobby and strolled around the grounds for a while, amid palm trees and lush tropical flowers.

  We walked past the pool and tucked our shoes and socks under a lounge chair before stepping onto the beach. Moonlight glittered across the gentle surf. I’d changed into a T-shirt and jeans when I’d stopped off at home, and bent to roll up my cuffs before taking Alastair’s hand again and leading us to the water’s edge.

  After walking through the foamy surf for a few minutes, my companion turned to me with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes and asked, “Up for doing something a bit daft?”

  That made me smile. “I’m pretty sure flying to San Diego on a private jet in the middle of the night already qualifies.”

  “It does, but I want to dial it up a notch. How would you feel about some skinny dipping?”

  “Sounds fun, except for the part where we get kicked out of the hotel for running around naked and using the pool after hours.”

  “Oh no. I wasn’t talking about the pool.”

  When he tilted his head toward the vast, dark expanse of ocean, I exclaimed, “Seriously? You’ve seen the movie Jaws, right?”

  “I have! But nothing’s going to happen.”

  “What are you basing that on?”

  “Statistical probability.” The skeptical look on my face made him add, “Come on, Sawyer, live a little,” as he began to unbutton his shirt.

  “This is exactly how the movie started.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Or not.”

  Alastair tossed his shirt on the sand, followed by his pants and briefs. Then he put his hands on his hips, and I ran my gaze down his gorgeous, naked body as he said, “Come with me. Please?”

  “Maybe….”

  He took that as a yes and turned and ran into the gentle surf. When he was waist-deep, he dove beneath the waves and emerged a few moments later with a loud whoop. Cute, sexy, naked Alastair totally trumped my paranoia of big fish and dark water, and I quickly stripped myself and waded into th
e surf.

  The water temperature was probably in the low seventies, about the same as the air, but a lot more bracing somehow. I dove under a wave like Alastair had, and emerged with a loud, colorful string of curse words. When I reached my companion, who was bobbing in chest-deep water, I lifted him up, swung him over my shoulder and gave his cute little butt a playful slap. “You’re a bad influence,” I told him as I deposited him back in the ocean. “And I’m dumb enough to succumb to peer pressure, especially when it comes from the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met.”

  He searched my face as he asked, “You think I’m beautiful?”

  “Of course I do. I also think you’re certifiable for wanting to swim in shark-infested waters. Obviously I am too, because I followed you out here.”

  “It’s not infested. More like, lightly seasoned with sharks.”

  “Because that’s reassuring. It’s also fucking freezing.”

  When his lips met mine, they tasted salty and sweet, equal parts ocean and Alastair. Then he said, “Come on, race me. That’ll get us warmed right up.” He turned and began swimming parallel to the shore with sure, strong strokes. I let him get several yards ahead before following with a leisurely backstroke. No way was I going to trigger the competitive streak I was sure every street racer had to possess. Besides, it was immediately obvious that he was the far superior swimmer.

  We swam for several minutes, rising and falling on the waves as they rolled past us. We were out past the break point, and the salt water kept us buoyant, so it was fairly effortless. It also succeeded in warming me up, and so did Alastair when he finally stopped swimming and let me catch up to him.

  The water reached my neck, so it was a little too deep for him to stand. He wrapped his arms and legs around me and held on tight, and I ran my hands down his back and cupped his ass. We kissed each other again, and when my cock swelled, he rubbed himself against it. Alastair let go of me after a few minutes and dove beneath the surface of the water. I wondered why, until I felt his hands on my thighs. A moment later, he wrapped his warm mouth around my cock, and a deep moan rose from me.

  He sucked me for a few moments before surfacing, and grinned at me as he pushed his dripping hair off his forehead. “The challenging part was keeping myself from bobbing to the surface,” he said. “I know that was a tease, but I promise to finish what I started when we get back to the room.”

  Because he was shivering, I suggested we race again, and we both took off at a good clip, headed back toward the hotel. No contest. He ended up yards ahead of me by the time he stopped swimming, and when I finally caught up to him, I was exhausted. We waded to the shore, emerging where we’d entered the water, and I looked around and murmured, “Shit.” I was sure we were on the right section of the beach, but our clothes were nowhere to be seen. Since the high tide was coming in, what had happened to them wasn’t much of a mystery, but we searched the beach anyway, just to be sure.

  Eventually, we gave up, and he said, “Damn, there goes another phone.” His eyes went wide as he turned to me. “Tell me your phone and wallet weren’t in your jeans.”

  “No, I left them in our room.”

  Alastair looked relieved. “No real harm, then.”

  He took my hand, and we started walking back toward the hotel. It was lit up in the distance, an idyllic postcard come to life. The sprawling, white Victorian was an architectural marvel, its red roofline an eclectic collection of spires and peaks, culminating in an enormous, round, main building. The whole thing was breathtakingly gorgeous. Too bad our naked asses were probably about to get kicked out of it.

  When we started to get cold, we broke into a jog. Once we reached the hotel grounds, we slowed again, and I asked, “What’s the plan here?”

