Third Time's The Charm

by Jaime Samms

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  Third Time's The Charm

  by Jaime Samms

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  Erotica

  * * *

  loveyoudivine

  www.loveyoudivine.com

  Copyright ©2010 by Jaime Samms

  First published in 2010, 2010

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  * * * *

  * * *

  Chapter One

  A slow trickle of water, beaded and glistening, rolled down between his shoulder blades as I watched. I shifted to press my lips to the small of his back, ready to lick it away as it descended to meet me. I knew what he'd say even before he said it.

  “Give a bloke a break, Davey.”

  I grinned at the fact I no longer cringed at the nickname. Not when he said it, anyway.

  “You don't want to make love to me again, Ian?” I murmured, my lips never quite leaving his skin, because the way he shivered under the goose bumps was delicious. I pried at the top edge of the towel wrapped around his waist until the crisp red outline of a heart appeared, and I kissed the new tattoo. The placement matched exactly that of my shamrock, and had a miniscule green “D.M.” at the center, which you had to be very close to see. While tragically romantic, never would he hear from my lips how much that small, completely geeky gesture set my heart thumping and my palms sweating.

  He loved me that much.

  His hips shifted, and he shivered as I licked at the spot. “Dave.”

  There's something his body does when he sighs. All the tension just drains down and out, and he turns pliable as putty. Nobody ever gave that to me before. Bloody difficult to not want it any time I could get it. Another light kiss just above the crack of his arse would encourage that much anticipated sigh.

  “Work,” he muttered, as his body flowed right into my hands.

  I glanced up to see him in the mirror, face partially covered in shaving cream and his eyes closed. His razor plopped into the sink and sent a small jet of foamy white water up and back down onto the floor.

  “Fuck first,” I suggested, expecting him to turn me down.

  I maneuvered a hand up under the towel to find him already erect and began to stroke. I took it slow. His bout with Robbie's ex-pimp still made him ache a bit, though the bruises had faded. His ribs bothered him a bit, and no matter how many times he told me not to, I couldn't help getting flaming angry at Robbie Kelly for putting my Ian in jeopardy, no matter if he meant to or not.

  His groan lured me back from thoughts of Robbie's foolishness, and I tightened my grip, wanting to hear it again.

  “Ah, David. Can't.” Regret etched the frown lines around his mouth a little deeper, and he opened his eyes.

  Disappointed? Aye. But not surprised. And certainly not dissuaded.

  I stood and pulled him back against me so we could both watch in the mirror. The towel fell and my hands roved over his body. I watched his eyes slowly drift closed. My lips near his ear startled him, and he moaned, tilting his head slightly when I whispered in his ear. “Watch me stroke your cock, Ian.”

  “Fuck. So not fair,” he murmured, letting his head drop back onto my shoulder. His chest heaved out into my palm roaming across his nipples.

  “All's fair, Ian.” I hitched my shoulder up, lifting his head. “Watch.”

  “What about...oh! Fuck.”

  His cheeks flushed. I couldn't tell if it embarrassed him, or if lust flushed him like that, but not even half a face of shaving foam could disguise the need in his eyes.

  His gaze fixed on my hand working his cock, his hips moved with my strokes, and his arse wiggled until my own cock slipped between his cheeks. His breath caught at the bump of my cock against his entrance.

  “Ever been fucked, Ian?”

  A long, low moan and all-over body shudder preceded his come splattering the vanity. He didn't waste a moment between coming and shoving me back enough to turn and drop to his knees in front of me. He swiped most of the foam away before wrapping his lips around me.

  I groaned myself. The feel of his hot mouth sliding down my cock was relatively new for me. I'd established a pattern a long time ago. My mouth, my arse, and they could like it or lump it. The intimacy of letting anyone suck me off was too much. They paid me to get them off. That's how it worked. But Ian had my initials tattooed practically on his arse. He'd earned the right to break a few rules.

  “Ian.”

  He hummed and took me deeper, almost into his throat.

  No, Ian didn't follow rules. Instead, he patted my thighs, encouraging my legs apart a bit, then my cheeks, and his fingers, slippery with shaving foam, found my hole.

  “Ian!”

  Some soap just doesn't belong anywhere near a man's arse-hole. It's a mistake you only make once. Soap was soap. I shied away from his slick fingers.

  He popped his mouth off my cock long enough to grin up at me and wipe a bit more foam off his face with his fingers, which he wiggled up at me. “Trust me.”

  I'd hardly nodded when his fingers slid in, to the accompaniment of the most interesting tingle against my skin.

  “Oh. That's...”

  He slithered his fingers in deep and curled them forward, wrapped his lips around me and swallowed hard. Anything else I might have said got lost in the orgasm rocketing through me. I was still quivering with reaction as he rose, arms going around my waist and long, lean body melding against mine.

  “Now,” he pecked the tip of my nose, “it's fair.”

  “Uh.”

  He laughed, a sound that made me feel on the inside the way he could make my body feel. Sadly, he also turned back to the mirror and picked up the shaving foam.

