Pell’s cock, already half-hard, sprang to full attention.
Malcolm held Pell frozen with just a look. He hit the intercom on his phone. “Quentin?”
“Sir?”
“Has Evelyn left for the day?”
“She left right after your, uh, guest arrived. You want me to call her for you?”
“No,” Malcolm answered, removing his tie. “That’s not necessary. You can leave too. I’ll lock up.”
“As you wish. Thank you. Have a good evening, sir.”
Pell could have sworn he heard Quentin chuckle before he signed off, but Malcolm didn’t seem to care, so neither did he.
Feeling bold, Pell walked over and locked the door, earning a slow smile from the man on the other side of the room.
“Why didn’t you ask for my number Friday night? Or, even better, just ask me to go home with you?” Pell shrugged out of his jacket and let it drop to the floor as he went to work on his button-down.
“It wasn’t a lack of desire.” Malcolm all but ripped his suit jacket off his shoulders. Apparently, he’d reached the end of his tether. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
His jacket landed on the desk.
“Every day, since I first laid eyes on that fucking painting.”
Next came the tie.
“Every minute since Friday night.”
Pell unbuttoned his jeans, taking his time because, fuck, if his hands weren’t shaking. “And now we’re here.”
Malcolm’s eyes were dark and unfocused as he stepped out of his trousers. His body was a living, breathing work of art and Pellam stilled for a moment, needing to drink it in.
His skin, unmarred by any blemish Pell could see, was smooth in places and covered with a dusting of black hair in others. The tone of it was so luminous, he looked like he’d been set to canvas already. And though they had been joking about it Friday night, Pell knew that someday, somehow, he would commit this man’s lean, taut body to oils.
They were both practically naked now, standing only a few feet apart from each other, and Pell thought he might go out of his mind if Malcolm didn’t make a move soon.
For a moment, the man merely stared at him. No, that’s not right. Malcolm’s eyes devoured him, every inch of his body until Pell felt consumed.
Malcolm’s advance was slow. When he finally wrapped an arm around Pell’s hips and pulled him in close, he used one hand to cradle Pell’s neck and the other to cup the curve of his ass.
“Fuck, Pellam,” Malcolm exhaled, his voice a low rumble against Pell’s cheek. “You are so goddamned beautiful.”
Pell grabbed Malcolm’s head and smashed their mouths together. He was frantic, so hungry he thought he might combust. He stretched to press his body flush against Malcolm’s and was rewarded with the feel of the man’s rigid erection grinding against his own.
Pell turned his head to gulp some much-needed air. “Fuck, you’re so hard.”
“It’s what you do to me.” Malcolm backed Pell into the leather couch.
Pell stretched along the length of it and stretched his arms up in invitation.
“I couldn't stop thinking about you either,” he whispered.
“God, baby. You have no idea.” Malcolm knelt between Pell’s knees, his eyes dropping to the outline of Pell’s throbbing cock. He was leaking already, and Malcolm used his thumb to tease the wet spot on the front of Pell’s boxer-briefs. “I've wanted to touch you since the first moment I saw you.”
Malcolm lowered himself to suck at the ridge of Pell’s prick through the cotton of his underwear.
Pell couldn’t help it. He bucked underneath him, his breath caught in his lungs while Malcolm’s soft chuckles floated in the air.
“I hope this room is soundproof.” Pell didn’t think he could keep quiet, not with this man. This floor was empty, but the building had twenty-three more.
“It is,” Malcolm mumbled into the flesh of Pell’s belly. He worried the waistband of Pell’s briefs over the sensitive tip of his dick. “Scream all you want.”
“You’ve thought of everything. Oh! That's . . .” Pell glanced up to watch Malcolm swipe his tongue, again and again, over Pell’s weeping crown.
“It's what, Pellam?” Malcolm’s smile was cocky, but his lips were kiss-swollen, his eyes were wild, and he was the most beautiful thing Pell had ever seen. He wanted to commit the sight to memory so he could paint it later, but Pell’s thoughts scattered as undiluted pleasure poured over him.
