by Clare London
“God.” Jerry’s voice was no more than a breath.
“Imagine it happening to you,” Vincent continued. There was a strange, melodic timbre to his blunt words. “You’ve never been fucked, have you? A hot cock up your ass, another man’s hands on your shoulders, holding you down to take him in. All of it! But you want it—badly. Everything about you cries out for it.”
“No! You don’t... know me…”
“You want me to do it,” Vincent said, relentlessly. “So ask me! Whatever you want… I will do it for you. I will do it to you. But there is nothing forced. You must ask.”
Scot had read somewhere once that there were specific moments of decision in life—one action, when the choice arose, that would take you down a particular path for ever. He knew Jerry was at that moment. The knife’s edge was cold at his throat, and the pressure of Vincent’s thick erection was hot against his ass. Scot felt the voice whispering in his gut, curling around his thundering heart, and he knew Jerry would be feeling the same.
One moment of thought about him—Scot—and then that was gone too.
“It’s not for me to control you, Jerry. Not yet.” Vincent was panting gently. The muscles of his shoulders relaxed and he lifted his arm away from Jerry’s neck. Gently, he placed the knife down on the counter beside them and turned Jerry’s rigid body around in his arms. He bent to lick at Jerry’s lips, breathing on his neck. Jerry started to shiver underneath the new caresses. “Firstly, it must be your desire, your request. For the moment, I’m at your command. Maxwell allows me that.”
Allows it? Scot felt anticipation clench in his gut. The voice was silent in reply.
“Is Maxwell here as well?” Jerry gasped.
“Maxwell is always here.” Vincent laughed, softly.
They stared at each other.
Scot felt the soft sweetness of Vincent’s tongue, the moisture on his own skin, though there was no way that could be real. But it was consoling, thawing his—Jerry’s?—fear and shock, and lighting small flames at the base of his desire again.
“Suck me.” Jerry sighed, his voice breaking on each word.
=That’s what I want=
Vincent fell to his knees.
And Scot wrenched himself away from the wall.
***
“Where the hell is Maxwell?” Scot darted forward, panting, his feet raising a small dust cloud on the rough ground. He grabbed at Oliver, ignoring the fact the young man didn’t even try to pull away. “What sort of twisted fuck is he? What’s he doing to you? To me?”
“Not just us,” Oliver whispered. His gaze flickered over Scot’s mouth. “He does it to us all. And everyone enjoys it…”
“Fuck!” Scot shouted aloud. What was happening here? He wanted to slap Oliver, shake this stupid, sexy, conniving bastard. He wanted to squeeze bruises into the baby-soft flesh of his arms: he wanted to force his lips down on him, and thrust his tongue into his mouth—
Oliver licked his lips and his eyelids fluttered half-shut.
Abruptly, Scot let go of Oliver’s arms and stepped back.
Oliver gasped. He looked shocked at Scot’s reaction, as if he hadn’t expected such self-control. “You chose to come here, Scot, didn’t you? Don’t resist it. Don’t resist me. Don’t resist him.”
“What the hell? Of course it wasn’t a choice! This was the only place around. What are you talking about?”
“You ran.” Oliver’s voice was calm and very soft. His eyes were heavy-lidded, gazing up at Scot, a smug look on his face. “You ran, because you wanted something you couldn’t get at home. You ran, and Connor Maxwell heard your steps. Heard your cries, and your pain, and your loneliness.” He took a step forward, too, and Scot was startled to find himself backing up against the wall once more, suddenly reluctant to touch Oliver again. “And he led you here. Whatever you want, Scot, you can find it here. Connor will get you anything you want.”
The wall was at Scot’s back, the bricks warm, the visions returning.
Vincent was on his knees on the tiled floor of the kitchen, one arm around Jerry’s legs, the other tugging Jerry’s shorts to his ankles. The boxers followed. Jerry tried to wriggle them off his feet, but Vincent’s hands were already at his hips, so all he could do was lean back. He was hobbled, his surrender all the more complete. Vincent’s wide hands caressed the smooth flesh of Jerry’s inner thighs, and Jerry let his knees sag a little, clutching the worktop with his hands. Vincent’s palms slid behind him to grip at his cheeks. Jerry’s eyes widened, his breath gasping.
