Shelby felt the heat begin in his ears and work around to his face. "I used to be that Shelby Bainbridge."
"But now you don't know who you are? I get it. Why didn't you go on to play pro ball?"
"I went to law school. I planned to follow my dad into politics, even made partner in his law firm." Shelby shrugged. That wasn't him anymore. He followed Deacon into a large open studio filled with neon signs and lots of chrome. There was a chrome and black and red kitchen area, the concrete floor painted black with silver sparkles. The furniture was black leather, and supercontemporary. Across the room, he noticed a large bed on a raised section of floor. The long floor to ceiling windows beside the bed were covered with metal louvered shutters. Somehow, the sight of the bed made him shiver.
"Oh yeah. Bet you had the whole deal too, blonde wife or girlfriend, the white-columned house, and a golden retriever. You look like the golden retriever type." Deacon moved around the room lighting candles. The electricity sizzled again, going brown but not out altogether. "There's a radio on the island. I have a small ton of batteries and these flameless candles stored one floor down. Enough food and drink to last a week and a small generator. The only thing I worry about is tornadoes. Other than that, this place is Fort Knox."
Shelby was grateful Deacon wandered away from the original observation. He didn't talk about that, wouldn't talk about that part of his life. He picked up the remote. "Can I turn this on?"
"Yeah, sure, knock yourself out. I'm going to grab a quick shower before hell breaks loose. After Katrina, I didn't have hot water for a week. It was my own fault for getting rid of the gas water heater and going electric. But hey, live and learn. Make yourself at home."
"Sure, thanks." Shelby looked away when Deacon pulled his T-shirt over his head but not before he caught sight of a set of six-pack abs, complete with a jagged scar that disappeared beneath the waist of his jeans.
The weather pretty much dominated television. Updates on shelters that were still open, closings for the late shift or the next day, which pretty much encompassed everything except for emergency and military personnel at this point. New coordinates and other news on the actual storm would come at the top of the hour, which was about ten minutes away. Radar showed a solid green scan with red squall lines of concentrated storm. He turned the sound down to barely audible and listened as the wind howled around the building.
As he listened, he realized he could hear the shower running and his imagination threatened to go places best left unexplored. He turned the sound up and moved on to a different channel, finding nothing but horror movies or kids' holiday offerings for his trouble. Weather Channel was down in Gulf Shores, interesting. Wrestling was on Syfy. Why was wrestling on Syfy? A smarmy bunch of girl movies about sissy vampires and not one damned thing to watch that wasn't holiday or weather related.
He hated Halloween.
Shelby put the TV on one of the local channels and set the remote down just as Deacon exited the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Is there anything on besides vampire movies and hurricane minutiae?"
"Wrestling and chick flicks, that's about it. They're going to update the track in a couple of minutes; after that it's pretty much a teenage wasteland." He kept his gaze riveted to the screen but he could hear the man moving behind him as drawers opened and closed.
The electricity crackled again but didn't go out. Deacon dropped on the couch dressed in nothing but a pair of blue jeans. He handed Shelby a cold bottle of beer. "May as well drink 'em while they're cold. Tomorrow we won't be so lucky."
Shelby agreed and tipped his bottle back while the weathergirl spouted out the latest info from the hurricane center. Downgraded to a Cat Three was good news. And as the storm moved farther into the colder waters of the Northern Gulf she would weaken further but a Category Two was still a dangerous storm.
"Well that's something at least." Deacon slung a foot up on the glass and chrome coffee table. He seemed oddly relieved. "Is this your first hurricane?"
"Yeah, is it that obvious? These things are killers. How can you be so...I don't know...cavalier about the whole thing?"
"Let's just say this isn't my first rodeo. Frederic damn near destroyed the city when I was a kid. I remember coming down here on horseback because we couldn't get the truck through. Standing in line for water and food and that was in September 1979. It was so damned hot. Ivan and Katrina were bad but not that bad, at least not here. No power, no gas to be had for days. We cooked up all the meat on the grills and fed the neighbors after the river receded. After that we ate potato chips and canned green beans. Believe me, the storm isn't a big deal if you're far enough away from water. It's the aftermath that will kill you."