  “Two choices: walk up to the main desk and hope they issue us a new key despite our lack of ID and trousers, or go to Roger’s suite and wake him. He has a spare key to our room. If we go with option B, he will never, ever let me live it down, but it still may be the better way to go. The hotel staff might not have a sense of humor, and getting locked up for public indecency would put a real damper on our getaway.”

  “One problem: we can’t get to Roger’s suite. All the doors are bound to be locked, and at this hour, there won’t be anyone around to let us in.”

  When we reached our shoes, Alastair grinned and said, “I have an idea. Remember that Red Hot Chili Peppers video?” Before I could ask him what he meant, he picked up one of my white crew socks and pulled it over his cock and balls. I chuckled at that, but then I did the same thing with the other sock.

  We also put on our shoes, and I said, “This is an awesome look,” as I puffed out my chest and struck a pose.

  “I wish I had my phone. This is a photo op if ever there was one.” His sock fell off and he exclaimed, “Shite,” before scooping it up and once again stuffing his junk inside it.

  “Photographic evidence is probably a mistake. It could wind up as exhibit A after we’re arrested for public indecency.”

  “Speaking of photographic evidence, the hotel is probably wired for surveillance, and I’d hate to wind up on the local news. Oopsy-daisy!” His sock fell off once more, and he pulled it back on with a cute little shimmy.

  I grinned at him. “You did not just say that.”

  “Certainly not. You’re clearly imagining things.” Alastair flashed me a smile and jumped into the shadow of a nearby hedge, then exclaimed, “Operation Arrest Avoidance begins now!” He got down in a low crouch and began singing a tone-deaf approximation of the ‘Mission Impossible’ theme song, which came out, “Doodle ooo, doodle ooo, do do!” He then ran across the lawn, dropped into a quick barrel roll, and leapt to his feet in another shadow. I was smiling as I jogged after him and scooped up the sock he’d left in his wake.

  When a security guard rounded a far corner of the building, Alastair grabbed my hand and dragged me into the landscaping, then whispered as he pulled the sock back on, “I’m guessing it’s arrest first, ask questions later. We’d better not risk it.”

  We crouched down among the hibiscus bushes, and I glanced at Alastair, who was pressed against my side. He looked so happy and full of life, and he ran his hand around the back of my neck and kissed me passionately. We paused for a moment when the security guard walked past our hiding place, and then we went right back to kissing.

  After a few moments, I felt him tremble and whispered, “You’re cold. We need to get you inside.”

  “That’s not why I shivered,” he said as he ran a fingertip over my lips, “but you’re right about needing to get inside.”

  As soon as the security guard was out of sight, we ran to the back of the building and tried one of the doors. Not surprisingly, it was locked, so we began to circle the hotel. After a few minutes, Alastair paused and said, “I think that’s our suite. Roger’s is two doors down, so that has to be his, right?” He pointed to a balcony on the fourth floor.

  “I guess so.”

  “I’m going to climb up and knock on his patio door.”

  I said, “You wait here, I’ll do it.”

  Alastair grinned at me. “No worries, I’ve got this. I’ll toss a robe down to you, and then I’ll put something on, come downstairs, and let you in.”

  “I’m doing this. I insist.”

  “Seriously, I do things like this all the time. I’ll be fine.”

  I tilted his face up with a fingertip under his chin and kissed him gently before saying, “Please let me handle this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  He searched my face for a moment, and then he said, “Alright, but please be careful. The dew will have made everything slippery, and I don’t want you to get hurt, either.” I promised him I’d watch my step and started to scale the building, climbing from balcony to balcony.

  I’d almost made it to the third floor when a familiar voice at ground level said, in a loud stage whisper, “Let’s set a goal, Bonny Barebottom. See if you can go an entire twenty-four hours wit
hout showin’ me your arse.” I glanced at Roger, who was standing beside Alastair and holding up his hand to block the view of my butt, and he added, “Incidentally, we’re one building over. The folks you were about to traumatize with your sock puppet from hell don’t know how lucky they are that I showed up when I did.”

  As I climbed back down, I asked him, “Out for a stroll?”

  “Hardly. I’d dozed off and managed to sleep through Gromit’s text saying he was going on a walkabout. Good thing I got up to take a piss.”

  “My phone, room key and our clothes washed out to sea,” Alastair explained with a contrite expression.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” Roger muttered as he turned and headed to the next building. I fought to suppress a smile as we fell into step with him.

  *****

  Once we’d returned to our room (after thanking Roger profusely and promising we’d stay in for the rest of the night), Alastair and I headed straight to a very hot shower. He took the soap from my hands and washed me, his touch nurturing and gentle. When it was my turn, I lathered up my hands and ran them across his smooth chest. His breath caught when I grazed his nipple, and I could feel his heart racing beneath my palm.

  I ended up jerking him off with his back pressed to my chest, holding him to me with one of my arms wrapped around his shoulders. A tremor went through him and he cried out as he came, bracing his hands against the tile wall. I kissed and nuzzled his ear while the hot water flowed over his skin, rinsing the cum from his chest and stomach.

  Later, after we’d dried off and climbed into bed, he slid between my legs and finished the blow job he’d started in the ocean. I propped myself up and watched him as he sucked me. His hands grasped my thighs, and his gaze never left mine, not for a moment. There was so much longing in his blue eyes, and it spoke volumes.