Golden Dancer

by Tara Lain

  He felt as if his heart had stopped. “What lover?”

  “Oh, that billionaire art collector, Daniel Terrebone. Medveyev was seen getting into the man’s limousine after his performance last night. Seems Terrebone’s collected himself a real masterpiece this time.”

  Mac couldn’t breathe. What man could steal the Golden Dancer—twice?

  Chapter Six

  Trelain stretched, extending his legs across the huge bed and arching his back. Christ on a bike, when had he slept this well? When he got to Terrebone’s mansion by the sea last night, his charming host, true to his word, had provided a masseur with magic hands, a splendid meal of salmon and creamed corn so divine, it could have been dessert, a soak in his own Jacuzzi tub, and a night’s sleep entirely by himself. He was not completely delighted by that last bit, but he had slept like the dead.

  Light filtered around the blackout curtains, shielding the wall of glass that looked directly out on the sand. The man certainly knew how to live. Since their first encounter at the music center, Trelain had, of course, gone online and discovered that he was being courted by one of America’s richest men. Not Gates or Buffet rich, Terrebone insisted, but certainly top one hundred. Such was his “dabbling” in software.

  After swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Trelain tugged his fingers through the tangled mane that hung around his shoulders. What time was it? He looked around the big room, still shadowed from the dark curtains. Spare, modern furniture formed a simple backdrop for spectacular abstract paintings. They’d be amazing in the light. On the bedside table, he saw a clock. As he reached out to grab it, it tipped, and the face lit up, showing eight thirty-seven a.m., then went dark again. Trelain batted it like a cat at a ball of yarn. Again it lit. Charming. And it was nice not to have a bright clock light shining in your face while you slept.

  He stretched again, feeling the aches and bruises of every grand jeté, arabesque, and lift. No big deal, as the Yanks said; it went with the territory. He reached down and rubbed the leg muscles still slightly sore from the injury. Fuck! He was flooded with memories. He remembered walking into the rehearsal room and seeing Mac sitting at that table dressed like a street urchin, with that lovely face and wonderful curly mass of hair, just as unruly as his spirit. Mac laughing at dinner in a pair of tight black slacks that made him uncomfortable and drove Trelain crazy in completely different ways. Mac’s long cock bursting out of those pants into Trelain’s waiting hands. Double fuck.

  He pushed off the bed and walked toward the bathroom, his cock at half-mast just from the memories. Chyort. Bleeding lot of good those memories did him.

  After a shower, shave, and shampoo, Trelain wrapped himself in a blue silk robe and returned to the bedroom. Interesting that Daniel had put him in a room with a dressing table, clearly a space designed for a woman. He smiled. Since he operated on girl-time while dressing, why not take full advantage of this amenity? He retrieved his toiletries case from the bathroom sink and placed it ceremoniously on the beautiful Japanese-modern table. He lifted the mirror from the smooth, polished maple top.

  He stared at his image, turning his head to get a better view from all angles. At least he didn’t look as tired as he had yesterday morning. This little interlude was just what he needed.

  Long wet strands of hair lay over his shoulder, and he ran his fingers through the tangles, arranging them a little before trying the comb. Ouch.

  There was a soft rap on the door. Um, maybe breakfast? Or maybe his host come calling. He had to admit to a little shiver at that idea. He looked over his shoulder. “Come in.”

  The silver head appeared around the door. “Are you decent?”

  Trelain smiled. “Almost never.”

  The big man walked into the room. “Very promising.” He settled on the edge of the unmade bed. “You slept in. I think you were very tired.”

  Trelain leaned back in the pretty, feminine, armless chair. “Yes. I didn’t realize how much I needed a good night’s sleep. When I’m performing, I often seem to practice grand jetés in my head all night.”

  “The attention you give your art shows in everything you do, cavalier.” He stood and walked up beside Trelain, reaching out to finger some of the wet golden strands. “May I help with your hair?”

  “Help?”

  Daniel went to a side chair and pulled it over beside Trelain. “Yes, let me dry your hair for you, okay?”

  Hm. Trelain didn’t like being fussed with much. Fussed over, of course, was fine. But the idea of Terrebone’s big hands in his hair had a certain appeal. “All right. As you Yanks say, knock yourself out.” He handed the man his hairdryer and a wooden comb. Daniel turned on the dryer.