"Wow. Okay. So how long will the streets be flooded?"
"Depends on the storm. We had one about ten years ago that sat over us and poured for three days, but it sucked all of the water in the bay out to the Gulf. It was freaky as hell. I got bored and went walking out past the battleship on dry land. Okay, I was drunk or I wouldn't have done it, but still. You never know what's going to happen so you close up shop and get as safe as you can and hope for the best."
Shelby heard something hit the metal shutters outside. "Not helping," he said when Deacon laughed.
"Probably just a sign or something came loose. Don't worry about it. Hey, we could go upstairs and shoot some hoops if you want." He slung back his beer and flicked off the television. "Or do you just throw around the football? I've got one of those too. Come on, it beats sitting around down here and looking at each other."
"Sure, why not." Shelby grabbed his beer and followed Deacon back to the stairwell and up one more flight of stairs. The room they emerged in was just a large, bare-walled concrete and brick room with no windows and a high ceiling with hanging bare bulbs for lighting.
"I'm not really sure what they used this floor for back in the day. I'm hesitant to say they had a sewing factory up here but I've found some things tucked away. Whatever, this is one huge room so I did the only thing that made sense."
"You hung basketball goals on each wall and put in a killer sound system." Shelby had to admire a man who had his principles in the right places.
"I hung basketball goals on each wall and put in a killer sound system," Deacon echoed, grinning from ear to ear. "How's that for a fucking man cave?"
"Pretty sweet." Shelby had to agree when Deacon grabbed a ball off a rack and tossed it to him.
"Take it out, Thursday."
Shelby grunted from the impact of the ball. He was out of shape; he was still paying for the months of forced inactivity while his leg healed. "Come on, dude, let's see what you got."
"Bring it." Deacon grinned again. He leaned over, bringing his height down to a threatening level, the look in his eyes almost primal. Something familiar swirled in Shelby's gut. He'd forgotten how much he loved the game, any game. The smell of sweat, the sound of teeth grinding in frustration, grunts of pain.
Shelby kicked his shoes over to the wall beside the ball rack and without a second thought he put the ball into motion.
Deacon was a formidable opponent. He used his body like a wall, his shoulder became a weapon, and before long, Shelby was soaked to the skin in sweat and his own frustration. "Take off your shirt, pretty boy. Nobody here but us to see your pathetic man gut."
"Screw you." Shelby climbed up off the floor, panting as he wiped sweat from his forehead with his soaked shirtsleeve. Deacon watched as he undid the few buttons and tossed the shirt aside. He hesitated with the undershirt. It had been a long time since he bared his body for anyone, much less a stranger. The scars from that night were still livid.
"Maybe later, honey. Are we going to play ball or what?" The music flipped over to Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll" as he pulled the thin scrap of fabric over his head. "Those are pretty. Did he leave you your dignity after he cut you up?"
"Asshole." Shelby didn't flinch. There was no pity in his voice, just the familiar shit talk.
"You got a lot of room to talk. Looks like someone tried to cut your dick off but missed."
"Good thing too or I wouldn't be able to make your mother scream every night."
Shelby grabbed the ball and slammed into him, twisting around his body to tip the ball into the hoop. "What was that you were saying about my mother?"
"She likes big dicks." Deacon slammed him hard in the gut, knocking him to the floor. "So does your wife."
He felt his teeth slide across his bottom lip as something primal welled inside him. He launched his body from the floor, flinging himself into Deacon just as he twisted into a layup. He hit the floor hard and the ball dribbled off across the floor, coming to a stop in the corner of the room. Deacon roared and with a move Shelby didn't see coming, Deacon grabbed his wrists and flipped him onto his back.
He lay between Deacon's legs, breathing heavily, fury hot and sour in his chest.
"So there was a wife? I wondered. There used to be a ring." Deacon didn't budge. If anything, he held on tighter to Shelby's wrists as he held him pinned to the floor. "That explains some things."
"Get off me." Shelby lifted with his hips, hoping to dislodge the bigger man. The erection pressing into his belly stopped him cold. "I think you've got the wrong idea. I like women."
