American Hunks© 2015 by Adam Carpenter

Book Four of the Passport to a Fling Series

 

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

 

For more information contact:

Riverdale Avenue Books

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Riverdale, NY 10471.

 

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Cover by Insatiabke Fantasy Designs

 

Digital ISBN 9781626011960

Print ISBN 9781626011977

 

First Edition June, 2015

 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

Once upon a time there were three best friends who went on separate, simultaneous journeys where they all dreamed of finding the perfect match, each of them ready, willing, and aching to fall madly in love. They were tired of the dating scene in New York City, where they lived and where they found disappointment with every date, with each subsequent, empty sexual encounter. Perhaps there were other alternatives somewhere out there in the world, men who shared their wish to settle down. So they made a pact, in which each of them would chose a different foreign city as their hunting ground. One summer, three months, to find their future.

The fair-haired Matthew Donovan, a hopeless romantic anyway, ideally chose Paris.

Fun-loving, dark blond Freddie Markson wound up in the eternal city of Rome.

And the cocky, dark-haired Jake Westbury, who often thought only in the moment and was prone to impulse, chose the narrow streets of London.

By the end of their exotic, erotic summer sojourns, the following happened:

One of them found true love.

One of them found fortune in an unlikely place.

And the other? Well, he didn’t return at all.

Now, more than a year has passed since these three friends have all seen each other, and while some relationships have come and gone, others have been tested and endured, all of them have progressed. Now, these three friends are ready for a reunion. But such an event almost two years in the making will come not without its share of melodrama, its sexual frustrations, nor its sweaty, fervent indulgences. In the end, the three friends’ pursuit of the perfect happy ending will reach ever-closer. And it will all culminate at a dream wedding for one of them that will be the crowning achievement in their quest, the fulfillment of hope, the validation of fate.

But what of the other two?

Surprises await them all. So much has to happen before anyone can say “I do.”

 

 

 

PART ONE

 

Friends Forever

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Matthew

 

“Keep your eyes closed.”

“I’m already wearing a blindfold. I can’t see anyway.”

“Too bad, keep them closed. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

With one of his five senses diminished, Matthew Donovan tried to heighten his others, namely that of sound. Just what kind of tone was captured in his lover’s voice? Was it playful, suggestive; certainly it held a tinge of mystery? Or perhaps what he heard…no, sensed, was happiness? That last emotion was rare for Anton Marcel, an artist who sometimes spent all day and night staring at a blank canvas as opposed to creating vibrant new life on it. Being all smiles wasn’t one of his virtues, but it was what fed his art. While true, Anton could find moments of happiness, it was usually when those brushstrokes began to find the image he had in his mind, and still he wore a frown that expected more of him. Anton just didn’t display joy on his sleeve much. Unlike the romantic that lived inside Matt’s heart.

“Anton, where are you taking me?”

“All in good time, Matt. All in good time.”

Here’s what Matthew did know. They were in the back of a taxicab, traveling somewhere within one of Paris’s arrondissements. The glamorous city of lights was where they lived and until 20 minutes ago, they had been home inside the duplex apartment they shared above their business, the newly-named Gallerie Passione, down in the Marais section. As strange as the current situation was, Matt didn’t feel any danger. He knew that he could trust Anton with his life; after all, for the past year-plus, he’d given even more by entrusting his heart and his future to the sexy, tortured artist. Anton Marcel and Matthew Donovan had met in Paris the summer before, fallen in love, and then formed a partnership both in love and in art. For the past twelve months they’d called the apartment above the gallery home, often sharing its wide open rooms with Anton’s eight-year-old son, Henri, who sometimes spent the weekends or even a whole month with them. Most nights, though, it was just them, and they spent it quietly sharing dinners, bottles of wine, and indulging a passion between them that showed no signs of flickering out. A candle with an endless wick.

Tonight, that had all changed.

“Really, Anton. I’m feeling sort of claustrophobic. Are we almost there?”

Matt felt the warm touch of his lover’s hand on his, a kiss on his cheek. Anton’s patchy beard scratched at his smooth cheek and sent a shiver of excitement through him. Playful, that’s what Matt decided upon, that’s what he was sensing, but not without a hint of nervousness. Was that sweat he felt on Anton’s palm? Still, he didn’t make any attempt to remove the blindfold and tried to keep his eyes closed. Trust among partners was paramount.

Anton’s response to their location came in rapid French, but it was directed not at Matt but at the cab driver. Matt’s French might have improved since he’d moved here, but it took a moment for him to understand that the driver was being told to pull up to the far corner. Anton was speaking fast deliberately, to throw him off.

“Oui, oui. Merci,” Anton finished with.

“Oh, sure, that’s easy to translate,” Matt added with a sardonic tone.

“Such impatience, Matt. That is unlike you.”

“It’s not every day one is blindfolded.”

“You like, we can try in bed one night?”

“Why don’t we see how this plays out first?”

Anton’s throaty laughter filled the confines of the cab, silenced suddenly by the sound of brakes being applied. The cab had come to a stop. Anton got out first, going around to the other side of the cab to assist Matt so he didn’t trip against the curb when exiting. Matt suddenly wondered what the driver thought about this situation; probably nothing, this was Paris and he’d probably seen it all in his profession. Still, Matt felt odd being guided along a busy sidewalk without his sight.

“Are people staring at us?” Matt asked.

“Oui, and their looks are of jealousy.”

“That, I doubt.”

“You are too literal, Matt. Some days, when I sit down to paint, I use the blindfold. Eyes can be deceptive. They see what they wish to see. Only your mind can capture the full essence of the world around you.”

“The essence I smell is coffee. There’s a café near,” Matt said.

“This is Paris, Matt, there is a café on every corner. What you should smell is the forest from where the beans were grown, all of the lush green foliage that surrounds you. The sounds of nature.”

“Now who’s being the hopeless romantic,” Matt said.

It was an accusation he’d heard often about himself. Why else would he have chosen to go to the most romantic city in the world, Paris, to fall in love? He thought quickly of his two best friends, Jake and Freddie, each of whom had taken their own romantic European adventure at the same time as he had, but he knew both men were now back home in the States. Jake, the man behind their idea of seeking love aboard, was still searching for that perfect connection, as far as he knew. Freddie had achieved better success, and now devoted his life to following after his sexy Italian stud like a horny puppy. Just then Matt tripped on a curb, and Anton had to help him to his feet.

“Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking about my friends.”

“Ah, Jake and Freddie. You will contact them soon, of that I’m certain.”

“Ok, Anton, this is getting ridiculous. Where are we?”

“Just some steps, and then we are there.”

Matt found himself going up a staircase, feeling his way along the wall. It felt familiar, smelled familiar, too, but he just couldn’t come up with why. He felt Anton’s touch as the man guided him up, and then up further. It was like navigating in the dark, as though the power had gone out in the building and he had to guess at his next step. But he remained silent, sensing their destination was close at hand.

He heard a knock on a door, the creak of it opening.

Suddenly, Matt knew where he was and a smile broadened his cute face. He was about to speak when he felt a breath of air, a wafting scent of perfume.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

“Never mind, darling,” he heard before feeling a peck on his cheek.

“Simone?”

What was his old friend doing here? Just what was going on? The mysteries of the night deepened, heightening a thrumming inside his heart. It’s not that he didn’t feel safe; both Anton and Simone were the people he trusted the most. He was just feeling…well, literally and figuratively, in the dark.

He received no reply, and soon the scent of Simone’s perfume was gone, as was the clack of her heels in the hallway.

The blindfold seemed to be blocking his thoughts now too.

“Anton, are you still here?”

“Always,” he said. “We are here, my love, where it all started for us.”

Matt was allowed to remove the blindfold, and when his eyes adjusted to the sight before him, what he found nearly took his breath away.

 

***

 

Darkness gave way to glowing light, blurred images focused into recognizable shapes. Yellow light flickered from all corners of the room, creating dancing shadows on the four walls. Candles both thin and thick, both squat and tall, sat on coasters and in holders, populating the small room. Where candles weren’t in evidence, flowers were, and their floral scent filled the compact room. Matt turned to Anton, whose smile was as wide as he’d ever seen on him.

“Anton, what’s going on?”

“You recognize where we are?”

“Of course, the garret,” he said.

The garret was a small penthouse apartment in a five-story building in the Latin Quarter. It’s where Matt first lived when he came to Paris during his three-month summer sojourn, a place he’d lucked into thanks to Simone, an ex-pat American with a heavy French affectation. The tiny studio had also once been used by Anton, perfect for an artist because of its large windows that allowed streams of afternoon sun to open up its closed quarters. A door also led out to a balcony, and it was there that Anton led Matt to.

“Champagne?” Anton asked.

A bottle of Dom Perignon was chilling inside a silver bucket filled with ice. Two crystal flutes stood beside it. A plate filled with chocolate-covered strawberries complimented the table, ensuring the most romantic vision Matt could think of.

“What’s going on? It’s not our anniversary,” Matt said. They had met during the height of summer, and it was winter now, February.

“I had this idea on New Year’s Eve. The second one we celebrated together,” Anton said, “but I didn’t want to be cheesy and do it on such a predictable holiday. The planning of this night was much more fun. Seeing you blindfolded, so willing but still such an uptight American…”

“Anton, you’re American too.”

“Mon dieu,” he said with a laugh. “Not for many years.”

“You sound like Simone. Speaking of, what was she doing here?”

“Helping me out…I couldn’t exactly leave an apartment empty with burning candles.”

“So she knows what’s going on?”

“Yes, and if you’d shut up and let me continue, you’d find out too.”

Matt’s flushed red, similarly embarrassed and excited. Patience wasn’t among his virtues.

“Now, no more interruptions,” Anton said, his French accent deepening, maybe for affect, maybe because he was nervous. “You, Matt, me, we have built a life together—we share a business, a passion for art, and an unquenchable desire for each other. Just last night, after we made love and you fell asleep in my arms, I knew I had met the man of my dreams. It’s taken me a long time to reach this point of no return—to open up my heart again. After the disaster of my marriage to Gilly, I never envisioned getting involved with someone else, at least, not at such a deep level of commitment. I had my art and I had my son, Henri, and then one day…along the Seine, on a perfect summer’s day, you wandered over, and my life…it did more than change. It’s forever altered.”

“You’re not alone in that feeling, Anton,” Matt said.

“I know, I know. That is what makes us so…ideal. Perfect in every sense, Matt,” he said, and then he paused and looked up at the night sky, where stars twinkled like they were supposed to, adding more lights in a city already known for them. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower shot up toward the sky, itself a sparkle conjured out of magic. A breeze blew in and ruffled Matt’s hair, creating goose bumps on his forearms. Or maybe that effect was from what was about to happen. He felt his heart beat faster, watching as his lover dropped to one knee and took their relationship beyond any emotion Matt had ever experienced.

“Marry me, Matthew Donovan. Let us share a life, our love, until we breathe our last.”

In his hand he produced a gold ring, a simple band that brought with it such meaning.

Matt felt tears in his eyes; he’d never heard more beautiful words in all his 34 years than those. He took hold of Anton’s outstretched hands, lifted him up, staring at the ring when it caught the light of the stars. He smiled, leaned in and kissed him. He let his lips linger, wanting to melt right there and then and allow himself to become one with him in this moment. And isn’t that what happened anyway, because Matt uttered the simplest word he knew, three letters that set his future in motion.

“Yes.”

Silence held them, like the earth had stopped. Their hands locked, their eyes the same.

Anton then took hold of Matt’s finger, and he proceeded to slide the ring down. Before he said another word, he withdrew another ring from his pocket, an exact duplicate. He handed it over to Matt, and then held out his hand.

“Until we pick out our wedding bands, these will hold our love true.”

Matt nervously, excitedly, took command of the ring and did the same as the man of his dreams had just done to him. Soon, so soon, both men were freshly adorned with rings, a bond that spoke of a promise that would take them toward so many of life’s tomorrows. They kissed, they hugged, and then held each other in an extended embrace.

“I love you, Matthew Donovan.”

“I love you, Anton Marcel.”

They took that moment to crack open the champagne, the cork exploding with celebration that continued when they poured the golden liquid into expectant flutes, clinked and cheered, and then together they drank. The bubbly was cold, delicious, but the intoxication that was spreading through Matt was all Anton’s doing. He’d dreamed of what it would be like to be proposed to, but never in his wildest dreams did he think it would be in Paris, amidst the stars and the lights and the love of a man whose imagination knew no bounds. Matt set his glass down, empty, and then pulled at Anton.

“I’m newly engaged,” he said, showing off his finger.

“You are. So am I.”

“Then take me to the bed, and make love to me for the first time as an engaged couple.”

It was amazing to think that 24 hours ago, Matt had felt Anton’s cock penetrate him, and while it had been wonderful, another shared experience in a series of them, what he felt now would be different. As though he could probe deeper inside his body, seeking out his heart’s inner regions. Matt would let him stay there, tonight and forever.

Matt went back inside the garret, the candles guiding him. He stripped away his clothes, tossing them to a nearby chair. His cock was so hard, throbbing in his hand. He’d always taken pride in how his body looked—solid, muscular, mostly hairless. He was smooth all over, his chest like glass. As he climbed on the mattress, he beckoned Anton over with a wanton smile. The man took a last swig of champagne, and then he too removed his clothes. Anton was wiry, his body not as thick as Matt’s, but he had a sizable cock, and a chest with a light dusting of dark hair. Matt spread his hands across that chest, where he felt Anton’s heart beating fast. It would beat even faster, once he entered him, once he began to thrust with all of his might.

“That’s it, Anton, let me feel all of you.”

Anton entered him quickly, gently, allowing their love to guide their motions, to heighten their actions. Matt exhaled after full penetration, and then urged his lover onward. Anton thrust at him, his hips increasing in speed, in impact. Matt stared up at him, his body flush with desire. This was how it was always going to be, their love-making intense, even aggressive, but beneath it was a love that had consumed them. Matt wrapped his legs around Anton’s ass, pulling him in tighter, feeling his cock fill him up.

“Oh yes, oh yes, Anton…my love…my sexy lover…I want to feel you come inside me.”

Anton continued to thrust at him with vigor, his body atop Matt’s, his breath coming in shallow bursts. Matt dug his nails into Anton’s back, drawing figure eights, even as his own cock rubbed against the light hair on his belly. Their bodies were locked tight, rhythmic, their embrace heightening the heat building between them. Sweat formed, and the slickness only had them cling tighter. Harder, Matt begged.

“Make me feel your love, all of it,” he asked.

Their fiery eyes locked again, electric sparks passing between them. Anton thrust his hips hard, Matt crying out from the force of his loving impact. The sensation in his cock was building. He wanted to come, he wanted to know if this new commitment could make orgasms be felt within his soul. Then Anton lifted his body, his arms straining as he continued to fuck Matt. His chest was sweaty, the hair matted, somehow more dense.

“I’m close, baby, so close…” Matt said.

Just then Anton grabbed at Matt’s ankles, and he spread him wide open. His hand then snaked down and grabbed at Matt’s hard cock, and he pumped its hard shaft. Yet he didn’t stop with his own eager thrusts. Soon, Matt felt his cock rip with heat, and he watched as his come suddenly shot forth, landing on his own exposed chest. Anton thrust again, again, and then one last time, and he cried out as Matt felt the spurt inside him. Not one, not two, but several, and he squeezed his ass cheeks in an effort to drain his lover’s cock of its juice, but not its pulsing love.

When Anton pulled out and caught his breath, Matt slid in next to him.

“That was powerful,” he said, “the way you felt when you came inside me…wow.”

“Our night, it is just getting started. We have the garret until dawn.”

“Then let’s not waste a moment.”

“Your news, you don’t wish to share with your friends? To scream from the rooftop?”

“Not yet,” Matt said, “Not tonight. This night belongs to us. Besides, knowing Jake and Freddie, no matter the time zone, they too are probably screwing someone’s brains out right now, so why should I disturb their momentary happiness. There’s more than enough love in the world, if you know where to find it. I hope they’ve found what we have.”

“Few find what we have found,” Anton said.