  Oh good Lord. He hadn’t been prepared for the pure sensuality of the experience. The warmth of the dryer, the white noise that made conversation impossible, the feel of the comb teeth passing through his hair, followed by the smooth palm pressing against his scalp. His head fell back and—instead of a chair back—came to lean against Daniel’s body where it stood behind him. What part of his body was the question. He felt an increasing lump against his skull. Oh, that part. Very nice. He took a deep breath and sank into the warmth and lassitude of growing arousal.

  What? His head was flipped forward, and the dryer was applied to his hair upside down. Bloody hell! Was the man blind? Didn’t he see that Trelain was ready to be kissed?

  Flip. He was upright again, flinging the hair away from his face and sputtering like a manhandled cat. Daniel switched off the dryer and turned Trelain to face the mirror. In an instant, he went from indignant to amazed. Golden silk. Daniel ran the comb through the now-dry strands. Trelain stared. Yes, he knew he was more beautiful than many people, but this? His hair stood out away from his face just enough to set off his bone structure without hiding it and fell like a glistening lamé curtain to his shoulders. He had to clear his throat before he could talk. “Ah, so that’s how you made your money. Charging $10,000 for a hairdo?”

  Terrebone laughed. “You like?”

  Trelain glanced at the man’s handsome face. “Yes, very much.”

  “Let me do a bit more.” He sat in the chair he’d brought over and pawed through a small makeup bag Trelain carried with his toiletries. Removing a black liner pencil, he then leaned forward and touched Trelain’s cheek below his eye. “Close.”

  Without thinking, Trelain closed his eyes, and Daniel began to smooth the pencil along his lids, then smudged the line with a finger. “Open.” Surveying his work critically, he grabbed a pot of lip gloss, uncapped it, and put a bit on his finger. With a soft touch, Daniel smoothed the silky gloss over Trelain’s half-open mouth. Trelain wanted to suck that finger in and do some damage of the best sort, but Terrebone was so serious and intent, he hesitated.

  When finished, the tall man stood and stepped back, eyeing the results. He sighed. “Just lovely. Now, dress casually, and we’ll go to breakfast. I’ll be on the terrace when you’re ready.” Just like that, he was gone.

  Trelain stared in the mirror. Fascinating. He saw himself in makeup several days a week, but this was the best that subtlety could offer. He looked totally androgynous without being a queen. His turquoise eyes shone from their soft rim of darkness, peeking out from his mane of silk. A roadmap, perhaps, to Terrebone’s taste in men?

  He leaned back. Well, bollocks. This was officially torment. He was hungry, but it was open to question if he most hungered for food or for a nice mouthful of Terrebone’s cock. He started to get up and hesitated. Interesting that he’d had doubts about wanting to sleep with Daniel, and now it felt as if he was the aggressor. That seemed like some billionaire-class manipulation. He laughed and walked to the closet.

  * * *

  The huevos rancheros were delicious. He’d had them once or twice in Mexico, but this was a California variation, dripping in ranchero sauce and cheese. Trelain sat back, enjoying his stomach being full. Now he had another hole he’d like filled, and his interest was hotter than th
e salsa.

  They’d walked from Daniel’s house by the ocean up to the Pacific Coast Highway, where they’d caught the free trolley that carried visitors through the popular artist’s colony. Daniel kept touching his fingertips to Trelain’s arms and face. That was hardly a practice of most straight men, so they made a bit of a scene. That, combined with Trelain’s exotic androgyny and Daniel’s height, silver hair, and young face, meant the tourists stared more at them than the sights. Daniel didn’t seem to notice.

  After hopping off the trolley in South Laguna, they’d made their way into a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with a huge following. People crowded the bar, though it was only a bit after ten a.m., and another group talked over the music on the partly enclosed, brightly decorated deck. All the waiters seemed to know Daniel, and they brought him “his usual” while Trelain ordered the egg dish.

  That had been almost two delightful, relaxed, torturous hours ago. Daniel kept touching Trelain’s hands and pressing those long legs against his under the table.

  Daniel caressed his arm. “Would you like something more?”

