by Clare London
=just you, yes. No one is sweet like you, Scot Salvatore=
“Connor.” Oliver’s soft protest came from behind them.
Connor didn’t acknowledge it. “You are the best, Scot. You are sweet, as mine is meant to be. You touch me like nothing else. I’m yours. You are mine.”
Connor slid his fingers out and wriggled on his knees between Scot’s outstretched legs.
=now=
He leaned forward, his pelvis hard against Scot’s flesh, and pushed into him. His cock squeezed past the initial resistance, seeking acceptance. Scot grimaced with shock but grabbed at Connor, anchoring himself. He concentrated on relaxing his ass around Connor’s dick, drawing him in. They clung together: Connor thrust, and Scot’s body moved with him. Connor took his weight on his arms at first, but his body sagged gradually until it caressed Scot’s stomach and groin. Then Scot grasped him, and held him tight.
They groaned, reaching clumsily for each other’s mouths, and kissing whatever they could reach instead. Connor’s sweat was slick on Scot’s body, and his heartbeat hammered against Scot’s ribs. Scot was alerted to Connor’s coming before it arrived anywhere near his ass, because it was loud and fierce in Connor’s blood, and Scot heard its demanding cry, even before the sound was wrenched from Connor’s mouth.
The pressure at Scot’s temples was fierce. He saw vivid colors behind his half closed eyelids, as his climax raced to outrun Connor’s. Staring up, he watched as restraint shattered behind Connor’s eyes, as his control crumbled. Overwhelming, ecstatic emotion flooded Scot’s head, heart and limbs, as if Connor flowed into his very veins.
They shuddered together; they shouted together.
And, once again, there was no other sound in the courtyard except for them.
***
In the first seconds of waking, Scot’s only thought was confusion as to where he was. His body ached and his head throbbed. His mouth had that hideously parched, next-morning feeling, as if he’d spent all night drinking.
Which he knew he hadn’t.
No, he’d spent the night bathing, and smiling, and eating sweet stuff, and being fucked into glorious senselessness by a man called Connor Maxwell. Playing games with water drops, and ice cubes, and soft fruit. Rolling onto his front… onto his back… opening his arms, and then spreading his legs… and crying the man’s name. Sobbing at the intensity of feeling, time and again.
He groaned. A cramp nagged his left leg, which had been bent up under his body, a sign he’d slept heavily. Gradually, he acknowledged the creased coverlet underneath and the glint from the tiles on the ceiling. He was back in room number 6.
Try as he might, he couldn’t remember how he’d got back to his room, or at what time or in what state. He could smell the soft, musky smell of another man’s skin on the sheets—Jerry’s, that was. Scot was still half asleep, but he felt a jolt of surprise to think he was still sleeping with Jerry, in their strange little motel room. Did that matter any more? Why did he think it didn’t?
Still in a half dream, he couldn’t seem to focus properly. Too much sun… too much pleasure… too many touches… too much Connor.
The sound of the half-hearted fan whirred across his consciousness. He reckoned he’d probably thought all these things before.
What specifically had woken him? He stretched and knew at once he was alone in the bed, but that someone else was in the room. The close air stroked warm fingers over his bare stomach. He stretched again, realizing there was no cover over him, and he was completely naked.
Someone coughed, over by the door.
Peering through sleepy eyes, he saw Jerry standing there in the half shadow, staring back at the bed. Jerry was bare-chested and barefoot, his shorts fastened only loosely at his waist, his vest in his hands.
“Jerry?” Scot murmured sleepily. “What time is it? You coming into the room or going out?”
“It’s still night, but I’m going out to him. To Vincent.” Jerry’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Huh?”
“I… must go to him,” Jerry said. There was a strange tone to his voice—a mix of apology, sorrow, eagerness. “He needs me. They all need me, they’re calling me. And I’ll be sleeping with them from now on. Scot… you understand, don’t you?”
Scot struggled to sit up, but his limbs were like marshmallow. He could still feel the touch of Connor’s fingertips on the skin of his hips, like a brand; the man’s cries of pleasure echoing in his ears. He wondered how he could ever have given Jerry proper attention through such obsession.
