The others were arriving as he descended, wearing bittersweet smiles and red-rimmed eyes. They entered the dining room and took their places. No one commented on Paul’s absence.
The new housekeeper served wine and appetizers before quietly departing, the model of a modern domestic servant. Alex found himself missing Martha and her acerbic wit already. Sitting at the end of the table, she kept unaccountably quiet. In spite of her eccentricities, she truly cared for both her employers and, on more than one occasion when Alex had called, she’d been at Byron’s bedside, reading to him or playing cards. Even though the meal was elegant and delicious, the flavor lacked the seasoning of salty humor he’d become accustomed to when served by her hands.
The talk centered on Byron and his generosity, for the most part, and even the attorney joined in, sharing anecdotes about his former law partner. Byron’s beneficiaries were open about what they’d received and what Byron’s messages contained, though they probably kept certain details to themselves. Alex wondered what Paul inherited and if he’d foregone dinner to plan how fast he could spend his newfound wealth. Guilt immediately gripped him for his unkind thoughts, especially in light of the circumstances. The minutes ticked by with no sign of Paul; Alex began to worry.
Finally, he asked, “Do you suppose Paul’s all right?”
His uncle appeared surprised at his question and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. “Why, Alex, I didn’t know you cared.”
When Alex sputtered in indignation, Alfred said, more seriously, “He’s fine, Alex. He was sleeping when I last checked, and I didn’t want to wake him. Let him rest.”
The conversation continued, and Alex tuned in to an amusing story, told at Douglas’s expense, about how one of Byron’s practical jokes had backfired horrifically. Even on such a solemn occasion, it did his heart good to know life went on and those left behind still found reasons to laugh.
Easing back in his chair, Alex observed the byplay surrounding him. As each person recalled their favorite memories of the deceased, he couldn’t help admiring the beauty of Byron’s gifts, each suited perfectly to the recipient and in some way connected to their stories.
The painting gracing the wall of Alfred’s office was based on a photo taken during a long-ago beach trip, recalled fondly by Douglas. As such, the canvas now belonged to the last living child in the picture, who bore little resemblance to the ginger-haired youth remaining forever unchanged in the swirling oils of the canvas.
Even knowing the reason behind the gift didn’t lessen Alex’s sorrow. He’d always loved the painting. The brilliant blue sky and rolling whitecaps reminded him of summers spent with his mother at the family’s ocean-side getaway, and later, of his trips to Aruba with his uncle and Byron. He’d never connected the three red-haired boys in the painting with Douglas, Byron, and Paul’s father, Jacob, and he felt disconnected from the others who seemed to share an enormous family history. Some of the blame he could lay at the feet of his grandparents, for limiting his visits while he lived with them. Once he’d reached his majority, though, any slighting of family rested purely on his own shoulders. He had a lot of making up to do.
After dinner, Alex escorted Alfred to his room, pausing to listen at Paul’s door. “Leave him be,” Alfred scolded. “He’s probably exhausted.”
Prudently choosing not to comment, Alex noticed his uncle appeared to be sinking fast. He’d barely opened the bedroom door when the new butler appeared, pushing him aside to help Alfred get ready for bed. How was Alex going to make amends and bond with his family if he kept getting shoved out of the way? Sighing, he admitted that wasn’t fair. The man was new to the job and more than likely trying to make a good impression. Alex stepped away and let William do what he’d been hired for.
As he watched, he realized that, like Theresa, William appeared respectful, speaking only when spoken to. Bernard always had something to say when he attended Alfred, and Martha chattered like a magpie. While the newly hired staff were quietly efficient, he wasn’t sure the quiet part was a good thing, fearing the house would resemble a mausoleum in short order.
“Will you be all right, Uncle?” Alex asked.
“I’m fine, my boy. Maybe a bit tired.” A wistful smile momentarily lifted the fatigue from Alfred’s face. “If I didn’t know before that Byron loved me, I do now, after hearing his final words.”
