“Yes, I get that impression, too.” Rose wearily removed her apron that had once been white. Now it displayed the multi-colored handprints of a hundred different finger paintings. She had two line cooks from the Cavern helping her, and now that dessert was served, it was all cleanup. Rose was such a diligent worker—and her kitchens were usually short on cooks—that she normally would be helping to clean. But she was exhausted. And she really liked Jesse Factor.
She had been having dilemmas about him ever since the evening they had copied the Sunset Palomino Ranch menu. They had discussed Hand Relief Parties and Pony Expresses, and in particular, the Feast at the Y. It had been a long time since Rose had experienced such a feast, because faceless hookups recommended by her friends—or were they enemies?—did not do such things. Such things were only practiced by someone with your intense pleasure at heart. In other words, a true lover, and she hadn’t had one of those for many years.
It was insane that she’d gotten to be thirty-four and was still alone and single. When she was in high school she’d imagined she’d be married with children by now. But a polycystic ovary condition—and above all, the absence of a suitable candidate—had rendered all that moot. Now along came Jesse Factor, so beautiful everyone assumed he was gay. She really, really liked Jesse, but because she’d already told him about her abstinence campaign, she didn’t expect him to put his ego on the line and try again. Still, he had merited a few solo “hand relief parties” in her Ocean’s 11 Room late at night before falling into a deep dreamless sleep. When she imagined Jesse’s face between her thighs, lapping away at her very core, it was always easy to climax, even just using her fingers because she was afraid her vintage vibrator could be heard way down in the Shag Room.
Still, she had to hold out in her celibacy quest. Now that she’d proclaimed to Jesse that her current lifestyle didn’t involve sex at all and her job was her life, she had to follow through with it. Jesse had made it plain he was open to a Neapolitan with her, but it was best to not act on it. Jesse was good in her imagination, but the reality would probably suck, anyway. It always did.
“Those spoiled rich assholes are always the worst,” she said now. She knew she shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and Drake Stinson was currently the employer of both her and Jesse, but he was just a flaming asshole. She had no idea why he’d asked her to cater his dinner when he’d loathed her soup so badly.
“You know,” said Jesse thoughtfully, “he seems to have been changing. I mean, a week ago, he wouldn’t have invited me to his dinner, for one thing.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Oh, whoop de do. You should be so lucky.”
“Seriously, I can’t put a finger on it. I think that incident in India may have humbled him, in a weird way. I just feel I can relate to him now that I know about what happened. I know how it feels to be gossiped about, talked about behind my back.”
Rose frowned. “Being thought of as gay isn’t a big topic of gossip here near Palm Springs.”
“Not the gay thing—in my case, anyway. I was talking more about growing up in Egypt. My dad is obviously half-black, half-Seminole. You can admit it. You were wondering.”
“Yes, I was wondering. Seminole? They were one of the Five Civilized Tribes.”
“Yes. I guess my ancestors stayed in Florida and fought relocation. They call themselves ‘The Unconquered Tribe.’”
“Florida! That’s where I was born and raised, near Jacksonville. We have so much in common, you and I. It’s sort of a shame—” Rose couldn’t help giving Jesse’s shoulders a sideways squeeze like a proud mother but stopped and released him. Instead she reached for an open wine bottle she’d been using for cooking. She poured herself a glass. Why not? She was done with work for the day. “So what was this incident in India that turned him halfway human?”
Jesse reached for the wine bottle, too. “You didn’t hear about that? I thought it had gone viral.”
Rose shrugged. “I don’t have much time for surfing. I don’t even have a computer in my motel room. What happened?”
“Well, apparently in a resort area of Goa, India, Drake accidentally—or not—wound up in a homosexual nightclub engaging with a rather enthusiastic supplier of Cock-a-Doodle-Doos. Of course there was a camera, and, well.”
Rose giggled. “I’d like to see these photos. How explicit are they?”
“Oh, it’s bow-chicka-bow-wow explicit. Drake is just pounding this guy’s mouth. I have to agree with him, though—guy does look like a girl. Of course Drake somehow had them yanked from the blog, but of course not before everyone and his brother had copied them.”