“Yeah. Okay. I mean…” He stumbled over the words. “I mean, I don’t exactly know what’s going on. I didn’t expect you here, to be honest... what with you and Vincent, and all.”
Jerry continued to stare at him in silence for a moment. Then he came back over to the bed and sat down on the edge. He twisted around to look at Scot, his eyes shining in the darkness. “I know. It’s amazing, isn’t it? Everything that’s happened… ” He wriggled uncomfortably. His eyes were still fixed on Scot.
Sleepy and languorous, Scot was suddenly very aware of his nakedness with Jerry’s slim, smooth torso just a hand’s touch away.
“I still want you, Scot. You’re fabulous, you know? Christ, and I don’t forget you were everything to me! Before we came here… I mean, we escaped together, right? It was just you and me, together.”
“Right.” Scot wondered if Jerry realized he was speaking in the past tense.
“But I don’t want to go back.”
“What?” With an effort, Scot pulled himself up on to his elbows. “We never said we’d go back! We were going to go on to Vegas, find somewhere to live, new jobs, whatever.”
But Jerry was distracted. He wasn’t really listening. “I can’t believe this place. It’s like nowhere I’ve ever seen. And the guys want me with them. They want me to help out, and care for the place. And care for them….”
Scot stared, feeling half stupid. “You mean you want to stay here? Like—indefinitely? What about your plans? Our plans?”
Jerry shook his head slowly, a whisper of movement in the muggy room. “I don’t think I was as prepared as I thought, Scot. I never really thought beyond getting out of that damned town. I—couldn’t tell you that before. You thought I had the grand plan. You’d have been so fucking disappointed. You looked up to me in that.”
Scot stared at him. He wasn’t going to argue. He understood a hell of a lot more now than he ever had before, and he knew there’d been far more disappointment in their relationship than either of them realized. It wasn’t entirely their fault… but he supposed some of it was.
Jerry continued. The tone in his voice was light, bubbling with excitement. “But I’m happy here. I can be very happy here! I can’t believe the pleasure, and the contentment… I can feel things I never felt before, listen to thoughts in my head that were always silent before.”
Scot was startled. “Mine? Do you hear mine?”
“No, not yours. Theirs. Vincent, Oliver… when I’m with them… when we’re….”
Fucking. Right. Scot flopped back on to the bed with a puff of resignation. It was too damned tiring to be having this conversation. “Okay, I understand. Guess I never thought it’d be long-term, you know? You and me….” He made sure Jerry didn’t see the grimace on his face. “But what’ll you do here?”
Jerry shrugged. Obviously his mind was already made up, and he didn’t care about details. “Help Vincent in the kitchen. Help Oliver around the motel.”
“And fuck,” Scot said, a little slyly. He felt Jerry’s body tense, and saw his smile in the darkness.
“Yes. And fuck. He’s magnificent isn’t he? Vincent… both of them, really. And you know what? I can’t explain it, but it’s more than just the sex. I just feel… right.” He laughed nervously. “I never thought it’d be like that.” He sounded almost awed.
Scot didn’t answer. He’d never thought it’d be like that, either. He wasn’t sure how he was coping
with it himself.
The bed dipped as Jerry stood up, ready to leave again. He gazed down at Scot. “But you’ll be here as well, won’t you, Scot? They want you, too—they want to share it all. And there’s Connor, now, isn’t there? Scot?”
Jerry waited a few more seconds, but Scot didn’t answer. Let Jerry think he’d gone back to sleep. He saw Jerry tilt his head, listening. Probably the voices were clamoring for him to hurry up. They’d waited long enough for a new lover; they needed his attention. They wanted to show him theirs in return.
Jerry sighed and quietly left the room.
***
When Scot woke next, it was noon. He knew this because the sun was well established, burning brightly and fiercely in the sky, and searing its rays through the thin curtains onto his body. He had a whole new time measurement method nowadays.