“Keep talking that way, I might insist on an elaborate wedding.”

“Oh, Matt, I expected nothing else. It will be beautiful. With the most romantic setting.”

“This one’s pretty nice,” Matt said, “but it’s more a honeymoon suite.”

“Then let’s give it what’s expected.”

They drank the rest of the champagne, and they lay in each other’s arms. They kissed and they talked and the candles continued to burn down toward darkness, and then, when the mood struck them, their body’s silent urges took hold of them and they surrendered to their passion. A stroke of cock, a brush of chest hair, a scruffy nuzzle at the neck, the flame between them grew. Matt mounted the man who would be his future husband, and he felt the man’s cock impale him as though Cupid’s arrow had found its target.

As much as Matt loved this moment, tomorrow couldn’t arrive soon enough.

He was the hopeless romantic, wasn’t he, and here he was, making passionate love in a garret in Paris, to the man he was soon going to marry. Tomorrow’s promise lay just beyond the door, and time would return them to it eventually. After all, there was a wedding to plan. “I do’s” to exchange. For now, though, it was a delicious wonderment of love, of wild passion, of sweaty bodies coiled together as one.

One could be a number that led to trouble. Because Matt was wondering which of his two best friends would be his one best man.

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Freddie

 

Oh, how he missed the beautiful anonymity of Rome where nobody knew his name and he knew nobody—well, almost nobody. When life had just been the two of them, lost in their own lives, he had known they were creating something special. Returning to New York, their new life had begun to change. Santo had begun to change, but fame would do that to anyone. And now that they were temporarily based in Los Angeles, the pressure was heightened, the tension between them had only grown worse. For Freddie Markson, he never thought he’d find himself living on the West Coast, but like a stick to a watering hole, he’d allowed his cock to follow the object of its desire, the hot piece of hunk that was Santa Mancusi.

Trouble was, he didn’t get to see much of him anymore, much less get to sleep with him.

He had to wonder: was this really love?

It sure hadn’t felt like it for a while.

Freddie Markson and Santo Mancusi were an unlikely couple in the doubting eyes of the people who met them, but when they were alone—when outside forces could be minimized—it seemed nothing nor no one could get between them. The sex had always been hot, and for a while it had been frequent as nightfall. Then the demands on Santo began, and the pressure stole a bit of his libido, which Freddie would not have thought possible. Santo was sex on a stick, as hot a man as he’d ever had, but even beyond the physical, it was an inner attraction which kept them together. Santo often said how safe he felt in Freddie’s arms, protected.

It was a Friday night in February, and from their rented house up in the Hollywood Hills, Freddie gazed down at the streaks of light that formed the Los Angeles landscape. In the distance he could see blinking lights in the sky—not stars, even though L.A. had plenty of them, but planes landing with ridiculous frequency into LAX. All these people, coming to LaLa Land to pursue their dreams, so many of them to end up broken, depressed, and unfulfilled. Freddie couldn’t blame their optimism. He’d been excited at first when he learned that Santo had been cast in a supporting role in a major studio movie. Now, though, three months later, that film had wrapped and Santo had scored another role. He read scripts all the time, so no doubt there would be more; many more.

Which left Freddie with a lot of time on his hands, a virtual prisoner up in the hills. Only the howling of the coyotes were his company, as well as a home gym would allowed him to work out his frustrations. At the moment, he was standing out on the patio, a glass of chilled white wine in his hand. Actually, he was doing more than standing, he was pacing, and he’d been doing it for the better part of the last half hour. He would occasionally glance over at his iPhone, waiting for a text or better yet, a call from Santo. He was late. Again.

Taking a drink, Freddie walked over to the hot tub, its waters silent and cold.

Metaphor, he wondered?

He remembered most nights when they’d first arrived in L.A. when they had made hot love until the dawn arrived. Steam rose off the water of the hot tub, an empty bottle of champagne on the wooden table beside it. Their bodies locked together, their throats emitting grunts that gave those nuisance coyotes a run for their money, mutual, explosive orgasms defining their existence. Then how they would lay in bed, waiting for sleep to claim them, talking, caressing, lost in their world, Freddie dreaming of nothing but that moment. How nice it would be if they could get back to that? Maybe tonight, maybe Freddie would insist. Perhaps he’d launch a seduction which Santo would be unable to refuse.

His idea would have to wait. His phone began to ring, and hope crossed his heart.

The caller ID quickly brought an end to hope.

“Matt, is that you?”

“Hey, Freddie,” came a voice that sounded like it was next door. The connection was clear.

“Where are you?” Freddie asked, hopeful. What a surprise it would be to have a visit from his long-lost friend.”

“I’m in Paris, of course.”

Again, hope deflated him. Wouldn’t it have been a shocker if his friend Matt Donovan had said he’d just landed at LAX on one of those planes he’d watched descend on the night and was in need of a place to stay? Jake could be arriving too, and the three friends would enjoy a reunion a long-time in the making. So much had happened to them all since their European flings adventure, all of it keeping apart three friends who had been inseparable until then.

“How’s the city of lights?”

“Beautiful as ever. And the city of angels?”

Freddie let out a sharp laugh. “Try and find one.”

“You’ve always got a good line at the ready, Freddie. Look, I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you and Santo are busy—and if I know you, I know what that busy is…”

Freddie looked around the patio, he and his near-empty glass alone with the bougainvillea. “He’s at work. Hey, isn’t it like three in the morning where you are?”

“Yeah, it’s late…or early, depending upon your point of view. Anton’s asleep, and I, well, I couldn’t sleep, I’m just too excited…”

“Let me guess. You’re getting married.”

There was silence on the other end until Matt said, “Insightful as ever.”

“I know you, Matt. It’s what you wanted. Who popped the question, you or Anton?”

“Anton, and he did so with such romance. Candles, champagne, the Eiffel Tower rising up in the background.”

“The ultimate phallic symbol. If it was a porn movie, it would be called I Fall on Tower.”

“That’s awful. But classic Freddie. I miss that.”

Freddie smiled, then said. “Hey, I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. Look, I just wanted to share the news with you. I don’t know any details beyond that, but once we’ve secured a date…well, you have to be there. Jake, too.”

“Does Jake know yet?”

“He’s next on my list. Actually, you were my first call. I mean, you have a relationship, so you know what it means, and I knew you’d be genuinely happy for me. Jake, though, call me a bad friend but I think he’ll feel more jealously than happiness. He always wanted to out-marry us both. You know he broke up with Aaron, which is too bad, because from all Jake said it was going well. I thought he was the one.”

“You know, Jake, he holds things close to the vest.”

“Yeah, and under that vest is usually some hunk with a furry chest.”

Freddie laughed, the sound echoing in the canyon behind him. Jake’s fetish for hairy cubs and athletic otters was well documented. Not that Freddie could judge him; Santo had one of the greatest chests of dark fur he’d ever seen, and he relished falling asleep with his hand stroking that fur every night. Since then he and Santo had found each other, Freddie had realized maybe Jake had been onto something all these years. Comfort could be found in those dark whorls.

“I’m sure Jake will be thrilled for you. So, keep me appraised of the plan. I assume a Paris wedding?”

“Yeah. Probably small, intimate. But I want you both there.”

Freddie was non-committal; he had to be. “Send me all the details when you have them. Santo’s schedule is crazy.”

The two friends exchanged a few more jokes before signing off, and once again Freddie was left to his own devices. He padded back into the box-like house, opening the sliding door that led into the kitchen. He refilled his glass of wine, pouring more than he probably should have. Who cares, he thought, he wasn’t going anywhere but to bed, and then raised the glass in the air in toast to Matt and Anton. How lucky they were to have found each other, and now look at them, getting married. Securing their future with a heartfelt declaration of love.

Freddie wished he could solve the issue of the present. He went back into the dark night.

“Santo, where the hell are you?”

This was Hollywood, and maybe he’d said his name aloud enough to conjure him, just like in Beetlejuice. Because Freddie saw a pair of headlights turn into the driveway, doused moments later. He heard the slam of a car door and had to wonder: was Santo in a bad mood? He was Italian, and thus he had a fiery temper, and it flared up when the pressure was on. Freddie made his way back into the kitchen, where he poured a glass of red wine for his lover, having it at the ready. He heard the front door open.

“Freddie?”

“In the kitchen,” he called out.

Santo walked into the kitchen, and what Freddie saw was a man beyond exhaustion. It was past ten o’clock at night, and he’d been gone since six this morning. A long day of filming? Or more likely, a long day of sitting around waiting to film a few short scenes. Such was the movie making process, or so Santo had explained to him. But as tired as he looked, he was still the hot, gorgeous man who had stirred his loins from the moment they had met along the Via Veneto in Rome, and that attraction continued now. Freddie took his weary lover in his arms, felt the warmth of his embrace. All of his earlier worries about their relationship faded away with his simple touch. They kissed, parted, and Santo sat down on a chair in the kitchen.

“For you,” Freddie said, presenting the glass of wine.

“You’re an angel,” he said, and took it and drank a healthy gulp.

“How was work?”

“Fuck work,” he said.

Santo wasn’t one to swear. So something must have angered him. In truth, as macho a guy as he was, Santo held close to a sensitive side. He was fiery because unlike many men, he allowed himself to feel—and reveal—emotions. Freddie decided now wasn’t the time to push it.

Santo drank from his wine, then said, “I don’t want to talk about anything related to movies, not right now. You know what I need?”

“Not until you tell me?”

“You,” Santo said, his dark eyes filled with fire.

It was like hearing the perfect answer to a question that had gone unanswered for too long.

 

***

 

“Oh, yeah, baby, baby…that’s it…”

It was like Freddie’s dream had come true. The water in the hot tub bubbled, and the steam rose up in the cool night of a Hollywood February. Together, the two men churned the water even more, some of it spilling over the rim and splashing to the patio. Freddie’s cock was buried inside the man’s hot, hairy ass, pumping him from behind while his hands clutched his shoulders. Santo’s arms bulged as they clung to the edge of the hot tub, biceps straining from the intensity of Freddie’s thrusts. They’d been at it for nearly a half hour, kissing, tasting each other, drinking down wine until the heady intoxication had erupted with sexual combustion.

“Yes, Santo, take me…all of me…oh, oh, oh, yes…” he said, keeping at bay words of how much he’d missed him. Why spoil such a hot, erotic moment? Just enjoy the here and now, fucking his sexy lover.

Freddie pulled him up, his cock still inside, wrapping his arms around Santo. Fingers dug into his chest, reveling in the whorls of black hair that covered his chest. He loved the roughness of the dense, furry mat and thrilled at how much hairier he looked when it was matted with water. He was so damn hot, so fucking sexy, and Freddie thrust at him, hard, harder, Santo’s cries rivaling those of the howling coyotes in the canyon. Yes, this was good, so good, his ass so tight. It wasn’t every night that Santo bottomed, but when the pressure got to him, he gave in and allowed Freddie to pound him with sharp, almost angry, fierceness.

“Harder, harder…oh, Freddie, yeah, yeah, fuck me so hard.”

Freddie’s hips thrust at him like a rampaging bull, his cock so heated, so ready to blow, but he willed himself to keep going. He wasn’t ready to come. He just wanted to savor this moment, to make violent love to his lover. Slapping his ass, one cheek, then another, Santo reacted with a cry of surprise, but still he urged Freddie on. Water continued to splash around them, and above them the starlight brightened, as though wanting to shine a harsh light on their urgent coupling. To let the world know that this was how it was done. Freddie’s hard cock, Santo’s hairy ass, it was a combination of heat and desire and, yes, even vulnerability, all of which added to the intimacy of their unleashed passions. Freddie knew something was wrong, something was bothering Santo down to his core, but now wasn’t the time to ask, now wasn’t the time for anything but a release of stress, of pressure. So he just continued to thrust at his lover, grabbing, rubbing, sliding his nails against the man’s strong back.

“Ooh, ooh… I’m so close… yes, Freddie, I’m going to come…”

Freddie pounded him again, again, while Santo grabbed at his hard, uncut cock. He slid his hand over the long shaft, but then Freddie joined him, his body locked next to him. He fucked him, and he jerked him; all Santo had to do was enjoy, and he did, crying out for more, more. Just then Santo bellowed, his voice carrying to the open sky as though he were a beast speaking to the moon. His cock pulsed, Freddie could feel it in his grip, and he pumped him from both sides, his ass, and his cock, and soon Santo’s cock was erupting with pleasure.

“Oh fuck…fuck, fuck….”

His come shot out of him, spilling into the water of the hot tub, being gurgled down as though being swallowed. Freddie continued to thrust at him, his cock near the boiling point too, and just then he felt the heady rush of heat consume him. He pulled Santo close to him, and again he dug his fingers into the man’s magnificent chest. Grabbing his dark hair, he thrust once, twice, before feeling the overwhelming release of his pent-up orgasm. He pumped his come deep into Santo’s ass, his cries loud as well. They echoed in the canyon, almost prolonging his release.

At last he pulled out and he turned Santo around and they kissed, sweetly.

“That was hot,” Freddie said.

“Yeah, I needed that.”

“I could tell,” Freddie said, “Everything okay?”

“I will tell you when in bed, and afterwards, I will fuck you. We will sleep like angels.”

“You know, few men can get away with being crude and romantic in the same sentence.”

He shrugged, allowing a smile Freddie hadn’t seen in some time. “I’m Santo.”

They eased back in the water, resting on submerged benches while letting the warmth relax strained muscles while they finished their wine. Freddie told him about Matt’s phone call, and while Santo was happy for the friend he’d never met, he expressed reservations about being able to fly to Paris for the wedding. Which brought them full circle to Santo’s schedule, and he sighed heavily, the strain of being an up-and-coming flavor of the month taking its toll. It was almost like a signal, a shift in the wind that their night was over. They hopped out of the hot tub, turned off its churning current, and hand-in-hand, they walked into the house. They dried their bodies, and then, still naked, got into the king size bed that dominated the expansive bedroom; a skylight above was the only hint of the night they’d already shared, like the stars were following them.

Freddie eased in next to his sexy lover, stroking the dark fur of the man’s thick chest.

“You put on cologne,” he said, sniffing his neck.

“Just a splash. I felt dirty.”

“From what we did?”

He shook his head. “Never from that. No, from the day.”

“Are you going to talk to me about it?”

“Hollywood, I continue to wonder if it’s really for me. I turned my back on it as a child actor, but now it has me in its clutches again”

Santo Mancusi had been the breakout star of a sitcom years ago. He knew from fame, and he remembered what he didn’t enjoy about it.

“Tell me your concerns,” Freddie said, even though he knew some of them.

“Soon, let us just lie here, enjoy our warmth.”

Freddie was happy to do just that, and he snuggled in closer, resting his cheek against Santo’s chest, the dense hair like a soft pillow. He could feel his heart beat beneath. Hell, he could sense his own beating heart, that’s how much he loved this man. It was these precious moments when it was just the two of them when he knew they were perfect for each other. It wasn’t just sex after all, despite his earlier fears. There was a connection here that stretched down to their souls, one found over a year ago on the streets of Rome.

His mind drifted back. They’d been introduced by their mutual friend, Patsy Abbott. They had been sitting at an outdoor hotel bar along the Via Veneto when Freddie spotted them from across the street. He’d immediately noticed Santo, and on close inspection he’d nearly fainted from the combination of accent, looks, and the teasing triangle of exposed chest hair for which he’d originally thought was a dark T-shirt. Santo turned out to be a passionate lover, but noncommittal in every other aspect of his life. His time as a child actor had quickly vanished, as soon as puberty hit. He’d matured quickly, the show was eventually canceled, and he returned to Italy to be with his family, among them his doting mother, who ran a restaurant near the Coliseum in Rome. All that had changed when Patsy—Santo’s one-time co-star and now an entertainment manager and rich widow—convinced him to return to the States to star in a new Broadway play. It would mark Santo’s return to acting, and with Freddie at his side, he agreed to it.