"I do too." A light burned in Deacon's eyes that sent something sizzling through Shelby's body. "Most of the time. Nothing like sweet perfume and soft curves, is there?"
Shelby didn't say anything. He couldn't break Deacon's mesmerizing gaze.
"Nothing except the hot, hard body of a man all sweaty and furious after a game of tag football that turned violent and ended with dirt in places dirt isn't meant to go. Or a man's mouth on your cock, god, there is nothing like a man sucking you off, Thursday. Have you ever been sucked off by a man?"
"No. I'm not gay. Get off me, you perv." Shelby panicked, using his body to buck. He tried to unseat the man but only ended up out of breath.
"Then why is your cock hard?" Deacon smiled as he slid his hips down until he was almost lying on top of Shelby, his rigid cock resting beside his, his breath hot against Shelby's ear. "Come on Thursday, I've been in locker rooms, I know what you jocks do. You can't be seriously telling me there were no postgame shenanigans in which your dick ended up in a place it shouldn't have. No nights at the gym all alone with a stranger that curiosity got the better of you? Not one mutual masturbation scene in the shower?" Shelby shook his head to each question. "My mistake."
Deacon released his wrists just as the electricity sputtered and died, plunging them into almost total darkness. With the glow from a lantern and the battery-powered boom box the only thing left on, the song changed to Seger's "Beautiful Loser", and something inside Shelby snapped.
A year of pent-up rage in a single breath of air, he lifted Deacon off his body, twisting as he tossed him onto his back, and in a second he pinned him. He could see his face in the dim lighting, the shock in his eyes that became something else. "You son of a bitch," Shelby growled just before he slashed his mouth across the lips that turned up at the corners, mocking him.
He could pretend the lips were tender, that the chest pressed to his was soft and that the fingers in his hair were dainty. But he knew it was a lie. Deacon's mouth was hard, unforgiving as he took control. His tongue touched Shelby's, tangled with it before he sucked it into his mouth. "What do you want, Thursday?"
His voice was a whisper against his ear. Shelby shook his head, trying to shake away the longing that threatened to tear him apart. "Suck me. I want you to suck my cock. God damn it... Shit. This doesn't make me gay."
"Of course it doesn't. Just curious. I've wanted to taste you since you walked into my bar that first night. You were fragile. Then angry." He traced the scar that ran from his nipple to his navel. "Because of this?"
"Because of that, because my life ended fifty-two Thursdays ago, because... I have nothing left to live for. God damn it, suck me, you asshole. You made me want you, always staring at me like I'm candy or something. Suck me, I want to come in your mouth, you motherfucking..." Deacon lifted him off his body and flipped him onto his back. He landed on the rough floor, out of breath.
"Demanding little foul-mouthed whelp, aren't you? I like that, Thursday. Unbutton your jeans. Slowly. While I watch."
"Fuck you."
"Later, sweetheart. Right now I want to see your cock. Show me your cock, baby."
Breathing hard, Shelby looked into his grinning blue eyes, willing sanity to intrude but since it didn't and he no longer had full control over his own goddamned hands he reached up and undid the button with jerky fingers.
"Slowly, Thursday, now the zipper."
Shelby wanted to close his eyes, wanted to distance himself from those goddamned blue eyes before it was too late. He eased his zipper down, the gasp he heard wasn't his own, heat swept his body as Deacon's eyes went round.
"Lift your hips, tug your jeans down, yeah Thursday, just like that, that's far enough. How many women have you scared with this thing?"
His fingers were hot, rough. Shelby slapped his hands palm down onto the floor when Deacon touched him there, sliding from the very tip of the head down to grip his balls. "Shit." His scrotum pulled so tight he thought he would come from just the lightest touch.
"Does that feel good, Thursday?" Deacon continued to stroke him, forcing his legs wider. He fondled his balls, gently stroking the skin until Shelby felt his cock twitch of its own volition.
"Yes. Suck me, I need... Oh Christ, that feels good. Deacon, please."
