Hot Sauce [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations

by Tymber Dalton

  Yes, the damn sadist did. Lyle struggled and finally managed to straddle Reed without falling over. The trick came trying to get the other man’s cock inside him while his own hands were clipped behind his back.

  Reed laid there, his hands laced together under his head, smiling in great amusement as he watched Lyle fumble around.

  It took Lyle a couple of minutes and several attempts, but when he finally felt the head of Reed’s cock lined up with his hole, he shoved himself down onto it, gasping with relief to feel it sliding back inside him.

  Reed let out a chuckle and reached up, taking Lyle’s cock in his right hand. “Aww, someone must really want to come again. You did that pretty fast.” He used his left to start playing with Lyle’s nipples, back and forth, pinching them hard. “Look at me.”

  Lyle had to force his eyes open. He stared down at Reed. A dim pattern of slatted light from the security light in the backyard streamed through the blinds and fell across his face.

  “Ride my cock,” Reed ordered. “You want me to make you come, you’d better get moving.”

  Lyle did, fucking the man for all he was worth. It was harder to do like this, without the use of his hands, and Reed damn well knew it.

  Because Lyle was the one who’d given him the idea in the first place, when he’d done it to Reed the first time.

  Reed’s hand tugged on Lyle’s cock, not enough to get him over, but enough to keep him hard and close to the edge until he was ready to let Lyle come. Lyle’s world had shrunken into a tight, secure cave, this man and their passion, their raw and rough and hard sex. It wasn’t always like this. Sometimes it was slow, gentle loving.

  But they both loved a good, hard, dirty fuck on occasion.

  “That’s it,” Reed said, his tone deepening, breath growing faster. “Ride that cock.”

  Lyle bounced up and down as fast and hard as he could, grinding his hips at the bottom of every stroke to get every last bit of Reed’s girth inside his hole that he could. When Reed’s free hand dropped to Lyle’s hip, he knew the man must be close.

  And then when Reed started stroking Lyle’s cock, harder, faster, he knew Reed was trying to time it just right.

  “Yes!” Reed’s hand was a flurry of motion on his cock. Lyle didn’t bother trying to hold back. He let out a grunt of his own as his balls tightened and his second load of the evening ended up all over Reed’s stomach.

  Reed grinned at him, reaching up with his left hand and grabbing Lyle’s hair. “Come one,” he playfully said. “Do it.”

  Lyle managed to get himself off Reed’s softening cock. With Reed still holding his hair, he leaned in and first cleaned off Reed’s other hand, then licked his belly clean before working his way up the man’s chest to kiss him, fucking him with his tongue.

  Reed reached around him and unclipped Lyle’s wrists. Lyle planted his hands on either side of Reed’s head. “You just fucking wait,” Lyle said. “Payback’s a switch.”

  A playful grin filled Reed’s face and he blew him a kiss. “And so are we. Love you.”

  Lyle leaned in again and kissed him, hard, deep, fucking him once more with his tongue before sitting up and rolling off him. “Love you, too, buddy. Never forget that.”

  After cleaning off, they curled up in bed, Reed’s head resting against Lyle’s chest, snuggled against his side.

  “TV?” Lyle asked.

  “Mmm-hmm. Set the timer,” Reed groggily replied. “I won’t last long.” He let out a long yawn.

  Lyle kissed the top of his head and reached across him to where the remote lay on Reed’s bedside table. Reed had to get up nearly an hour earlier than Lyle did on the days he had charters. That meant he usually crashed out earlier at night.

  Which was fine with Lyle. He was happy to snuggle like this, both of them now stress-free and sleepy, with full tummies and empty balls, ready to call it a sweet, sweet night.

  And that was perfect, as far as he was concerned.

  Chapter Four

  Late the next morning, Vanessa awoke feeling more than a little cotton-mouthed, hungover, sad, guilty for reading through Tony’s journal—and wanting to go through more of his things. She simultaneously wanted the task over and done with, and didn’t want to go through with it because it meant he was really gone and not coming back.