He didn’t see why he should get up. He still felt disorientated and he thought he remembered a rather tense conversation with Jerry in the middle of the night. Had it all been a dream?
He rolled up to sitting and winced as his muscles protested. No, it hadn’t been a fucking dream. He was stretched out here, sore from a night of amazing sex, and on his own because his lover had just left him to go and co-habit with a couple of other guys. It looked like another day of blinding, constant heat—and he was sure he’d not had enough food and water over the last few days to have built up any stamina. He’d seen no one else for many, many days, had no transport or communication with the outside world, and was effectively stranded in some second rate motel where amazingly weird things kept happening.
And sex. So much sex.
=Scot=
And always a damned erection! He growled ruefully down at his lap. It was nagging at him like the worst kind of morning wood. He needed a shower and to get dressed. And then…?
The memories were flooding back, seeping into him—and he reckoned he knew who to blame for that. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his hands, trying to clear his thoughts. The scene with Jerry had been bizarre, and yet this morning he didn’t feel any lingering distress. He could see that he couldn’t offer Jerry what he needed, nor could he find what he wanted with Jerry. But did that mean the end of all his dreams?
His thoughts drifted to emotions—to more sensual memories. He remembered Jerry in the moonlight, sitting in that pool. Holding Vincent’s face and Oliver’s slim hips.
Scot found himself stroking his cock gently, treasuring the familiar comfort. Not for the first time, he wondered if there was something in the food here, keeping him constantly in a state of heightened arousal. But it did feel damned good.
He remembered Jerry with Oliver, fucking him. The young man’s gasp of pleasure—the way his hands gripped Vincent, as the taller man held him still for Jerry’s use.
Scot tugged at his cock a little more insistently.
Then there was Jerry with Vincent, being fucked. An astonishingly erotic sight; the sight of complete surrender and yet a totally consensual joy.
Scot was pumping steadily now. He knew the perfect rhythm for his own enjoyment—he knew how soon he would come, bucking and shuddering, and spilling come all over his warm stomach.
Jerry’s bright eyes; Vincent’s dark, knowing ones. The excitement that vibrated through Oliver at all times. Lips licking an ice cube into Connor’s eager mouth. Oliver’s soft mouth, opening to drink him down. Like nothing he’d ever had before! The first kiss from Connor’s rich lips—the first touch of his cock.
Scot moaned aloud.
And Connor… came the echo of Jerry’s soft voice. There’s Connor now.
Ahh, yes… Connor Maxwell. Scot could recall him as if he were standing right here in the bedroom. As if Connor touched him with those burning fingers, kissed his skin with firm, damp lips. As if his body still slammed into him, bony hips up tight against Scot’s groin. Eyes on fire, hearts beating louder than their cries. Sharp, demanding thrusts; slower, seducing penetration. And always the hint of something around Scot’s heart—something that teased, and begged, and was somehow more vulnerable than it wanted to be.
Connor’s presence. Scot knew that he’d felt it. He’d shared much more than sex. He’d shared Connor himself.
With a shout, Scot climaxed, spewing seed from his fisted palm. His back arched and he pressed his heels hard into the mattress. Completion stabbed him hard and deep within his groin, his heart hammering and his mouth drier than ever. His hips shook and his legs collapsed under him.
The relief was physical but there was a deeper, disturbing ache that wasn’t assuaged. A face in his mind; a voice whispering in his head.
=Scot=
The masturbation had been nothing like the memories. No comparison at all. Scot felt like weeping. Or shouting in anger. Or hitting someone. What the hell was going on?
And what the hell was going to happen to him now?
Chapter 12
Scot opened the door of room 6, letting in the bright early afternoon sunlight, and Connor Maxwell was waiting there.
Of course you are.
Scot stood for a second, absorbing the man’s physical presence and the way he looked. The way he smelled. The way he smiled. His relaxed stance, as if he’d been there all morning, just waiting for Scot to get up off his lazy ass and come outside.
Scot felt giddy. The air seemed electric, the sun brighter than before. The aroma of citrus teased at him as ever, though maybe not as poignantly.
