Time Out of Mind [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations ManLove)

by Tymber Dalton

  Mevi sucked hard on Doyle’s thumb, nearly making him come then, but Doyle held back. Pulling his thumb from Mevi’s mouth, he dropped his hand to the man’s hip, guiding him, fucking him harder, faster, meeting his gaze as his other hand stroked Mevi’s cock.

  “Now,” Doyle gasped, knowing he was about to explode himself.

  Mevi let out a soft cry as his eyes fell closed and his orgasm exploded from him.

  Doyle had desperately missed this, him, all of it, including the feel of the man’s ass contracting around his cock as he obeyed him. His second load of the night filled Mevi’s ass as he let go of his cock and pulled him against his chest, kissing him.

  Holding him there, Doyle stroked his hair, rubbing his chin against the top of Mevi’s head. “Do you feel like marrying a dumbass like me?”

  Mevi’s head snapped up, shock on his face. “Sir?”

  “Not Sir. Not Master, either. As Doyle and Mal.”

  A wistful smile filled Mevi’s face. “I missed hearing you call me that, D.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  For the first time in months, Doyle felt like laughing. “Yes, Sir, what?”

  “Yes Sir…Master?”

  He cradled Mevi’s head in his hands. “Will…you…please… marry…me?”

  Mal grinned. “Yes, I’ll marry you, D. Sir. Master.” Doyle pulled him down for a kiss. “Can you spend the night?”

  “Yeah, Tilly strikes again.”

  “I nearly shit myself when I saw you two sitting there.”

  Doyle snorted. “You’re not the only one.”

  “We’re here for tomorrow night. Then after the show the day after, we leave from there straight for the airport. Please stay with me tomorrow night.”

  Doyle didn’t want to promise. “I’ll try. It depends on my client and how they handle tonight.” He belatedly realized that during their meetup in the bathroom he’d referred to his client as “her,” a huge breach for him. Just showed how emotional he’d been.

  “If not…can I come over? I don’t mind if you tell them about me. I’ll sign an NDA for them.”

  “Let’s see if they’ll do okay by themselves. If not…I’ll ask them.”

  They soaked in the tub for a few more minutes before cleaning up and heading to the bed, where Doyle made Mevi lie on his back while he went down on him to even the score. Even with the relief of having his boy back and their reunion, more than three pops in one night was going to be nearly impossible for Doyle. Especially at that late hour.

  But after, as they curled up together with Mevi snuggled securely along his side, Doyle made a mental note to contact Landry and Cris to find out something that was Tilly’s favorite thing, so he could buy her a truckload of whatever it was.

  Because she’d damn well earned it.

  Chapter Thirty

  Doyle stepped out of the international terminal and scanned the small gaggle of drivers holding signs with names on them until he found the one for him. The driver immediately took control of his luggage cart and quickly led the way to a nice private car. He wasn’t even sure what country he was in at this point, only that he was in Eastern Europe in a former Soviet bloc country.

  He’d had the reservation number, flight number, airline, and time and date Clark had given him at Heathrow, and wherever he was, they’d accepted his passport and waved him through after a cursory search of his bags.

  This was the thirty-second day since he’d last been face to face with his boy, and he couldn’t wait to have him in his arms again. They talked nearly every night or morning on the phone, depending on the band’s travel schedule and Pippa’s filming schedule, even video chatted when they could.

  Mevi had purchased Doyle a high-end phone that worked in Europe and had it sent to him so he had one with all the bells and whistles and could do Skype on the phone itself, instead of the cheap basic model he’d purchased for himself.

  Mevi had somehow managed not to kill his latest phone.

  While cruising shops with Pippa one afternoon, Doyle had found a heavy chainmaille necklace appropriate for a man, called Clark to get the band’s itinerary, and had shipped it to the band’s next hotel.

  When he’d watched livestreamed video from that night’s concert, Mevi had been wearing it on stage, and was wearing it when they video chatted that night after the concert.