“Ah, fuck,” Pell gasped. “So good.”
“How about this?” Malcolm slid his hands beneath Pell’s ass and, in one swift motion, swallowed him down to the back of his throat.
“Shit!” Pell tensed, cupping his hand over Malcolm’s soft waves as he worked Pell over relentlessly. Pell didn’t want it to end so soon, but it was out of his hands. His back arched off the sofa, and he came after only a few strokes from Malcolm’s talented lips and tongue.
* * *
Mal couldn't get to his wallet fast enough. After sheathing his demanding dick in a condom, he pulled Pellam’s hips forward and ripped open the packet of lube. His hunger screamed at him to take the man with one long thrust, but his common sense prevailed.
After such an intense orgasm, Pellam would be sensitive and Mal wasn’t an asshole.
He toyed with Pellam’s entrance and watched as he floated down from his orgasmic high. It was a sight to behold.
Pellam was delightfully uninhibited, and his breathy sighs had threatened to undo Mal before they’d even begun. The blond opened his eyes and met Mal’s, a small smile on his cupid’s bow lips.
Mal stroked and teased his hole.
Sooner than he expected, Pellam’s cock hardened.
Mal arched an eyebrow. “Impressive.”
“Not usually,” Pellam managed, his voice husky and sexy as fuck. “I guess that’s what you do to me.”
Mal kissed him. Couldn’t get enough of kissing him. Didn’t think he ever would. And the man’s miles and miles of creamy skin were too much of a temptation to resist.
“Need you.” Pellam lifted his knees to his sides and shook his head, as if ashamed of the admission. “I don't even know you, but-”
“You will.” Mal locked his gaze with Pellam’s, showing him the seed of his true desire. “Something tells me you’ll probably come to know everything about me.”
Mal lifted up to settle his hips between Pellam’s parted thighs. Dragging his cockhead across Pellam’s hole, he smeared the lube, making himself even more slick with it, and then positioned himself to enter. He pushed in slowly and watched Pellam’s face for any sign of discomfort.
“I won’t break,” Pellam begged, rocking his hips.
But Malcolm was thick, and he didn’t want to hurt him. He pulled out and then pushed in again, just as slowly but deeper this time.
Pellam spasmed around him.
Malcolm wasn't going to last long. “Fuck, you're so tight.”
“I haven't-” Pellam inhaled a shaky breath. “It’s been a while.”
Malcolm went still, stunned by the confession.
“How long?” He asked softly, pushing a few strands of hair out of Pellam’s eyes.
“Over a year.” Pellam shrugged, and Mal’s heart twisted with a feeling he couldn’t name. “Dare I ask?”
“Three months.”
Pellam’s eyes widened. “Really? Why?”
It wasn’t the ideal time for this conversation, but Mal didn’t want to keep anything from this man. Everything about the moment told him they were at the beginning of something.
“I was with someone, my ex, for five years. We split up six months ago.”
Pellam wrapped his legs around Mal’s hips and cupped his face with his slender fingers. The tenderness Mal saw in the other man’s eyes cracked any barrier he’d left up between them in two. He recognized the same surrender in Pellam’s eyes. Then Pellam moved his hips,
and all of Mal’s focus went to one place.
“Make me come again.” The corner of Pellam’s mouth lifted.
Mal thrust deep and pulled out before circling and repeating the movement with steadily increasing speed.
Pellam yanked him down into a kiss that was feral. Needy. Soon they were rocking together, racing toward the finish line.
Pellam came first, his cock trapped between their bellies, and thank God because Mal couldn't hold on any longer. Sun flares burst to life behind his eyes as he dropped his head to Pellam’s shoulder and emptied himself inside the condom, sending Mal hurtling into a new realm of possibilities.
They stayed locked together, unmoving and breathing heavily, for what seemed like an eternity before Mal gently pulled out and disposed of the condom.
