Winner
The Mathesons Book 4
Declan Rhodes
Copyright © 2019 by Declan Rhodes
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Contents
1. Jamie
2. Angelo
3. Jamie
4. Angelo
5. Jamie
6. Angelo
7. Jamie
8. Angelo
9. Jamie
10. Angelo
11. Jamie
12. Angelo
13. Jamie
14. Angelo
15. Jamie
16. Angelo
17. Jamie
18. Angelo
19. Jamie
20. Angelo
21. Jamie
22. Angelo
23. Jamie
24. Angelo
25. Jamie
26. Epilogue - Jamie
First - The Mathesons Book 1
Cowboy - The Mathesons Book 2
Hero - The Mathesons Book 3
Also by Declan Rhodes
About the Author
1
Jamie
For once in my life, one of those searing hot erotic dreams turned out to be true. While I slowly drifted into consciousness, I realized I was rock hard. It wasn’t only my usual morning wood. It was more than that. I assumed it was a dream. I have some unimaginably hot ones.
Reaching across my sweat-slicked abs, I started to push the sheet down off my body to let the air in my apartment cool me. I often woke in a sweat from my midnight fantasies. It was familiar territory until my hand ran into the silky hair I’d raked my fingers through the night before.
I opened my eyes wide. Holy fuck, he’s real. The night before came rushing back into my memory. I never drank enough to forget. There was too much pleasure in sex to waste the memories with alcohol.
I played in bed with a great guy for hours the night before until we collapsed, both exhausted, and I drifted off to sleep. I’d rarely had the opportunity to fuck an ass like that. The cheeks were perfectly round globes, and he had muscle. When he tensed to clench my cock—damn.
He was athletic, and he was like a decathlete in bed. He knew how to do everything, and he was an expert at most skills. Most surprisingly, he stuck around.
I was used to waking up with an empty spot beside me in my king-sized bed. Morning was usually a lonely time, but for once I’d lucked out. My playmate stayed for the entire night.
Tangling my fingers into that wavy, dark hair, I added a little bit of encouragement helping his head bob up and down and slowly pick up speed. It was like having a hand on the throttle, slowly shifting him into a higher gear. The sheet slipped further down exposing his entire back and teasing me with a view of a tiny bit of his ass crack.
I grunted, “Aw, man, that’s it. That’s the way to wake up a stud.”
With my free hand, I teased the nub of my right nipple until it was fully hard. At the same time, he dug his fingers into my hips, holding tight like he didn’t want to ever let me get away.
That slurping sound as he devoured me grew louder. Pushing my head back hard into my pillow, I knew that I couldn’t hold out much longer. My breathing quickened. I was close. He was a fucking expert. Lovers like him were maybe one in a hundred. He was at the top of his class.
My hips arched as he brought me closer to the edge. Clinging to the cliff with white knuckles, I didn’t want to let go just yet. My fingers grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him upward until my cock slipped out from between his lips.
“Fuck, man, you’re so damn awesome. You get an A+. Not quite yet, though. I want it to last a little longer. Slow it down. We’ll howl at the morning star together.”
He spoke in that deep, raspy voice that made my cock rage in the bar the night before. I would have brought him home just to listen to him talk. “You’re gonna cum, and soon. I’m hungry. I need my breakfast. I don’t like to wait.”
In the wake of those words, he pulled free of my grip, wrapped one fist around the shaft of my cock and took the head back into his mouth. Fuckin’ hell, I loved the initiative. He was aggressive and knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to let me stop him from getting it.
With a tight grip on my shaft, he began to stroke while his head bobbed up and down. I was losing my hold. He was prying my fingertips from the cliff. There was not a fucking thing I could do but enjoy the ride. I was going to fly. It never mattered if I’d had five thousand orgasms in my life; the next one was always the best.
With the fingers of one hand tangled into his hair and the other gripping his shoulder, my mouth fell open, and my nostrils flared as I gasped for ragged breaths. The cum boiled in my balls.
The stud knew how to blow a guy. That much was true, and the night before he’d plowed me hard. He ran the show. I was so used to being asked to top when I snagged a hot guy, but in one night I taught this hot fucker how to top me with style. He was a keeper if only I knew how to hold on.
I squirmed with the need to erupt. Beads of sweat broke out across my chest. It was inevitable. There was no going back. I was past that point. I yelped, “Aww, fuck man, just a little faster. There…there…oh…”
My entire body tensed for that one incredible moment, and then I shot hard into his throat. The roar of a beast erupted from somewhere inside me, and I arched against the bed shooting a second and a third time.
Finally, he pulled his sweet lips off my cock and fell back onto the bed at my side. The only sounds filling the air in my loft bedroom were gasps and panting for breath.