Rose had taken about four healthy gulps of wine and was beginning to feel fuzzy around the edges. It had been a long day. Hell, a long year. She tilted her head. “Was Cairo really bad?”
“Not so much inside the embassy compound. But outside on the street—yes. Usually I was stopped at the doorways of restaurants and turned away, even if I was with some fellow children of embassy personnel.”
“And you’re not even that dark,” marveled Rose. “Imagine how awful it was for even darker-skinned people.”
“Exactly. They would just say they were full when they kept letting other white patrons in. Then the yelling, the taunting on the street. I never even wanted to leave the embassy because I’d get stoned.”
“What? Stoned? You mean, literally…”
Jesse smirked. “Literally stoned, and not just the fun kind with a hookah. ‘Go back to Sudan,’ they’d always yell, just assuming I was Sudanese. Even people you’d think were elite and educated would behave like that. I think that’s why I’m so timid now. Not that it’s any excuse, but I think it just made me so much more unsure of myself.”
Rose found herself standing so close to Jesse her breasts nudged his arm. He didn’t move away, and when he looked down at her, his eyes were moist, shimmering with aquamarine intensity. “But you had enough self-esteem to graduate from the Rhode Island School of Design.”
“Oh yeah,” Jesse admitted. “I was pretty certain I had a knack for combining aesthetic appeal with functional quality. My Dutch mother made sure that even though I was being trained by strangers to belittle myself, I still had enough ego to succeed in business.”
“And you were a model. You must get plenty of nonstop kudos in that business. It must be good for the ego.”
Jesse shrugged. “I suppose, but it’s competitive as hell. Backstabbing and cutthroat. I imagine it’s a lot like the culinary world, with a bunch of prima donnas all out to get ahead at everyone else’s expense. I much prefer interior design.”
Looking back on it later, Rose didn’t know at what point she let her defenses down. Did she feel sorry for Jesse because he’d been subjected to bigotry growing up? Was it his cologne, subtly spicy yet imbued with the aroma of sex? Maybe it was Jesse’s indescribably velvety skin, skin so creamy it made one crave hot chocolate. But now she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. It was such an affectionate gesture that maybe brought feelings of tenderness into her heart. “You know, my father from Holland was also incredibly supportive of my dreams. Without him I don’t know if I’d of had the strength to put myself through the culinary academy. I feel awful for the people who have destructive parents.”
“Like Drake Stinson. His father seems to be against everything he stands for. I think he sent him here as a punishment for the Goa thing. Like here is some kind of hell.”
“Yes, and see what an asshole he turned into. That’s what awful parenting can do to one.”
Jesse said, “Oh, I wouldn’t use the word ‘asshole,’ really. He’s a Dominant.”
“Well it’s obvious he’s a domineering asshole. He needs everything his way.”
“No, he’s a Dom, capital D, a lifestyle Dominant. He orders people around as part of his daily routine, but also in a sexual way. I accidentally stumbled on him once nearly buck naked except for chaps and a kind of cock harness, pouring hot wax on a woman’s body.”
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“That’s an…actual thing?” Rose cozied up to Jesse now, and she didn’t care if she was being a cock teaser. There was something about his chemistry, the mixture of both their chemistries, that clicked and flowed. And now, thinking about Drake being some sort of Dominant man wearing chaps, her body fairly started buzzing with life. She hadn’t felt this alive in months—years, probably! She said breathlessly, “So he likes torturing women?”
“It’s not torturing per se. From what I’ve gathered, it’s always, or almost always, consensual. Some people just naturally like being Dominant, and others naturally like being submissive.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Rose dared to ask the question foremost in her mind. It all came spilling out in a jumble. “And what did his cock look like in the harness?”
Jesse chuckled. “You mean, of course, how big was it? Big. And as a model I’ve seen lots of naked men. It was…big. That harness made it look even bigger, I imagined. Kind of intriguing.”
When Rose opened her eyes halfway, her entire chest was pressed against Jesse’s. She breathed, “Like something you would ever wear?”
He was practically whispering, too. His plump mouth was just inches from hers. “I’ve modeled things like that before. The pay is better.”