Alarmed at the resignation in his uncle’s voice, Alex asked again, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“When you get to be my age, Alex, you don’t fear death. Now I have even less to dread—he’ll be waiting for me. Quite frankly, though I’ll miss all of you, I can’t wait to see him again.” Finally dressed for bed, Alfred allowed William to tuck him under the covers. “Good night, Alex,” he said between yawns. “Pleasant dreams. And, Alex? I love you, son.”
“Love you too,” Alex mumbled, uncomfortable saying the words even though he meant them beyond the shadow of a doubt.
Quietly leaving the room, he stopped by Paul’s door again before making his way to his uncle’s office—the room in the house most comfortable to him. Mixing a drink, he stared sadly at the blank space where the painting had hung a few hours ago. He agonized over its loss and tried in vain to visualize other artwork occupying that space. None seemed as perfect as the one now in Douglas’s possession. Sighing heavily, he turned his attention to his martini.
The grandfather clock had bonged eleven times and the house had quieted when soft footfalls announced someone’s approach. Alex knew without checking who crept down the hall. Easing silently from the room, he followed the lone figure to the kitchen, waiting outside the door.
From the sounds of the muted clatters and the beep of the microwave, leftovers were being reheated. Alex slid to the floor, nursing his drink and biding his time. Finally, it appeared the raider was satisfied, and Alex rose to his feet, intercepting Paul when he stepped into the hallway. “Alone at last,” Alex purred, alcohol and self-recriminations urging him to find a diversion. How kind of fate to generously supply one.
With far less fire than Alex anticipated, Paul asked, “What do you want?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
A weary sigh, followed by, “I suppose not.”
“Come on,” Alex urged, “what have you got to lose?”
“How about my dignity and self-respect?”
“Jeez, you’re uptight, aren’t you?” Alex only intended to goad Paul, nothing more, when he reached down to fondle the man’s cock. He couldn’t hide his shock upon discovering that not only was Paul generously endowed, but hard.
9
ALEX found himself in a most unusual position—for him—back pressed against the wall, pinned in place by Paul, who growled, “You have no intention of letting this drop, do you?”
Alex met Paul’s hot glare, a mix of rage and something indefinable, and simply answered, “Nope,” knowing he skated on thin ice.
“If I say yes, will you leave me the fuck alone?”
What? Paul said yes? The triumphant smile on Alex’s face effectively hid his disappointment. Paul had been the only man, hell, only person, to ever refuse him, and now it seemed he’d given in like Alex’s other conquests. The acquiescence felt strangely close to betrayal.
Faint puffs of breath ghosted over his face when his captor leaned in and delivered an ultimatum. “Fine. We do this my way. I’m calling the shots. You’re only along for the ride, understand?”
Unprepared for this totally new side of the man, Alex’s resolve disappeared and he nodded his agreement, never imagining Paul fully intended to assume control, or that so diminutive a man was even capable of dominance. Alex decided to play along, for now, and in time turn the tables, proving once and for all who was boss.
Smoldering eyes sparked like coals as Paul glared, and Alex feared being reduced to ashes under the power of the sizzling gaze alone. For the first time, he realized he’d underestimated his opponent, and a shiver of uncertainty crept up his
spine, rendering him speechless. It had been so long since he’d experienced the pulse-quickening-breath-holding feeling that he almost didn’t recognize the sensation for what it was: fear. Heady, delicious, overwhelmingly sensual fear.
Suddenly, the warmth disappeared when Paul stepped back and stood motionless a few feet away, watching. He turned, the heels of his brown loafers clicking across the marble tiles toward the staircase.
“Where are you going?” Alex asked, recovering from his shock enough to speak.
An arrogant sneer seemed out of place on a normally considerate and compassionate face, though it bore a vague familiarity too. Alex realized he’d frequently worn a similar expression himself.
“You hardly expect me to take you to my bed and risk disturbing Alfred, do you?” Paul’s condescending tones once more reminded Alex of himself.
The mention of Alfred hardened Alex’s heart, reminding him who, or rather what, he dealt with. No one conquered Alex Martin, especially not a two-bit gold-digger. Determined to win this game at any cost, he calmly replied, “What are we waiting for?”
Paul resumed his trek up the staircase. He topped the landing and gazed down at Alex, raising a haughty eyebrow. “Well?”
