“Christ,” I whispered, dragging my hand down my jaw.
“So, when they got him home, my mom and dad told Isaac his choices were to move out or go to rehab in the city. He chose rehab, but he walked out and disappeared less than a week into the program. He called me a few times over the next couple years, usually asking me to transfer some money so he could come home to us, which I did, but he never showed up.” He shrugged, a self-conscious What can you do? gesture. “When I went to Columbia University, I tried to search for him, but I could never find him. After I left home for college, we never heard from him again.”
“I’m sorry.” I curled my hand around his biceps, and after a moment he mustered a smile. I shifted gears, going for a more neutral subject. “What did you study when you were at school?”
“Business management and social work.” He snorted.
“That’s a strange combination.”
“No, no, see? I had it all figured out. When I came into my trust fund, I was going to open a shelter for kids like Isaac. I was going to save them all.”
I frowned. The bitter edge in his voice didn’t seem to match the easygoing guy I knew. “That’s where you were counseling?” I ventured.
“Yeah.”
“And you were forced to leave? All that work, when it meant so much to you?”
He stared out across the water with a melancholy in his eyes that I felt an inexplicable urge to wipe away. “It didn’t work out. That’s life, I guess.”
When we were far enough from land that the houses were pale blurs against the backdrop of the dunes, he made me strip and took his time slathering me head to foot in sunblock. I spent the better part of the afternoon wrapped only in a blanket to ward off the chilly wind. Robin fondled me at will, just enough to keep me constantly on edge.
“So you’re ready when I decide I want to have you.” He let the boat drift as he groped my ass with frank crudity.
I groped back, squeezing his backside with both hands through the soft fabric of his pants. “And what if I decide I want to have you?”
He dimpled at me before he laughed, ducking his head and blushing. “Will you believe it has nothing to do with ego or power trips when I say I don’t bottom?”
“I’m pretty sure everything has to do with ego where you’re concerned, but do tell.”
He chuckled again, accepting the hit with a shrug of acquiescence. “I’ve tried. Many times. And I’ve spoken to people and read all the advice that said it’s an acquired taste, but I never grew to enjoy it. I don’t like the sensations. Whatever it is that makes the prostate so amazing for other guys is just blah for me. The feeling of being penetrated makes my skin crawl, which of course makes it hard to relax, and then it starts to hurt. Eventually I accepted it was never going to work for me.”
“Ah.” I nodded slowly, turning that over in my mind. My taunt had been more academic than anything, a nonchalant poke at the power dynamics of this fling to see if they were reversible. I had no trouble with bottoming exclusively, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be passive all the time. All the time, of course, being our remaining day and a half.
He flashed me another grin and rubbed his linen-clad erection against my hip. “Which is not to say I wouldn’t be perfectly willing to consider any other ways you think you might want to have me.”
“Oh, really?” I let my fingers slide down the ridge pressing against the fly of his trousers. “Maybe you should drop the anchor, then.”
I pushed him onto one of the padded benches. The heavy, weatherproof curtains, or whatever they were, sealed us off from the wind. Straddling his thighs, I fucked myself on him at my own pace. His hands helped raise and lower my weight to ease the stress on my joints. When I heard him groan, felt him shudder and pulse, I urged him off the bench to his knees and fucked his mouth until I was spent.
We were awakened midmorning the next day, my last one at the Dunes, by the persistent ringing of his cell phone. It took me a moment to recognize it because it wasn’t Robin’s usual ringtone, which I’d heard several times by then.
Robin, however, shot out of bed like a bullet, and bolted across my hotel room to grab it from the pocket of the trousers he’d discarded the night before.
“Yeah?” His voice was still groggy with sleep and scratchy from me forcing my cock down his throat.
I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, and Robin’s side consisted largely of unhelpful “uh-huhs.” But it ended with, “I’ll be there this afternoon or early evening, depending on how soon I can get a flight.”