Connor looked fantastic, not like a man who’d been occupied most of the night, and just clambered from sleep like Scot had. His eyes were bright and alert, and there was no sign of any mistiness, any mysterious ghostliness. Connor Maxwell was a tall, well-built young man who held himself with confidence, his muscled body leaning easily on the doorframe, supported by a braced arm. The inside of his tattooed wrist was inches from Scot’s face. Scot really liked the delicate, intricate art. Plus he thought he could feel Connor’s pulse from there.
So damned attractive.
Connor wore pants today in a thin, linen fabric, and an equally lightweight, white cotton shirt, buttoned down from the middle of his chest. The long sleeves had been rolled casually up to his elbows, showing skin that was smooth and slightly tanned. The sun was as hot as ever above them, and Scot stared at the thin film of sweat in the hollows of Connor’s slender throat. He realized he’d barely seen Connor in daylight before. Christ, the first time he’d spent any decent time with him was only the night before! And look how that had ended.
Scot felt ridiculously shy. He glanced down at his clothes—crumpled shorts and the last clean tee shirt left in his bag. He hadn’t bothered to comb his hair, just running his fingers through it, eager to find food first. Connor probably thought he looked a mess. “Tell me you don’t.” He smiled, flushing.
“Don’t what?” Connor’s gaze flickered briefly up and down Scot’s body.
Scot felt goose pimples follow in their tracks.
“I… Didn’t you hear… think my thoughts?” Scot felt a complete idiot.
Connor’s expression twisted awkwardly, though he recovered himself so quickly that Scot wondered if he’d been mistaken. When he met Scot’s eyes again, his gaze was as calm as ever.
“Walk with me, Scot. I want to be with you. I want you with me.”
“Walk? Yeah, sure.” Scot shook himself out of his dreamlike state. He needed to get going, or the whole day would be wasted. It was important he ate, and then he needed to bring some normal functions back into his life. Didn’t he? Besides, it wasn’t as if Connor would want to push him straight back into the room, and fuck him where he stood. He sighed ruefully, a little disappointed.
Connor levered himself off the doorway, stood aside as Scot stepped out on to the walkway, then fell into step beside him. Scot waited for Connor to suggest direction, but realized he already knew where they would go—the courtyard. It was the only place to sit and be peaceful, and it was the place where he’d always felt the strongest connections.
He thought now that it had been Connor Maxwell he’d always felt there—his presence, his influence.
His power.
He snatched a look at the man beside him. Connor was looking ahead, but with a slight smile. His lips were moist, like he’d licked them a couple of times, and his fingers brushed occasionally against Scot’s.
Scot felt ludicrously excited. His skin tingled like he was being stroked, and he felt slightly breathless. Like a date. He hadn’t ever felt this way about anyone. And he knew he’d never felt like this about Jerry.
They sat down on one of the benches together. Scot had pulled on his sneakers without socks when he got up. He toed them off now and ran his bare feet across the bright, pale stones. Early afternoon shadows from the palm trees dappled his calves and knees. Connor stretched his own legs out in front of him, and his feet were also bare. Scot couldn’t remember noticing if he’d had boots or shoes on when he came to call. He reached a foot for Connor’s, playfully. He wanted to press his toes on the other man’s long, slim foot; he wanted to run them gently up under the loose hem of Connor’s pants, and touch at his nakedness again. It didn’t feel right for Connor to be clothed, sitting so close to Scot as before.
What’s going on?
Something had changed overnight. The tension between them was unmistakable.
Connor leaned back against the wall and stretched his arms above his head. He turned lazily and caught Scot’s eyes on him. He smiled immediately, the smile wide and joyful. “You were fantastic last night. I wanted you to stay with me, to sleep with me, all night. Every night.”
Scot jerked his foot away. Did he…? Dammit, he still couldn’t remember the end of the night.
Connor laughed softly. “You turned me down, remember? You wanted to go back to your room with Jerry, to discuss things. Though I didn’t think either of you was in the mood for discussion.”
“Sorry.”