  Yes, she knew the stages of grief. She’d already researched all of that over the past couple of days. Grief wasn’t something she had a lot of experience with. She’d been fairly young when both sets of their grandparents had died. Her brother was the first serious loss in her life, not counting a couple of acquaintances over the years, and three coworkers.

  There were lots of things she could—and had—dealt with in her life.

  Grief was not one of them. And right now, she was firmly stuck in denial, hoping in some way he might come back, not wanting to believe the beloved big brother she’d dragged to the ER a few days earlier because his persistent cough that he wouldn’t get looked at had turned into a high fever and relentless, raw, hacking, had died only eight hours later.

  Before these events, overall, despite the lack of any kind of a social life and absolutely zero sex life, she’d blissfully coasted along day by day. Nothing upset her world, other than a hurricane that had her supervising several store managers who had to make storm prep in conjunction with overworked regional store facilities crews.

  To her, that had been stressful, her idea of a “bad” day. Nothing could usually shake her equanimity.

  I had no idea how fucking lucky I was before now.

  She wasn’t a virgin, but it wasn’t like she’d been a slut, either. Her last boyfriend had been five years ago. When she realized after a couple of months that it wasn’t her he was into as much as it was the perceived “easy sex” because she was a “desperate fat chick,” and he’d liked her employee discount for auto parts, she’d dumped his ass.

  The “desperate fat chick” label had come from him accidentally texting her when he thought he was texting his asshole friend.

  He’d shown up at her house later that night to find a few of his things he’d left there sitting in a box on the front porch, while she’d sat inside the darkened house, her car in the garage and all the lights off, pretending she wasn’t home.

  Since then, she hadn’t bothered trying to find another relationship. It wasn’t worth it. Besides, she had work, and then she’d had Tony.

  At the time when she’d called her brother to cry on his shoulder, an enraged Tony had told her the guy was an ass and it didn’t mean she shouldn’t get out and try again, but she’d seen it as a sign. A sign that her work needed to come first, and if she was ever meant to meet a guy, she would.

  Meanwhile, she had a vibrator and a Kindle full of erotic romance.

  And once Tony had moved in, she’d had him for companionship.

  So she’d been all set, as far as she was concerned.

  Now…

  She stared at Carlo, who didn’t raise his head from the bed as he stared at her and gave her an apathetic thump of his tail.

  She stroked his head as she started crying. “I know, boy. Me, too. It’s just us now.”

  He edged closer to nuzzle against her, his head resting on her chest, his golden-brown eyes staring into hers.

  Was this the sum of her life from this point on? Work, Carlo, and dealing with the gaping maw of loneliness without Tony there?

  She’d never felt lonely before he moved in. But after he’d moved in, it was like color and volume returned to the movie of her life, and she hadn’t even realized it’d been faded and muted before that.

  She understood him and his habits a little better now, the late nights out with “friends,” including overnights. But he’d seemed happy.

  Happier than he’d ever been in his life.

  And now, after having read his journal, she understood why. He’d finally been living a fully authentic life.

  Not a completely open one, unfortunately, but at least an authentic
one. As authentic as he could. He’d been enjoying himself, loving life, and…

  He’d written that he’d been worried about her, about her mental state. One of the reasons he’d allowed her to talk him into permanently living with her. He’d felt she was going to work herself to death if he wasn’t there to force her to use her days off for rest.

  Still looking after her, and here she’d thought she’d been looking after him.

  She closed her eyes. “Why’d you have to like moscato?” she mumbled, her head throbbing. The fruity wine was too easy to guzzle down in copious quantities, unlike hard liquor or beer, of which she wasn’t a fan.

  There were two texts on her phone from her friend, Jenny, checking on her. After responding to those, Vanessa forced herself up and out of bed.

  After accomplishing that major feat, she used the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth to clear the nasty taste from her mouth, swallowed a couple of ibuprofen, and then took Carlo out into the backyard to do his business.

