by Johnny Miles
please. Please guide me.
A momentary doubt struck him to the point where he was nearly paralyzed.
Arbol shook it off and pushed on. He couldn't afford to let his fears take control of
him. He would just have to deal with them later and hope for the best. He was going
to trust that his feet would take him where he needed to go.
Finding out Raúl was his uncle had been the last straw. He remembered
standing, stunned at the words that echoed in his mind. He had hoped, still hoped,
he hadn't heard correctly. But deep down inside, Alonso knew what his father said
was truth.
Fuming, he had stormed out of his father's office.
Why did no one ever say anything?
The very idea that he and that horrible man were related incensed him. But it
infuriated him even more that his parents had chosen to keep it from him,
especially his mother. She was so free with her thoughts, her emotions when it
came to other issues.
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And then it hit him.
What good would it have done? Why should she claim a man like that as
family? Alonso certainly wouldn't want Raúl as a relative; why should she?
Still, it was the principle.
Alonso wondered briefly if Fernando knew. A sudden pang of homesickness
struck him and rolled through him like a wave. He felt guilty for not having thought
of his brother since embarking on his voyage. But now he wished Fernando were
near. He needed someone to talk to so badly, to help defuse emotions until he could
deal with them. He could always count on Fernando to tell a joke or say some crude
thing to make him laugh and forget his worries.
But this confession…
He doubted even Fernando, with his detached approach to everything and
everyone, would have been able to remain levelheaded.
Confession, Alonso decided, was definitely overrated. It was good only for the
person relieving his guilt. The confessor was then left holding the crown of thorns.
What was he supposed to do with his father's secrets? It was as if his father had
gone and created one huge mess solely so that Alonso could now clean it all up. But
how?
Alonso stopped suddenly and looked around. He had been so busy stoking his
anger, he was unsure of where he was. Then he heard the babbling sound of gently
running water.
Stunned he had walked so far without realizing it, Alonso found he actually
did not care where he was or where his feet had taken him. So long as it was far
away from the house, away from his father, and away from his disgusting
confessions and ridiculous excuses for the way things had turned out.
If the man couldn't run his life, his own affairs, how was he expected to run
the large family business that Casa Rodrigo had become? When Alonso got back to
Spain, he was going to make sure he spoke to his brother about relieving their
father of his duties. As partners, surely they could at least make the demand?
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Alonso didn't see any reason why not. Except that Fernando would probably want to
know why. His brother wouldn't just agree to side with him. After all, for all their
similarities, there were just as many dissimilarities.
Alonso growled in anger at the position in which his father had placed him.
And then, for the man to have had the audacity to tell him that he would
understand when he got older! That things weren't always as easy as they seemed,
so clear-cut, so black-and-white. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Repercussions? Societal pressures? To hell with them!
Alonso swore on the spot that no one would ever tell him whom to love or
whom to marry—least of all the very man who had kept so many secrets from him.
He was the last person who had any rights to make such demands.
Alonso approached the edge of Rio de Piedras and was reminded of the
afternoon he had spent with Arbol. It had been so peaceful, so erotic. He could still
taste Arbol, smell him. It was as if the slave still lingered somewhere in his mind, in
his heart. Had it really only been just a few hours ago? How quickly everything had
crumbled from that point.
Sitting on the boulder where their clothes had lain out to dry, Alonso tried
desperately to figure a way out of the mess his father had created. But the more he
thought, the more muddied his thoughts became. Nothing was clear except for one
thing. As long as he was there, Alonso would not allow Arbol's sale to Raúl.
“If only he were dead!” Alonso muttered into the night. But as quickly as the
words spilled from his mouth, a pang of guilt racked him, and Alonso shuddered. No
matter how much he resented the man, the decision to take another man's life was
not one to be made lightly.
Alonso closed his eyes and took a very deep breath to calm himself and his
mind. It was the only way he was going to clear his thoughts. He exhaled slowly,
and the image of Arbol's face swam before him.
What do I do? God in heaven, if you're listening, please show me the way. Send
me a sign so I know what to do.
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A rustle from beyond the trees made Alonso stand. He tensed as the sound
drew near. His skin tingled, and there was a thrilling yet odd feeling running
through him. It was something like fear mixed with excitement.
Alonso's mind whirled, no longer on the sins of his father as he wondered who
or what rustled in the dense foliage. It was clearly not the wind. The sound was too
steady for that and growing louder by the second.
Then it stopped.