As the thumping of my heart slowed, I turned my head. He was gorgeous. I’d estimate that he was about six foot three inches, and he had a head full of wavy, black hair. A wispy treasure trail led down the center of his abs to all sorts of fun below. He told me that he’d been a contestant on one of those survival reality shows, and he had the firm, fit muscle to show for it.
I broke the silence between us. “Damn, man, thank you. I didn’t fucking expect it, but yeah, that’s the way to wake up in the morning.”
I thrilled to that raspy voice again when he spoke. “You’re a pretty damn hot one. It’s always great to get my morning feed, particularly with such a good-looking stud. Unfortunately, I can’t stick around. They’re interviewing me for a news broadcast. The local TV stations think I’m a celebrity or some shit like that. Who’d have thought it would happen to me?”
“Oh, yeah, I understand. How about dinner later? I’d love to hear about the TV shoot. I bet you’ve got some incredible stories to tell. We were a little busy with other things last night so didn’t get to talk much.”
“Much?” He rolled over onto his side facing me and reached out to rub my chest. “Sorry, dinner’s a negative. You’re cute and all, but no. We did all our talking in the bar last night before you brought me home. I’m solo for now, and so are you. That’s the way it is.”
As he climbed out of bed, I tried to take my words back. “That was just the bar talk. Honestly, I like you.” I pounded a fist against my chest. “That comes from my heart.”
He tugged his jeans up to his hips. “What’s my name, Jamie?”
Damn, the fucker played hardball. He k
new how to make his point. I immediately began to scour my memory to try and come up with a name. I had nothing, so I settled on a response that sounded good but was purely a guess. “Luke, that’s it. It was a little noisy in the bar and hard to hear, but you said Luke, right?”
My answer didn’t merit a response. He tugged a t-shirt over his head, and thirty seconds later, he was gone without another word.
The shine wore off the morning blow job when I saw that it made me late for work. Running a few minutes behind wasn’t unusual for me, but I hated adding any flecks of tarnish to my otherwise stellar reputation.
Star One Advertising occupied the first three floors of a downtown Dallas office building. As a junior copywriter, I had a desk in a cubicle in the massive room that filled the second floor.
I took the elevator from the underground parking garage and breezed through the glass doors emblazoned with the logo of a massive star with a numeral 1 in the center. It took me three months to figure out that it was a play on the Texas lone star. I wasn’t always the sharpest knife in the drawer. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was 8:03, and I hastened toward my desk while trying to not look rushed.
My fellow junior staff members were already busy combing through their morning email. Moving to Dallas was tough on my own, but in two years, I’d pulled myself up by my bootstraps without any assistance from the Matheson name. The other Mathesons were all settled and established on either the East or West Coasts. I was the only one in the heartland, and that meant I, Jamie Matheson, was my own man.
Before I could reach my desk, Gloria Haven, one of the three executive secretaries of Star One, tapped me on the shoulder. “I need a brief word with you.”
Gloria often went to bat for me. She’d shown me around on my first day of work, and we connected. She came from a big family like I did and sometimes felt overshadowed by her older siblings. Gloria occasionally gave me much-needed advice as I powered my way through my first two years. I trusted her more than anyone else in the company.
When I stepped into Gloria’s office, I was always impressed that it was three times the size of my cubicle, and she had a window, too. It wasn’t a corner. The company still reserved those for the senior executives, but Gloria’s digs proved that she was valuable to the company.
As I closed the door behind me, Gloria looked at the delicate gold watch on her wrist. “You’re late again, Jamie. I don’t think you need me to tell you that. I don’t really care about the reason either, but people do notice. The wrong people.”
I sighed. “You know the traffic. It was the shit this morning. I’ll stick around a few minutes extra at the end of the day. I always make up the time. I don’t cheat anyone.”
Gloria continued to poke at the sore spot. “Maybe you should consider walking that quarter mile from home. That way, you don’t have to worry about traffic. I’m just saying those important heads in the conference room have the power to let people go that aren’t serious about the job. Step your game up. That’s all I have to say.”
I thanked her for the advice and offered a few sentences of chit-chat about her dog, Muggsy, at home. She showed me new pictures, and I had Gloria smiling again before I left the office. While I made my way back to my desk, the silky hair of the reality star entered my head again. When he first lowered his head, and that hair brushed my balls, the sensation nearly sent me through the ceiling.
I barely had time to settle at my desk and grab a cup of coffee before an 8:30 meeting that I forgot. Star One had an annual competition for junior executive wannabes like me. I finished in third place the year before, and immediately after the results came out, I publicly vowed that the next year would be my time to shine. The winners were a little bent out of shape when my pronouncement took some of the glow off their victories, but it wasn’t my fault the spotlight shifted direction. Now, after twelve months passed, it was time to live up to my word.