The play, Desire’s Company, had been a huge hit for the six month run it enjoyed at the Calloway Theatre, and it had turned Santo into the toast of Manhattan. Not that the play itself was so great, but the poster of a shirtless Santo being seduced by his two co-stars ramped up the sexual appeal. Women and gays flocked to the Calloway—Jake had seen the show six times from the front row—to get a chance to see that poster brought to urgent life, and in that regard Santo didn’t disappoint. It was because of the play, or more likely, Santo’s role in it—that had led to the attentions of Hollywood, and with Patsy operating behind the scenes, their move to the West Coast was inevitable. And here they were, living a dream so many others desired. Except the dream was not as perfect as many might suspect. It was hard, grueling work, and the ever-sensitive Santo was feeling the pressure daily.

“I feel they are changing Santo,” he finally said. “The producers, the so-called handlers.”

Freddie stirred, breaking from his reverie. He saw Santo staring at the ceiling.

“How so?” he asked.

“This movie, it is very big budget. Lots of expectations and money involved. The leading lady, she has many demands. And since she is box office gold, as well as an executive producer, I keep hearing that what she wants, she gets.”

“Does she not like you? Are they releasing you from the movie?”

“No, even the great Rebecca Sanders knows I am, how do you say…”

“Hot?”

“No. Um…an ‘it’ boy?”

“Ah. You’re a hot property, you’ll sell tickets all on your own.”

“Tomorrow, we film our first sex scene,” he said. “She has, like I said, demands.”

Freddie rose up, resting up on his elbow. A free hand continued to stroke Santo’s chest.

“What sort of demands? What, is she afraid you’re going to get hard or something?”

“No, she knows I like…well, that I like you. That I prefer men. No, she insists that before we film the scene, I am to have a procedure. I’m to be waxed.”

Freddie blinked. “I’m sorry, what? Waxed, as in…your chest?”

Santo nodded. “I have no objection, I mean, it is only hair, and it will grow back. But deep down, like I said, I feel they are changing me. Altering who I am, on the inside. The waxing of my chest is just a symptom of me no longer being in control of my own career.”

“Aside from that, don’t they realize…I mean, your chest sold that play!”

“That was New York. Hollywood executives don’t care what works there. They want the heartland audiences and I am told I am considered too exotic. Rebecca’s appeal in Middle America and so what she says goes.”

“So why did they hire you?”

“My accent is what they want, my face.”

“You have no choice?”

He shook his head.

Freddie didn’t know what to say. Sure, on the surface it seemed an insignificant issue. But Santo was quiet, he didn’t like to stir the pot. He would do as they asked. But he wouldn’t be happy and that was something Freddie would have to deal with. How to make him feel better, at least temporarily? He leaned down, kissed Santo’s chest, licked at hard nipples that weren’t easy to find beneath the dark fur. Then he began to lick his chest, to brush it, and he followed the thick twirling trail down his belly, his tongue in heaven, erotic messages being transmitted all over his hot body. Santo responded as well, and he suddenly took charge, as though he realized that it was only in this bed and with this man that he could be himself. So he turned Freddie onto his back, and he opened him up, and soon, so very soon, his thick long cock was entering him.

Freddie cried out from the impact, grabbed at Santo’s chest hair to deflect the pain.

“Oh baby, you feel so good,” Freddie said.

“For now,” he said, and then Santo began to thrust his hips at him with growing intensity.

Freddie lost himself in the moment, enjoying his time with the Santo he knew. But inside him, he knew things were changing, life was changing. He had to hope that they could survive all the crap Hollywood threw at them. For now, his for-now furry lover was his, only his, and he indulged in their coupling as morning won the fight to claim darkness from the night.

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

Jake

 

So much for sharing your life with one man. Jake Westbury was on the verge of giving up on such a notion. So he did what he always did when he directed by this defeatist attitude—he’d gone out, grabbed a couple drinks, and was nursing a third when a hot guy approached him. The hunt was on. The guy was good-looking, with a nice package, and he was just the kind of sexy treat to chase away Jake’s unwanted blues. Problem was, it wouldn’t resolve anything other than a momentary horniness. He could fuck him, he’d come, and he’d fall back on whichever bed they decided upon, satisfied and unfulfilled, a combo that usually made him regret his actions. He would be asked to leave, or ask him to leave.

But hell, the guy was cute. Shaggy blond hair, a winning smile. He had thick biceps which bulged when he drank from his beer. The tight T-shirt showed off well-defined pecs. Jake tried to imagine what he looked like with his shirt off. Probably a smooth gym bunny, which wasn’t awful by any stretch, but Jake tended to be drawn to the burlier, hairy type. This guy just didn’t have that masculine quality. Still, he was probably as energetic as a bunny in bed, a willing bottom with an ass that loved being on the receiving end of a good pounding. Jake felt his balls tighten at such a thought.

It was a Wednesday night in February, Valentine’s Day over thankfully, but still this was not his usual night out and he didn’t recognize a lot of the men inside Gaslight, one of his usual gay hangouts. The lighting was dim, intentionally, so maybe he knew one or two of them—heck, maybe he’d even slept with one or two. But none of the men had really paid him any mind when he’d entered. There were no seats at the bar, so Jake just ordered a draft and leaned against the far edge, staring up at the large screen TV which was playing an old porno. Two men were jacking off, both twinks who barely looked of legal age. Jake himself was 39, and he had to wonder if he was getting too old for this routine of sex with random strangers? Still, what else was he supposed to do? He’d been in a relationship last fall, but it had crashed, burned, and been buried just after the holidays. He hadn’t had sex in two months. He thought that was a record for him. He wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but he was easy on the eyes, with dark hair, and after the break-up, and with it being winter and fucking cold out, he’d let his beard fill in. He liked how it looked; it had been almost ten years since he’d allowed a full beard on his face.

All around him guys talked, the music blared, and Jake leaned in for a fresh drink. When he turned back around, the shaggy blond guy had sidled up right next to him. Jake guessed he was no more than 25. What the hell did age mean?

“Hey,” the guy said.

“Hey,” Jake said, offering up a smile. Mostly because of the inanity of their conversation. Not exactly the hottest pick-up line he’d ever heard. Surfer-dude lingo.

“You’re hot.”

Jake nodded. Getting better. “So are you. Nice body, great smile.”

“Love the beard, it’s dark and sexy.”

Jake rubbed it, the hair thick to his touch. “Thanks. New for the winter.”

“Couldn’t even if wanted,” he said, rubbing his face. “I’m Noah.”

“Jake.”

“Look at that, biblical,” he said.

Maybe this guy wasn’t so dumb. It was a clever approach. “I feel like I should have a twin.”

Now the guy grew confused. “Huh?”

“You’re Noah. The ark…two by two…never mind.”

“Oh, hey, I see what you did there. Took my comment and…”

Jake reached out and took hold of the guy’s hand, squeezed it. The action got him to stop talking. Which was a good thing. Instead they exchanged smiles and the kind of look that said the night was going to end well. Jake leaned in, pressed his lips against Noah’s. He didn’t meet with any resistance, so when he pulled away he saw Noah seductively lick his lips. Jake felt his cock thicken.

“Want to get out of here?” Noah asked.

Jake could accuse the guy of being forward, but hadn’t he made the first physical move? “Where we going?”

“I have an apartment nearby. All mine, but I like to share. You know…”

“Yeah, I get it.”

Jake leaned in again, pulling Noah’s body in tight against his. He made sure the guy could feel the outline of his growing cock. “Tell me what you like,” he whispered into his ear.

“To have someone fuck my brains out and make me shoot my load.” Then he paused and said, “To have you fuck me, fuzzy boy.”

Well, you can’t fault the guy for his honesty. Jake drank down the last of his beer, Noah doing the same. They were already on the same page together. They left together, walking out into a cold Manhattan night. It was actually almost the next day, midnight only minutes away. If all went well, they’d be rolling around on the bed before the clock struck. Turned out, that was indeed the case, as Noah lived a block away on 48th Street, between Ninth and Tenth Avenues, a walk-up that had five floors. Except they went down, since Noah said he lived in the basement apartment. He turned the lock on a gate, then unlocked a door. Tight security should keep them safe inside.

The place was sparsely furnished, the style used-Ikea. Jake figured the guy was a wannabe actor. Lots of them around this Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood. Jake was a writer, a freelancer with his own hours, so he was able to do things like get picked up in the middle of the week and stay up as late as he wanted. Freedom, from the nine-to-five life, as well as not being tied down by a boyfriend came with its adventurous advantages. Tonight’s advantage, and it was a sexy one, was currently stripping, tossing his T-shirt up over his head, shaking out his shaggy blonde locks with a sense of playful fun. Yeah, this was going to be a good night.

“Want a drink?” Noah asked, trying to be the host.

Jake came over to him, ran a hand across his package. “I’ll drink you down.”

The host did as was asked of him, and he slid his jeans down along muscular legs that had a dusting of hair on them. His cock sprung up, thick but stubby. He barely had any pubes. Just as Jake had suspected, the guy was naturally smooth, but for tonight that was okay. He dropped to his knees and opened his mouth, wide, to accommodate the thickness of the guy’s cock. He slurped at the shaft, ran his tongue around the tip. Then he swallowed it whole, again, again. He sucked at it, heard Noah’s moans of pleasure. Felt him grab at his head, pushing him deeper against his groin. Jake took the cock as deep as he could, digging his nails into the hard bubble-like cheeks of Noah’s ass. He felt Noah buck his hips, thrusting himself into Jake’s mouth. He felt the heat rise around him, then he heard the shortened cries coming from Noah. The guy was going to blast already, and Jake did as he’d promised. He stayed locked on the cock, sucking, licking.

“Shit, shit…I’m coming…” Noah said, his words loud in the small space.

Then he cried out, and Jake felt a hot spurt hit the back of his mouth. Another. Another. He sucked again, taking in each drop. At last he pulled away, a drop of come seeping out of the corner of his mouth. Noah saw it, smiled before asking to be kissed. Jake stood up, did so, and felt Noah’s tongue take command of the wayward drop. It was a sexy gesture, for sure, and Jake’s cock begged to be released; it too wanted to shoot a mouthful.

“I love how your beard feels when you kiss me, Jake.”

“Good. Glad you like a hairy guy. The beard is just for starters. Let’s go to the bed and get naked and you’ll see.”

Jake had been wearing a blue sweater that highlighted the color of eyes, and it came off as they approached the edge of a queen size bed, the mattress covered with an array of pillows. Noah smiled at what he saw, a chest with a nice coating of dark hair. Not quite a mat of fur, but generous enough to run your hands through, and it trailed down his flat stomach in an enticing swath.

“Fuck you’re hot,” Noah said.

“Lay down, now,” Jake said. “Get ready to be fucked. Hard.”

He did as instructed, waiting for Jake’s to finish undressing. He stroked his hard cock while he waited. Jake tossed his jeans, socks, underwear to the hardwood floor, his decent-sized cock hard and ready. He found a box of condoms on a side table, along with a bottle of lube. Like Noah, had been looking for sex tonight. Expecting sex. He was going to get what he’d planned for.

“Oh, man, Jake, I can’t wait to feel that big cock inside me.”

As Jake climbed onto the bed, Noah changed his position, his hands grasping the headboard and his knees sinking into the mattress. His turned back, he nodded and told Jake to fuck him. A condom rolled down over Jake’s cock, he grabbed the lube and swiped at Noah’s ass. Noah reacted with a bounce, a wide smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, come on you furry beast, slide it in.”

Jake positioned himself, the tip of his cock pushing against Noah’s smooth ass. He pushed, watching as his cock began to disappear, the tip, the shaft, doing so until he was fully inside. His thick bush of dark pubes pressed against Noah. He pushed again, then he pulled back. God, it felt so good, so good, that ass tight against his cock. But he was going to open him up, now, fast, hard, and with desire flooding his body, he hungrily thrust his hips at Noah. His entire cock was shoved deep, and Noah cried out with surprise, with delight.

“More, more, yeah, Jake. Fuck me, Fuck me.”

Jake took hold of Noah’s ass, holding it in place while he thrust again, again, again. It was heat rising toward a boiling motion. The bed squeaked, and Noah’s dirty talk continued, his voice loud against the walls. If there were neighbors, they would have little doubt as to what was going on in the apartment below, but if they had lived here a while, perhaps they were used to it. Noah seemed like he had sex often. Jake continued to fuck him, his cock so hard, his body on fire, sweat on his brow. He looked down, watching his body in motion. His chest was heaving, and he ran his hand through his hair, matted from his sweater, now plusher from his touch. He grunted loudly with a fresh round of thrusts.

“Oh man oh man oh man, bring it. Fuck me hard.”

Jake was banging him with hard thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall.

“Tell me what you want,” Jake said.

“I want to watch you shoot, man, all over me.”

Jake pulled out and he spun Noah onto his back. He lifted his legs, spread him wide. Then he pushed himself back inside, and he began to pound at him again, again. He felt Noah plant his hands on his chest, grabbing at his hair. He took each thrust with a cry of pleasure. He asked for more, more, every inch, and Jake continued to thrust his hips with eager abandon. Noah squirmed, his actions sending fresh waves of heat through Jake’s cock. He knew he was going to blow, and Noah seemed beyond ready for it. Jake grabbed at Noah’s ankles, spreading him wide. He pushed at him, his hard cock ramming him. He felt a rush of heat hit him.

“Oh…oh,” Jake said, “I’m gonna come…”

“Blast me with it, man, soak me.”

Jake pulled out and slid the condom off, stroking his cock to bring about the final moment.

Heat hit him, his balls tightened, and he drew in his breath as orgasm wracked his body.

The tip of his cock expanded, and he pointed it at Noah’s smooth, muscular chest. Just then a stream of white come burst from him, then another, and another, streaks hitting Noah’s chest with a sizzle. Jake pumped his cock until the last drop slipped out, rubbing his cock against Noah’s belly.

Jake stared down at a happy Noah, who reached up and ran a hand over Jake’s hairy chest.

“Hot, man, totally hot. Kiss me.”

Jake leaned down, and let his lips touch Noah’s. They kissed more, Jake’s beard scraping against his neck. He heard Noah’s breath again, short bursts, and when he pulled up, he saw that Noah was stroking his own hard cock. He was close to blowing again.

“Let me shoot my load all over your beard,” he said.

Jake lay down on his back, and Noah straddled him, jerking his cock. He rubbed it against the dark whiskers of Jake’s beard, and then he shuddered as he quickly released. White come splattered across his beard, seeping into the dark whiskers. Noah ran his the tip of his cock across his beard again, and then finally let out of a sigh of relief. Shit, the dude had just come twice in a short amount of time, both orgasms carrying a big load.

Jake couldn’t wait to come again himself. He knew the guy wanted to be fucked again.

Which is why what happened next surprised him.

“Ok, thanks, man. You were good, just what I wanted. Keep the beard man, you’re sexier with it, made this time better than the last time. But the night’s over, I’ve got a big audition in the morning and you took my mind off it for a while. You’ll see yourself out, right?”

“What do you mean…you’re kicking me out?”

“Dude, you were hot. Actually, I think you were better this time.”

“We’ve met before?”

“Hell, yeah, we’ve fucked before. I keep notes, man. Like I said, the beard does wonders. That’s why I was willing to…you know, have you again.”

Only when Jake was dressed and back out on the street, the cold seeping into his exhausted body, did he remember having already fucked that guy once, no more than a year ago. They’d gone back to Jake’s apartment. But how was it he didn’t even remember their encounter until the moment Noah tossed him out and the memories came flooding back, like its own orgasm but hardly as satisfying. He’d left that abruptly their one other time together. Given that he’d now taken to fucking men he’d already done and didn’t remember, Jake Westbury realized one thing: he had to change his bad-boy ways.

Maybe he needed to keep a diary, too. It might be good to remember who you had sex with.

 

***

 

Jake returned home, his apartment even quieter than when he’d left it. It was nearly three in the morning and outside it had begun to snow. He dropped his leather jacket on the sofa, went into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. He didn’t need it, he should just go to sleep and try and erase the foolish night of anonymous sex he’d just endured. Sure, the release had been great, but he felt used as well. Noah—fuck, he wasn’t even sure that was his real name, he didn’t remember even having screwed someone with that name, much less met one—he’d just wanted a cock to service, and the man behind it be damned.