A business deal, not true desire. Alex was fully aware of the nature of their agreement. That still didn’t keep his cock from hardening, his favorite fantasy image coming to mind. Lying naked against the comforter of the massive bed upstairs, his dream-Paul writhed provocatively against turquoise satin, a seductive smile playing across his generous lips. After a moment’s hesitation, Alex followed, taking the stairs two at a time, justifying to himself that he wasn’t betraying his uncle, merely protecting him.
They met on the landing and walked silently side by side. Paul opened the door to Alex’s bedroom, and with a grand sweeping gesture, ushered Alex inside. Light spilling from the partially open bathroom door provided the only illumination. No sooner had they entered than Alex found his back pressed to the wall once again. He barely registered the predatory gleam in Paul’s eyes before full lips took possession of his own. When he opened his mouth in surprise at the unexpected assault, his attacker took full advantage, plunging in and delivering a sizzling kiss, the likes of which Alex had often dealt but never before received.
Alex moaned in spite of his earlier plan to fuck the man, expose him for a money-grubbing slut, and walk away without a backward glance. Enjoyment had never figured into the picture—until now. Unexpectedly gentle hands caressed his chest through the sheer silk of his shirt, his traitorous nipples responding, forming stiff peaks against the gossamer fabric. A scant second later, those hands brutally grasped the lapels and jerked, ripping the shirt from neck to waist, mother-of-pearl buttons pinging against the walls and floor.
“Hey!” Alex protested, silenced when a hot mouth enveloped his nipple, tonguing and sucking the sensitive bit of flesh. Again he moaned, as skillful hands traced his chest, raising goose bumps with whisper-soft caresses.
Paul’s mouth worked magic on the sensitive areas of Alex’s neck while callused hands deftly unbuttoned and unzipped his straining fly, freeing the needy flesh within that, apparently, had no problem consorting with the enemy.
Paul soundlessly dropped to the floor, taking Alex’s slacks with him. Cool air caressed newly exposed skin, followed by a warm wetness encasing his balls as first one, then the other was enveloped in an eager mouth. It required every ounce of Alex’s fortitude to remain upright on trembling knees. One final lick to his sac, and then Paul’s tongue lapped a wide swath up the underside of his cock. A contrasting coolness followed the warmth, Paul blowing against the damp skin, sending chills down his spine. A fervent tongue worshipped his cock and balls, alternating with cool puffs of air, leaving him gasping and begging for more. Finally, after much teasing, Paul’s mouth engulfed his erection, and Alex thrust into the welcoming cavern.
Gaze locked with Paul’s, Alex couldn’t turn away. The sight of his nemesis, lips stretched wide while putting each and every previous blowjob to shame, took Alex’s breath away. Alex reminded himself of their agreement, for nothing in Paul’s actions indicated anything other than a passionate encounter between two willing men.
Alex braced himself against the wall, in real danger of falling. When he’d nearly reached his breaking point, Paul changed rhythm, taking Alex down his throat. Alex choked off a startled cry.
Lacing his long fingers into the silky darkness of Paul’s hair, Alex surrendered to the pleasure, carefully avoiding thrusting too hard, no matter how badly he wanted to. Despite how he might have felt about them personally, Alex prided himself on being thoughtful with his lovers—until he’d fucked them, rather. Then he tried not to think of them at all.
Slowing his movements, Paul lifted each of Alex’s feet and removed shoes, socks, and slacks before resuming his sucking with wild abandon, fingers brushing the sensitive skin where thigh met groin, then moving up to cradle Alex’s tightening balls.
“Oh, God,” Alex moaned. “Baby, you’re good at that. Keep it up and I’m gonna blow.”
The sinful mouth disappeared.
“Wha…?”
Alex suddenly found himself turned and pressed chest-to-wall, his legs spread by an invasive knee, lowering his height to give his diminutive conqueror better access. “You’re still overdressed,” Paul hissed into Alex’s ear. “It’s time I took care of that.”