We all filed into a massive room that filled the south side of the floor. I counted twenty-two of us eager to prove ourselves. That meant eleven teams. The execs running the show would match each copy jockey, including me, with one of the artsy types, and together, we had to come up with a campaign proposal for a real-world client.
The prize was stellar. It was the opportunity to travel to pitch our ideas in person, and we got to shadow one of the vice presidents for an entire year. Previous winners moved quickly up corporate ladders and occupied corner offices at Star One or in other top firms in North Texas.
Both of my previous partners moved onto jobs with other companies, and I barely knew most of the others who could join me in the competition. The wordsmiths usually socialized together, and the artists kept to themselves.
My buddy Bobby led the way, and I sat beside him. He leaned over to whisper, “So, are you’re going to win it all this year, Matheson?”
“They might as well introduce me to the mentor right now.”
Bobby shook his head. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”
While our supervisor talked up the competition and told us all about an artisanal soda named Pop Orange, the target of our campaigns, I scanned the potential partners in the room. Most of them zeroed in on the speaker, and three were already sketching on little pads of paper.
The selection of teams was a random process. At least it wasn’t like gym class where you always hoped you weren’t the last picked for games. Our supervisor pulled names out of two different hats and set the picks on their way.
Halfway through, I was still in the room waiting for my match. Bobby was already gone. I glanced over at the options remaining. I saw three guys, two girls, and one who identified as non-binary. That was Madison, one of the few sketch guys I knew by name. Madison had an impressive reputation. I kept my fingers crossed.
Then I heard my name, James Matheson. One of those six remaining on the opposite side of the room was about to set foot on the winning path with me.
When my supervisor read the name Angelo Moretti, my jaw dropped. I didn’t even know who that was. I wanted to ask, “We have a guy named Angelo? Who’s that? Maybe the little piece of paper should say Madison.”
Then I saw him. One of the six buried his face in his hands. I suspected that he didn’t want to embarrass himself with a shout for joy. He had long, dark hair tied back and the bold bridge of a Roman nose.
I didn’t want to stick around to listen to the rest of the names. I’d only feel jealous for the fucker who got Madison. Instead, I headed for the door. Angelo finally looked up, and I gestured for him to join me.
Unfortunately, he was neither quick nor particularly energetic. Angelo practically trudged in my direction like he was walking through six inches of mud sucking down on his heels. When he finally got close, I threw an arm around his shoulders, and he winced.
I wanted to ask, “What the fuck, buddy?” but instead, I said, “Hey, great to meet you, Angelo. I’m James, but call me Jamie. These other suckers in here don’t know it yet, but the victory is ours.”
Angelo looked at me with fear in his eyes like he’d been touched by a disturbed person and was worried that he might soon be the victim of an attack. I tried to convince myself that he was only in shock, but a little thought in the corner of my mind said it could be a long competition.
I tried to brighten the atmosphere and said, “We’ve only got two weeks, and I saw you sketching already. That’s great initiative. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got, and we can talk about scheduling and the best times to get together.”
2
Angelo
I remember every minute of the morning that I first met Jamie in sharp detail. I’d heard about him through the gossip channels of Star One, but we’d never met face to face. I was part of the young art corps of the company, and Jamie was a copywriter. Our groups rarely mingled except when forced together by circumstances.
At 5:30, the morning of the announcement of our competition teams, Ma woke me up early. At age 23, I still lived at home with my p
arents.
I earned enough income to move out on my own, but I knew that the change would disturb my parents, and I didn’t have a significant reason why I needed my own place. My younger brother, Tony, and I had separate bedrooms in the apartment above Moretti’s, our family’s Italian restaurant. We were currently celebrating fifty years in business.
The story goes that Grandpa opened the restaurant a year after he arrived from Sicily with barely $10 cash in his pocket. Once he set foot in the United States, he hitchhiked his way to the oil fields of Texas and built a sizable nest egg with only a year’s worth of hard work. Grandpa survived on pasta for three meals a day and invested the surplus money in a storefront serving home-cooked Italian food. Moretti’s quickly grew in popularity and allowed him to pass down to his descendants the family’s way of life.
Living with my immediate family helped us all. It provided me with a roof over my head while I grabbed more than a toehold on the beach of the advertising business. In exchange for my parents’ generosity and refusal to charge rent, I made myself available as an extra body waiting tables and delivering food on busy Friday and Saturday nights.
Ma rarely entered my bedroom anymore. I’d long ago taken over my own laundry and vacuum duties. I woke with a start when she was suddenly at my side, tugging at my shoulder and whispering, “Angelo, honey, we need help downstairs.”
Wiping my eyes, I asked, “What’s up? Ma! Is Dad okay? I can dress in less than five minutes. What’s going on?”
Winner: The Mathesons Book 4 Page 1