  I stole the bit of white foam left on the side of his neck and rubbed it over his arse. “You didn't answer my question.” Maybe it was an underhanded attempt to get my equilibrium back. The way he pushed my boundaries...

  Yer too much fer me, Ian McVeigh.

  “There was a question?” He leaned back into my hand briefly but then pulled away and focused on reapplying the foam to the unshaved side of his face. The words were glib, but his gaze darting back to mine was a tad too frantic and slipped away before making any real eye contact.

  “Not an important one.” I removed my hand from his arse and set it gently on his arm, kissed his shoulder, and moved back to the edge of the tub as he fished the razor out of the sink.

  He flashed me an apologetic grin and a tiny shrug. “Can't be late for this one, Davey. I'm supposed to meet with Beth and your dad in half an hour, and I'm cutting it to the wire already.”

  I didn't press the issue, just nodded and reached for the taps to start the shower. “And why would you be meeting with me father?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  For a few minutes, I watched him in the mirror, his studied concentration backed by shadows in his eyes. A memory, maybe? Something he didn't want to tell me, obviously.

  “When do you have to be in?” He quirked an eyebrow at me as the razor swathed its way through the last, thick bit of foam on his cheek.

  I shrugged. “When's your meeting wi
th my father over?”

  I could tell he tried not to, but Ian rolled his eyes as he bent to splash his face clean.

  “Ten. Ish.”

  “Then I'll be in around Ten-oh-five. Ish.”

  A wide grin passed over his face, and the shadows vanished, just like that, his eyes meeting mine at last. “I'll be waiting.” He patted his now-smooth cheeks dry and faced me. “My office. Hot coffee and your hot ass. Don't be late.”

  “I'll be coming to you, then?” No one had ever got away with bossing me about the way he did.

  “Oh, you'll be coming, all right.” He gave me a soul-searing kiss and was gone into the bedroom before I recovered.

  I rinsed his stubble out of the sink, and sighed. “I do believe yer arse is whupped, Davey, my man,” I told my reflection.

  My reflection had nothing to say to that.

  I was in the shower trying to decide if that was such a bad thing when Ian called good-bye and I heard the front door close behind him.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  I was still lost in thought when I reached the studio. I had to struggle to ignore my cock's wish to relive David's early-morning assault on my libido. It kept me sitting in my car a minute, contemplating. Why hadn't I answered his simple question? It wasn't like I had anything to hide but a bit of embarrassing romanticism. I was pretty sure the tattoo had tipped him off about that incurable affliction already, so what was my excuse?

  I didn't have one. I hadn't answered because I knew what I wanted from him on that score, and he'd amply demonstrated he was a dedicated bottom. I didn't want to ask and be denied, so I said nothing.

  The revelation, even if it was just to myself, put me in a foul mood. I kicked open my office door, already snarly.

  “Ian!”

  I just barely managed to stifle a groan as Robbie bounced up from the window seat and threw his arms around me.

  “Coffee!” I shouted, holding the tray up out of harm's way.

  “Ribs!” Beth admonished from her chair next to the desk.

  “It's fine, Beth.” I wished they'd all just stop. They barely hurt at all anymore. Usually.

  Robbie blushed fiercely, his freckles disappearing behind the stain of pink, and hastily backed off.

  “It's fine, Robbie.” I set the tray down on the desk and took a seat on the long, low sofa David and I had dragged in form the unused props storeroom. “How are you?”

  His wide grin resurfaced. “Alive, thanks to you.”

  Why would I never remember not to ask him that question?

  “Robbie,” I began, but was interrupted by Dale Wentworth clearing his throat.

  He sat, smug as you please, at my desk, his expensive suit a glaring contrast to the shabby office. Rustic, as David put it. Dale Wentworth was anything but shabby or rustic. He took one of the coffees from the cardboard tray and peeled off the lid.

  “Now that we're all here.” He gave me a significant look through the steam of his coffee. It probably meant something. I just had no idea what. “We can begin.”

  “Begin what, exactly?” Beth asked in her jack-knife-sharp, definitely not-mouse working voice.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.

  Wentworth didn't even blink at her tone, just set his coffee aside, picked up a neat stack of papers, tapped them against the desk top, and placed them back. A small, equally neat smile passed over his lips. “Ian, you obviously remember Robert Kelly,” he said, turning his gaze, but not the smile on me.

  I wasn't sure how I felt about not having that expression directed at me. I thought it was probably a good thing, but again, it was always hard to tell with him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Robbie was hard to forget. Since the incident at his and David's apartment that left my ribs cracked and David furious with him, he seemed to pop up everywhere. I wasn't the least bit surprised to find him at the studio, or even in my office. I just hoped he'd be gone before David got here. Nothing squelched my lover's mood quicker than the sight of Robbie Kelly in my near vicinity, which was sweet on one hand and terribly frustrating on the other.

  I managed to resist the urge to touch my slightly aching side at the memory of his pimp neatly and efficiently felling me with a few well-placed blows. At least he hadn't done me any permanent harm, and Robbie had managed to use the delay to get himself safely inside his apartment. Dale Wentworth, of course, had never let either one of us forget he was the one with sense enough to call the cops. Apparently, being a next-to-unconscious puddle of agony was no excuse.