=a finger running up and down his crack=
Scot’s breath hitched in his chest. He won’t let me touch him there…
Jerry whimpered, and his cock bobbed out from his groin.
=he needs it=
Vincent’s mouth engulfed it. Jerry moaned, his hips thrusting out from the counter.
Scot felt a clench of desire in his belly, the longing gripping his flesh. He knew how Jerry felt: how he tasted. But this was so…
Different.
Jerry fumbled with his vest, pulling it over his head, his hair getting tangled in the cloth. He flung it aside with obviously no care where it went. His hips were inches from Vincent’s face, and his fist was clenched, as if it was taking all his effort not to jerk himself back and slam forward, begging Vincent to fuck his mouth with his cock. He put a hand on the top of Vincent’s dark head, moving firmly back and forth. The sounds were soft, lapping, greedy.
“Yes,” Jerry moaned.
Vincent slid Jerry’s cock out of his mouth, resting it on his bottom lip. He lifted his eyes, panting too, but he was far from exhausted. Scot saw his dilated, hungry eyes as clearly as if they gazed at him instead. It was one of the most erotic things he could have imagined. “He does this to you, doesn’t he, Jerry? Your lover? Does he suck you in like this? Does he suck you in as deep as this?”
And he pulled Jerry’s body fiercely forward.
Jerry pushed into Vincent’s mouth even deeper, so far that his balls rested against Vincent’s chin. So deep that the hairs on his groin must have tickled up into Vincent’s nose. So deep that when he thrust, he must have been able to feel the back of Vincent’s tongue, and the tip of it licking hungrily at the base of him, hot on the wrinkled skin. “Fuck!”
Deep-throated. Scot felt the thrill tug at the base of his spine and heat his balls.
Vincent’s voice was muffled, humming around Jerry’s cock. “I’ll fuck you as well, Jerry, if you want. When you want. Just with my mouth now.”
Jerry looked dazed with ecstasy. His hips slammed against the other man’s chin: he plunged into the hot, wet mouth, again and again.
=nothing has ever felt so good for him=
“Have you ever had it so good, Jerry? Has anything ever felt so marvelous?”
Scot didn’t see Vincent’s mouth create the words, but he knew Jerry heard them because he tensed up again.
“No…” Jerry’s whimper was almost unrecognizable. “Nothing.”
Vincent’s fingers were still between Jerry’s cheeks, and for an astonishing moment, Scot felt the ripple of horrified anticipation run through Jerry’s body. He imagined the tip of a long, strong finger dipping into the tight pucker of his hole…
“Thank Maxwell for such pleasure, Jerry,” came Vincent’s sigh. “Come, now.”
One last, deep lick across the slit of his cock, and Jerry yelled out with his obedient response. He bucked against the kneeling man, clutching at his hair, and his cock leapt against Vincent’s lips, spewing its contents into him. Jerry’s whole body shook as Vincent sucked it all in, licking his lips, continuing to suckle until Jerry had finished coming. Then he pulled slowly away.
Scot’s shoulders ached as if the tension had seeped through the bricks, and crept through his own body.
Jerry slumped back against the counter, gasping.
Vincent stood up slowly, stretching his bent limbs and flexing the superb muscles. “Thank Maxwell,” he murmured again. His m
outh came down on to Jerry’s numb lips and his tongue thrust in. There were drops of come on his lips, and the kiss pushed them into Jerry’s mouth, making him taste it. Then Vincent pulled back. He looked up and down Jerry’s naked body with appreciation, stroking slowly at the front of his own pants. The bulge inside was large, and looked like it might be painful. But with a smile on his face, Vincent started to back out of the kitchen.
=more=
“Wait!” Jerry’s voice was hoarse.
Vincent paused. He waited. “What do you want, Jerry?”
Jerry… Scot felt a shudder through his body. Could Jerry feel it, too? Could he feel Scot? Did he know his lover had seen it all, had seen Jerry’s need and desire for another man? Had seen them fucking, Jerry’s obvious enthusiasm for it, the sure knowledge that sex had never been that intense for them?