After he disconnected, he sat there on his haunches, nude. He hung his head and exhaled slowly, then glanced over at me.
“Going someplace?” I asked, trying not to be disappointed.
“Yeah, I need to go to New York to take care of some stuff.” The heavy droop of his shoulders suggested it wasn’t going to be pleasant business.
“Of course.” I forced down an irrational surge of irritation. I had no grounds to be disappointed, much less annoyed. This was a vacation fling, and absolutely nothing more. The fact that he was the first steady fuck I’d had since an incredibly difficult attempt at a relationship back in art school didn’t alter that, no matter how high I was on amazing sex. Besides, I was leaving tomorrow morning anyway.
So seriously, self, get real.
I rolled out of bed, trying to locate my own scattered clothing in the mess, and squashing any flouncy impulses under a merciless heel. I could damn well find something else to do today if I wanted entertainment. Fuck, if I was still horny—and, really, the past few days ought to have taken care of that problem quite handily—I could even find someone else to do.
“Go ahead and help yourself to the shower. I’ll make coffee.”
“Not yet.” Robin surged to his feet and in a few strides had me backed against the wall. “I’m sorry.” He nuzzled the line of my jaw.
Time to pretend ignorance. “Why should you be?”
That question seemed to startle him. He blinked at me, then took a step back, his demeanor cooling. “Because I’d been looking forward to having one last day to play with you. But hey, if you’re not bothered, guess I shouldn’t be either. I’ll go take that shower now.”
Fuck. Was he offended that I wasn’t acting disappointed? What the fuck was that about? He was the one taking off for some vague business.
A fact for which he’d apologized and I’d been a bitch. Goddamn it.
After I put on the miniature pot of coffee, I grabbed Robin’s cell phone and made sure he had not only my number, but also my email address and even the address of Jace’s apartment in Chicago. Just in case. I wouldn’t try to make more of this than it was intended to be, but if he was ever up for a repeat performance, I’d make certain that could be arranged. Then, drawing a deep breath, I laid my hand on the knob of the bathroom door and let myself inside.
Robin went still when I drew back the shower curtain and slipped in behind him. Looking at me over his shoulder, he squeezed the last of the suds from his hair. I ran my hands over his wide, muscled shoulders, disrupting the rivulets that streamed down his skin. He shuddered, turning to face me.
“Sorry.” I leaned in for a hard, hungry kiss. I didn’t bother for subtlety but went straight for his cock. It was rising satisfactorily under its own steam, but I was more than happy to help it along. Then I smiled, and tried to mean it. “One for the road?”
He didn’t quite slam me against the tile wall, though it was a near thing. His fingers bit into the flesh of my biceps hard enough that I knew I’d have bruises even though I’d infused before our boat ride, and his lips mashed and ground hard against mine. His tongue plunged into my mouth like a battering ram, and our slick skins slid against each other. His cock prodded my groin, rocking along the length of mine.
“Fuck me.” I caught his bottom lip between my teeth, biting hard enough to make him wince. I’d be damned if I was the only one who’d leave with bruises.
He g
roaned, pushing harder against me. “I need to— Oh, Christ . . .”
I wrapped my hand around his cock again, jerking it firmly.
“I don’t care. Just fuck me.” I wriggled to make space to turn and face the tile, offering him my back.
“I don’t—” He moaned as I ground my ass against his cock. “Oh, fuck it.”
The herbal scent of Jace’s conditioner hit my nostrils the second before Robin smeared a glob of it over my hole. Then he was pushing into my ass, thick and blunt, and I was tight and unready. For the first time this whole week, he hadn’t made any effort to stretch me, so it truly burned, and it was delicious.
“Fuck,” I hissed, arching my spine to open to him as much as I could. “Fuck, yeah.”
“Too much?” His breath mingled with the steam and sweat to dampen my neck. His hips butted against mine.