  Trelain stopped his perusal of the Californians—although who knew how many were visiting from North Dakota—to smile at the beautiful billionaire. “Not sure where I’d put any more food.” He hoped the slight emphasis might get a response.

  The man smiled. “Ah, but there is something else you’d like?”

  Trelain modulated his voice. “You know bloody fucking well there is.”

  “Sightseeing?”

  “Cease being cute.”

  Daniel leaned across the table, his height allowing him to get quite close to Trelain. “Perhaps you’d like a hot cock in your beautiful, rock-hard ass?”

  Trelain glanced sideways from under his lashes. Yes, coy. “How do you know it’s rock-hard?”

  “Your tights.”

  Trelain smiled. “Hell, I thought you’d never get round to it.”

  Daniel touched his cheek, finger moving in a soft circle. “My darling, I have thought about virtually nothing else since I first laid eyes on you at that party and realized all that beauty and magnetism liked boys.”

  “If that’s true, you have amazing restraint.”

  “I have lots of practice.”

  “From stalking unwary lovers?”

  He sat back. “I’m an investor. I never make the buy until the market is ready.”

  Trelain’s laugh escaped. “And I’m an investment?”

  The cat ate the canary. “Best I’ve ever made, I’ll wager.” Daniel pulled a cell phone from his pocket and said a few words Trelain didn’t catch. The man waggled a finger at the waiter, who hurried over and produced a check. Daniel slipped a card on it. He leaned forward again. “How do you like it, Trelain? Hard and fast or long and slow?”

  Trelain couldn’t resist another coy glance. “How do you know I bottom?”

  Daniel chuckled. “The way that ass wiggles, I just know it’s begging to be fucked. Plus, I’ll let you top me sometime if you want to. I like my ass reamed as much as the next man.” He ran his fingers through the silk curtain of hair he’d created. “But not today, baby. Not today.”

  The waiter arrived with the check. Daniel signed and rose all in one motion. When Trelain stood, Daniel took his arm and led him through the bar to the front door. Finally, he seemed in a hurry.

  Chapter Seven

  Outside the little dive, a large black limousine waited, double-parked, a chauffeur in a lightweight shirt standing stoically as if he wasn’t blocking the flow of traffic on one of the busiest coastal roads in the world.

  Daniel nodded. “Thanks, George. Going home.”

  “Right away, Mr. Terrebone.”

  George opened the back door, and Trelain crawled into the gray leather interior. The divider was up, separating the passengers from the driver. Hm. The chauffeur must know his boss well. Daniel slipped in beside him, clearly familiar with the procedure for folding his tall, lean frame into the car.

  He closed the door, surrounding them in the dim coziness produced by the tinted windows and the plush seats. In one move, he reached for Trelain, pulled him across the slick leather and onto his lap. His mouth descended.

  Bloody hell, it was about time. Trelain opened his mouth wide and sucked in Daniel’s hot tongue. Chyort, he was on fire! All the frustration from Mac, all the teasing and restraint with Daniel, boiled through him like hot oil. All he could think of was that cock in his arse. He dragged one leg across Daniel’s lap until he straddled the man and then pressed his rock-hard cock directly into the equally steely rod outlined against the big man’s jeans. Tipping his hips forward, he got the contact he was looking for and began to ride hard against the bulge he desperately wanted inside him.

  Daniel pulled back and moaned. “Holy shit, angel face, you keep that up, and I’ll come in my pants.”

  Trelain thrashed his head from side to side, flinging hair into Daniel’s face. “Can’t stop. Want to fuck. Now!”

  Daniel gripped his face and looked into his eyes. He must have seen what he was looking for, because he reached for the intercom switch. “George, drive up the coast. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  “Yes, sir.” Trelain vaguely registered that the chauffeur didn’t reflect a flicker of amusement or censure, but his own primary goal was getting Daniel out of his jeans. He’d managed to lower the zipper, but the damned snap wouldn’t release. Bollocks. So he shifted his attention to digging a hand into the open fly to find the treasure within. Oh, Christ on a cracker, that was one big treasure. Reminded him of another big prize he’d handled lately. But he didn’t want to think about that now.

