Kieran’s body glistened with sweat, vibrating from head to toe, with Kennedy’s body covering his, claiming him. They both remained unmoving, Kennedy’s head buried in the side of Kieran’s neck, both breathing heavily, both unable to speak. Kieran didn’t want to move, wanted their bodies to remain glued together forever. Eventually one muffled word escaped Kennedy like a soda bottle opening.
“Fuck.”
Slowly and carefully, Kennedy withdrew from Kieran. Even so, Kieran experienced the loss of heat and substance from inside him like an amputation. Kennedy rolled off and lay next to him, both of them staring at the ceiling while Kieran waited for his thoughts and sensations to settle.
“Is it always this intense?” he whispered.
“Not for me. Not in the past, anyway. Maybe this is simply what it’s like between you and me.”
Kieran thought about that remark for a minute.
“In which case, I am well and truly fucked.”
Beside him, Kennedy chuckled.
“I think we can both safely agree to that.”
Kieran watched Kennedy stand, remove the condom and head for the bathroom. Still Kieran felt unable to move. Fortunately, Kennedy came back and settled next to him again. Once more they lay in companionable silence, each with their own thoughts. The soreness in Kieran already began to feel interesting, but something else was on his mind.
“Kennedy.”
“Yes?”
“Does this mean I’m gay?”
“If it did—even just a little bit—does that bother you?”
Kieran thought about the question.
“No, not at all. What would bother me immensely would be if we never got to do that again.”
Kennedy laughed aloud before rolling on his side and addressing Kieran directly.
“And with such an excellent scholar showing clear promise, the master might even let the student take charge next time.”
“Really?” asked Kieran, amazed. He had unfairly assumed Kennedy would always want to be the one in the driving seat.
While they both got comfortable, with Kieran’s head resting on Kennedy’s shoulder, Kieran recounted the day he had spent visiting historic and not-so-historic sites in Okinawa, making Kennedy laugh—a sound he had begun to love hearing—when recounting their trip to a tourist market where some of the items on display were variously flavoured tins of Spam. When Kieran mentioned something Leonard had said, he noticed Kennedy quietened, waiting for him to finish.
“I forgot to tell you. Leonard phoned me today, just before I met up with you. I should have mentioned the call to you earlier but it slipped my mind. He asked me if I thought you were reliable. Sounds like he’s impressed. Something to do with you giving him advice on his websites.”
“At lunchtime today. An Okinawa noodle restaurant they took us to, between attractions. Yes, his websites are prehistoric—in both design and functionality—and some don’t work on a bunch of the new generation of browsers. So he’s naturally losing customers and income. I put him right over a couple of Asahi beers. Could do so much better, even if only by consolidating a few of them and incorporating a reliable online payment gateway. No big deal, really.”
“Apparently, it is for him. More importantly, he loves your energy and enthusiasm. Something I can definitely vouch for, especially after tonight.”
Kieran peered sidelong at Kennedy and they shared a mutual grin. But Kennedy hadn’t finished.
“And he’s about to offer you a job. As his head of marketing in their London office. His current person’s about to retire and he needs someone with fresh ideas to take the helm. Thinks you have great potential and I agreed. Told him I think he’d be a fucking moron not to offer you the job.”
Kieran stared at Kennedy for a moment, his mouth gaping open, unable to speak, before turning his gaze away. He had learned, especially from a professional perspective, to suppress his emotions where potential work was concerned, mainly because of late—apart from this trip to Asia with Kennedy—all news had tended to be bad news. Tears welled in his eyes, something that rarely happened, something Kennedy noticed immediately, because he squeezed his arm around Kieran’s shoulders.
“Shit, Kieran. Did I say something wrong? Should I have told him no?”
“No,” he replied, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Fuck, no, Kennedy. Exactly the opposite. Head of marketing? That’s my idea of a dream job. I have no clue what’s happening to me right now, everything is so crazy. In a good way. Sorry, what I meant to say is everything is amazing. All thanks to you.”
“You undersell yourself, Kieran.”
“You know that’s not true. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Point taken.” Kennedy laughed. “Point taken. And for the record, I’m glad it’s you that’s here.”
Me too, thought Kieran. Even though it’s only for the next two weeks.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kennedy
Kennedy was awoken from a deep sleep by a loud ping from his phone.
When he’d fallen asleep, he’d been worried about waking to find Kieran—always the early riser—having a panic attack, or a crisis of heart or conscience, or complaining about new and inevitable soreness in parts of his body where this kind of thing had never happened. What he hadn’t expected was to find Kieran fast asleep, his warm body and stiff cock pressed up against Kennedy’s back, his arm draped around his midriff. Kennedy lay there savouring the moment. Lazily, he reached out a hand and brought the phone to his face, to check the messages on the display.
Steph 10:10: You’re not answering your cabin door.
Steph 10:30: Are you onboard? Simeon says he hasn’t seen you.
Missed call.
Steph 11:00: Where the fuck are you? The boat leaves at midday.