“I’ll bet.” And before Rose could stop herself, her mouth was glued to Jesse’s.
He tasted of anise, the Galliano they’d been drinking at the table. He had a scent that was unmistakably Jesse Factor, peppery and stimulating. Instinctually, Rose lifted one foot so she could raise it up the front of Jesse’s thigh, sort of like a dry humping dog. She could rotate her hips and rub her bulging clitoris against his hip this way, and immediately his hand clutched her waist.
At first they kissed gently, tentatively. Rose parted her lips and dared to nibble on Jesse. Her head felt so light, up by the ceiling somewhere, as though it wasn’t her doing these sexy, daring things. It had been a long time since she’d kissed any man—after all, who wanted to give a goodnight kiss to a guy who had only allowed her to order chicken wings from the appetizer menu?—and she was giddy, dizzy with excitement.
Jesse knew of her lousy past experience. He would be an asshole of the highest order if he treated her callously, with disrespect, after knowing what he knew about her. If he treated her confidence with insensitivity, she’d be shattered. Instead she was encouraged by his gentle kisses, the way he held her waist with high regard. He didn’t push her or hurry her. When he lifted a hand and speared his fingers through the hair at her temple, it was because she was ready, because she wished it.
“Jesse,” she breathed against his lips, “shall we go back to your cottage?”
But Jesse never got a chance to answer.
A growling, snarling hulk came bursting through the swinging kitchen doors. Although his limbs flailed with uncontrollable rage, his voice was a seething, quiet whisper.
“What exactly…the fuck…is going on in my kitchen?”
Their lips separated with a smacking sound, and the two looked blankly at Drake Stinson while the two kitchen helpers fled the room. Drake was puffed up beyond all reason, his hands held into claws out from his sides. Seemingly because he didn’t get a quick enough response, he grabbed Jesse from behind and yanked him away from Rose. Rose tottered, suddenly deprived of the pillar she’d been leaning on. Drake had Jesse in a sort of full nelson, arms under both of Jesse’s armpits so Jesse’s arms flopped around uselessly.
With an instinctive reaction, Rose reached for the closest weapon—luckily a small and empty sauté pan. Rose held it up like a tennis racket, but really, what was she going to do with it? Drake was their boss, not some rapist climbing in the window. Besides, he was hiding behind Jesse, using him as a shield. Was this some kind of sexual dominance on Drake’s part? He unthreaded his fingers behind Jesse’s neck and ran one hand very slowly down Jesse’s chest.
Jesse stuttered uncertainly. “What do you think is going on, Drake? I just came in here to see how Rose was doing.”
“Yeah,” snarled Drake. It was hard to tell if he intended to bite the side of Jesse’s throat, or lick him. When Rose circled around with the pan still held high, she saw that Drake angled his hips into Jesse’s ass. She knew that dogs humped out of dominance. Was this strictly a domination thing, or did Drake truly want to engage Jesse sexually? That question was answered when Drake slid his palm even lower and took a big handful of Jesse’s cock, already erect from his make out session with Rose. “See how she’s doing, right. You just wanted to nail her. You broke your promise.”
“What promise?” Jesse asked weakly, doing nothing to squirm free of Drake’s grip. If anything, he closed his eyes and laid his head back against Drake’s powerful shoulder. “And who wouldn’t want to nail her, Drake? Why are you punishing me for doing something any normal red-blooded man would do?”
Now Drake did take a bite out of Jesse’s earlobe. It was the lobe that was pierced with the diamond stud, and Rose became stupefied and sort of entranced to watch the masterful Drake nip at the stud. He tongued the back out and spat it on the floor, but Rose didn’t see where the diamond stud went. Meanwhile he squeezed and massaged Jesse’s ever-growing prick. If Jesse thought Drake’s penis was long and fat, Rose would hate to see it, because Jesse looked fairly well-hung himself.
“I’m punishing you because you promised you’d leave the innocent girl alone.” Drake continued to suck on the naked earlobe.
Rose was struck mute as though turned to stone. She’d never witnessed such a fascinating sight, and the two men seemed to fall effortlessly into their roles. She tried to sort out her memories. Didn’t Jesse loathe this man? Then why was he encouraging the shallow playboy to grope his penis? Jesse’s mouth was slightly turned up at the corners, like a cat, enjoying being toyed with.