Jake wandered into the bathroom, peed, then stared at himself in the mirror.

The guy had liked his beard, it’s what had attracted him to Jake. Or so he said. Did it really make him look sexier? Or worse, older? Had the shaggy blond guy been looking for more of a daddy type tonight? Jake hated to think he was outgrowing the one-night stand world. He had lived in it since he’d arrived in New York in his early twenties, ready to party, have sex, make his mark. But almost two years ago he’d begun to feel the urge to settle down. To meet one man. It was the pretense in which he’d gone running off to London two summers ago, and while the accents may have been different, Jake’s actions weren’t. He’d screwed anyone who would have him, and in the process he’d felt used himself. A familiar refrain, he decided. He also decided, for now, the beard would stay, and so he turned off the light of the bathroom and padded back into his living room.

There, like a taunt, were the three posters on his wall which had dictated his life’s direction.

Vintage posters in black frames, each representing one city: Paris, Rome, London.

They’d been his inspiration, and of course they’d led to Matt’s and Freddie’s decision to follow in his wanderlust-filled footsteps. He missed them both. Matt had remained behind in Paris, and he hadn’t seen him since the start of their summer excursions. The last time they’d spoken had been just after Jake’s breakup with Aaron. Freddie he’d at least seen more recently, but he was so wrapped up in Santo’s skyrocketing career, happy to ride his coattails. Matt had wanted to fall in love, and he had, and Freddie, the jokester, claimed the same, but Jake knew his horny friend was merely in lust with his furry stud. Not that he blamed him; Santo was fucking hot.

That left Jake. Alone.

Upon his failed romances in London—notably with Hunter Abbott, who had rocked his world, altered its axis, and then tossed him aside like a rag doll—Jake had returned to the scene of the plan: Gaslight. It was that first night back in town, over Labor Day weekend, that he’d first set eyes on Aaron. They had gone out on a date, they had kissed, and then on another date and still only kissed. On the third date they finally went to bed with each other, and for the next nine months, through good and bad, they’d been together. The sex had been fantastic, the best Jake remembered. But Jake was persistently moody, perhaps needy, and Aaron finally tired of it. He’d ended their relationship just before the holidays. Which meant Christmas had sucked this year. Now a new year had begun and he had regressed to his same pattern: screwing strangers, and in tonight’s case, a strange he’d already screwed.

“Fuck,” Jake said, pulling at his beer and dropping to the sofa.

Maybe what he needed was to shake things up again. He had money saved, thanks to the strange events he’d become embroiled in during his stay in England, so he could just pick up and go wherever on a moment’s notice. But where? And would that even solve anything? He’d tried that, and he’d failed. What was to say this time it would be different. His eyes grew tired, his body agreeing. He didn’t even have the energy to get up and put himself to bed. So he fell asleep on the sofa, closing his mind off to whatever this day had brought, wishing to push away aimless thoughts of tomorrow.

Maybe that was the problem. He had nothing to look forward to.

That all changed a few hours later, as the ringing of his cell phone stirred him from a beer-induced sleep. He was disoriented, his eyes struggling to open, especially since his first view was of the empty beer bottle on the floor. Then he recalled Noah, fucking him and then being kicked out unceremoniously, returning home and feeling empty and sorry for himself. The follow-up ring of his phone shook his thoughts and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He reached into his pocket to answer it. The caller ID said Matt.

“Fuck me, speak of the devil,” he said.

“Nice greeting,” Matt said. “You eat with that mouth?”

“Uh, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Do you?”

Truth was, Jake had no idea and he looked around for something with the time. His cable box blinked at him, indicating it was 9:13. No wonder his body ached, he’d slept in his clothes in an awkward position on the sofa. That, coupled with the positions he and Noah had done all made for a sore Jake.

“It’s still early here,” Jake said.

“Yeah, yeah, time change, all that crap. Listen, Jake, what are you doing in April?”

“April? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing this morning.”

“Well, get your gay planner out.”

“Don’t you mean day planner?”

“I was making a joke…wow, you’re in a mood.”

“So are you, a good one. Can I tell you to shut up and get to the point?”

“I’m getting married.”

The words bounced inside Jake’s addled brain, but they failed to land with any impact. He had trouble absorbing what his friend was talking about.

“Did you just say you were getting married?”

“Anton proposed. I accepted.”

“You’re such a bottom, Matt.”

“Hey!”

But still, Matt laughed. The sound hurt Jake’s head.

“Sorry, um, congratulations.”

“So get your ass on an airplane. You’re coming to Paris.”

“Paris.”

“Yeah, like that poster on your wall. But better, because it’s real, and it’s romantic.”

“Great, just what I need.”

“Who’d you screw last night?”

“Never mind my life. So, this is really the real thing? True love and everything?”

“Yup.”

“That’s what you always wanted, Matt. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Does Freddie know?”

“He does, and he’s trying to arrange his and Santo’s schedule.”

“Ah yes, the sexy Italian.” His tone was almost bitter. “Both of you, so fulfilled…”

“Jake, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s all good. Look, let’s talk later, when I’m more…awake.”

“You mean sober.”

“You’re an asshole, Matt.”

“That’s why Anton loves me.”

The visual was too much to take, and Jake finally managed to end the call. He put the phone down, stood up and stretched his tired body. He thought about his last thoughts before he’d fallen asleep, of wanting something to look forward to. But was this it? Matt’s wedding? He really was thrilled for his friend, but it only illustrated just how far backwards Jake had fallen in his own quest to restart his life.

He realized that with Matt’s news came a greater complication.

There was no way in hell that Jake Westbury was going to a romantic destination wedding without a date. Trouble was, who was that going to be? Jake stared at the window of a brand new Manhattan day, one coated with a layer of fallen snow, and wondered just who in this crazy city was waiting for him. And if he even managed to cross paths with him, would Jake even recognize the signs? Or would he just fuck him and leave in the middle of the night, the dark sky hiding his regrets?

That’s when Jake knew what he had to. At least, for now.

He went into his bedroom, threw off his clothes, and climbed into bed and fell back asleep. He couldn’t worry about life if he hid himself beneath the blankets. No way could the world intrude upon that kind of serenity.

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

Matthew

 

“You don’t have to do that, really.”

“Matt, you’re getting an engagement party and that’s the end of the discussion.”

“Simone…”

“Besides, this is Paris. It’s what we do. We celebrate life. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

“With you to remind me on a daily—sometimes hourly—basis, how can I forget?”

“Without me, you’d be moping around the streets of New York by yourself.”

She was right about that. While Matt had made the decision to come to Paris, it was Simone who had challenged him to truly embrace the city’s romantic side and leave Manhattan cynicism behind at the airport. Funny coming from her, considering she was an unmarried, unattached cynic who at almost 40 lived for her work.

“Fine, do what you’re going to do. Just tell me when, where, and who.”

“This Friday, my office, anyone you want.”

“Oh, uh, so soon…”

“You sound like you’re rushing me off the phone, darling,” she said.

“I have an appointment soon, a new artist with, I think, lots of potential.”

“Then get to work and make that gallery a raging success. Ta-ta till Friday,” Simone said, and without another word she broke the connection.

Matt shook his head as he set his cell phone down on the desk. Simone Richlieu redefined one of a kind, a girl from the Midwest who had forsaken all things American for all things Parisian. An interior designer, her good taste was matched only by her biting attitude, and both had won her many fans along the wide boulevards of the city of lights. From Sacre Coeur to Montparnasse to Saint Germain and beyond, there wasn’t an arrondissement that didn’t at least know her name, if not her well-earned reputation. Yet Matt knew one thing about her that no one else did: her real name: the less refined Sally Richlieu. She’d worked steadfastly to rid herself of that hated first name, not to mention her entire Peoria-laden past, and only her best friend from high school knew the truth. She had often said she would literally kill him if he ever revealed her truths. But as much as a shark Simone was, she had a heart of gold. For a friend, she would do, and had done, anything.

Take him and Anton.

Upon his arrival in Paris 18 months ago, Simone had invited him to a cocktail party, where in turn he had met her partner, a self-absorbed, but handsomely stylish man named Gavin Simon—together they ran an interior design firm they called Simone & Simon. Matt had been attracted to Gavin from the start, and he’d gone out with him, and then he’d allowed himself to be seduced by him, but dark-haired, sexy Gavin proved far too selfish even in bed, and had left Matt feeling even worse about his loneliness in Paris. But the one-nighter had led Matt back to the banks of the Seine River, where he’d days before encountered the cute painter who was now his fiancé. Gavin and Anton also knew each other, and Matt, becoming caught up in their small-world drama, had led him to living at the slant-roof garret, and in turn, had brought Anton into his bed. Cause and effect, all of it heightened by the beguiling romanticism of Paris.

And now he was engaged to be married. A dream wedding, to take place…where?

That was a good question.

The answer would have to wait. He was jarred from his thoughts by the ringing of a buzzer downstairs. Putting down his cell phone, Matt made his way down the iron circular staircase that led from his upstairs office to the main space of the Gallerie Passione. The walls were empty right now, making the room feel large, imposing, as though taunting Matt to find something worthy to put upon its walls. Perhaps the man at the front door would provide a solution to his next show. It was raining, he noticed, and the man huddled beneath an umbrella. A large black portfolio rested in his other hand. Matt quickly turned the lock on the front door, opening it wide so his guest could enter easily.

“Thank you, wow…I haven’t seen rain like this in weeks, back home,” the man said in a Texas-twanged English, fumbling to close his umbrella. He finally managed it, leaving droplets of rain on the polished wood floor of the gallery’s main room in the process. Matt saw the water bead. “Are you Matthew Donovan?”

“Matt,” he said, “Yes, you must be Rich.”

“Rich, sure, but a poor artist. Parents with an ironic sensibility. Actually, I go by the name Stone.”

Matt laughed, closing the door behind him and shutting out the awful weather. It was four o’clock on a random Thursday in early March, nearly a week since his engagement, and he was thankful for the distraction work afforded him. He took Stone’s jacket and put it in a nearby closet, his umbrella leaning against the wall. Matt got a chance to check out his guest and decided the nickname suited him. He was probably mid-twenties, with a severe haircut of black hair and a heavy shadow of beard; a pencil-thin mustache giving him a Parisian essence, even though Matt knew he too was a transplanted American. What was easily discernible was how attractive Stone was; high cheek-bones, toned body, just over six feet. Simply model gorgeous with dark eyes over thick eyebrows. A stone statue of beauty. He was a friend of Matt’s lesbian associate, Sheeba Handers, a man she’d gone to school with back in Dallas.

“Welcome to the Gallerie Passione,” Matt said. “Can I get you anything?”

“I hesitate to say water, since I’m already drenched. The umbrella was used to protect my portfolio more so than myself.”

“Come on, I’ve got a bottle of wine chilling upstairs, let’s be French.”

“I like the sound of that, thanks.”

Matt escorted his potential new artist upstairs, got him settled inside his office. It was really an open space, a balcony that looked down on the rest of the space. A framed portrait of Anton and Matt hung behind his desk, beautifully lit against blood red walls, along with the name of the gallery painted in script on the far wall.

“Nice office,” Stone said, “and in a great neighborhood. How did you ever finance this?”

“Ah, that’s a long story, but you know the song ‘With a Little Help from My Friends’?”

“Sheeba?”

“Her father tossed in some money.” Sheeba’s father was a rich oil tycoon who would do anything to his height-challenged daughter. She was tiny and round, and she liked women. Nothing about her said Texas.

“He always does that. He thinks he’s buying her love. Speaking of, how is she?”

“You haven’t seen her yet?”

He shook his head. “I arrived this morning after a long flight—Dallas to New York, switch terminals, Air France to De Gaulle. I dropped off my bags at some youth hostel near Gare de Nord, and then I high-tailed it over here. Got lost. My map got soaked.” He paused and realized he was rambling. “I think I’m jet-lagged. What time is it?”

“Happy Hour,” Matt said, using an American idiom on purpose. “Relax, uh…Stone. Let me get that wine, it will help you unwind.”

Matt turned to a small refrigerator at the far end of the office, withdrew a bottle of Sancerre and retrieved two glasses from a shelf above it. Cork quickly removed, he poured two glasses and handed one to Stone, then sat down behind his desk with his. They cheered and toasted to new discoveries. Matt loved how Paris worked; if you wanted a glass of wine, you had it. No social anxiety came with it, no matter the hour. No judgment. Civility was always a sip away.

“Thanks, I think I needed that.” He set the glass down on the edge of the glass-topped desk.

Matt decided to get down to business. “So, Stone, I’ve clicked through your website. You’ve done some impressive work.”

“Thanks. But…you know, nothing like seeing art up close, right?”

“That’s why we invited you come see us,” Matt said.

“Us?”

“Well, I realize it’s just me right now. But Anton…my, uh, actually, he’s my fiancé. He’s got a share in this gallery, along with the investors. But they let me run it and Sheeba acts as my assistant. We’ve had some pretty successful showings here already, but we’re still trying to make a name for ourselves. In Paris, the art world is very snooty, very exclusive and old school, and they don’t just accept you because you’ve got the deep pockets to open a gallery. Reputations are hard-earned here. Which I why I can take a chance on unknowns. Trust me, the community looks down on us, but secretly admires our dedication to being the outsiders.”

“You’ve certainly got that in me,” he said. “I mean, Rich Stone. Not exactly exotic.”

“Is that why you chose Stone as your signature name?”

“Sounds better.”

“It also fits you,” Matt said, wishing he hadn’t said it. This was professional. The guy’s hot body and face shouldn’t matter. But it did. Connoisseurs might take to his work, but photographers would love his look. “Anyway, for now, I’d love to see some of the pieces you brought with you.”

“I packed three canvases and carried them onto the plane. Never out of sight.”

“Smart. Let me see them.”

Stone stood up, unzipping the black portfolio and opening it up on Matt’s expansive, empty desk. Matt was not exactly an art major, but he knew what he liked, what spoke to his sensitive heart, and wasn’t that what truly mattered? It’s what he’d responded to with Anton’s work, seeing the truth inside the paintings he had for sale along the banks of the Seine. He felt the passion brushed upon those canvases, saw the gleam inside the artist’s blue eyes. It’s what had brought him back to his kiosk, what had led them to a sharing a drink, a meal, a night of passion. And now a shared life. So when Matt gazed upon the first painting that Stone revealed, he held his breath. It was an explosion of color, but of shadows too, of darkness found within the lines. His eyes focused, trying to figure out just what he was looking at. It was striking.

“Do you have a name for this?”

“Forest through the Trees.”

Hearing those words was like bringing the painting to vibrant life. Of course, the dark lines were the shadows found between trees, the sweeping foliage leaves that punctuated the canvas. If he had to compare a style, he found Stone was less contemporary, more interpretive with his subjects. His wide brush strokes reminded him of the Impressionists. It was retro, but modern at the same time. Matt held his gaze.

“It’s beautiful, you have a unique eye,” he said. “May I see another?”

Stone turned to the next canvas, and again that urgent vibrancy leaped off the page. More color, more fuzzy-clear images, and only when he concentrated could he see the wide vistas that had been created from empty space. It was a piece he called Texas at Night, and Matt envisioned a hovering silver moon against an orange horizon, both of them blurry against a sky that seemed to stretch beyond the edges of the canvas.

“Spectacular,” he said. “How many pieces do you have in all?”

“Twenty-five I’m really proud of, a few others that are more raw. Painted before I understood myself.”

“You have an amazing use of color. You’re not afraid of it.”

“I call my collection the Colors of the World.”

Matt nodded, again taking in each piece, as though his heart was remembering the passion with which they were born. If the rest of his works were along these lines, the single-named Stone was going to be the next artist to show his work at the Gallerie Passione. Because wasn’t that what it was all about? Passion? A visceral response to what was really just a splash of paint? But when the mind was allowed to imagine, that’s when you saw art.

“I’m impressed,” Matt said. “I think we can do something together, Stone.”

“Really? I mean, this is unreal. No one’s ever taken a chance on me. Back home, I feel that gallery owners are always looking for a reason to say no.”