Panic rippled through him when he checked the time—eleven-ten. He sat up and pulled the covers back, before throwing the phone down.
“Kieran! Shit!” he said, jumping into action and waking a sleep-ruffled Kieran with a shoulder shake. “We’ve overslept. Get dressed. We have to check out.”
“Chill out. I need to use the ‘loo,” said Kieran, leisurely sitting up on the side of the bed and pushing his hands through his locks. “And grab a shower. And what about breakfast?”
“No time,” said Kennedy from the other side of the bed, yanking on his underwear and trousers. “We can do that back on the boat. If we manage to make it.”
“What do you mean?” said Kieran.
“The boat leaves port in forty-five minutes.”
Finally, the words managed to sink in, and the two of them hurried around the hotel room, trying to avoid bumping into each other, taking turns to use the toilet, dressing hastily and packing the little they had brought before racing down to reception. While Kennedy checked out, he sent Kieran to arrange a taxi with the concierge and explain the need for haste. Fortunately, rows of taxis were lined up outside the hotel, ready for guests, so they were soon on their way.
At eleven-forty-five the port appeared before them with the mammoth Diamond Princess still sitting there against the quay. Kennedy breathed a sigh of relief. With minutes to spare, they both boarded, showing their cruise passes to the crew members before heading to their cabin. All the way from the hotel, they had hardly spoken. Finally, Kennedy asked Kieran what he needed first, shower or food. A trooper to the last, he opted for the latter.
Kennedy rang Simeon to request an all-day breakfast be brought to their cabin. Professional as ever, Simeon responded instantly, but when he pushed the trolley into their cabin, Kennedy could make out a slight change in attitude, the friendliness dialled down a notch or two. Kieran noticed too, because when Simeon served them both coffee—Kennedy his usual espresso, which he downed in one gulp—Kieran winked at him and grinned.
“How was the coffee, darling?” asked Kieran, reaching across the table to take hold of Kennedy’s hand. “Would you like Simeon to bring you another?”
“More importantly, how are you feeling?” asked Kennedy, once Simeon had departed.
“Better, now we made the boat in time. What would we have done, if we hadn’t?”
“Not a real issue,” said Kennedy, with a shrug. “We’d have caught a direct flight to Hong Kong. Just over two hours away. And spent an extra couple of nights in Hong Kong waiting for the ship to arrive.”
“My God, you think of everything.”
“What I meant earlier was, how do you feel after last night?”
Kieran considered Kennedy’s meaning, then got up from his chair and slapped down his napkin. Like a hunter stalking his prey, he came around Kennedy’s side of the table and straddled his lap, placing his arms around the back of Kennedy’s head.
“If you’re asking whether my arse is still sore, then the answer is yes,” he said, rubbing his backside into Kennedy’s groin before leaning in and pecking Kennedy on the lips and neck. “If you’re asking whether I still want to do the same thing again, then the answer is—oh fuck yes. But right now, I’m ready for a shower. So hurry up and finish your breakfast. Because my cock isn’t going to wash itself.”
* * * *
For the next three days and two nights before they reached Hong Kong, Kieran’s appetite for sex became voracious, often keeping Kennedy in bed until mid-morning, and dragging him away in the afternoon to try out one new position or another. If Pandora had ever had a brother, then his box had been well and truly opened. The first time Kennedy allowed him to take the lead—something Patrick had never wanted—Kieran took his time, making sure Kennedy felt relaxed, always checking whether Kennedy felt any discomfort. When, midway through the first exchange of roles, he insisted Kennedy roll over and straddle him, ride him at his own pace, the ploy worked perfectly and allowed Kennedy’s hands the freedom to explore Kieran’s body, helping to bring him home. For the first time in his life, Kennedy found concentrating on work impossible.
Kieran knew exactly which buttons to push. On the final sun-drenched day on deck, as Kennedy joined the girls and they all relaxed on loungers around the bustling swimming pool after lunch, purposefully ignoring Patrick’s posse gathered together on the other side of the pool, Kieran turned up. Sporting only gold lamé Aussiebum swimming briefs—brief being the optimum word—he rocked the look. Rows of curious heads craned forward while sunglasses were yanked down sweaty noses to get a better view. Tanned now, with his trim muscles and flat stomach, Kieran had developed an easy confidence, which was as sexy as hell. When he sat astride Kennedy and bent down for a deep kiss, all heads turned their way. And when Kieran whispered two words into his ear—swim or sex—Kennedy bolted up from the lounger and pulled him away, back towards the cabin.
And when Kieran bottomed? He had become insatiable—what Kennedy’s friends would have labelled a power bottom—hungry for everything Kennedy could give him and more. He demanded hard and fast, wrapping his legs tightly around Kennedy’s back, pulling him as far inside him as he could and coming with wild abandon, loudly vocal and often hands-free, like an express train hurtling from a tunnel, or a New Zealand geyser bursting hotly from the ground. More than a few times, Kennedy wondered what had happened to mild-mannered Kieran.