“More,” Jerry said. His voice wavered but his gaze was fixed firmly on Vincent.
Vincent smiled and nodded. “The courtyard tonight. Come and join us.” He moved toward the door, then paused again. “I’m very glad you asked.”
Then Jerry’s muscles abandoned him, and he slid slowly down in an awkward collapse on the floor.
***
It was as if the bindings that pressed him against the wall had been cut. Scot stumbled away, the connection breaking. He felt suddenly, shockingly nauseous.
“Scot?” Oliver peered at him, concern on his face.
“How does he do that?”
Oliver frowned. “What?”
Scot’s heart was hammering fast. He bit his lip to stop from shouting at the blond. “How does Maxwell do that? He makes me see things. Feel things. It’s impossible.”
Oliver’s eyes widened, puzzlement flickered in them. “That’s not what I… Scot, don’t be upset. That’s not what he wants.”
“What about what I want?” Scot felt control slipping away like the dust of the yard through his fingers. The sun made his eyes squint and his head ache: his limbs were stiffening up from his morning’s work. Now the shock of the scene in the kitchen made him sick. Was it real? Had he truly seen all that?
=believe it=
“Leave me alone!” he shouted.
Oliver’s hand was on his arm: he hadn’t seen the young man move so close. Oliver’s mouth touched at his ear, soft and damp, making more of a kiss than a whisper. “Relax. What you saw is what we all want. What Jerry wants. Now you can have what you want. Take it.” He breathed quickly, wetly. “Take me.”
Scot stood for a second more in the sweltering, disorientating sun of the yard, then turned slowly away from Oliver, from the young man’s astonishing words. To escape the subversive, seductive body: to refuse the free sex he was being offered.
“I’d be good!” Oliver’s plaintive cry rang out behind him. “You know that, don’t you? They all said that, whoever had me. And it’s what you want, Scot. Who are you saving yourself for? That companion of yours?”
Scot started to walk away. He knew he had to get away. He knew what Oliver might say next.
“You’re not some great love affair, Scot,” Oliver called harshly. “And you know it.”
=don’t listen, Scot. It’s not for him to say=
“Where do you think he is now?” Oliver’s voice continued, nagging at him. “He’s not with you, because you can’t give him everything he wants. And you—well, you know he’s not the true one, don’t you? Not for you.”
Scot spun around suddenly, and Oliver stepped back in surprise. “And you think you are?”
Oliver’s face paled. “That’s not what I mean. Scot, do you think the great love affair is there for the taking? For you? For any of us?”
“None of your goddamned business,” Scot growled.
Oliver still looked shaken. “It’s just fun… all for fun. For pleasure. It suits us. It can suit you, too.”
=Scot, please. You mustn’t be upset. Wait!=
Scot didn’t trust himself to do or say anything else. He turned again and his unsteady steps turned into a full and frantic running, escaping from the yard, away down the corridor toward his room, fleeing the heat and the pain and the confusion—and drowning out Oliver’s words.
Chapter 8
The evening sun was low, and its heat was a sultry one now. Alone on his bed in Room 6, Scot tossed restlessly. He dreamed, or that’s how it seemed. Nowadays there were plenty of times Scot Salvatore wasn’t sure what was dream and what was reality.
He saw Oliver lying naked, stretched out on the ground with his head in Connor Maxwell’s lap. Connor was in loose shorts but no shirt. They may have been in one of the rooms—they may have been somewhere else. Scot couldn’t tell and, if he were honest, had no need to. The surroundings were subject to the same effect there’d been in the kitchen, a strange, distorted depth of field. He felt connected yet displaced, seeing things as through a gentle haze.
The men lay together in a delicious, indulgent sensuality, content within their own world. Had they had sex, or were they enjoying foreplay first? Scot felt only curiosity, rather than shock or an answering sexual hunger. Scot was intrigued by a shining bar through one of Connor’s nipples, and also by the casual way Connor’s hand teased gently at Oliver’s half-erect cock. Connor had tattoos as well, a dancing, delicate pattern over his hand and lower arm.
