by RJ Scott
Joe nodded and then stopped nodding and instead shook his head. Finally he held out his hand and pulled up his sleeve, where a tattoo of the number 97 sat under the Railers’ logo. Was the kid old enough to have a tattoo? Jeez, why am I turning into my dad?
“Mom and Dad didn’t want me to bother you, but they don’t understand. They’ve been the best, they love me, but they want to keep me safe. They agree maybe I should stop playing.” He pinched the top of his nose. “I need to start again. One day I want to play the same as you.” Joe frowned. “Not the same as you, obviously. No one is like you, but I want to play hockey because I can play hockey, you know?”
There was more to this than met the eye, and I sat down on the other side of Joe.
“What position do you play?” Ten asked.
“I’m on the wing at the moment. I shoot left, but there’s been some… trouble.” Joe turned to face Ten. “All I need is for you to tell Coach that what the other kids say isn’t right and that even if I’m different, I can play. Okay. Because Coach said maybe I should give hockey a miss, and some of the others on the team say they don’t want me playing.”
“Why?” Ten asked, but he didn’t need to. We could both see where this was heading.
“They hate me, now they know I’m gay. Not all of them of course, but they don’t listen when I tell them that Tennant Rowe is gay, and he’s the best player in the world.” He leaned in. “Some of them are Philly fans.”
Ten dipped his head—he always did when someone said things like that about him. He had no idea how to react to that at the best of times, but this was different.
“I can help,” Ten said. “You want to give me all the details, and I can come visit, talk to the team? Maybe bring some of the other Railers with me?”
I suppressed a laugh. Ten didn’t even know where Joe played. It could be Alaska, Hawaii, or Europe even, but it didn’t matter to the man I loved, who pulled out his phone and exchanged details with Joe.
By the time we left that room, something wonderful had happened. Joe’s parents were outside waiting for him, hugged Ten and me. Then the three of them left for their Dallas flight. Ten was a little subdued until we were in our seats on the plane that would take us the ten hours or so to Greece, but by the time the plane landed and the heat of a Greek summer hit us, we had a whole new idea. An education program, something structured with Ten as the figurehead, school visits, a sponsored competition, logos, a mission statement, and of course, it would all start with a visit to Joe’s school in Dallas.
The flight from Athens to the far island of Santorini was only forty-five minutes. I think we’d both had enough of flying, so the car ride to the villa on the north of the island in a place called Oia was welcome. Our driver was chatty, but his accent was difficult to decipher for the first ten minutes or so. I think he was saying something about volcanoes and that Santorini was probably the only volcano in the world whose crater was in the sea. I hope he wasn’t explaining that the volcano was about to blow, because that would’ve been a shitty way to spend a honeymoon.
“Cousteau looked for the lost city of Atlantis here,” Ten murmured and passed me the leaflet he’d picked up at the small Santorini airport. “I can see why.”
One moment we were seeing beaches, some with white pebbles; some that looked red. The next we were passing spectacular rock formations with individual villas built into them. Everything was white and blue, and it was stunning.
Once we’d moved out of the town, we wound our way up the island, passing clusters of villas and bays with views of the bluest water. We arrived at our new home for the next three weeks just as the sun was setting on the Aegean Sea, and with the driver tipped, we dragged our bags into the wide marble hallway. I’d seen photos of this place when we’d booked it, but the photos hadn’t done it justice. The rooms were high-ceilinged, the walls painted white, with accents in a sapphire shade similar to the sea. By unspoken agreement, we headed through the main hall and the kitchen and ended up on the patio with the ocean view.
“Wow,” Ten said, and I agreed with him. The sun was dipping low, casting scarlet light across the sea and touching the tips of the mountains surrounding us. The island was crescent-shaped, and we faced west, and if all the sunsets were this spectacular, I couldn’t wait to cuddle with Ten on one of the patio sofas and watch the colors change every evening. Ten pulled off his T-shirt and shucked off his shoes, socks, and jeans until he was just in his underwear.
“Swim?” he asked and stared at me pointedly.