  It wasn’t a collar. He didn’t want or need a “collar” on his boy.

  The ink on Mevi’s wrist—and the ring he’d one day wear on his finger—were enough for him.

  He also suspected his boy would be very eager to see him, since he’d ordered him four days ago not to masturbate.

  Some things didn’t change.

  When they pulled up to a hotel about forty-five minutes later, the driver spoke to a doorman, who snapped his fingers to get a bellman’s attention. Doyle was ushered into the lobby, where, to his relief, the desk clerk spoke perfect English.

  “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

  “Yes. Doyle Turner.” He spelled it. “I was told my name is joined to an existing reservation?”

  Her brow barely furrowed as her fingers flew over the keyboard, then her eyes widened slightly. “Yes, sir, I have your name here, and your other party has already checked in.”

  “Can I ask a stupid question?”

  She smiled. “Certainly, sir.”

  “Where am I? I mean, besides eastern Europe?”

  “City of Tallinn, Republic of Estonia.” She prepared him a keycard and handed it to him after writing the number on the inside of the little gold, embossed folder it had been tucked into. “There you are, sir. Please enjoy your stay.” Then she spoke to the bellman, who led the way to the elevator.

  At the room door, when the man motioned for the keycard, Doyle waved him down. “It’s okay. I have it from here.”

  Apparently the guy didn’t understand English. Doyle dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of euros, hoping they actually took euros there. “Here, tip.”

  The man apparently understood that, smiling broadly and nodding before he turned and headed back toward the elevator.

  Doyle inserted the key card into the lock, relieved when it turned green. He opened the door and propped it with his largest bag while dragging his others inside. Once he closed the door, he threw the deadbolt.

  Sure enough, there was tissue shoved into the viewfinder, and a towel by the door.

  My smart boy.

  After replacing those, he walked in, crossed the suite’s small living room, and stepped into the bedroom doorway.

  Two LED candles flickered on the dresser, providing enough illumination against the darkness from the curtains being completely drawn.

  On the floor, naked except for the necklace, knelt Mevi. Full bow, arms stretched, forehead to the floor

  “There’s my boy.” Doyle started unbuttoning his shirt, his own cock hard.

  He also hadn’t masturbated.

  “How many more concert stops, boy?”

  “Three more after tomorrow night, Master.”

  “How long?”

  “Nine days. From tomorrow.”

  “And then home?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “I’ll ask Clark to fly us into Tampa.” He dropped the shirt onto the chair next to the bed and kicked off his shoes. “We’ll drive down to Sarasota and get married after a couple of days off. See if Tilly can be there. You aren’t getting away from me.”

  Mevi still knelt in position. “I don’t want to get away, Master.”

  That word coming from Mevi’s lips always sent a jolt of electric heat straight through him.

  “Up.”

  Mevi smoothly rose and Doyle pulled him in for a long, deep kiss. Then he took the necklace off him.

  “When my boy is formal, I want my boy totally bare unless I put something on you. Except for a wedding ring.” He kissed him again. “I love seeing you in it, though.”

  “Isn�
��t that my collar?”

  Doyle smiled. “No. Your collar will be your wedding ring.”

  He reached down and grabbed Mevi’s cock, not sure who was more surprised, him or Mevi, when he exploded, coating Doyle’s hand with cum.

  A harsh laugh escaped Mevi. “Sorry, Master.”

  Doyle smiled. “Guess somebody has been a good boy and hasn’t been rubbing any out.”

  Mevi laughed. “Yes, Sir. I’ve been a good boy.”

  “Well, darn. I didn’t say you couldn’t come, so I guess I can’t punish you for that.”

  “Actually, you can punish me. It’s your rules, Sir.”

  Doyle grinned. “I like your logic, boy.”

  * * * *

  The next two weeks were the longest and best of Doyle’s life. Even the trans-Atlantic flight back to Florida didn’t bother him.

  Not with Mevi in the seat next to him.