All his friends noticed. At meal times—the few moments all the friends spent time together—Kieran took every opportunity to touch Kennedy. Sometimes he would rest an innocent hand on his knee, or lace his fingers with the hand lying next to his, or lean across Kennedy to reach for the salt or pepper, accidentally brushing a hand on his upper thigh, while a thumb stroked the bulge in his trousers. Intended to be discreet—but so bloody obvious, every time Kennedy’s friends noticed not only Kieran’s smitten reaction, but Kennedy’s barely maintained indifference.
All too soon, Hong Kong harbour loomed.
As soon as Kennedy had installed Kieran in the suite of the Mandarin Oriental, he packed his suit and travel case, ready to head to the airport. When they’d checked in, he had organised a taxi to take him directly there. Twice Kieran asked if he wanted him to come, or just to see him off, but Kennedy declined and insisted he wanted to get the trip out of the way. Kieran’s sullenness made Kennedy feel unkind, and he almost had a change of heart, but instead pulled him up from the bed into an embrace.
“I need to do this, Kieran.”
After a tender kiss, he held Kieran’s face in his hands and stared into his eyes.
“Yes, I know you do.”
“And I’ll be gone two days only, as long as there are no delays.”
“I know.”
“And then it’s just you and me in Bali. For eight nights. To try anything that enters that filthy mind of yours.”
Kennedy managed to get a small smile out of Kieran then, which quickly fell away when Kieran’s gaze dropped to the small case Kennedy had packed.
“What’s the matter, Kieran?”
“It’s just—we’ve been together every day and night for the past eighteen days,” said Kieran, trying to make light, but his eyes telling a different story. “And I’ve begun to think of you as my lucky charm. So forgive me if I’m getting a little nervous about not having you here. What I’m trying to say is, it feels so good when we’re together. And I’m going to miss you. Sorry, I’m getting a bit gushy, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re not. I appreciate the sentiment, Kieran. And I promise I’m coming back soon. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now will you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Go and enjoy yourself.”
* * * *
While sitting at the boarding gate, Kennedy received a couple of messages on his phone. One from Tim about the meeting—and something unexpected from Reagan.
Reagan: Me and the kids are moving in with our parents for now. Bernie admitted to having an affair. Will let you know more soon.
Kennedy stared out of the airport window to his plane being readied for the flight. Although the news didn’t take him by surprise, his sudden reaction did. What saddened him more than he could have imagined with its plain but obvious truth was that he and his sister had failed at relationships. How could he forget the defeated expression on Reagan’s face when he’d said goodbye? Never would he forget his own sense of futility when Patrick had walked away. Maybe he should be looking to blame their parents, but most of all, he wanted to protect his own heart. And the reason for this conflict? Kieran had woken something inside him, had made him begin to feel things again. Did he dare take another chance?
As the airline official checked his passport and scanned his ticket, Kennedy kept replaying in his mind the text from his sister. Why the hell would he want to expose his heart again? Stupid. The idea was stupid and dangerous. Besides, he was about to go into battle. Right now he needed no distractions. Heading down the ramp to the plane door, he checked the messages from Tim, to make sure there were going to be no surprises.
Tim: All arranged as planned, everything lined up including transfer documents sent to your special email account. Milletto thinks you are an international investment analyst with particular specialism in his sector. Let me know how things go. Safe travels.
Without looking back, he boarded the plane bound for Los Angeles and strapped himself into his seat.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kieran
No doubt about it, the suite at the Mandarin Oriental was the nicest, must luxurious hotel room Kieran had ever stayed in. Not that he’d stayed in many. The only drawback? Kennedy was not there to share the king-sized bed with him.
On the first night alone, despite getting text messages from the girls, Kieran hadn’t felt like going out, had holed himself up in his room and binge-watched HBO movies over a club sandwich room service meal, while sitting cross-legged on the bed.
His only reminder of Kennedy? After the
mix-up with time in Okinawa, Kennedy had noticed Kieran wasn’t wearing a watch and had lent him one of his own—nothing expensive or pretentious, just a leather-strapped timepiece his father, Jeff, had given him as a kid. Kieran loved wearing the device, loved smelling the navy leather strap which, every time, reminded him of Kennedy.
The next day the sun shone gloriously, so with Laurie proudly clutching her Hong Kong guidebook, the three of them took the ferry ride to Lantau Island and climbed the steps to the Big Buddha. Strangely, the air of mysticism and spirituality had disappeared for Kieran, as though that particular window of opportunity had passed him by, and he simply enjoyed being in the girls’ company and seeing the sights for what they were. After taking individual and group photos at the top, admiring the panoramic views of the territory and climbing back down the tall stairway, they stopped for a vegetarian meal at the Po Lin Monastery before taking a heart-stopping glass-bottomed cable car to the town of Tung Chung. Laurie’s guide had promised outlet malls—a guide that had served her well—and the girls had then proceeded to shop frenziedly, as though their lives depended on it. By the time they all reached the hotel late in the afternoon—the girls had also booked into the Mandarin Oriental—everyone felt pooped and ready for an afternoon nap.
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