  Squinting against the bright late-morning sun, she stood in the doorway of the lanai and watched as Carlo did his thing in the grass. The early summer morning already felt warm and muggy. Yes, the backyard was totally surrounded by a privacy fence, but she liked to keep an eye on the dog anyway.

  Especially now.

  Her head throbbed.

  On second thought, maybe drinking herself stupid over the next few days wasn’t such a good idea after all. It didn’t lessen the impact of her grief, and all it had done so far was make her feel even more damn miserable.

  Actually…

  Once Carlo was back inside the lanai, she stripped and jumped, naked, into the pool. She hadn’t turned the heater on in months, and it was a comfortably cool temperature. Enough to help lessen the throbbing in her head a little.

  As she floated on her back with her eyes closed, she remembered the Saturday before how, after mowing the grass, Tony had jumped into the pool, clothes and all, and invited her to jump in with him. She’d been in a T-shirt and shorts and weeding the back flowerbed.

  After kicking off her sneakers and socks, she’d jumped in, too, clothes and all, both of them laughing.

  Now, in retrospect, she felt guilty as hell that he’d been mowing the lawn. He’d had pneumonia even then, but he’d insisted he was fine despite the cough.

  He hadn’t been fine.

  Carlo let out a whine. She opened her eyes and looked to find him standing at the edge of the pool, closest to her, staring at the water and whining.

  She flipped over and swam to him, smiling at the way he wagged his tail when she joined him at the edge.

  “Sorry, buddy. I know you don’t like the pool.” Hell, bathing him was an Olympic-worthy sport. They took him to a groomer a couple of times a month for baths and trims.

  Now it would be her doing it.

  Alone.

  I need to update his microchip in formation. And the vet’s office. And the groomer.

  So much kept cropping up to add to her to-do list. Things she kept thinking about. Ed Payne, the attorney Tony had used to draw up his will and hers, had given her a checklist of things to handle. Some things she could do immediately, and some would require her brother’s death certificate, which the mortuary would give to her when they received the certified copies. And some things would have to wait until after probate was finished.

  Not that it would take very long, because he hadn’t had much. And she’d been the executor and recipient of his estate. His retirement fund, his life insurance policy, and what he’d had in the bank.

  The money in the bank she could access, because he’d added her as a co-signer back when he’d moved in with her, just in case.

  At the time, she’d thought it was unnecessary, but she’d responded in kind and added him.

  Now…

  I’ll have to take him off my bank accounts.

  Tears threatened again as she choked back a hitching sob. The first thing she needed was some food in her stomach. With the worst of her hangover beginning to recede, she’d definitely decided not to spend the next couple of days drunk.

  She didn’t like feeling like this in addition to grieving for her brother.

  Looks like I don’t have much of a future as an alcoholic.

  She emerged from the pool, to Carlo’s immense relief. She quickly toweled off with her clothes and returned inside, going straight to the shower. After feeling somewhat human, she pulled on a T-shirt and nothing else, her long, auburn hair damp and loose down her back, and headed for the kitchen. It was nearly eleven in the morning. No, she wasn’t a morning person, usually. Her days off were always spent sleeping late unless she had to get up to walk Carlo because Tony wasn’t home.

  But she had stuff to do and wishing she didn’t have to do it wouldn’t get it done.

  That stuff to do included going online and notifying people in Tony’s social networks about his passing.

  Not a chore she relished.

  I could ask Jenny to do it…

  No, because again, that would have violated the spirit of Tony’s request. At Vanessa’s request, Jenny had kept silent about Tony’s passing, except to inform a few close local friends Vanessa knew about who’d been welcomed at the small, private service for him.

  In retrospect, the macabre conversation Vanessa had with Tony during that road trip to the Smokey Mountains had been productive. It’d started out as a hypothetical discussion when they’d happened upon on old country graveyard next to a dilapidated church. Some of the markers had been from the mid-1800s and even earlier. They’d pulled into the grassy area next to it to stop for lunch and let Carlo stretch his legs.