“That’s the beauty of Paris. We like to say yes here. We live a positive life here. Too bad I opened the wine, because I should have planned for celebratory champagne. Oh well, we’ll have plenty of time for that later. For now, Stone, welcome to Paris. Welcome to your future.”

Before he realized it, Matt was in the man’s tight embrace. Not that he minded, Stone was cute, young, passionate, caught up in the moment. He could only hope that Stone found, in addition to professional success, a personal connection here in the city of lights. One thing Matt was certain of, Stone was as gay as they came.

He pulled back, saw the needy expression on the young artist’s face.

“How can I ever repay you?”

Those were dangerous words, suggestive words from the obviously sexy artist. He wasn’t so naïve as he’d originally thought. Matt had to swallow hard, forcing down his growing attraction to the man in front of him. He had Anton, he was engaged, his life was settled. This man was just getting started, he was young and eager, and if Matt was feeling anything for him it was jealousy. Had he ever been so young? So uncertain in a new world? Then he inwardly laughed. Yes, he had. Despite having lived in New York for ten years, when he arrived in Paris he might as well have arrived directly from corn country. Feeling grateful to someone helpful was a natural response.

Matt had to dissuade any hint of impropriety.

“Tell you what, Stone, why don’t you come to my engagement party later this week? You’ll get to meet some people, see Sheeba. You’ll also get to meet my fiancé.”

He hoped those words would dampen the heat Stone was giving off.

He hoped those words would dampen his own desires, too.

 

***

 

The rain from the other day had finally passed, leaving Paris in a glow of fading sunshine. The sky was embracing nightfall, and at the moment, Anton was mirroring nature’s instinct. He held Matt in his arms, facing him, their lips just parting from a kiss.

“You ready?”

“Not sure. Simone is…unpredictable.”

“She’s your friend.”

“Which is why I know she’s unpredictable. This might be our engagement party, but she’s not the wallflower type. She’ll be all over this party, taking credit for everything—from choosing mini cupcakes instead of a sheet cake to picking the pont she and I walked across, which led to me finding you. She might even take credit for the Eiffel Tower.”

“I think Gavin might choose that one. He’s into phallic images.”

Matt ignored the comment, not wanting to think about the first man he’d slept with in Paris, even though he fully anticipated seeing him tonight. As Simone’s business partner, he would undoubtedly be part of the night’s festivities. They were presently in the trendy Saint-Germain arrondissement, where the offices of Simone & Simon were located, atop an office building on the corner of the Boulevard St. Germain and Rue de Seine. The rooftop access they enjoyed provided picturesque, panoramic views of the Parisian skyline. He remembered his first visit here, a cocktail party where he’d known no one, but where the seductive Gavin Simon had made his move. How easily he’d given in to his surface sophistication. Matt was wiser now, more worldly. He had Anton on his arm.

No longer able to put off the night’s celebration, the two men entered the lobby and headed up the lift to the top floor. They emerged into a beautifully lit office, candles enhancing the sconces dotting the walls. A server with a tray of champagne flutes stood at attention, offering up a glass to each of the party’s new arrivals. Anton and Matt were impressed, each of them taking a glass and quickly, clinked them in a private toast. This was their last moment alone tonight; they would soon be swept into a party that swirled with activity and well-wishers. While Matt and Anton might be the center of attention, they probably wouldn’t get a moment to themselves. Simone was like that.

“Boys, over here…oh my, don’t you both look handsome.”

Simone had said it was a dressy affair, so they had both donned suits, sleek dark ones, Matt with a tie, Anton bucking convention by going without and leaving his shirt undone three buttons. Matt was freshly shaven, Anton with his usual patchy beard. But they paled in comparison to the effervescent Simone, who, in a sleek black dress and a tight red belt around her narrow waist looked as if she had reason to celebrate too. Her dark hair was cut short, a stylish bob. The only other hint of color came from her lips, painted a ruby red, creating a striking contrast to her dress. Her lips had also left an impression on the rim of her champagne glass.

“Simone, thank you for this,” Anton said.

She air-kissed both of his cheeks, then turned to her friend. “And you, Matthew…darling, how you’re grown. So sophisticated these days. Paris definitely agrees with you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you…wow, the office looks transformed.”

“Wait till you see the rooftop. We had colored lights strung all over, and there’s a string quartet, and a chocolate fountain and fresh fruits to indulge your passions. Nothing is too over-the-top for my beautiful boys. Who would have thought, a wedding?”

Instead of her usual air-kiss, she hugged Matt deeply. He felt warmth as well as regret.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Someone should be happy,” she answered, wiping at the corner of her eye.

“Is that a tear?” he asked.

“Tell anyone and I’ll have your balls.”

He laughed. “Okay, that’s the Simone I know. Not that girl from…”

She playfully slapped his cheek. “Don’t even go there.”

He kissed her cheek, and smiled.

“Come on, boys, circulate. At first I thought I’d go intimate, but then thought why? Invite many, please many. It spreads good karma, among friends and business associates alike. Perhaps the two of you will inspire others to pursue their own dreams.”

Indeed, the party was in full swing, with nearly 30 people in attendance, many of the faces unfamiliar to Matt. Leave it to Simone to turn his engagement party into a business venture, soliciting clients with the promise of high-end champagne, delicacies, and a pinch of Parisian love. But he gave in to the moment, and moved into the center of the room, Simone taking him in her arm and introducing him around. Anton told him to have fun, and Matt watched as his lover walked over to the bar and refilled his glass. That’s when he saw Gavin Simon wander over to him, and the two became engaged in a long conversation.

Matt, meanwhile, glad-handed those who congratulated him, but he was feeling a bit out of place; without Anton at his side, he felt like his engagement party was more like a separation, and he wished he could excise him from these people—as nice as they were—and feel the warm comfort of Anton’s embrace. They caught each other’s eyes at one point, a secret message passing between them. Just wait until later, after the party, when they could be alone with their thoughts, their passions. Matt knew he’d be opening himself up to Anton’s cock later, and just the idea of it produced a heated rush throughout his body. The buzz in the room was threatening to overwhelm him, and finally he excused himself and made his way up to the roof.

“Matt, there you are!” he heard the moment he emerged onto the rooftop.

Sheeba Handers was waving to him, her small but round body jiggling in anticipation of seeing him. He wandered over and kissed her cheek, then that of her girlfriend, Amanda, who was surprisingly tall and slim; they were a study in contrasts until it came to their haircuts. Each had a short style, abrupt in the back, longer in the front, as though they went to the same stylist. At their side was the artist known as Stone, who was looking mighty sexy in a pair of jeans and dark jacket, his open-buttoned shirt revealing his smooth, tanned chest. His brown eyes had caught the light of the stars, giving him an alluring appearance.

“Hi, Matt, great to see you again. Thanks so much for the invite. I mean, two days in Paris, and already I’m at this sizzling party, meeting all these interesting people from all over the world. Hey, where’s Anton? I’m looking forward to meeting the man who changed your life. Is he up here…?”

Matt shook his head. “He’s still downstairs, lost in conversation. I needed some air. This party…it’s all, well, it’s a lot to take in.”

“Typical Simone,” Sheeba added. “A chocolate fountain?”

“I wouldn’t mind bathing in it,” Amanda said, with a laugh.

So Sheeba and Amanda decided to indulge themselves with the aforementioned chocolate fountain, and as they coated fresh strawberries with the luscious liquid, Matt watched for a moment as they fed each other, kissing with little regard for anyone around them. When Matt turned back, he saw that Stone was looking his way.

“It’s nice to see Sheeba finally comfortable in her own skin,” he said.

“You went to college with her, right?”

‘Junior high, high school, undergraduate. We’ve known each other since we were 13.”

“That sounds like a horrible age. It’s much more fun being a grown-up.”

Neither Matt nor Stone had spoken, and both turned to see a new man enter their conversation. It was Gavin Simon, and he was smiling like a shark who’d just zeroed in on his hungered-for prey. Matt knew the feeling, since it had been in this very location where Gavin had put the moves on him—quite successfully. Now his gaze was focused on Stone, and Stone was looking right back.

“Matt, were you planning on introducing me to this fine specimen?”

“You seemed to be doing well on your own, but sure. Rich Stone, from Dallas, Texas, meet Gavin Simon, from wherever he decides to tell you he’s from.”

“Oh, Matt, you give my enigmatic nature far too much credit,” Gavin said. “A pleasure.”

“Call me Stone.”

“Hmmm, I like you even more now.”

He shook hands with Stone, and Matt imagined the energy passing between them. Gavin was as slick as ever, his dark eyes hooded by thick eyebrows, both completely focused on the man standing before him. He was handsomely turned out in the finest cut of Italian suit, its fit perfect against his fit frame. He too had foregone a tie, but that was his usual mode of dress, and tonight his shirt was undone several buttons, the curling black carpet that defined his chest on display. On his furry wrist he wore a shiny Rolex, and he checked it once before announcing they should have a drink together.

“If you’ll excuse us, Matt, let me show our new friend the view from up here—before we get to the festivities and surprises.”

“Surprises…” Matt said, but he was speaking to empty air.

Gavin had taken hold of Stone’s arm, leading him away and signaling a passing waiter for a refill on their champagne. Then they wandered to the edge of the building, where in the distance the Eiffel Tower was splashing an array of blinking colored lights. For a guy just off the plane, it was easy to fall into the trap of a sexy, seductive man. He saw Gavin’s hand reach behind and cup his ass. He also noticed that Stone didn’t resist.

“Something caught your eye?”

“What…oh, hey, Anton. There you are.”

“Sorry, Simone was talking me up. Some client who wants original art on her walls. Could be lucrative, which is good considering we have a wedding to pay for.”

“Anton, I told you, I don’t need anything fancy. I just need you.”

“You sure?”

“What does that mean?”

Anton’s eyes indicated the edge of the roof, where Gavin was caressing Stone’s cheek. “The new guy. Who is he?”

“That’s Rich Stone. Calls himself Stone. Gallerie Passione’s newest artist. He’s got a great eye.”

“Not so far, he doesn’t,” Anton added. “Gavin is slime.”

“Stone is a big boy, I’m sure he can handle Gavin.”

Any further discussion was interrupted by Simone, clinking her glass with a large diamond ring on her finger. She caught the attention of everyone, Matt realizing the entire party had moved upstairs. Luckily it was a lovely night, not too cool, the women in wraps and the men content with their suit jackets. She quieted the crowd, her eyes falling to Matt and Anton. Matt felt his lover’s hand clasp his, whether out of love, support, or bracing themselves for whatever Simone had in store for them, the reason didn’t matter. She was not without dramatic flair, and not just in business and fashion.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what a pleasure to have you all here celebrating the love between two dear friends of mine, both of whom were fortunate enough to find each other in this crazy, beautiful, complex city of ours. People often talk of the grand romances that give Paris its pulse, but rarely do you see it happen with such immediacy, or with such devotion. Matt Donovan and I have known each other since before I even knew my real self—and Anton, well, he’s newer to my life but I feel like I’ve known him forever. That’s because of how happy he makes my friend, and in my book, that’s what counts the most.”

Matt was surprised by her honesty, and her humility. Simone had an easy way of stealing another’s spotlight, but tonight her thoughts were centered mostly on Matt. Still, he wondered what else she had up her sleeve. He recalled Gavin’s mysterious hint of a “surprise.” Matt didn’t like those. He wanted to know what was going on at all times. He was the kind of guy who could be spontaneous as long as he knew about it in advance.

“So before we get to the night’s big reveal, let us all raise our glasses and cheer our happy lovers. To Matt and Anton, may love fill your days, and passion consume your nights, tonight, and always.”

It was a sweet toast with erotic overtones, and Matt felt himself blush a bit. But he clinked glasses with Anton and he kissed him in front of everyone, and they crowd clapped first, and then they drank. The sweet champagne tasted that much better with the lingering effect of their kiss.

“Okay, now on to the surprise,” Simone said.

“Simone… really, you’ve done enough,” Matt said.

“Oh, Matt relax. This one’s not my doing. You do have more than one friend in Paris.”

Just then the door from downstairs opened, as it on cue, and out walked a most handsome gentleman, tall and impeccably dressed, his tie matching the kerchief in his pocket, his tanned face stretched into a wide smile. His hair was flecked with the perfect amount of gray, giving off an air of distinction. Matt had known him the longest, he supposed, since his Parisian adventure had begun. He’d seen Matt at his highest—meaning, aboard the flight which had taken him to Paris—to the lowest, which meant after he and Anton had broken up late that summer. He’d seduced him first, soothed him next, a perfect lover without any hint of complication or expectation. His name was Colton Abbott, an international lawyer with connections all over the world, and he was now a good friend and the primary investor, along with his sister, Patsy, at the Gallerie Passione.

“Colton…what a surprise,” Matt said, swallowing the heartfelt knob of emotion he felt.

“Did you think I would miss such an occasion?

Both Matt and Anton went up to him and embraced him, thanked him for being there.

“Hold off on your thanks just a moment,” he said, “Simone did mention a surprise.”

Matt looked over at his friend, his eyes begging her for what she had done. She just grinned.

“When I heard about your engagement, I couldn’t have been more thrilled,” he said, “and I would like to mark the occasion by giving you both the special day you deserve. All you have to do is name the date—leave the rest of it up to me.”

“Colton, what are you saying?”

“It means you’re going to have the most beautiful wedding imaginable, on the grounds of my villa in Cap Ferrat,” he said.

As the sound of applause swarmed around them, Matt felt light-headed, his ears unable to absorb the news they’d just heard. He hugged Colton again, so tight he could smell his fancy cologne all the way down to his pores, and whether it was the masculine, musky scent or the champagne, he felt intoxicated, so much so his knees buckled to the point that Anton had to catch him. They brought Matt to a chair, all while he protested that he was fine, just surprised…grateful. He had once spent a week at the gorgeous villa, and it offered up lush views of the majestic, blue Mediterranean as it stretched across the Cote d’Azur. There was a huge pool and a beach beyond the rocks as well, many bedrooms, a wine cellar, all the accoutrements required for a man who enjoyed the finer things in life. And now Matt realized he would be married amidst such a lush setting.

Finally, the party resumed, Colton the new star of the party. Matt wasn’t one to enjoy being the center of attention anyway, so he slipped away from his own party, leaving the cool outdoors in an effort to find a bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water was what he needed. So down the stairs he went, alone, emerging back into the office space, thankful to find it unoccupied. He made his way toward the bathroom, relieved himself and refreshed himself, before returning back into the dimly lit space. He thought he heard a whisper, but realized it was more than that…there was emotion behind it. A whimper, is what he decided. Then a cry, and a hearty grunt.

He paused on the carpet, trying to decipher where the sounds were coming from.

That’s when he saw moving shadows dancing on the floor, mirroring the actions of people inside one of the offices. Matt knew exactly what was going on, and if he had to guess who it was in the throes of hungry sex, it could only be Gavin Simon. But who was he with…then it hit him, and he realized that during Colton’s speech he’d not seen his new artist. Stone was elsewhere. No, he hoped, it couldn’t be…was he that easily taken in by a man like Gavin? Then Matt remembered his own instant attraction to the man.

“Oh, shit…shit…that’s it Gavin. Wow, oh wow.”

It was definitely Stone, and he was crying out to be fucked. Matt didn’t know what to do. To get back upstairs, he’d have to move past the office; he didn’t want to be noticed, but he didn’t want to stay behind and listen until the inevitable conclusion. He could hide in the bathroom and wait it out. Forget it, just be quiet and slip back upstairs. No doubt they were locked in their own world. So Matt started across the floor, realizing then that each office was exposed, as the walls were all made of glass. As he walked by, he tried to avert his eyes but a sudden cry had him turning his head. What he saw shocked him.

Stone was splayed open on the desk, his legs wide and pointed upwards. His shirt was open, and Matt could see his glistening, smooth chest heaving upwards. But what surprised him was what Stone held in his hands—his own cock, and it was massive, thick and very long. No wonder they called him Stone. His fist seemed small in comparison. He was stroking it, all while Gavin hovered above him, thrusting his hips hungrily at Stone’s ass. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a thickly furred chest. Matt knew it well, and also recalled that Gavin was furry all over. He was panting and grunting. Matt heard the slap of his body against Stone’s ass.