“No.” I shook my head wildly. I was too far gone for explanations, to try to make him understand that I wanted the ache, wanted to feel it after he was gone and I went back to my life. A reminder—something I would carry for a day or two until I had to let go of the memory.
And ache it did, because he didn’t hold back. There was no hint of caution in his grasp, in the rough pounding of his hips as they slapped wetly against my ass, in the way he hauled me back, bent me over, and hammered into me without mercy.
Fuck. Oh, fuck, yes.
My groans filled the tiled enclosure as I grabbed my dick and began jacking it. Our cries became more desperate, and I had an instant of coherent thought that Jace and whoever he might be with in his room were no doubt getting quite the concert. Then it was swept away when Robin pushed into me so hard he slammed me up flat against the tile, buried deep and pulsing.
“Jesus!” His spasms seemed to go on and on, one after the other. I clenched tight around him, trying to draw them out longer, wanting to hold him in that moment as long as I could.
Then he went heavy and boneless against my back, his shaking hands soothing up and down my wet skin. I turned my head, and he claimed my mouth in a breathless kiss as he drew me away from the wall. His hand snaked around my hip, closing over mine where I grasped my rigid cock. He guided my hand up and down, controlling the strokes. His dick, still lodged half-hard in my aching ass, rocked in and out again.
I went slack, leaning on him, letting him support my weight.
“That’s it, baby,” he muttered fervently against my ear. “Give it up to me. One last time. Let me see you come.”
Desperate, I gasped and groaned and strained, and finally stiffened and cried out, spurting through the ring of our joined fingers.
We were subdued as we dressed. I helped Robin pack up the gear he’d brought with him, the toys and candles and such. I escorted him to the door, murmuring polite nonsense about how I’d enjoyed the week and to take care, et cetera, et cetera. It was miserably awkward, but I honestly didn’t have the first clue how to handle this sort of situation with anything resembling grace.
“I had a good time too,” he said, looking no more comfortable than I was. We stared at each other.
I wanted to send him off with a jaunty smile and a kiss and a “thanks for the fun ride,” but I wasn’t feeling it. In fact, I was feeling downright glum. It blew out of the water my certainty that this had been a casual vacation fling. But if I tried to kiss him right then, it would have been too intimate. Too needy. Though, frankly, I wasn’t sure how much of that neediness was coming from me. There had been something raw and wounded in Robin’s eyes since his phone call, and part of me wanted to offer him comfort, which wasn’t helping my resolve.
I drew back instead, folding my arms and retreating into my own personal space.
“You have my number,” I said with no apparent concern. “If you ever end up in Chicago, give me a call.”
Robin’s gaze slid away as he nodded, and damn it, where was all his fucking smooth confidence now? Finally he hitched the strap of his duffel higher on his shoulder and muttered, “See you, Geoff,” and disappeared.
An hour later, an androgynous stranger shuffled out of Jace’s room. They mumbled a passing salutation to me, and Jace saw them out with a polite farewell and a casual peck at the door. No awkwardness whatsoever.
Why hadn’t I been able to pull that off with Robin?
Jace made a beeline for the coffeepot, then flopped down beside me on the sofa, nearly causing me to spill my own coffee.
“Problems?” He lifted an eyebrow, sipping his coffee.
“Did I recognize them as one of the drag queens from the club that first night?”
He grinned broadly, looking very self-satisfied.
I let my head flop against the back of the sofa. I could practically feel Jace’s inquisitive stare.
“Don’t mind me.” I waved him off. “Postcoital depression.”
“Ah. They say it’s worse the better the sex is.”
I groaned. “Then God help me.”
He chuckled and fell silent, slurping periodically.
“So, it’s our last night here,” he ventured at last. “Want to hit the club again tonight? Or did you have plans with Robin?”
“Nah, he’s off to New York. He has business.” I waved my hand vaguely. I kept my eyes closed and considered the proposal. Something in me resisted the idea of trying to have a good time, and it really resisted the idea of trying to go back to what I’d been doing before.