  And Kel let them stay at the apartment. It was virtually unchanged from when they’d left, except that Tilly had asked Kel to put a bottle of sparkling grape juice in the fridge for them.

  Then the planning started.

  Once they’d had about two days in bed to get over their jet-lag.

  When they weren’t busy screwing each other’s brains out.

  When they walked into the clerk of the court’s office thirty minutes before closing on a Friday, Doyle hoped it might reduce how soon the news leaked out.

  Loren, Ed, and Ross were with them.

  Well, Tilly was, too, if one counted a video chat on Loren’s phone from the UK, where it was the middle of the night and she was wearing what looked like Eeyore PJs.

  They had the certificate from a private marriage class they’d taken, thanks to digging by Ed and a generous payment to the instructor from Clark to get them a private class and completion certificate. That meant they didn’t have to go through the three-day waiting period after getting their license.

  The office also had a small room just off to the side they could all step into and close the door for Loren to do the ceremony.

  “Hold me up, Ed, dammit. I can’t see.”

  “Sorry, Tilly.” Ed adjusted the phone.

  “That’s better.”

  Loren smiled at the two of them. “Join hands.”

  Doyle told her he wanted this to be short, because it was simply a legal hurdle. What he couldn’t wait for was what they’d be doing in a little over an hour at the club.

  “Is there anyone who wants to object to this—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lor! Marry them already! I didn’t chase his goddamned ass down just to—”

  “Don’t make me mute you, Til,” she spoke into the phone.

  Tilly huffed and cupped her hands around a mug of what Doyle assumed was tea, from the string and tag hanging down the side.

  Ross snickered as he videoed the session on his phone. Ed had switched hands he was holding the Tilly call in so he could take pics with his phone.

  “Doyle Turner,” Loren said. “Do you take this man as your husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, to love, honor, and cherish, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do.” He blinked away tears as he stared up into Mevi’s blue gaze.

  That this felt so much different than marrying Kathy was telling.

  That this felt better. Stronger.

  Made to last.

  “Malcolm Levi Maynard, do you take this man as your husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, to love, honor, and obey, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do.”

  “Exchange rings.”

  Doyle didn’t even try to hide how his hands trembled as he slid the wedding band onto Mevi’s left ring finger. Mevi seemed to have the same issue, he was happy to see.

  “Now, by the power vested in me by the State of Florida, I pronounce you husband and husband. Congratulations, guys.”

  Loren wore a beaming smile as Doyle pulled Mevi in for a long, strong kiss that had Tilly happily hooting over the phone.

  “Love you,” he whispered.

  Mevi smiled back. “Love you, too.”

  “Okay. Finally. I’m going to take a nap. You know I get cranky…er when I’m tired. Call me from the club so I can watch the ceremony. And send me pics, dammit!”

  Aaand, Tilly was gone.

  They emerged from the room after Ed took a couple of pictures of them together, both them and just their hands clasped, a close-up showing the rings. They filed the certificate just before the office was ready to close, and soon after were on their way out the door. Loren and Ross left in their car, going ahead to make sure the club was ready.

  Ed drove Doyle and Mevi, Mevi riding in the back seat.

  “How long do you think we have before that hits the news?” Doyle asked.

  “Hard to say. Someone as famous as him? I wouldn’t be surprised if it breaks overnight, but definitely by Monday. I honestly don’t think anyone in there recognized him. I was watching them when you filled out the paperwork. Not a single gasp or wide eye in the place.”

  “How lucky could we be?”

  “Maybe your luck’s finally tipped over to the good side.”

  “For good,” Mevi chimed in from the back seat.

  Doyle reached back so he could hold hands with him, lacing their fingers together. He squeezed, pleased when Mevi squeezed back.

  This didn’t feel real. There were still moments when he was afraid he’d wake up and find it was just a dream and he’d still fled Chicago, and Mevi had really cheated on him.