  “I want to be cremated, FYI,” he’d said.

  “That’s a weird tangent.”

  He’d swept his hand, indicating the cemetery. “Think anyone comes to visit their graves? Think anyone even remembers who they are?”

  In fact, while it looked like the property received periodic mowing, there were no fresh flowers present. Not even fairly recent headstones, from the looks of them.

  “Why take up the resources?” he’d said. “I’d rather be cremated. Then you can do what you want with me. Scatter me, or put me in an urn you’d like to look at and set me on a shelf so you can have me close by. Let’s be honest—I won’t be around to care one way or another.”

  That had led to the discussion. Cremation, a small, intimate private service for her and their parents and close friends, and then later his other friends and coworkers could have whatever kind of memorial gathering they wanted to throw in his memory.

  Vanessa now wondered if maybe he’d been waiting for an opportunity to have exactly that discussion with her, and the circumstances had presented the perfect opening. If she wasn’t getting the dates wrong, he’d reworked his will only weeks earlier with his attorney, before they’d left for the road trip.

  She hadn’t really given much thought, before that day, to the disposition of herself and her own estate. But Tony had recommended Ed Payne and his services, so she’d also had a will drawn up. Yes, with a house and car of her own, and her retirement account and life insurance policy, she did have “assets” and should have some way of protecting them. She’d listed Tony as her executor, her parents as back-ups.

  Never in her life had she thought she’d ever be leaving stuff to her parents.

  Another change I need to have made, make them the beneficiaries of everything.

  One more morbid item on the growing to-do list from hell.

  A list she was quickly growing to despise with a passion.

  Does it ever get easier?

  No, not even a week yet since his death, and it still didn’t feel real. As she settled into her new normal, she knew on an intellectual level that, eventually, she would come to terms with it.

  Passing that message to her heart and soul at this time, however, was getting nothing but a fast-busy tone or a “this voice mail account is full” message in reply.

&nb
sp; Trying to break this down into bite-sized pieces she could handle, she focused on her immediate need—scrambling a couple of eggs for breakfast before she puked her guts up.

  She glanced down at Carlo and fished him a cookie out of his Batman cookie jar.

  A jar Tony had bought for him because he’d loved it. A jar his ex wouldn’t let him buy when he’d wanted to, saying it was a waste of money and counter space to spend it on a dog.

  Kneeling next to the dog, she cradled his head in her hands after he’d scarfed down the cookie.

  “You’re not allowed to die on me. Got it?”

  He licked her nose in reply, his tail wagging.

  Chapter Five

  Vanessa knew going through Tony’s laptop would be a chore in and of itself. Facebook, Twitter, his e-mail contacts—she almost didn’t want to do it but knew it had to happen. So after puttering around the house Wednesday and doing chores, delaying the inevitable, trying to keep her mind off her current new sucky reality, and talking on the phone with her mom, who was checking to make sure she was okay, Vanessa finally got Tony’s laptop late in the afternoon and curled up on the sofa with Carlo.

  It had. To. Be. Done.

  Just like she’d have to deal with his car sitting in her driveway. Not counting Carlo, or Tony’s bank and retirement accounts, it was the only “possession” he’d had, other than things like clothes and some furniture. Now that she’d read through the journal, she realized why he’d lost everything in the divorce.

  Tony hadn’t lost everything. In the divorce, he’d given it to Kelly as a sort of penance, letting her think she was “taking” him as a result.

  It’d been his plan the entire time, a way for him to feel like he’d helped make things right for her in the only way he could. Not to mention a way for him to divest himself of “stuff,” as he’d said it. To lighten his load physically as well as emotionally and mentally. Including stuff Kelly had bought that he’d hated but tolerated because he thought it was what people were supposed to do when they were married.

  He was no longer tied down, other than to Carlo and Vanessa.