“That’s it, tighten up, take my full cock…let me watch your big one come.”

Even with Stone being so well-endowed, it was still Gavin in control.

Matt had seen enough, and he closed his eyes as he made his way back toward the stairs. He started up them, and that’s when he heard a loud bellow. Stone was climaxing, and the sound of it only increased the rapid motions of the hairy beast above him. Matt didn’t know what to think. Was Stone the kind of man he wanted to work with, to host as his gallery’s next discovery? Why not, his rational side told him, who was he to judge the man’s sex life. And then his mind flashed an image of the man’s hot cock, the size of it ingrained in his mind.

Was that the problem?

Was he attracted to Stone? Did he want that massive tool inside him?

Here he was at his own engagement party, and he’d just learned of the ideal setting for his wedding. The man of his dreams was upstairs, waiting for him, no doubt ready to take him home and make love. But was the man of his desires down in that office, getting his brains fucked out by the ever-horny, fully furry Gavin Simon?

Matt finally returned upstairs and the first thing he saw was the Eiffel Tower, exploding with color. He felt weary, perhaps dehydrated. Or exhausted. No matter the reason, that’s when he fainted.

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

Freddie

 

One of the things about living in Los Angeles that Freddie would never get used to was the driving. As a native New Yorker, he’d never had the need for a car, preferring the subway or buses to get around, or hailing a cab late at night. In other words, he preferred someone else to get him from point A to point B. On this Wednesday afternoon, Freddie was reminded of the vehicular benefits of the Big Apple when he was nearly rear-ended along Hollywood Boulevard. As he stopped at a red light at the corner of Vine, he heard a screech behind him and saw the car behind him jerk to an abrupt stop in the rear-view mirror. The woman in the driver’s seat had a phone attached to her ear.

“Fuck,” Freddie said, realizing how close his rental had come to being a wreck.

He raised his middle finger to the woman, who offered up nothing less than a mouthed “fuck you.” That was another part of life in Los Angeles, no one took responsibility for their stupid actions. How else did these movie stars keep working, even when their last film tanked? The little people adopted the same attitude of “I can do whatever I want”. Like her damn phone call was more important than Freddie suffering from a possible case of whiplash. Now the bitch was honking at him, and Freddie realized the light had changed to green. See, now the traffic delay was all his fault.

He hated Hollywood.

He pushed forward, turning right onto Vine and heading east toward his destination, only to get stopped at another light. He stole a look back but noticed the bitch was gone. She’d gone straight, something Freddie would never be accused of. He laughed at his own lame joke, and then he immediately thought of Santo. Santo who was busy on the set of his latest film today; it was two weeks since he’d come home that night and told Freddie of the demands of his preening co-star. Since then he and Santo had spent very little time together—he was up early, home late, the bed calling only to him, not them. He heard a honk behind him and realized again that the light had changed.

Why couldn’t his lunch date have met him at the house in the hills?

Freddie had received a surprise phone this morning just as he was hopping out of the shower, and he nearly missed it. It had been Patsy Abbott, the friend he’d met in Rome who had introduced him to Santo. She was now part of Santo’s management team, but why she was calling Freddie had him wondering what was up, and after the call he was even more confused. Lunch, she asked, a Malaysian restaurant on Melrose, one o’clock, “Don’t be late.” Late was a relative term out here, so the fact that he kept hitting red lights as he worked his way through midday traffic didn’t worry him so much.

He bypassed Santa Monica Boulevard, continuing further down, until finally reaching the hip, bohemian stretch of Melrose, and that’s when he began to search for not just the restaurant but parking as well. Another thing he hated about L.A. But then he saw a car pulling out from the curb and he nabbed it with all the gusto of an ambitious Angelino, not caring who else he pissed off by stopping mid-street, then parallel parking. It was one talent he’d learned when he’d taken his driver’s test, and it hadn’t left him. He did it in one try, minimizing the honking behind him.

He locked the car, then crossed against traffic and down one block to where he found Tiki Noodle Shop, not exactly the high-end kind of establishment he expected of Patsy, but certainly its run down kitsch was just the kind of joint you found on Melrose Avenue. An outside deck extended off the main building, a series of umbrellas open to shield diners from the harsh glare of the sun. It was 80 degrees today, and Freddie didn’t even bother to remove his shades when he entered the dimly-lit restaurant. A pretty Asian woman greeted him.

“I’m expecting a lady, perhaps she’s already here,” he said, noting the time on his iPhone. It was 1:05 He doubted she’d made a reservation; they didn’t look necessary based on the empty tables spread throughout the room.

“Ms. Abbott?” the woman asked.

“Uh, yes?” Freddie said, surprised. “You know her?”

“She called. She’s running late. Said to give you a table outside and a Tropical Breeze.”

“I’m guessing that’s a drink and not a something off the ocean.”

The woman didn’t get his joke, and instead she just guided Freddie through the back of the restaurant and out a door, positioning him at a corner table under a large yellow umbrella. While it was still winter back in New York, March offered little difference than did October or June in L.A. He’d already worked on his tan while Santo worked, and so he fit right in, sunglasses, cell phone, all the needed accoutrements.

In short order, a pink-colored drink with a pineapple slice and a paper umbrella appeared before him and he thanked the lady. Two menus were placed on the table. Freddie ignored them, concentrating on his surroundings. The deck was painted white, with an accompanying picket fence, and enclosed within it were four couples and Freddie. None of them paid him any mind, and so he picked up his phone and sent Patsy a text.

I’M HERE. HOW CLOSE R U?

He was halfway done with his Tropical Breeze when Patsy herself breezed in, not having responded to his text. She was his age, 38, but as much as he’d made barely an impression on the other diners, Patsy’s whirling dervish of an arrival grabbed their attention. She was dressed in a stylish print dress, tight against his slim frame, and her blonde hair was perfect, a trendy pixie cut, and with her designer sunglasses and Roberta Pieri handbag dangling off her arm, she was the picture of success. People liked to know people like her. Freddie forgave her her tardiness. The others looked at him with newfound envy.

L.A. was status-central. His Q rating had just skyrocketed.

“Sorry, darling, sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said, kissing his cheeks.

She actually made physical contact, the air compressed between her lips and his cheek.

“When one makes an entrance like that, all is forgiven,” he said.

She smiled wickedly. She’d been aware of her every move, as calculated as the first time they had met, at a bar at JFK while he awaited his flight to Rome. He’d been checking out guys, and Patsy had played along, doing shots alongside him while they waited for their plane to arrive at the terminal. They’d become fast friends, mostly because Patsy’s pretentiousness was an act and she could relax around Freddie, who didn’t have a snooty bone in his body. Frederick Richard Markson was a New Yorker, he kept it real.

“Now that you’re here, can I just have a beer?” he asked.

“Oh, shoot, I forgot, you’re one of those straight gays,” she remarked.

“I’m looking forward to April and my first Dodgers game.”

Patsy ordered a white wine, Freddie a Singha, and soon they had their drinks and were left alone to decide on their meals. Freddie shifted in his seat, realizing all of the questions he’d had since her phone call were about to be answered. Should he brace himself/ Should he order a shot to go along with his beer? No, he was driving and he had to be good…another of the things he hated about L.A.

“So, Patsy, what’s up?”

“Oh, Freddie. No social niceties? How am I, where have I been?”

“You look fine, no doubt you’ve been trotting around the globe because it’s what you do. Have you picked up any more stray gays at the airport?”

“No, I learned my lesson with you.”

“Haha, nice.”

“So, Freddie, how are you enjoying L.A.? I haven’t seen you since you first arrived.”

“I hate it.”

“Hmm, I’m hardly surprised. You always liked having fun. L.A. is all business, even when it comes to concepts such as fun. What about Santo?”

“Do you really want to get into that now? You’ve talked to him.”

“He does seem…not himself.”

“Is that why we’re having this lunch?

“Speaking of, I’m famished, let’s order.”

“Nice deflection,” Freddie said.

Still, the waitress returned and they ordered spicy noodle dishes, his with grilled chicken, hers with Seitan, which Freddie wasn’t even sure what it was and didn’t ask. They sipped at their drinks, Patsy changing the topic the moment the menus were taken away.

“I was just overseas, where I saw my brother.”

“Which one? You have two of them.”

“Oh, what a good memory you have. Colton, as it turns out. I was passing through Paris, and he was there on some personal business. Turns out, he’s going to be hosting a wedding sometime this spring, and he’s asked me to attend. Hunter, too.”

“Is Colton the one getting married?”

“No, that’s not his style,” she said with a wave of her bejeweled hand. “He’ll fuck any man he wants, but he’d never get tied down. At least, not in the respectable way.”

“The Abbott siblings, they’re quiet independent.”

One of the strange coincidences to come out of Freddie’s sojourn to Rome was meeting Patsy, all while Matt was forging a relationship a country away with her brother. And then there was Jake over in London, who inexplicably had met Hunter and enjoyed a torrid, complex affair with him. It was like the three best friends were destined to encounter the ambitious, wayward, and intriguing Abbotts. Freddie had yet to meet either of the brothers, but he felt that was all about to change. He knew where she was going with this.

“Yes, it seems the only thing we have in common is a fierce independent streak. This wedding will mark the first time we’ve all been together in years,” she said. “I believe you’ve been invited, too.”

“Matt’s wedding to Anton,” he said, not surprised. “I hope to be there, with Santo.”

“Ah, well, that’s the rub, as they say,” Patsy said.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Oh, look, lunch.”

The Tiki Noodle Shop had a way of perfectly timing their inopportune moments. Freddie wouldn’t put it past Patsy to have orchestrated this entire meal, from the Tropical Breeze to the hot air she was currently spewing. She dipped into her noodle dish, complaining of how little sauce seemed to be in the bowl. She signaled the waitress, who brought her a small bowl of fish sauce with hot oil, and that seemed to appease her earlier concern. She ate. Freddie picked at the chicken, not happy to find mushrooms among them. He kind of craved of a bacon cheeseburger.

“So, Patsy, can we get back to the reason you called for this lunch?”

“Santo is jeopardizing his career, and if he doesn’t start listening to the people he pays to think for him he may well find himself back in Italy planting sunflowers along the Tuscan hills.”

“Actually, that sounds ideal.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Freddie. Santo has the chance to be a major star. I’ve got a script here in my purse that could win him an Oscar.”

“I think he’s content with a Freddie.”

“Oh, you’re being droll. How delightfully East Coast.”

‘I’m being honest,” he said. “Look, Patsy, we’re both grateful for the opportunities you’ve given Santo. Your play was a huge hit on Broadway, mostly thanks to Santo’s exotic, but innocent performance, and while he garnered a Tony nomination, he didn’t win. He became the toast of New York, invited to all the A list parties, the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s annual gala, award ceremonies, you name it. And I got to go along with it, no one in New York batting an eyelash that he had a man on his arm. I realize L.A. is a different animal, and I’ve played the dutiful role of house husband—which means I stay home and out of the spotlight. You’ve set him up with young starlets for red carpet events, blah blah, all that crap, to deceive the rest of the country into thinking he’s sleeping his way through Hollywood’s B-list actresses. He’s finishing up the filming of his third movie, all of them in which he’s played a supporting role in. And you know what? He’s even more miserable than when you pushed him two years in Italy into starring in your play. He walked away from all of this as a teenager, and out of some twisted obligation to you he agreed to your play. But now things are out of control. He told me a couple weeks ago that he didn’t know who he was anymore—that Hollywood was changing him.”

“It happens to everyone. You have to sacrifice yourself to achieve success here.”

“Except you forget one important detail. He doesn’t want this. He never did.”

“He signed contracts for the studios, with agents. With me as his manager.”

“And does he take your calls?”

Silence feel between them, and that’s when it dawned on Freddie. This lunch wasn’t a catch up kind of session, she was here to convince Freddie to convince Santo to just do as he was told, and in return, the people around him would make him rich and famous. Freddie knew differently, it’s not what Santo really wanted. He’d just been caught up in his own press, fed to him by people like Patsy and others she had hired. The fact he’d now confronted Patsy on the truth behind their get together, it all made sense.

“I’m taking that as a no.”

“Freddie, you need to talk to him. This film…this script I have, it’s perfect. He needs to sign on. Filming starts in a month. They studio knows they have gold on their hands, and they want to strike fast, get the film out before the end of the year in limited release, which increases its Oscar chances. It’s like the story was written for Santo.”

“Let me guess, you wrote it.”

She took a sip of her wine, delaying her answer. “I got him a Tony nomination. Now I’ll get him an Oscar.”

“See, you raise a difficult point, Patsy. You say filming starts in a month. But Santo won’t be available.”

“Of course he will. I know his schedule. He’s done with principal shooting on his current project in a week. He gets three weeks rest, then it’s back to work.”

Freddie decided to see how far he could go with this. To see if Patsy really was a friend, or if she was using Santo to further her own career. She’d done it once, back in New York, but now she had upped the stakes. With this new film, she was going to put undue pressure on a man who didn’t thrive on such a high wire. As hot and sexy as Santo was, he was incredibly real, grounded. It’s what Freddie loved about him.

“We won’t be in town. I’m taking him back to Italy for the spring and summer. He wants to see his mother.”

“Oh, Freddie, you can’t possibly think that’s a good idea.”

“I think it’s ideal, just what Santo and I need.”

“Freddie, I think this is about you. How useless you feel out here.”

“Partly, sure. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I forget what I used to do for a living.”

“You want to be a consultant on the film? I can make that happen?”

She took hold of her handbag, where she withdrew the script. She tossed it onto the table, the title page facing Freddie. He stared down at it. THE STRANGER INSIDE ME. He almost laughed at how appropriate the title was. What he didn’t do was pick it up.

“Actually, I think I’d prefer to plant those sunflowers,” he said, drinking down the last of his beer. Then he stood up, smoothing down his shirt. He’d never taken off his sunglasses, and nor had Patsy. Neither knew what was really to be found deep in their eyes. “I suppose we’ll see you for the wedding. Until then, I’m assuming this lunch in one you? Because we all know it’s really on Santo. After all, haven’t you decided he’s your meal ticket?”

Patsy remained seated, but she wasn’t done talking.

“You forgot something, Freddie.” Her fingernail tapped the script. “Read it.”

Reluctantly, he grabbed the script and slipped it under his arm. And with that, Freddie walked out of the Tiki Noodle Shop and onto the busy sidewalk of Melrose Avenue, awash with pedestrians popping in and out of an assortment of trendy shops. He hated what had just happened. That was the other thing about life in L.A. The pursuit of playing out dreams upon the silver screen also meant sacrificing the friendships you had formed in real life.

 

***

 

Damn, it was good.

Fuck, it was really good.

Freddie tossed the script across the room, watching the papers come loose from their clips.

His mind still swirled from the plot twists he’d just absorbed. The scathing dialogue. The tour de force performance he could imagine in the hands of a talented actor. Of course it had been tailor made for Santo Mancusi in his first major film role, and it was not just one role but two: twin brothers, one of whom had been disfigured as a child and had been presumed dead. His handsome other half had gone on to live the perfect life: money, a beautiful wife, a country home. All was ideal until the disfigured brother returned and began to seek out his revenge. The script was both suspenseful, emotional, and highly erotic if Patsy’s scenes were actually filmed as written. The first scene was an elongated sex scene between Santo’s character and a woman who wasn’t his wife. Freddie sarcastically wondered if they’d have Santo shave his hairy chest for this film, too. The Stranger Inside Me, indeed. In bed the last couple of weeks, a smooth-chested Santo had felt like someone other than the man he’d fallen in love with.