That part of me wanted to hang out in my room and indulge my moody bent. Which was, of course, the best possible argument for going. I’d be damned if I would go into mourning because a few days of sex (okay, good . . . okay, spectacular, phenomenal, mind-blowing sex) had come to an end.
“Sure.” I finally lifted my head and straightened up. “Hitting the club sounds great. Wrap it up with a party.”
“Excellent.” Jace flashed his ready grin. “I think I’m going to go get some more sleep.”
“That . . . sounds like a solid plan.” I set my coffee cup aside and rubbed my bleary eyes. “Hard to go dancing if you’re so fucked out, you’re walking into walls.”
Unfortunately, my bed smelled like Robin, which made it difficult to do anything other than think about all that had happened since that first night at the club. After a half hour or so, I gave up and climbed into Jace’s bed instead. Sure, it smelled like the perfume his companion had worn, but it was still better. Jace curled up behind me, flopped an arm across me, and said nothing.
He understood how lonely I was. Of course I was going to mourn the end of this week. In the last six days I’d had more intimate contact with another person than I’d had for the whole of my adult life.
At the least, I could look back on this vacation as a learning experience, one that showed me my horizons were far broader than I’d thought they’d be. I could be bolder, seek out the things I wanted more actively. Really, I should thank Robin for helping me figure that out. I’d spent most of my twenties isolated, but I didn’t have to stay that way.
Smiling, I closed my eyes and let myself drift off to sleep with a newfound determination that when we got back to Chicago, it would be different.
Robin
I shook Char Stryker’s hand in the doorway to her office, but I couldn’t seem to muster any happiness at the fact that the charges were finally, officially dropped and the whole ordeal was over.
“Look, Brady,” Char murmured to me, leaning in close to keep the discussion confidential. She had her lawyer hat on still, which was fine, because the Hey, good work, let’s go celebrate with a beer sense of exultation I’d been expecting was totally absent. “Just because Kyle recanted doesn’t mean everything is clear sailing. You know that, right?”
I frowned at her. “No, I don’t know that. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Char looked grave. “It’s all still on record that Kyle made the accusations, that you were investigated and charged. Yeah, it’s on record also that he changed his story and the charges were dismissed, but if you ever h
ave legal trouble again and they pull that file, they’ll try to use it against you, no matter how inadmissible it’s supposed to be. It could easily be made to look like you’re a repeat offender who skated on charges that should have stuck, if only the complaining witness hadn’t backed out. You’re going to want to keep your nose very, very clean, or you could find yourself railroaded.”
I took a moment to study the woman who’d spent a lot of time mentoring me when I first got into the scene. Char hid some very Old Guard kinks under that designer suit, making her the perfect defense attorney for kinksters trying to contest charges born of prejudice or ignorance. Or, in my case, malice and selfishness. It wasn’t only the fee I was paying her that made her worth listening to.
“What trouble do you think I could get into now?”
She shrugged expressively. “All I’m saying is, choose your play partners very carefully. Negotiate your scenes to a T and make sure you have everything in writing. A play contract might not stand up in court, but it goes a long way toward establishing consent. Okay?”
After the days I’d just spent with Geoff, her words couldn’t have been more of an indictment if she’d tried. Christ, had I been looking to get myself into trouble again? What the fuck?
Subdued, I thanked Char and stepped into the elevator, intent on getting back to my hotel and packing my stuff. I should never have attended the Buns & Baskets party. I should have stuck to my intention to stay out of the scene for good.
Never mind that those days I’d spent with Geoff had been some of the hottest, most fulfilling scenes I’d ever done, made even more so by the palpable sense of wonder he’d experienced at finally getting to taste the sort of play he’d been dreaming about. I had the skill to give him what he needed, and it had been incredible. And damn it, if I knew I was better off not playing, why did I keep obsessing over calling Geoff as soon as I got home?
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