  With awe, he pulled the wildly impressive prick out of its hiding hole. Blinding! His arse ached already. But first a little lubrication. He pushed back until he was kneeling on the floor between Daniel’s legs, dived onto the cock, and swallowed it down in one move. In seconds, he was sucking like a tuppenny trollop.

  “Holy blessed hell!” Daniel buried his hands in the golden mane. “Dear God, man, don’t you know the meaning of restraint?”

  Trelain shook his head as he kept on sucking.

  Daniel’s laugh was a little hysterical. “Oh shit, you are marvelous.” He reached his fingers deep into the hair and pulled up with enough force to cause Trelain’s lips to pop off the big cock. He started to protest, but Daniel silenced him with a deep kiss. He pulled back and looked into Trelain’s eyes. “You’re good at that sucking business, beauty, but you’ll defeat your purpose if I come down your throat and am too soft to hammer your ass.”

  “Then bloody well bugger me.”

  “Shit, don’t mind if I do.” He opened a compartment across from the seats and removed a condom and a pack of lube.

  Trelain couldn’t wait another second. He toed off his flip-flops and wriggled out of his jeans and boxer briefs, flipped until he was kneeling on the seat, and pushed his throbbing arse into the air.

  He heard Daniel laugh and saw, between his knees, the man pull his jeans off and slip the condom on that big, juicy cock. He ripped the little package and slicked his fingers. Trelain wriggled his butt.

  Daniel laughed again. “A little anxious, are we?”

  “Don’t bloody play games. Bloody fuck me.”

  Trelain sucked in breath as at least two fingers pushed into his hole. Oh, bloody hell, the burn felt so good. Those fingers began a steady in-and-out as Daniel’s other hand reached under and began to massage his shaved balls. Oh, Lord, was it him making that sound? Daniel leaned down so Trelain could see his face. “That what you want, baby? That what you need? Nobody’s been taking care of this pretty baby, have they? You need a good hard fuck to make you come right, don’t you, baby?”

  The heat blazed through his brain. No witty repartee emerged. All he knew was what he had to have. “Please, yes, please.”

  “These fingers not enough for you, baby? You want something bigger? Deeper?”

  “Yes, oh fucking hell, yes.” The fingers p
ulled out, and Trelain almost cried from the emptiness. And then something big, hard, and smooth pressed against that eager hole. “Yes, Daniel. That. Please. Fuck, yes.”

  In one deep thrust, Daniel pushed that monster at least halfway in, ramming Trelain’s gland and shooting fire straight up his spine to his brain. “Yes!”

  Finally, Daniel’s composure seemed to slip. “Oh, shit, beauty, you feel so hot. Oh my God, I didn’t know… Oh yes.” And his words became grunts as he slammed into Trelain’s pulsing hole over and over.

  Trelain’s fingers dug into the buttery upholstery that his cock was rubbing against, just taking the pounding and loving every second. He wanted it to go on forever. It was so good. The man kept changing it up. Just when the shallow strokes might have gotten redundant, he’d slam in so deep, Trelain thought he could feel him in his throat and that the top of his head would come off. Oh, so good, so good.

  But his cock wasn’t having the “go on forever” business. Trelain felt the hot, bubbling sensation of semen getting ready to blow. He pushed one hand back and grabbed his cock, only to have Daniel slap his hand away. “You want to come, beautiful baby, I’m gonna do it for you. I’m going to do everything for you. Do you hear me?”

  Some tiny piece of Trelain’s mind wondered what he meant, but he could only beg. “Yes, Daniel. Yes, make me come.”

  The big hand began to stroke as that cock kept up its relentless work, pounding, ramming. It only took a few strokes. “Oh, fucking hell, yeeeees.” Hot cum poured from his cock into Daniel’s grasping hand. His sight went black, then burst into light as heat filled every nerve. He just kept shuddering in spurt after delicious spurt.

  “Oh God, baby. You wring me out.” Trelain felt Daniel’s body lose its rhythm and begin to buck frantically. “Oh, oh God.” His body froze over Trelain’s hips, and Trelain imagined all that thick, hot semen pouring into his ass. Powerful arms came down on either side of Trelain’s body as the big man tried to keep from collapsing on top of him.