Both faces were flushed with excitement. Connor chuckled, and Oliver turned his head to kiss Connor’s thigh.
Oliver’s skin shone white and pink against Connor’s darker tone, his vivid blue eyes paler than the other man’s darker irises. Connor’s hair hung loose over his shoulders, stray strands of it moving in the slight breeze of a fan. Oliver lifted a hand to grasp the ends of it, running it through his fingers. With his other hand, he teased aimlessly at the tip of his budding, nut-brown nipple. The two men were a gorgeous contrast.
“The day went as well as it could.” Connor sighed. “You did well, Oliver. Both of you did.”
Oliver’s pert nose crinkled. “The dark one is very pliant, Connor. Jerry. Vincent enjoys him a lot. But the sweet one…” He also sighed, but much more theatrically. “Scot? Now, he’s a very different matter.”
“He cares for others. He cares for his companion.” Connor smiled as if remembering something special. “They both came to us with that pathway open in their hearts. It’s made them both deliciously vulnerable.”
Oliver frowned. “He thinks he’s in love,” he said scornfully.
Connor’s smile didn’t falter. He ran his fingertips along the bare skin of Oliver’s shoulder. “Maybe. But Scot is questioning that already. His passion is confusing him. And such passion!” There was a strong thread of excitement in his low, vibrant voice. “It’s always been there, but he knows so little of it yet. He needed to come here… he needs to be here. With me.”
Oliver shifted as if suddenly uncomfortable. “What shall we do to persuade them, Maxwell?”
Connor stroked aimlessly at Oliver’s hair. “Nothing, yet. We don’t need to.”
“But he doesn’t understand….”
“Shh.” Connor reached further down and slid his hand up and down the young man’s shaft. “He will.”
Oliver arched on the other man’s lap. “I don’t know how you can be so sure. He’s not like the other one. He didn’t want me.”
Connor laughed. “He knows what he wants and he wants to choose it himself. Is that so bad?”
Oliver’s body suddenly seemed to drop its lascivious wriggles, his expression turning from playful to disturbed. He turned his head so that Connor couldn’t see his face. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Oliver?”
The blond man shrugged. “It’s nothing. You’re right. You can see them, the best of us all.”
“Yes, I can.” Connor looked disturbed now as well. “What’s the matter with that?”
Oliver let out a deep breath. “Why don’t you see yourself as clearly?”
“I won’t have you talk to me like that!”
B
ack in Room 6, dreaming under the sheets, Scot let out a soft moan. Connor’s tension was palpable.
“I don’t mean to hurt you,” Oliver murmured. He dropped his head, pressing his lips on Connor’s bare knee. “I want you. Always.”
“Why would you challenge me? I’m the same.” Connor sounded confused. “Of course I am. It’s always been us, from the start. The pleasure. The comfort. We exchange what we each can do. Share what we each can see.”
Oliver’s tongue snaked out and lapped at Connor’s skin. “You see more than I do, Maxwell. And so does…” He bit back any more words. Instead, he began teasing at his left nipple, pinching it to a painful erection, then sucking on the fingers of his right hand, lathering them with saliva. He reached down to squeeze his balls, and to slide a couple of the fingers up into himself, begging for his own pleasure. “We want you. We need you. We’ll keep you safe. Always.”
Connor nodded, seemingly reassured. “Wait for Jerry to come to us, Oliver. Let him discover himself, let him liberate himself. And then he’ll bring the other one to me in turn.”
Oliver was panting, arching in Connor’s lap, legs wide and straining, fingers up inside himself. “To us, Connor.”
Connor seemed distracted. “Of course, that’s what I meant.” He dropped his gaze to Oliver, bestowing a wide smile on him. “You’re beautiful, Oliver. I know why they loved you. I know why they fucked you in preference to their wives.”
Oliver flushed with a pleasure that looked so much more than sexual. He pressed his free hand on Connor’s shorts, at his groin. “You’ve always understood, Connor. You saved my precious memories for me. Let me help you! Let me please you.”