“I didn’t promise,” purred Jesse. “I just said she was celibate. I was hardly long-dicking her on your stovetop. We were just kissing.”
Abruptly Drake twirled Jesse about to face him, gripping both shoulders. Drake’s dark eyes flashed with authority. He might be an overbearing fuckwad, but he was stunningly beautiful when in full-on command mode. He clutched Jesse’s jaw in his hand and planted an openmouthed kiss on him.
Rose literally felt her legs turn to water. She became suddenly so weak she could barely put the pan back onto the counter before gripping the edge like a drowning person. Even Drake’s throat was well-muscled as he worked the kiss deeper and deeper. And Jesse, who had proclaimed so loudly for anyone to hear that he didn’t have a gay bone in his body, he was falling for it! He allowed himself to be backed up against the kitchen island, pinned to it with the power of Drake’s sinewy hips. Their bulging pricks were pressed firmly against each other, massaging. Jesse submissively allowed Drake’s tongue to plunder his mouth as they did battle with each other, Drake clearly the dominant one in control of every aspect. If Jesse had had any fight in him to begin with, it was rapidly melting away under the superior control of Drake Stinson.
A tiny drip of juice ran down the inside of Rose’s thigh. It had never occurred to her how taboo yet pleasantly naughty it could be, watching two men locking horns with each other. Yes, taboo things were often pleasantly naughty, and what she was witnessing was so naughty she had to blindly reach behind her, pull up a stool and sit.
Drake broke the kiss violently. The two men panted at each other, the tips of their noses nearly touching. Jesse’s thighs were spread submissively, his stiff dick filling the crotch of his cargo pants. Drake gripped Jesse by the back of the neck and slowly, purposefully, stuck his tongue out. Something glinted on the tip of his tongue. Rose squinted to see.
Jesse laughed like a little kid and kissed the older man once more, briefly. When he pulled back, he picked his diamond stud out of his mouth and held it up for all to see. As though he hadn’t just had a passionate make-out session with another man, he proudly showed Rose. “Look! He had that in his mouth the whole time!”
“Talented m
an,” Rose breathed, weak as a kitten.
Drake was stepping back, rearranging his hard-on in his pants. “I don’t want to see you doing this again.” He pointed at Rose. “You said you were celibate. What happened suddenly? This gorgeous Seminole get the better of you?”
Rose had gathered herself enough to frown something fierce. “He got the better of you.”
Now some goofball Rose had heard referred to in the dining room as Troy came barging into the kitchen.
“Dude. Some of the women are taking off their clothes and they want to swim in your pool.”
“Well?” barked Drake. “What are you standing here for?”
Rose rolled her eyes and tried to gain Jesse’s sympathy. Drake was probably about to strap on his chaps and drip wax on the poor naked women. But Jesse seemed to have forgotten all of the assholish, ornery things Drake had ever done. He just beamed at the rancher with idolatry in his eyes.
Drake even snapped his fingers. “Jesse. Come on. Time to swim.”
Jesse mouthed at Rose, “I’ll see you later,” and the men started to leave the kitchen, but Rose suddenly remembered something.
“Mr. Stinson. Drake.”
Drake turned around imperiously as if she was wasting his time.
“I was wondering about this guy I saw an hour ago. I’m sure he’s one of your guests, but I didn’t see him at the dinner table.”
“Who?” barked Drake.
“It’s that airline executive. I saw him wandering around the front driveway. I figured he’d stepped out to have a smoke, only he wasn’t smoking.”
Drake fairly glowered now. “What airline executive? I don’t have any friends with any airline.”
“Well, I met him first at the Cavern restaurant. He said he worked for BLM and I figured that was some kind of—”
Drake’s nostrils flared, and he took several steps toward Rose. Troy had staggered out to the pool, so only Jesse remained, practically holding his breath waiting for Drake’s response. “No. BLM is not an airline, and I wouldn’t invite that guy to a dinner if he was the last one of his line. Burt Macklin, right?”
The Subject Was Rose [The Sunset Palomino Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 5