I followed his stripping routine, but sue me if I did it a hell of a lot slower than he did. Anything to keep his eyes on me. We stepped into the infinity pool and sank below the surface, making our way to the side and leaning there, looking at the beach below. I could see people on the shoreline. I counted three, and a couple of dogs jumping around in the waves, but it became too dark to see much, and we still hadn’t moved from the spot we’d chosen.
“I guess we should go and eat something or at least unpack,” I suggested, but Ten shook his head and floated on his back. Soft lighting around the pool gave an intimate feel to where we were, but I knew we’d have to wait until tomorrow and check who could wander in unannounced before enjoying any pool sex. Shame.
“I want to stay out here all night and stare at the stars,” he said, and I joined him floating in the water, lazily sculling with my hands to keep me close to him, and staring at the sky.
“There’s nothing sexier than two pruned-up skaters,” I joked, and he splashed me, although it wasn’t enough for me to retaliate. Yet.
We went indoors, a tray of cold food all prepared for us in the fridge, along with a bowl of plump strawberries and a container of cream.
“You remember the strawberries?” Ten asked and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. Messy sticky sex with strawberries? That was a memory I would never lose.
“Oh yeah, I remember that.”
“Wanna do it again?” Ten said suggestively. Then he smirked. “This time, there won’t be any brothers beating you up after.”
I winced at the memory of the day with the strawberries and Brady finding out about me and Ten and just how hard my friend had hit me.
“Your brother…” I said and left it there, picking up one of the strawberries and nibbling on it. My stomach growled, which put an end to the idea of making love right now, although I knew we’d pick it up later.
After food.
“Food,” Ten announced as if he could read my mind.
Then, curled up on the sofas looking at the stars, we drank wine and ate cheese and crackers, and the juiciest grapes. Beginning tomorrow, we had a personal chef who would be available to us on demand, but the supper we ate was the most perfect food ever. Neither of us fetched the strawberries. We were exhausted, and I didn’t know what time it was back in the States, but it felt as if we hadn’t slept for days. Yawning, it was Ten who suggested we were old and needed a nap. We halfheartedly unpacked, between kisses, and then pushed back the white linens and climbed into the bed. I wanted to make love. I was hard, he was hard, and we kissed, but the orgasms we gave each other in the quiet room, were slow and gentle and full of love.
After, when Ten went limp with his weight half on me, I gave in, sated and happier than I’d ever been, and we slept.
Epilogue
Tennant
Waking to the sun creeping up and tinting the sky soft gold and peach is a marvelous thing. The whisper of the Aegean Sea rolled into our room, the smell of salt water drifting over our massive bed. I lay on my side for a few minutes, enjoying the view, my mind sleepy and dreamy still, my dick stiff. I stroked it a few times, sighing at the sensations, when the memory of who rested beside me slid into my drowsy mind.
I rolled over to stare at Jared sleeping on his back, his blond hair rich and golden in the first new rays of the day. He looked like a god. Apollo perhaps, the sun god, eternally beautiful, a man who glowed with solar energy. His chest rose and fell stead
ily, lifting his left hand as it rested on his stomach. My gaze lingered on his wedding band, an exact match to mine, just larger. Want coursed through me. My belly rumbled. I smiled to myself and slithered out of the bed, pushed the doors open wider to invite more sunshine in, and then pattered to the fridge.
Jared was still sleeping when I crawled back into bed, the container of fat red berries in one hand and a tube of lube in the other. Oh yes, Tennant had plans. Laying the lube on my pillow, just one of about ten scattered over the bed, I then lifted the lid from the berries and began placing them around him, one every foot or so, until he was outlined with strawberries. Like a crime scene chalk outline, only fruity.
Biting into one, I groaned at the burst of sugary juice. I ran my tongue over my lips and then shimmied up and sat on his pelvis. He blinked a time or two, squinting into the rays of warm Greek sun flowing into our room.
“Ten,” he said groggily. I lowered myself down, hands on his chest, and pressed my lips to his. He was slow to return the kiss, but he finally did, touching my lower lip with his tongue, then sliding into my mouth, his hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. The kiss was long and wet, his cock filling as we sucked and licked. “Mm, you taste delicious.”
I smiled and sat back, rubbing my ass against the stiff length resting between my cheeks. His hand fell to the bed, and a berry met its maker. Jared’s eyebrows knotted. I grabbed his hand, licked the back clean, and then placed it on my thigh.