Sliding his hands up Alex’s chest to capture the lapels of the shredded shirt, Paul grasped the back in his teeth and pulled, ripping the luxurious material from Alex’s body. The tattered remains slipped free, pooling in a silken puddle at their feet. Alex shivered, aroused by the aggressive display. Barriers now removed, Paul used teeth, lips, and tongue to explore the tender spots on Alex’s neck, sucking and biting from ear to shoulder, paying special attention to areas that brought gasps of pleasure.
A firm grip guided Alex across the floor, Paul’s mouth still exploring the spots that caused Alex to shudder. His moans rose to a fever pitch.
Too caught up in the moment to care why, Alex allowed himself to be manhandled toward the bed. Once there, he turned to face the dominating man wearing Paul Sinclair’s body. Whoever this commanding stranger was, he might have the same thick, dark hair, light-brown eyes, and compact, well-built body, but he didn’t act like the man who normally fled Alex’s advances. Work-roughened hands shoved him, and Alex stumbled backward onto the soft fabric of the satin comforter.
Paul hovered above him, staring down like an investor assessing a purchase. This shouldn’t be happening. Alex knew he should be the one taking possession, calling the shots. Never before had he been on the receiving end of such a skillful seduction, if Paul’s actions could be called anything less than conquering. No, Alex always took control, and would again after conceiving a way to turn the tables without putting a stop to their odd agreement.
He observed, transfixed, as nimble fingers unfastened a belt, oh so slowly pulling the leather free, belt loop by belt loop, to drop it to the floor. Next, Paul grasped his tie and slipped it over his head, and then climbed onto the bed with the scrap of silk in hand to loom over Alex’s prone body. Catching both of Alex’s large hands in his smaller ones, Paul slipped them into the loop of the tie. Wrapping the free length of the supple material between them, he secured them tightly before tying off the ends to a spindle on the headboard.
Faintly trailing fingertips stroked his arms from wrist to shoulder, reminding Alex of his captivity. When Paul climbed from the bed, a moment of panic surged through Alex. Though tied loosely enough to easily free himself, abandonment didn’t bode well. “Hey!” he shouted as Paul backed across the floor. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
A lust-filled gaze was his only answer. His captor entered the adjoining bathroom, searching for something, judging by the sound. “Aha! Found it!” Paul exclaimed, reemerging a moment later.
With a knowing smirk etched upon his face, Paul stalked across the room l
ike a big cat tracking easy prey. Alex’s cock, already hard and aching, jumped at the thought of being prey, amazed that a born aggressor could get excited assuming such a passive role. No use trying to deny his arousal, which was becoming more and more pronounced with each passing moment.
Two soft thuds drew his attention to the items Paul dropped beside him on the bed, their implications clear. “I don’t bottom—ever,” he said, feebly attempting an authoritative tone.
Paul stared into Alex’s eyes as he removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. With a smile of pure seduction, he eased his fully clothed body onto Alex’s nude form, an unreadable expression on his face. What the look promised, Alex didn’t know. He wholeheartedly believed it came with a guarantee, though: he wouldn’t easily forget this night.
Still smiling, Paul bent his head down, five o’clock shadow abrading Alex’s cheek. “My rules or nothing, remember?” Settling his weight more firmly, he locked his mouth to the sensitive flesh where neck met shoulder, biting hard enough to remind Alex who wielded the power.
Far from attempting to pull away, Alex arched up, wanting more. He bucked his hips, reveling in the friction of Paul’s dress slacks against his bare flesh, knowing he was acting like a slut and too far gone to care. When Paul released his shoulder, in a brief moment of clarity he reminded himself that this was his adversary, not his lover. His body refused to listen to reason.
Paul rocked back on his knees and roughly rolled Alex over, causing the wrist bindings to tighten. Fear raced up Alex’s spine. What have I gotten myself into? Paul carefully loosened the tie, though he didn’t release Alex’s hands.
“Is that better?” Soothing fingers stroked Alex’s wrists where the tight material had chafed, and Paul murmured into his ear, “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” He snickered. “I’m planning to do many things to you tonight. Hurting you isn’t one of them.”
Grunting affirmation, Alex willed his body to relax, reassured that Paul didn’t intend to abuse him—at least, not tonight. Come morning, all bets were likely off. He decided not to think about tomorrow.
The Wish Page 9