Alonso thought he saw the silhouette of a tall man in the distance. As a
precaution, he automatically reached for the pistol at his hip—the one he had been
advised to carry at all times. With Tortuga, the pirate island, nearby and Port Royal
condoning raids on Spanish ships, there were too many unsavory characters
traipsing about the island.
Except he'd forgotten it.
“A…Alonso?” a voice called out tentatively.
“Arbol!” Alonso's heart leaped, and he felt enormously relieved. A grin spread
across his face. He closed the distance between them in a few strides. Arbol
wrapped his powerful arms around him as if he were clinging to life itself. His heart
beat rapidly and his breath was hot and fast. And yet it was the sensation of Arbol's
mostly naked flesh against the thin fabric of his shirt that aroused him.
“I'm glad to see you,” Alonso said and pulled back.
Without a word, Alonso clutched Arbol tightly and sought Arbol's mouth.
Surprised by his own urgency, like a man saved from drowning, Alonso held Arbol's
face fast. Their lips burned as they brushed together, and their tongues wrestled
passionately.
There was something about their closeness, the way they intimately inhaled
the same air together that made Alonso feel light-headed. As if they were breathing
as one. As if Arbol's very soul had entered Alonso's body.
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Alonso knew Arbol needed the same things he did at the moment: solace, a
comforting hand, someone he could be with who understood him and returned the
/> emotion.
And yet the young slave seemed to hesitate.
“Alonso, I…” Arbol started.
“You called me by my name,” Alonso teased.
“Because I feel close to you,” Arbol replied in a hushed tone. Alonso only held
him tighter. “Please, we really should not.”
“Why?” Alonso pleaded. “You just said you felt close to me. And I need you.
Especially after—”
“Alonso, por favor. Don't make it harder than it is. I—that is, we—this cannot
go anywhere. No matter how close I might feel.”
Alonso held Arbol's face still and forced him to look in his eyes.
“You heard what Raúl said, didn't you?” Alonso said softly. It was half
statement, half question. Arbol nodded.
“And that's why we shouldn't do this, señor!” Arbol replied quietly. Tears
streamed down his face. “This afternoon…when we talked about that story. I could
not help but think that I was that Moor. But that instead of marrying the woman, I
discovered it was you who…” Arbol choked back a sob.
“I waited so many years, Alonso. I thought I'd never see you again. I'd almost
forgotten what you looked like. I thought maybe I did something to upset your
father for him to leave me here all alone, without explanation.”
“No, Arbol. It wasn't anything like that. He—We—” Alonso stopped, a part of
him feeling guilty for barely giving Arbol a thought until they had met again a few
days ago. He wondered if he should go further, if he should explain to Arbol why he
was on the island. He looked into Arbol's eyes and decided he had a right to know.
But where to begin? Alonso scoured his memory for the scraps he remembered,
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added them to what his father had told him, and decided it was best to start at the
beginning.
“Your mother died when you were just born,” Alonso began and told Arbol all
he knew of the fateful night that changed their lives. From what he knew of the
scream that had woken him, what little he had seen from the dark doorway, to the
first time he had held Arbol in his arms.
Arbol listened with rapt attention and remained silent long after Alonso
stopped speaking. Finally, almost painfully, Arbol spoke.
“I'm grateful…for don Bernardo wanting to protect me. Your father is a good
man.”
Alonso did not respond, and the two remained quiet.
“You know, this afternoon was—I never expected…” Arbol trailed off.
“Never expected what?” Alonso probed.
“My heart to feel this way. So heavy and yet so light.”
Alonso felt as if a truth had been plucked from his chest. Even though he had
not given Arbol much thought in the time they had been separated, when they met
again, there was something like a tug. Something that swelled inside him, and it
wasn't just about lust. It was something inexplicable. Something that made his
lungs expand and filled his heart with an enormous feeling.
“I understand,” Alonso muttered. He kissed and licked at Arbol's lips, neck,
fingers. “Nothing exists but you and me. Here. Now.”
“Not while Raúl lives, señor. Anything that you and I could ever hope to have
would never be.”
“I'll talk to him. I'll make him see reason,” Alonso countered. Arbol looked
silently at him a moment, took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
“Señor Velasco does not strike me as the kind of man who understands love or
the feelings of one man for another. And after what you just told me, I'm not so sure
anyone can make him see reason.”
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Alonso smirked despite himself.
“Leave that to me,” Alonso replied a bit more confidently than he actually felt.
He wasn't sure if it would work, but he knew there had to be something. He wasn't
just going to sit idly by, like his father, and let Raúl trample all over their lives and
do whatever he wanted. Blood relation or not.