Freddie got up from the sofa, padded his way into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine; something he did far too much living up in the hills, but hidden away from the world he had few options. It was nine o’clock that same night, and he was waiting for Santo to return home. Like always. He grabbed the entire bottle and went out onto the patio, sitting upon the rocky wall, staring out at the flatlands of Los Angeles spread out before him. He thought he could see Melrose in the distance, and he was filled with regret about how his lunch meeting with Patsy had gone. She had done so much for them both—heck, encouraging Freddie to pursue a relationship with Santo when he’d assumed the hot Italian guy was way out of his league. But physical attraction only took you so far; you had to find a deeper connection, and Santo and Freddie had found that. They’d been through a lot, and who was always working behind the scenes to make sure they escaped unscathed? Patsy Abbott.

Freddie pulled out his phone and thought about texting an apology.

He decided to give it a day. Maybe she’d send one first, for ambushing him.

Refreshing his glass of wine, he set the bottle on the ground. He took a grateful sip, felt built up tension leave his body. He hadn’t been joking with Patsy earlier. He didn’t know who he was any more. Two years ago he’d been caring for his dying mother, and once she’d passed he’d found that life had drifted away from him too. He quit his unimportant office job, thanks to the money his mother had left him. It was what had enabled him to take that summer in Italy, and since then, well, he’d ridden along with Santo’s career, enjoying the highpoints while secretly regretting the low. Just what was he contributing to this relationship? But he knew that was just the wine talking. He did a lot, more than he realized most days. He reminded Santo of where he came from, and who he was beneath the false veneer of celebrity.

It was another half hour of sitting and thinking and wishing upon the stars in the sky, ones that felt as artificial as the rest of Los Angeles, before he heard the car in the driveway. He didn’t move. He’d let Santo find him. He wondered how much he knew of what had transpired today. Had Patsy gotten in touch with him? Had she gone to the studio to hand off another copy of her script? Had they been dining out at the trend-setting Standard Hotel over on Sunset while Freddie stewed alone in these hills? He knew it was all paranoia speaking, but still, didn’t insecurity grow out of reality?

“Freddie, are you here?”

“On the patio,” he said, wanting to say “just like every night,” but refrained.

Santo came around the edge of the driveway instead of going into the house. Freddie liked the way the moonlight caught his shadow, almost like there were two Santos, and really, wasn’t that the truth? The one he loved, and the one Hollywood loved. He rounded the patio and came up to Freddie, kissing him deep on the lips. His face felt scruffy, and the scrape of his rough beard sent waves of heat throughout his body, a feeling he’d not had for a while. Santo’s kiss lingered, and Freddie drew him closer, embracing him from his position on the stone wall. When at last they parted, Freddie let out of a sigh of relief.

“Wow, now that’s a greeting.”

“Where is the champagne?”

“Um, what?”

“Actually, come to think of it, I prefer Prosecco,” he said, that devilish smile of his back from where it had been hiding all winter. “We must have a bottle in the fridge, I will find out and return. Just you wait, my love.”

Freddie sat there, confused but happy, decided to go with whatever flow Santo had coursing through him. It only took a couple of minutes for Santo to return, glasses and bottle in hand, that enticing smile still upon his soft lips. Freddie wanted to forego the bubbly and instead coax out of him a different fluid, but he had a feeling that would come in due time. He felt a tightening in his shorts, anticipating the fueling of his desires. He watched as Santo uncorked the bottle, letting the cork fly high into the night. It landed somewhere in the brush behind the house. A few droplets of the golden liquid spilled out over Santo’s hand, and Freddie found himself impulsively licking the drops from his fingers.

“My love, you are turning me on,” Santo said.

“Good. Now we’re even.”

Santo poured the glasses full. They clinked and took a sip but then Santo pulled Freddie close to him and kissed him. The bubbly passed from man to man, mouth to mouth, and the effervescence caused Freddie’s cock to fully harden. He pushed his hips against his lover, felt no resistance. He had a feeling this night was going to be spectacular and he was going to do nothing to ruin it. Like doing a dumb thing such as asking what had put Santo in such a good mood.

Freddie leaped down from the wall, drawing Santo over to one of the lounge chairs. He kissed him, his hand rubbing against his pants, feeling Santo grow hard. He wanted that cock, in his hungry mouth and in his wanting ass, pumping him, feeding him, stretching his body while strengthening his soul. He pushed his lover down onto the chair, sidling up, his hands taking hold of the zipper and doing what came naturally. Pants pulled down around his ankles, exposing his muscled, furry legs, Freddie unleashed Santo’s cock, licking his lips as it stretched upward in the night sky. He took the tip into his mouth, his tongue encircling it. He went down on it further, the shaft of that long cock sliding inside his mouth. Santo let out a heavy sigh, one of heat, but also of contentment. As though this was what he’d dreamed of while driving along the freeways of L.A. Freddie pushed all thoughts away, concentrating on the blow job he was hungry to give. He went down, again, again, sucking and sucking, feeling the tip push against the back of his mouth. The scent of his lover was strong, right down to his pubes, and that only incensed Freddie further. For a second he pulled out, taking a breath before sucking down a sip of prosecco. Then, with the bubbles dancing in his mouth, he sucked on Santos’s long cock again.

“Oh, oh….oooh….” Santo cried out, bucking his hips to meet Freddie’s mouth.

It didn’t take long, since it had been days since they had made love, so soon Santo’s cock was erupting, his cries loud in the canyon that surrounded them. Freddie had drunk down a Tropical Breeze, a beer, some wine and then champagne, but none of it compared to the delicious heat that hit the back of his throat and slid down with oozing eroticism. Santo continued to buck his hips, and Freddie drank down the last drops of his come, finally pulling up with a wipe of his mouth.

“Someone was ready,” he said with a ready smile.

“That just means I can take you for as long as you desire,” Santo said.

They moved into the bedroom and stripped down to their skin and souls. Freddie kissed Santo’s chest, which was stubbly now but still sexy. The promise of the hair that would once again grace his chest encouraged Freddie to move forward, as though he could move the future to this moment. He licked at nipples usually so hidden, rubbed his cheeks against the rough stubble. But then he just lay down on the bed and opened himself up, and Santo wasted no time. There was an urgency between them tonight, and again Freddie wondered what had happened and then he had to shut that part of himself down. Just enjoy now, and he did, as Santo slid his still hard cock deep inside him, thrusting at him with an eagerness he’d not felt in too long.

Santo rocked his world. He rammed his hips against Freddie’s ass, and he kissed him too. As aggressive as he was right now, he never skipped the intimacy between them, the tender kiss a counter-balance to his fierce thrusting. Freddie wrapped his legs around Santo’s ass, pushing him in further, deeper, harder. He begged for it, his voice loud in the otherwise quiet of the bedroom. It was the one thing he liked about L.A., their neighbors were not that close, so he could be as vocal as he wanted while Santo fucked him. And that’s what he wanted right now, to be fucked as hard as possible. That’s what he asked for, demanded.

“Yeah, baby, my sweet Freddie, you want your Santo’s cock…all of it , take it….”

“Always, now, Always, tomorrow. Always, always…fuck me, fuck me so hard.”

Santo pushed at him again, his body rising above him. Freddie watched as he heaved with harsh aggression. Their eyes caught, irises on fire. Freddie reached up and pressed his palms flat against his chest, imagining the furry blanket that he was used to, and feeling those erotic memories float down to his pulsing cock. It was so hard, and so ready to blow. He grabbed it, stroking it, all while Santo continued his wanton assault on his ass.

“More, more…Santo…oh fuck, oh fuck…make me shoot….”

Santo grunted loudly, pushing his cock with one hard motion as deep as he could.

“Oww….oooh….oh, fuck…yeah, my sexy Santo, don’t stop…even when I come…I want to feel you shoot inside me…yes, yes…”

Santo thrust his hips at him again, and Freddie felt the heat rush through his loins. His come was unstoppable now. It rushed through his cock and spurted out of the tip, splashing against his flat stomach. Another spurt, another…shit, wow, holy shit…another, another, and Freddie felt himself drained of anything that might have remained inside his balls. He was awash in his own come, and just when he thought his body couldn’t be doused with more, Santo pulled out, stroked his hard cock once, twice, again, again, and then he too spilled his load, white streaks mixing with those already spreading across Freddie’s torso.

Freddie looked up and saw the sweat gleam off Santo’s chest, highlighting the dark stubble that a fortnight from now would return him to his usual hirsute self. He leaned up and kissed that chest, tasting Santo’s salty sheen. At last, Santo fell back onto the bed, grasping for air and letting Freddie slide in next to him. They lay in silence, in the dark, the moment lost in time. But time had a way of advancing, and before Freddie knew it, the clock had moved from ten o’clock at night to three in the morning. He realized he’d fallen asleep in Santo’s arms. The bed, however, only held one of them right now. Freddie stirred, rising up on his elbows.

He saw a light streaming in from the living room.

Pulling away at the tangled covers, he made his way toward the door frame, and it was there that he saw Santo, dressed only in a pair of briefs, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The script Freddie had tossed around earlier was in his hands, pages back in order. An empty glass was at his side.

“Santo, are you okay?”

He looked up, his eyes wide, open, excited. “I’m better than okay.”

“You read the script, I see.”

“Twice,” he said. “Patsy told me she gave it to you. It’s fucking fantastic.”

“Is that why you were so excited tonight? Why you fucked me like the old Santo?”

“No, my love. We made fierce love because we finished that awful film today. I’m free. I wanted to celebrate,” he said. “But now…this…this changes everything.”

Freddie, naked, flaccid, felt deflated, as though he’d never escape the confines of Southern California. Finally he mustered up the courage to ask, “How do you mean?”

“This,” said Santo Mancusi, holding up the script, “Is the answer to our future. This puts us in control.”

“I don’t understand,” Freddie said.

“All in good time. For now, take me back to bed. There is no work tomorrow, no studio call, and no meetings. Sleep will find us eventually. Right now, Freddie Markson, make passionate love to me until my chest is as furry as you like it. Take me as though we are back among the hills of Italy, back home for forever.”

Freddie’s cock was hard even before Santo had returned to the bedroom.

They did make love, wildly, and they did invite sleep into their bed, eventually, and soon Freddie’s dreams were filled with the wondrous images of Tuscany, where he and Santo lived as recluses, alone except for their undying passion.

 

 

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

Jake

 

Shit, it couldn’t be him…could it?

Yeah, of course it could be, he knew him so well…with clothes, and without. So, yeah, in fact, approaching him was the hot man who’d once filled his nights with passion and allowed him to dream of a forever partnership.

His ex. Aaron.

He was coming up the aisle, chatting with the people around him, oblivious to the fact the man whose heart he’d broken was waiting at the exit door, wanting his money. He looked great, too, in a black leather jacket, his wavy brown hair perfect, complimenting the perfect scruff on his face. Damn, he’d have to stop using the word perfect. Because what wasn’t perfect was the fact Aaron was about to run right into him.

Jake Westbury realized he had no place to go. He was doing a job.

As part of his financial windfall in London, Jake Westbury had made a promise to give back to others. Not return the money he sort of earned, which was tucked away in its own account, as untouchable as it was untraceable, but with his time. Since he didn’t need to work full-time, and his freelance writing life had picked up in the last year, he figured he could do some volunteering, and so that’s what had found him waiting on the steps of Broadway’s Belasco Theatre for the other two people who would assist in collecting money for the Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS organization, unaware of what his volunteering was about to bring about. Twice a year the non-profit went around to all the Broadway and many off-Broadway shows and raised money from the audience in support of people living with HIV. Jake always felt he’d been lucky, always testing negative for the virus, especially given how sexually active he was. He practiced safe sex at every turn.

Not that he’d had sex since that hot night with the blond guy named Noah.

He hadn’t even had a date. It had been a whole month.

And now here was Aaron, growing ever closer to him, still chatting, looking fine. Jake tried his best to concentrate on the task at hand, thanking people for their donations as they dumped bills and change into his red bucket. Selling a signed Playbill, handing out show pins, watching one person continually stick their jacket with the latter until it stuck. Jake knew from the jacket’s angst. He was stuck, too.

Why had he even ventured outdoors?

For the past three weeks, Jake had been holed up in his apartment, working on a novel that was based on his London experience. A scheming bookmaker, add in a, sexy, rich heir with a bad boy reputation whom he still called Hunter because it was too good a name not to use, an innocent man caught up in the events beyond his control. It was not unlike his own experience, but his story was a murder mystery, and the banker who knew the truth ended up the victim in the first chapter. The hero was a version of himself, and the devilish man at the center of the action was a hot English guy. In truth he was based on the real Hunter Abbott, with whom Jake had slept with on a number of occasions during his summer excursion, both in London and at an estate called Voignier House outside of Newbury. But that was a story unto itself, and not one Jake was ready to put to paper. For tonight, he had been grateful for the chance to escape his apartment—not to mention the machinations of his mind—and get out amongst the people.

The two other volunteers arrived, each of them wearing a pin on their jackets to identify themselves from BC/EFA. Jake had one on as well. He recognized the first volunteer, a heavy-set woman in a flak jacket, the other was a tall skinny guy of about 50, who smiled at Jake when he arrived. They shook hands and introduced themselves, then they went back stage to check in with stage management, picking up the buckets and special items the cast had signed. He knew the drill; he’d done it before. They went to the lobby, where the theatre’s well-dressed ticket taker guided them to the back of the house at the conclusion of the show, pointing out where they would stand for the best fund-raising results.

The show was the rock musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch, and with the crowd being so LGBT-friendly, Jake was expecting to take in a decent haul. So much so could see a $5 bill sticking out the top of Aaron’s fist, ready to be dropped aimlessly into the bucket. The $5 donation entitled him to an “I Heart Hedwig” pin. Would Aaron even notice that Jake was the volunteer handing him the trinket?

He felt his heart beating, even as he thanked other audience members for their contributions and purchases. Aaron was only a few steps away, having reached the top of the aisle. Even with the back door of the theatre open and all of Manhattan available to hide him, Jake felt trapped, like he had no escape. It had been several months since he and Aaron had parted ways, and it hadn’t been Jake’s choice. He still wanted a life with him, he still wanted him in his bed, and in his arms. Shit, stop thinking about that…concentrate…

“Broadway Cares, folks, any donations are appreciated,” Jake called out, trying to refocus.

“Jake, is that you?”

And there it was, recognition. Aaron was standing right before him. Looking as hot as he’d always been.

“Oh, hey…Aaron, hi.”

“Hi, Jake. I was seeing the show with, uh, friends,” Aaron explained, not needing to. What he said qualified as obvious.

It was an awkward exchange, with no introductions forthcoming from the people—both men and women—Aaron was with. So Aaron just dropped his donation into the red bucket, took a pin from Jake, and both of them ignored the electricity that passed between them when their hands touched. Their eyes locked momentarily, and Jake wondered if his ex could see the regret inside of him. At last Aaron looked away, said he should let Jake get back to his fund-raising, and just like that he and his friends left the theatre.

Jake felt empty as he continued to mine the last dollar bill from the departing audience.

Soon, though, the house was clear and he turned in his bucket to stage management, and made his way outside in the cool early spring night. He was annoyed with himself for how he’d handled his unexpected reunion with Aaron, and was unsure of what he wanted to do about it. The old Jake would have gone for a drink, met some stranger, and fucked him. But wasn’t he trying to change his pattern after his sexual debacle with Noah? The pleasures of anonymous sex was fleeting; once you shot your load, you couldn’t wait to get out of there.

He was about to head back down 44th Street toward Times Square when he heard his name.

“Over here,” said the voice, and of course he knew it was Aaron’s.

He was waiting across the street, standing in front of a French bistro. What Jake noticed first was he was alone. What he noticed second was how hot he looked. Instinct told him to forget this foolishness, but horniness won out. So he crossed the street, just beating out a speeding taxi, and was soon standing before the man he’d once dreamed of standing beside.

“Hi,” Jake said, stupidly. They’d already established their greetings tonight.

“I like the beard,” Aaron said.

Jake had forgotten that he’d not had it while he and Aaron were together. “Winter boredom, I guess,” he said.

“So, that’s nice of you…you know, volunteering.”

“Trying to give back.”

‘That’s great. You seem…different.”

“I’m not, Aaron. I’m still me. The me who you broke up with.”

“Jake, come on…”

“Look, Aaron, I’ve got to go. I’ve got friends waiting…”

Aaron grabbed hold of his wrist, stopping him, and again their eyes met. “Do you really?”