“What’s all this?” he asked after he gave the bed a quick scan.
I plucked a berry from the container, then fed it to him. “You looked like a Greek god all stretched out in our bed, hard and strong, a picture of masculinity and power, like Apollo. So, as is fitting, I have presented an offering to your godliness.”
He chuckled. “I’m way too old and too scarred up to be considered any kind of match for Apollo. Have you not seen the gray hairs popping up all over the place?”
I fed him another berry. “I have seen them, and they turn me right the fuck on. I can’t wait until you’re covered with silver. I dream of burying my nose in your pubes when they’re all white because we’ll have grown old together.”
“God, I love you.” He reached for me, and I let him grab a shoulder. The kiss was hot and needy, way more so than our first taste of each other. “What are you looking for, Tennant?”
I slid a berry between his teeth. He smiled wickedly, then flattened it with his tongue, red juice staining his lips and chin. I licked him clean, then fed him another and another and another, kissing him between each offering, smearing the sweet liquid over our mouths and chins. Some ran down to his throat, pooling in the divot of his neck. I drank from the small recess, using my tongue to remove the berry juice.
“You’re delicious,” I purred into his neck before I sat back and dumped the fleshy red berries on his chest. A seagull soared past, its cries joining in with the sea and the surf and the sun to remind me that we were far, far from Harrisburg. “And mine.” I lay down on him, flesh to flesh, chest to chest, squashing the strawberries into a slick paste.
“Yes, yours,” he replied, threading his fingers into my hair to guide me back to his mouth. I nipped at his bottom lip, diving deep into his mouth time and again, rolling my hips in a hard circle that pressed his dick up and back, side to side, until he was huffing like a marathon runner. “Tell me what you want, Tennant, and it’s yours.”
“I already have everything I want,” I whispered, using my sticky tongue in his ear. He moaned and thrust upward. “You’re all I ever wanted.”
“Do you want me inside you?” He bit down on my shoulder. I shuddered wantonly. “Tell me what you want, Tennant.”
“I want you inside me. Deep inside me,” I panted into his ear.
The big man trembled, berry-coated fingers slipping down my sides. “I want that as well,” he said, and something inside me snapped like a piano wire.
I found the lube between the pillows, the pretty white pillows, and pumped my hand full. Then I coated his cock and eased myself down onto him. The burn was intense. I rocked up and back, around and around, stretching myself on him. He grabbed my hips, easing me up and down. I looked down at him and lost my breath. “Shit, but you’re gorgeous.”
He muttered something, then arched up with a punch of his hips. I gasped at the pressure, then melted over him, lowering my mouth to his chest, using my tongue and lips to clean the fruit mash from his nipples.
“So tight and hot,” he said on a sigh, his words sending a bolt of searing need to my balls.
“Faster.” God, but he was always so damn slow…
“Always the impatient one,” he panted, taking my cock in his hand. “We have three weeks. I don’t plan on rushing our lovemaking.”
“Oh, man,” I whined, nipped at his chin, and then rolled with him to my back, his dick sliding back into me with ease. Berries pressed into my spine, and I clawed at the bedding as he began that slow, thorough pace that would make me half-mad to come in no time at all. He ground into me, stealing any kind of coherent thought or semi-intelligent words. I ran my palms over his shoulders and biceps, locked my ankles behind his ass, and fell into that place that was sex and Jared, and pumping and scratching. He knew what I loved, how much stimulation my prostate could take before it became too much, how to touch my thighs to bring me down, and how to talk to ramp me up. He knew me, all of me, and I knew him.
He took me to the edge several times, then eased me back from the precipice, pulling near enough out of me when I was dangling over the cliff, then moving back. Drove me nuts, and I told him so, loudly. When he wouldn’t stop, I ground berries into his neck and hair, begged him for more and for less, and then whimpered in frustration when he pulled out to lave wet kisses to my belly and balls. Time was nothing, the world outside our room another universe. There was only Jared and me. I shoved at him, pushing him to his back, his head resting on the pillows we’d kicked down to the bottom of the bed.