He crawled back into Pellam’s arms and drifted for long moments on a cloud of bliss while Pellam ran gentle fingers up and down his spine. When he’d reclaimed a few of his brain cells, Mal lifted his head and looked down at Pellam. His brilliant, little artist.
Mal smiled to himself.
“What?” Pellam grinned as he drew circles on Mal’s hips.
“I was thinking about the pastel from the exhibit.”
Pellam frowned in thought, stilling his hands. “Du Ma Vie?”
“No, the one you were going to call Cherish.”
“Ah.” Pellam resumed his soothing touches. “Toothpaste Kisses.”
Mal nodded. “That’s the one.”
“You liked it?”
“Very much, and I understand its meaning, now.”
Pellam’s eyes were suddenly sad. “Oh, I wish I had known, someone bought it.”
Mal kissed his forehead and smoothed away the damp tendrils that clung there, taking a moment to savor Pellam’s quiet beauty.
“I know,” he said against Pellam’s lips. “It was me.”
Pellam laughed. “You are something else, Malcolm Zaha.”
“I know.”
Pellam pinched his side, and Mal retaliated. He hadn’t laughed so much in years.
“I hope you have it lit properly,” the blond said when they quieted down again.
“Why don’t you come home with me and make sure that I do?”
Pellam’s smile was radiant. “Only if you promise to sit for me.”
To bring Pellam Lindt home with him? It was the easiest promise Mal had ever made.
♬
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Wild Pitch
Rebecca Shea
“Thinking Out Loud” – Ed Sheeran
CHAPTER ONE
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have started our descent into Reno. Please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full, upright, and locked position . . .”
I tune out the flight attendant and press my forehead against the small oval window, taking in the beauty of the snow-covered mountains in the not so far distance. It’s been four years since I’ve visited my parents’ cabin outside of Lake Tahoe, and I’m anxious to spend Christmas at my favorite place, with my favorite people.
My parents bought the cabin right before I graduated from high school. With my older brother Jensen off at college in Texas and myself heading to New York, my parents wanted a cabin to retreat to on the weekends, away from the hustle and bustle of Orange County, California. I’ve only been here a handful of times, but it quickly became the one place I feel most comfortable.
I use the term “cabin” loosely, as it’s really a luxury home built in the middle of nowhere. Literally. The closest town is almost twenty miles from the house, and consists of a small market, a gas station, and the tiniest post office I’ve ever seen. Even though my father could have done satellite television and internet, he chose not to. He wanted to feel “off the grid” from technology, yet, he didn’t spare any expense when it came to the actual cabin itself. What I used to think was a nuisance is now welcomed, as I relish the break from my phone, texts, and email.
I deplane, use the restroom, and collect my bags from baggage claim before heading over to the car rental counter. The older gentleman working looks up at me over his small, wire-framed eyeglasses, and smiles.
“Reservation for McNeil. Mia McNeil.”
He punches the keyboard with both of his forefingers, slowly. “Young lady, may I please have your driver’s license and credit card that you booked your reservation with?” I pull both cards from my wallet and slide them across the counter. “For ten dollars more, I can upgrade you to a four-wheel drive. You’re going to need it with this weather.” He glances over his shoulder at the large window behind him, and I can see the snow flurries swirling around.
“It wasn’t snowing when we landed,” I remark, and he nods, acknowledging me.
“Just started.” His voice is hoarse, as if it’s the first time he’s spoken today, and he clears his throat. “News said we’re supposed to get fourteen to eighteen inches in the next twenty-four hours—”
“I’ll take the four-wheel drive,” I say, cutting him off and glance at my watch. It’s four o’clock. I need to stop by a grocery store and get to the cabin as quickly as possible if the snow is going to continue like this. Five minutes later, I’m dragging two giant suitcases across the airport and out the doors to a black Jeep Cherokee. I must look helpless because two nice men from the rental car company rush to help me lift my suitcases into the back of the waiting Jeep.