“I…I can't stop thinking about you,” Arbol said huskily and bit his lower lip. “I
want to be with you…al—”
But Arbol never got the chance to finish because Alonso's lips silenced him.
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Chapter Twelve
Nothing mattered at that moment. Not the fear of being sold to Raúl. Not the
nightmare he'd had a short while ago, which now seemed like ages. And certainly
not their status. Just so long as he had Alonso's lips against his own, his tongue
penetrating his mouth, his hands roaming his body.
Alonso's heat brought a certain comfort to Arbol. It made him feel as though
everything would turn out right, even if the optimism was only in that moment.
Arbol could feel Alonso's cock throbbing and pulsating against his own
erection. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and Arbol moaned. A frenzy of lust,
so huge it was almost indecent, possessed Arbol. And even as his desire surged and
mounted, he tried to understand the power Alonso held over him. These were all
emotions he had never experienced before, but they filled him with such joy, such
ecstasy that he dared to hope and believe the feelings might never end. If Alonso
said so, then it would be.
And if it wasn't, Arbol would simply disappear.
But he didn't want to think about that now.
Now, all he wanted was to feel Alonso's rough, insistent hands travel from his
broad shoulders, down to his narrow waist, burning his flesh as they slipped
beneath Arbol's breeches and cupped at the firm, muscled globes of his buttocks.
Arbol moaned as Alonso clamped down where his neck and shoulders met. It
felt as if Alonso's teeth would puncture his flesh as he chewed and sucked along the
muscled cord. But he didn't care. He went limp in Alonso's arms, writhing in
pleasure from the sensations building inside him.
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“I want you, Arbol,” Alonso whispered, his tongue darting, licking, nibbling at
his earlobe.
“Yes,” Arbol hissed, biting his lower lip. He relished the sensation of Alonso's
crudely probing fingers. They tapped teasingly at the entrance where precious few
had ever been; some against his will.
“I want to possess you. To own you. Body and soul.”
“You already own me. You will always be…my master.”
“That's not what I mean.” Alonso pulled back. “You said you can't stop
thinking about me. I can't stop thinking about you either. It's like
you've…bewitched me.” Alonso grabbed hold of Arbol's wrist and lowered his hand
to grasp at his erection.
“Do you see what you do to me?” Alonso asked huskily.
Arbol groaned and sighed with the realization that no matter how hard he
tried, he could not resist Alonso. He worked his breeches down past his hips, kicked
them away, then dropped to his knees. He caressed the length of Alonso's hard
shaft, then looked up as Alonso peeled off his shirt.
He sat back on his haunches and drank in the sight of his young master. From
the thick, long hair—pulled back with a ribbon—to the piercing eyes that made him
feel so naked and vulnerable. The fine nose, thick, wide lips, sturdy chin. Down to
Alo
nso's chest and the hairy pelt that led down to a flat, taut belly. Then lower still,
down to that magnificent cock.
Arbol grabbed it by the root, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth. He
lovingly wrapped his lips around the head and slowly moved his head back and
forth. He coaxed his throat to expand as he went farther, wanting to feel once more
the entire length of Alonso's shaft down his throat. Wanted to look up, see Alonso
looking down at him, and know that anything Alonso wanted, Arbol would do.
Willingly.
Sucking cock was the one thing Arbol thoroughly enjoyed with another man.
There was something about the heat, the sweat and moistness of another man's
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privates, something intoxicating about the scent as he felt the weight of a man's
balls. The way they moved—as if breathing on their own—as they spilled their seed
down his throat, sent a rush of power and excitement through Arbol's body.
Instinctively, he knew the power he felt when taking another man's cock in his
mouth, swallowing his seed, was the same the masters felt when exploiting the
slaves.
For the briefest of moments, when Arbol held another man's balls in his hands
and their cocks throbbed, swelling in his throat, just before that first spurt, Arbol
was in control. Oh, the damage he could cause! They would fall to their knees before
him!
Of course, he would never…
Still, the visions in his mind of their faces when they realized their manhood
had been severed empowered Arbol. Even if only for a moment.
But with Alonso, it was different.
Arbol felt Alonso's hand at the back of his head. His nostrils flared against
Alonso's pubic hair. Alonso moaned and shuddered as he gently bit at the very base
of the cock firmly entrenched down his throat. Arbol felt it throb inside his throat
and marveled that he could still, just barely, breathe.
The suction was incredible. He still could not believe Arbol was able to take his
entire cock down his throat.
As good as it felt to be taken so deeply, so lovingly, there was something about