“Do it, Ten. Do it. Take what you want from me.”
His cock kicked in my hand. I held him in place, then sat down. Hard. He grabbed my dick and gave it a tug. A yelp bubbled up from inside me, and I came right then and there. He surged upward, heels digging into the bed, eyes closed and jaw tight, and pumped with mad passion. A hot wash of cum deep inside me made my orgasm that much better. He fisted my dick. I sat still, milking him with my body, digging at his chest as wave after wave of sweet pleasure surged up and over me, the pulses of body and cock matching the roar of the sea below our balcony.
“Oh holy shits,” I coughed when speech was again a working thing. Jared lay under me, splayed out, sweaty and gummy and coated with spunk, lube, and tiny berry bits and seeds. My nose rested by his armpit, and I breathed in, pulling in the scent of my husband, sex, and strawberry. “So, is married sex… always that fucking magnificent?”
“I hope so,” he replied as his dick slid free of my body. My ass puckered at the loss.
“Shit, man,” I murmured and slipped off him, hoping to make a run to the bathroom for a washcloth, but my wobbly legs folded, and I went to the floor, face to the bedding. “You know the sex was good when…” I said, and he laughed gruffly.
“Give me a few minutes to summon my godly powers, and I’ll carry you to the shower where I shall pay homage to your earthly beauty.”
“Mm, ‘kay.” I knelt there on the floor, face buried in the mattress until my Greek god got his legs under him. Then I let him sweep me up and tote me into the white-and-tan bathroom. The shower was big and open, easily fitting two hockey players. We soaped each other up, kissing and whispering, smiling at the stupid jokes the other would make. The soaps were rich, frothy, as were the shampoos, and the towels were heated. Neither of us shaved. Hell, we were lucky we had the energy to wash the cum and fruit from our nuts.
We pulled on shorts and tank tops and went out to lounge on the patio overlooking the Bay of Ammoudi. The Jacuzzi awaited us. I waved at it.
“Maybe later,” Jared said as he settled into a softly padded chair, then called for our chef. Pulling on some sunglasses, I sat on his lap, angling myself sideways so that my head could rest on his shoulder. “Right now, I’m happy to sit here and hold you.”
I dropped a few kisses to his scruffy jaw. “Dude, we never even combed.” I ran my fingers through his hair. His eyelids got droopy. “Jetlag and sex-lag are kicking your ass, eh, old man?”
“Give me some food, and I’ll be running circles around you,” he said, then yawned widely.
The chef arrived at our villa just as Jared had dozed off under the sun. He was a cheery man in a white coat and hat, who cooked up an amazing breakfast on the big grill tucked into a corner of the patio. Assistants in crisp white uniforms hustled around, placing dish after dish on the cloth-covered patio table.
Scrambled eggs with seasoned tomatoes and feta was the main dish. On the side were yogurt with honey and walnuts, a tray of olive and feta bread with cheese and nuts, a small goat cheese and spinach pie, Greek coffee, and cold mountain tea. The coffee was too strong. The tea, though was earthy with a hint of citrus and mint that I much preferred. Jared loved the coffee. By the time the chef and his assistants left, my husband was ready and raring to go investigate Santorini.
We walked down to the black sand beach from our villa, strolling hand in hand, snapping pictures to send back to Ryker, my family, and our friends. Time felt sluggish. We lounged by the sea, walked in the foam, talked to beautiful Greek women and men, and kissed as the sea rolled up over our calves. Sandals in hand, we then hailed a small yellow cab and rode to touristy site number one on our long list of things to see in Greece.
Visiting the prehistoric town of Akrotiri was ah-may-zing. The Bronze Age settlement rested on the southern tip of the island, and the town was incredibly well preserved.
“Did you know that this whole area was swallowed up when the volcano, Thera, erupted way back when?” I asked Jared as I read through a brochure after we’d toured the settlement and were enjoying some of that awesome mountain tea outside in the cool shade of lemon trees. He shook his head, the sun doing incredible things with that golden hair of his. “Well, it did. Oh! And check this. This town was so advanced for its time, with drainage systems and the first signs of indoor lavatories, that Plato was rumored to have used it for his inspiration for Atlantis. How cool is that?”