  “Good.” Wentworth nodded, his abrupt comment dragging me back to the room and the reason for the meeting. I hoped. “You will be working closely with him for the next six weeks or so.”

  “I will.” I knew better than to actually phrase the words into a question, even though I suddenly had many skipping around in my head along with the sudden, unwelcome realization that David was not going to be happy.

  “You will, as he will be taking Ms. Callahan's place.”

  “He will?”

  “What?!”

  Beth and I spoke at once, her exclamation easily overpowering my weak comment. I glanced over at Robbie, who sat looking a little stunned and slightly green, in his chair near the desk.

  “I find myself in need of a personal assistant, Ms. Callahan. My current employee has decided to take a vacation. Ian, here, tells me you are the best.”

  I shot Beth a guilty glance that she met with a furious glare. I had said it. In my defence, the question had been asked while I was still recovering, and I thought I was doing both her and Wentworth a favour, assuring him she could run the place with only my telecommuted input for a few weeks.

  “In addition,” Wentworth continued, ignoring our exchange, “Robert, here, has expressed an interest in opening his own business and has approached me for a loan. Before I invest in such a venture, I want to make sure I'll get that investment back.” His gaze fell on Robbie, who gamely straightened his curving spine and met Wentworth's cold look, though his cheeks remained decidedly the wrong colour. “I want to see if the boy has even a modicum of business sense.”

  “I can do it,” Robbie assured him, and I silently congratulated the kid on not letting his voice shake. “I'm good.”

  “In many arenas, I have no doubt,” Wentworth agreed dryly, and Robbie's face flushed deep red. “But running a business takes more than a few people skills and a bit of talent with a tattoo needle. You want my money, prove to me you are a sound investment. You have six weeks.”

  I was mildly surprised Wentworth had refrained from mentioning Robbie's previous occupation. Maybe he had some tact after all.

  “I have more than ‘a bit’ of talent,” Robbie muttered.

  Wentworth snorted.

  Or not.

  “Attitude, Mr. Kelly, does not impress me.” He held Robbie's gaze until the poor kid looked away.

  “Because you have a bucket of your own,” I heard Beth whisper.

  If Wentworth heard, once again, he let it go. He picked up his papers, separated them into two piles, and pushed them across the desk, one toward each of them. “Your contracts. Read them carefully, sign them.” He fixed Robbie with a stern look. “I expect them on my desk by the end of the week.”

  “Yes, sir,” Beth assured him in a tight voice, not moving from where she sat on the edge of her seat.

  Wentworth ignored her. His gaze never wavered from Robbie's face, like he was trying to communicate something to him both Beth and I were missing.

  “Yes, sir,” Robbie said after a few heartbeats.

  “Good.” Wentworth stood. “Ian. Always a pleasure.”

  I stood as well, and held out a hand to shake his as both Robbie and Beth got to their feet. The quicker I could get rid of him, the quicker the tension in the room could explode, and the quicker I could get the mess cleaned up.

  A wry smile crossed Wentworth's face. Apparently, my lack of agreement amu
sed him, and he took my offered hand.

  “Do tell David not to be such a stranger. You should bring him by for dinner.”

  “He has a match this weekend. Maybe you'll come watch him play.”

  Wentworth's smile sharpened. He didn't reply. One of the first things I'd learned was that his opinion of David's rugby career was right up there with his opinion of his former hustling. ‘Dangerous’ and ‘stupid’ were words he liked to use regarding both.

  One day, though, to the shock and amazement of all, one of us would take the other up on an invitation. There was also an outside chance pigs would fly, or Robbie would refrain from flirting with every guy who smiled at him.

  “Good day, gentlemen.” He nodded to each of us, then smiled at Beth. “Ms. Callahan. I will see you on Monday morning.” No one spoke again until he was out of the room.

  “Fuck that man!” Beth spat, just before the door clicked shut.

  “I wouldn't recommend it, darlin'.” I handed her a coffee, still hot, from the tray. Wentworth had just rearranged our lives in less time than it took a cup of coffee to cool. I silently echoed Beth's sentiments as I held out a coffee to Robbie and he flashed me a grin, reminding me David was going to be less than pleased about this.

  “You know what I mean.” Beth plopped into her chair and peeled back the plastic rim of her cup. “Where does he get off?”

  “When you have more money than God, you get off wherever you like,” Robbie pointed out. He too sat, poked the flap of his coffee lid into the hole, and proceeded to lick the drips of liquid from his fingertip.

  Damn. I blinked as the finger popped out of his mouth. Monogamous was not the same as dead. I moved around the desk quickly and sat. David was going to be furious.

  “It isn't the money,” I muttered, forcing my distracted thoughts back on track. “It's the cast-iron balls.”

  “Moving us about like furniture.” Beth crossed an arm over her breasts and scowled.

  “He's offering us a new opportunity.” Robbie reached for his contract and leafed through it absently.