Deacon simply smiled down at him as he continued to finger his balls. Need raced through Shelby's mind, he needed... God damn, he needed violence, release, something...soon. Heat engulfed him, swirling chaotically, deliciously inside him; giving in to the pleasure, Shelby closed his eyes. Deacon tongued his head, slipping briefly inside the small opening before taking him deeper into his throat. Suckling him, slowly sliding his mouth along the rigid length as if it were nothing, a lollipop stolen from a Halloween bucket and all the while strong fingers gripped his scrotum, stroking him.
Shelby couldn't help himself. He arched his hips into the strong mouth, forcing himself deeper still, amazed that Deacon took him. The muscles in his throat worked him as he withdrew and sucked him deeper inside. Pleasure started in his toes and Shelby raised his body into a half crunch, holding Deacon's head as the man worked him, sliding along his cock all the way to his balls and then back. Sucking him with agonizing slowness until Shelby felt heat flood his lower body, his sac growing tight. He held Deacon's head still as he pumped into him, forcing his cock deeper until there was nothing left and then he fell back onto the cold concrete floor. Sated. Defeated. Raw.
But Deacon wasn't finished with him; his tongue, feverish and almost alive, traced the raised scar starting at his navel and slowly worked its way to his chest. He grazed his nipple with his teeth, nipping harder after Shelby's yelp turned to a moan. The feel of hot flesh pressed to his stoked a fire in his center that left him antsy and confused.
Deacon smiled down at him just before he pressed his lips to Shelby's. The hard gleam in his eyes had Shelby sweating. "My turn," was all Deacon said as he rose onto his knees, undoing his jeans in one swift movement that stunned Shelby. Deacon's cock, fully erect, sprang forward as if it were alive. "Get on your knees, pretty boy."
Deacon grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged him until he had no choice but to comply. "Open your mouth for me, Thursday," he said, standing over him, his legs slightly spread. He held Shelby's hair in one fist while he pumped his cock with the other. "That makes you hard, doesn't it, Thursday? Yeah, you want my cock in your mouth, don't you? Tell me what you want, Thursday, tell me."
He pulled Shelby's hair, angling his head back so he could look down into his eyes. The lust Shelby found shining there sent spikes of molten need shooting to his stomach and lower until his cock stood rigid once again. "Tell me." Deacon yanked his hair.
"I want your cock in my mou
th, Christ, Deacon, you smell so good, I want to taste you."
"That's a good boy." Deacon touched the head of his cock to Shelby's lips, stroked him there. "Kiss it, Thursday, kiss my cock."
Shelby couldn't help himself. He placed his lips against the opening and kissed, licking the pearl of liquid from his lips and then from Deacon's cock. The taste of salt was tangy on his tongue. "That's it, baby, lick me, oh god that feels good, Thursday, open your mouth, baby, I can't handle much more. Just open your mouth and I'll do the work."
Shelby opened for him, taking the silky yet hard head into his mouth, past his teeth, gagging when Deacon eased farther in, touching the roof of his mouth. "That's good, baby, your mouth is so hot."
Shelby drew up on his knees and placed his hands on Deacon's ass, holding on to him as he pumped into his mouth. His breath turned ragged and Shelby felt his other hand fist in his hair. "That's it, baby, just like that, Shelby, suck me just like that. God that feels nice, take me deeper, just like that, god damn that feels good."
Shelby felt him push against the back of his throat but he controlled the gag this time, taking him, meeting him, enjoying the feel and taste as he slid inside his mouth. "Suck me baby, god just like that. Shelby, I can't..." He held his head though still pumping into his mouth in a way that brought Shelby to the edge. Heat erupted in the back of his throat, scalding him. Thick, heavily salty mucus gushed down his throat, gagging him until he figured out how to swallow. The pressure in his own cock grew with each searing thrust until he couldn't take it anymore.
"Come for me, Thursday, that's it, baby, you like sucking me, don't you, feels good doesn't it, masturbate for me, that's right, stroke your cock, baby, just like that, god damn Shelby, that's nasty." He thrust into his mouth one last time. A second stream of salty heat hit the back of his throat as Deacon held him still. Shelby gripped his cock, stroked himself once, twice, and then it was over, ejaculating into the air as Deacon withdrew.
The 51st Thursday Page 2