I program the address to my parents’ cabin into the GPS, plug in my phone to charge, sync the Bluetooth, and carefully edge out of the airport and onto the road that is now accumulating the falling snow. It takes me nearly forty-five minutes to get twenty miles, but I finally find a grocery store on my way out of town.
I purchase more than I probably need, but I know my parents have nothing at the cabin. Hell, they don’t even know I’m in town yet. I wasn’t expected to arrive for almost another week, but I changed my mind—and my plane ticket—last-minute, to spend some alone time relaxing before the craziness of the holidays begins. I have plans to sleep in, read an endless number of books, and soak for hours in the outdoor hot tub under the stars. In between all that, I intend to do some yoga, bake, snowshoe, and simply enjoy the peace and solitude that being in the middle of the woods brings.
Since the weather is supposed to turn worse, I decide to shoot my mom a text, letting her know of my change in plans, and that I’m headed to the cabin earlier than they were expecting. With a car packed full of groceries and suitcases, I head toward the cabin.
The drive takes much longer than anticipated, not including my pit stop at the store. The sun has now set, and the quiet, rural roads are getting progressively worse as the snow falls harder. With the car in four-wheel drive, and driving no faster than twenty miles per hour, it takes me an hour before I finally spot the wooden sign that reads, “McNeil,” and I turn onto the secluded drive that leads to my parents’ cabin.
“One more mile,” I mutter under my breath as I take the narrow, winding drive that is already covered in close to six inches of snow. As I round the last turn, the large house comes into view and the headlights illuminate its sprawling expanse. I forgot just how beautiful this place is.
I pull up to the garage, jump out, and quickly punch in the code to open the garage. The large door doesn’t move.
“Shit,” I mumble, then remember the side service door where my dad has a key hidden. I move quickly, the wind and snow whipping against me. I locate the key and open the door, rushing into the cold garage. It’s dark and empty, and I move my hands around in front of me, searching for the pull that will unlatch the garage door so I can open it. Finding the rope, I give it a firm yank and hear the latch release. With a little effort, I’m able to lift the garage door and pull the Jeep into the garage, killing the engine.
I finally allow mysel
f to take a deep breath now that I’ve safely arrived and am off the treacherous mountain roads. I quickly unload the car, dropping suitcases and grocery bags just inside the door of the dark house. I’ll sort everything once I get inside. Right now, I just want to get the car unloaded and close the garage door before the snow starts blowing all over the place.
I remember the house is run on a combination of solar power for electricity and propane for heating. I pray my parents already had propane delivered as I turn on the heater and wait for it to start. The temperature inside the house reads a very chilly fifty-five degrees on the thermostat, and I rub my hands together quickly, to keep my fingers warm and from going numb.
With no power, I get to work grabbing grocery bags and hauling them back to the garage to unload into the outside fridge. With the garage as cold as it is, the food won’t spoil in there until I can figure out how to get the power on in the house. With the help of the headlights from my rental car, I unload boxes of pasta and jars of sauce. Since I plan on doing a bunch of baking, I made sure to pick up some eggs, milk, and other supplies. In case the storm gets so bad I’m not able to make it out of the house for a while, I also stocked up on peanut butter, bread, and lunch meat, as well as a few cases of water. All those things, together with pizza rolls, veggies, bacon, and other snacks, and I should be set. I figure what I don’t eat, Jensen will finish off when he arrives with my parents next weekend.
In the dark, with only the light from my worthless cell phone, I drag my suitcases to the bedroom I claimed as mine years ago, shoving them in the corner and shivering at the frigid temperature of the room. The space is exactly as I remember it, with a queen-size bed, fireplace, and a private bathroom, making it the best of the spare bedrooms. The other room has twin beds, where Jensen and his friends always stayed.
Anxiety settles in my belly when I realize I don’t know where the solar power box is, and that without power, the heater won’t start, leaving me with no lights or heat.
“Think, Mia,” I talk to myself as I debate my next move. Stay—and tough out the cold tonight—or get back in the Jeep, brave the storm, and search for a motel in the middle of nowhere.
Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology Page 27