  They were spending their honeymoon in Kel’s apartment until late Sunday night. Then they’d drive up to TIA to stay at the airport hotel to make a six a.m. flight to LA.

  Mevi had begged Doyle to let him pay to take him anywhere he wanted to go in the world.

  There wasn’t anywhere Doyle wanted to go, except that apartment. The same place where they’d found each other and where they fit together in the world.

  When they arrived at Venture, they were greeted by a room full of people cheering for them. Doyle laced fingers with Mevi and held his hand up in triumph as they walked in, feeling victorious.

  Tilly’s call had been upgraded to a tablet and she now wore a fuzzy pink robe. “Gilo?” she called out over the din. “You get my e-mail?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he called out, holding up a roll of something. He walked over to the two men and, before Doyle and Mevi realized what Gilo was doing, he’d duct-taped their hands together.

  With Hello Kitty duct tape.

  As the others laughed, Landry and Cris watched, amused.

  “Congratulations, you two,” Gilo said. “Love, Tilly.” He leaned in and whispered, “She actually asked me to tape you together face to face. I said I’d think about it. I decided to go easy on you.” He held a finger up to his lips. “Shhh.”

  “Told you he’d do it,” Cris said. “That’s a twenty you owe me.”

  “Dammit. I really thought he would chicken out.”

  “We’re talking about Gilo, here, Lan.”

  “Ah. True. I should never have taken that bet.”

  “Come here, you two,” Loren called out. “Before Tilly has someone else do something.”

  On the tablet screen, Tilly smirked over the top of another mug of hot tea. “Hey, Doyle made me worry. He fucking owes me.”

  “I’ll still mute you,” Loren threatened.

  Tilly stuck her tongue out at her. “Don’t let ’em loose from the duct tape until they’re done.”

  “They’re married. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No,” she said.

  * * * *

  Mevi smiled at having his right hand duct-taped to Doyle’s left.

  He didn’t care.

  All he cared about was that, legally, he was about to become Malcolm Maynard Turner. Once they filed the information. Technically, he already was.

  He
’d change his license when he got back to California.

  He didn’t know what Doyle was planning for the collaring ceremony. He hadn’t asked, because as far as he was concerned, it was his Master’s decision. Doyle had asked him if he had any input, but he didn’t.

  It was Doyle’s wedding band on his left hand. He was already a happy man, no matter what else happened today.

  It was a little awkward for Mevi to kneel with their hands duct-taped together, but it worked out okay. Sitting there on his knees, he looked up at his husband—his Master—and knew today would forever stand out as the happiest day of his life.

  Doyle smiled down at him as the room settled. No formal layout of chairs today, just a loose gathering of the people he’d come to know, most of them Doyle’s friends.

  And he was okay with that, too. He knew they’d be his friends.

  He’d finally have friends besides the band.

  “So, how many people get to say I almost lost a rock star?” Doyle asked, which drew a smattering of laughter from the gathered group. “Probably less than the ones who get to say they put a ring on one.” He smiled down at Mevi. “Legally, he’s now my husband, but he’s given me so much more than that. Even when, rightfully, he has every reason not to trust me when I failed him.”

  Mevi blinked back the sudden tears filling his eyes and blurring his vision.

  “I promise to do better. That while I can’t promise not to fuck up again, that I won’t fuck up like that. That, no matter what, my trust in you will exceed your trust in me, always, the first thing I always consider in any situation. No matter what, I trust you, and I trust what you say above all. I don’t expect perfection from you, and I never have. I expect honesty. And you have always given me honesty.

  “For the rest of our lives, I promise to love and protect you, to care for you, to do the best I can by you. To never abandon you. Would you please do me the honor of being my slave?”

  He nodded, his vision blurring as more tears tried to break through. “Yes, Master. I want to be your slave.”

  Doyle held his right hand out to Loren, who dropped something into his palm. He had to have her do something to whatever it was, but then Doyle smiled as he held up their bound hands. “Tilly, you’re lucky you didn’t mess this part up with your little revenge thing here.”