Jake couldn’t lie to him, it’s one of the reasons they’d broken up. Aaron didn’t always like hearing the truth: like, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. “No, but I can’t do this, whatever this is. Did you ditch your friends? For what reason? You’re still you, and I am still me and I always will be. I suspect the same holds true for you.”

Aaron suddenly pulled him close, their lips nearly touching. Jake felt a palpable wave of heat pass between them. He wanted to pull away, but he also wanted to be pulled closer. To kiss him, to feel his lips against his, to run his hand along his crotch, the way he used to. The way he knew Aaron liked it. God damn but the sex between them had been so good. Everything was good between them but the talking.

“Maybe I miss what we had,” Aaron said.

Conflict hit Jake, those words like little bombs going off in front of him. “Maybe it’s too late.”

“Have you met someone?” Aaron asked.

Again, he couldn’t lie. “No. I just…I just can’t go through….”

His words were cut short by Aaron’s kiss, a sizzling exchange which filled Jake’s heart and challenged his mind. What was happening? How had a simple volunteer job gotten to him to the point where he was giving himself away? He could have easily melted into Aaron’s arms right now, but the hope he’d once had for them was now tinged with sorrow, and he wasn’t sure his own heart could withstand another attack. He finally pulled away, inadvertently wiping at his lips. His body, though, remained on fire. He just wanted this man so bad. Is that what Aaron wanted to? And to what end?

“I don’t think I can do this,” Jake said.

“We can. We’ll talk.”

Talk. Sure, fuck first. It would be good and then it would be bad. “Figure out in one night what we couldn’t figure out over a year’s time?”

“Jake, things are different. Maybe I’m ready.”

Maybe. It was always maybe. Never a definitive answer. Never moving forward.

“Come home with me, Jake,” Aaron whispered into his ear. “Let’s see if we can figure out a way, for both of us. And in the meantime…we were good together. In bed. So good.”

“I…I…” Jake was at a loss for words.

Aaron pulled him back, their bodies locked tight, oblivious to the crowd gathered at the stage door. Jake could smell his cologne, and his eyes darted down to his former lover’s shirt, open two buttons to reveal the teasing triangle of hair, a mere preview of the coating that grew all over his chest. Jake knew it so well, he’d indulged himself so many nights in the man’s lush carpet, and it would be so easy to give in to its allure now. He would lick it, and oh, he would suck on his large nipples, and later…yes, later, he would blast a hot load all over it. Streaks of white come against the dark fur. Jake’s mind swirled, his cock thickening in his pants.

“Don’t say no. Not tonight.”

No was the only word he wanted to say. The only word he couldn’t. “Okay,” Jake finally said, nearly out of breath. “I won’t say no.”

He knew in a matter of time, all he would be saying…crying out, was yes, yes, yes.

 

***

 

He remembered the circumstances of the first time they’d had sex.

It had been fall, just a few weeks after they’d met at Gaslight on that Labor Day weekend. He had just returned from London, Aaron had just moved from Chicago. They’d been on a few dates, and they had all ended with a chaste kiss. Jake felt frustrated after each date. He’d wanted them all to end with breakfast. He finally got his wish, as Aaron had taken him to the park near where he lived. It was a part of the city called Tudor City, just west of the United Nations building. A private park was made available for residents, and as the hour reached midnight, Aaron unlocked the wrought iron gate and invited Jake inside. On a park bench they sat, and they talked, first about the bad movie they had seen, and then more personal matters, but all while they spoke Jake found himself looking at Aaron for signs that the night was about to progress. He wanted the man to kiss him, hard, to finally let happen what he’d been hoping would since they met.

“You want to come upstairs with me?” Aaron had finally asked.

“I thought you’d never say those words.”

That’s when Aaron leaned in and they shared their first intimate kiss, one with deep feelings attached. Jake remembered how soft his lips felt, how his tongue had snaked inside his mouth and lit a fire down in his loins. His hand slipped inside Aaron’s open shirt and he got the first feel of his chest hair, grazing the dark fur as they continued to kiss. Jake boldly undid a third button, his fingers twirling hairs. Aaron had pulled back with a smile.

“You like that, huh?”

“You have no idea. I’ve wanted to stroke your chest hair from the night we met.”

“I could tell. But I’m really kind of hairy,” Aaron said, almost shyly. “Like, all over. You going to be okay with that? Some guys…”

“I’m not some guys. I’ll show you how much I like it” Jake said, a wanting smile alighting his face, again slipping his hand inside Aaron’s shirt and feeling the furry carpet on display. It was rough to the touch, yet so sexy, so fucking hot. He remembered leaning in and allowing his tongue to seek out a hardened nipple, all while the city glowed around them and Aaron emitted a soft, low moan.

Now, a year-plus later, after a hot relationship where sex had defined them, after a break-up which had wounded Jake to his core, he was back to the scene of the crime, but this time the two of them bypassed the park and instead went directly into the building where Aaron lived. He lived on the fourth floor, and they rode the elevator in silence, even though they were alone, as though each man was afraid to make that initial contact. They might just end up fucking right here in the elevator. Then the doors opened and they walked down the corridor, and Aaron unlocked the door to his apartment, escorting Jake through the darkness. Only a faint hint of moonlight shined through the drawn curtains. It was enough to cast shadows on the walls; their shadows, and they came together sooner than did their actual bodies.

Heat erupted, their lips locked, kisses hungry, all while clothes were being torn at. As they made their way to the bed in the far corner of the studio, a trail of shirts, pants and socks were left in their wake. Soon they fell to the soft mattress, their minds no longer in control. This was all physical, and it was hot and urgent, a heady mix of desire and passion. Like what they’d denied each other these past few months of being apart was making up for lost time.

“Oh, God, Aaron, you feel so good…so good…”

His kisses on Jake’s neck fired him up, the scrape of his scruff against the shaven part of his neck hot. Jake dug his fingers deep into Aaron’s back, relishing thick, furry patches of hair while seeking out the muscle pulsing beneath it. He grabbed at him, pulling him tight. He could feel the man’s hard cock pressing against his leg, and he reached down and grabbed at it, jerking its shaft. Aaron’s warm breath blew out of him. A second later, he had Jake’s cock in his own hand, and he was pumping it. The two of them stroked each other’s cocks, all while kissing, rolling on the bed, rediscovering all they had missed. Jake was on fire with this sexy beast atop him, and his kissed him hard, his hot tongue darting in, tasting him, wanting his every drop to boil.

“Tell me what you want,” Aaron said, “what do you need right now.”

“You….your cock. All of it, deep inside me. Fuck me, Aaron. Hard.”

It didn’t take long for them to be ready, condom rolled down on a cock that, while average in length, had a decent girth to it. Jake remembered how it felt the first time it entered him, opening him up, hurting him until it pleasured him. He awaited the same sensation again, and gave his ass a good swipe of lube to ready himself. Widening his legs, feet pointed to the ceiling, he watched as Aaron mounted him, his hairy chest heaving, hovering above him. Jake reached up and planted his palms flat against the dark carpet, burying his fingers into the fur as he felt that first, wanting, piercing penetration.

“Now, do it….do it, let me feel it all.”

Aaron wasted no further time, sliding his cock inside him. Jake allowed a sharp exhale of breath, and then felt himself relax. His pulsing ass took that fierce cock, each inch of it, his muscles aiding in nearly swallowing it whole deep inside him. He cried out after Aaron’s first thrust, and he then begged for him to do that again, again, again. Aaron did as asked, and his hips began to rock forward, knocking the bed against the wall as his motions increased. Jake looked up and met his eyes, and the two men stared at each other like they’d done back when they thought they were in love, the sex between them an expression of wanting to be one. Did it feel different now? Was Aaron just a conduit, his cock a tool meant only for physical satisfaction?

Did it matter?

Jake just wanted to get fucked, and that’s what he asked for. Later could come later.

He pulled Aaron tight against his body, wrapping his legs around his ass, pushing his cock inside him again. Aaron shot his hips, the slap of his body against Jake’s tight ass loud in the quiet of the room. He allowed a grunt with each thrust, his voice echoing. Jake again dug his hands into Aaron’s back, reveling in the man’s wonderful hairiness. He grabbed at two thick patches on his shoulder blades, heard an urgent cry erupt from Aaron’s mouth.

“Yeah, take it all, Jake. Let your furry man fuck you.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said, his words mirroring the words his brain had spoken not an hour ago outside the theatre. “Shit, shit, shit…harder, harder, you hot, fucking animal, don’t ever stop. Just fuck me, hard, as hard as you can…”

Jake had always enjoyed dirty talk during sex. He loved how filthy he sounded. He loved how such words turned a simple man into a hungry beast, as though he’d gone from loving him to attacking him. Jake felt that cock thicken as it pushed again inside him, against the walls of his ass, widening him. With his hand snaking down his belly, Jake took hold of his own cock, and he rubbed it against Aaron’s hairy stomach. The coarse, dense hair felt delicious against his angry tip, making his cock feel even bigger in his grip, causing his balls to tighten. A relentless Aaron continued to plow him, sweat beginning to form on his brow and a sheen of sweat glistening on his furry chest, all while his balls gave no indication of reaching climax anytime soon. He just continued his assault on Jake’s ass, Jake begging for every heated, hungry thrust. Shit, this was what he missed. This hot, hairy hunk banging the crap out of him with all of his might.

But his mind wouldn’t shut down. He still thought about what was missing between them, that commitment Jake had always sought in his life. He’d had too many relationships fail because the men he fell for didn’t fall hard enough for him; not enough to plan a future. Aaron had been the first guy in years to make him think being one half of a permanent couple was possible, and then he’d pushed too far…too fast, he guessed, and he’d chased Aaron away. So now what was so different today that wasn’t yesterday? Even as he took each of Aaron’s thrusts, even as his body reacted with physical pleasure, he just wasn’t…into it. He grabbed at his cock again, knowing it was wilting from his thoughts. He redoubled his efforts, closing his eyes, shutting out the past. Just enjoy now. Just enjoy him.

He again dug in his hands into Aaron’s strong, muscled back, grabbing at the surface layer of hair, and he heard Aaron cry out with excitement. He begged for Jake to pull harder, and he did, and he felt the response from Aaron’s hips. He fucked him with determination, his hot climax the desired result. Suddenly Aaron let out a sharp sound, and his entire body froze for a moment. Jake braced himself for impact, and that’s when Aaron let loose with one last round of fucking, his cock finally exploding with a fierce blast. Even through the condom Jake could feel each spurt, each accompanied by Aaron’s verbal exhalations. At last, he pulled out, and rolled over. Jake tried to look at him but found himself staring out the window instead; the blinds were open and he could see the lights of the Chrysler Building in the near distance. A phallic symbol for sure, and he would have laughed if he didn’t feel like crying.

“Hey, you okay?” Aaron said.

“Oh, yeah…it’s, just, you know, tonight, that was so unexpected.”

“Are you suffering from sex regret? After you shoot, you wonder what it was all for.”

Except I didn’t come, Jake wanted to say, and yet still he felt regret.

He shifted onto his side. He reached over and stroked Aaron’s chest, the dark hair damp with sweat. He wondered if he missed this more than he missed the man himself. He always did prefer a hairy guy in the sack, and Aaron definitely didn’t disappoint in that department. Was that all it had been? Because he still had trouble staring into Aaron’s eyes, fearful of what he might find inside those blue irises. He had achieved his desired climax, so wasn’t it time for Jake to be getting dressed and getting the hell out of there?

“Hey, Jake, you’ve gone totally silent on me. Everything okay?”

“I’ve got to hit the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, uh, sure. You know where it is.”

Jake got up from the bed and padded naked across the room, finding the bathroom on his left and closing the door behind him. First thing he did was splash some cold water on his face, and watch as the beads caught in his beard before dripping down his chest. He thought they looked like tears. Reaching for a towel, he noticed on the top of the toilet a small travel case, packed with razor and shaving cream, hair products and toothpaste. Was Aaron going somewhere, or had he just come back from a trip and simply not unpacked yet? Not that it mattered. Jake and Aaron could be in the same bed and somehow they would be miles away. Wasn’t that what he’d just experienced with him? Sex without feeling? With a man he’d once loved.

This was ridiculous. He should just get the hell out. Forget tonight.

A knock came at the door, and then it opened. “Jake, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing…uh, I just needed to pee,” he said, and quickly he flushed the toilet for effect.

“I know what will get you excited,” he said.

Aaron came up behind him, pressing his semi-hard cock against his ass, while brushing his chest against Jake’s back. Jake felt his strong arms wrap around him, sliding down his stomach until he reached his cock. Despite his feelings, Jake’s cock responded to the touch and began to harden. He felt Aaron’s kiss to the back of his neck, and then the man broke free of the embrace. But he’d done that only because he’d gone to the nozzle of the shower, and turned on the water. A quick mist began to encircle them. Aaron stepped into the shower, an extended hand serving as in invitation to join him.

“Aaron…”

“Come on, Jake. This time, you do me.”

Jake was torn by a mix of desire and reluctance. His mind said get out. His body said fuck him.

Water cascaded down Aaron’s body, matting his hairy self. He splashed water on his face, his raised arms revealing sexy, furry pits. Jake felt his cock harden with blood, with a desire that threatened to overwhelm him. A wave of dizziness hit him, and that’s when he stepped over the edge of the tub and joined a waiting Aaron in the rising mist of the hot shower. It was about to get even hotter.

Jake suddenly found aggression within his tortured soul. He pulled Aaron to him, kissed him. His mouth then trailed down, to his neck and to his matted chest, seeking out nipples in the wet blanket of fur. He sucked one nipple, then another, a free hand reaching down to find Aaron’s cock was hard again, it thickness filling Jake’s fist. But it was his own cock that was stretched to the limit now. As they continued to kiss, Aaron whispered that a condom could be found in the top drawer of the cabinet. Jake paused, drew the shower curtain and found the sheath, tearing it open with authority. Aaron’s eyes lit up, and he positioned himself against the tiles of the shower. Jake rolled the condom down over his cock, and he grabbed at a bar of soap and swiped at Aaron’s ass, readying him for entry.

Jake rubbed his cock against Aaron’s ass, enticing him, teasing him.

“Just do it, Jake. Fuck my furry ass.”

Jake slapped at it first, once, then a second time, and then he positioned himself.

He watched as his cock entered him from behind.

He heard Aaron’s cry of pleasure.

He put his hands upon Aaron’s shoulders, tightening his grip.

And then he shoved himself inside.

“Oh, oh, oh…shit…fucking great. Yeah, Jake, do it…”

Jake answered every plea, responded to every demand. His body was afire, wet from the shower, sweaty from the hot mist that nearly enveloped them. Their bodies were locked in motion. Jake thrust, Aaron received, and their voices echoed in the small room. But even as his body did what was needed, what it needed, Jake felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. He was watching from the other side of the tub as these two men—one of them himself—indulged in the carnal pleasures of the flesh. One body the aggressor, the other accepting whatever was given. For how long they went at each other, time didn’t even know. Jake pounded him, Aaron cried out. Jake pulled him tight, their bodies nearly one, his hands wrapped around his torso, keeping his cock locked deep inside him. He felt the hair on Aaron’s chest. He ran a hand over his hard shaft. He whispered dirty words into his ears, and Aaron answered the call with filth of his own.

Finally Jake felt the pressure well up within him. Holding back was not an option.

“I’m coming…shit, I’m coming…” he said.

“Me, too,” Aaron said, now stroking his own cock. “Fuck me hard, let it go…”

Just then Jake pulled out and he ripped the condom off, and that’s when his cock blasted a load of white come, ropes of it splashing onto Aaron’s matted, hairy back, and the sight of it mixing with the dripping water cause his cock to spurt again, again, until at last it was satiated by the sexy beast before him. He heard Aaron’s familiar cry of climax, too, and watched as the man’s cock allowed spurts of come to hit the tile, only to trail down in an ooze of unleashed desire. The two men held each other, catching their breath, seeking refuge from the heat of their bodies and the hot steam of the shower. They stepped out, and wrapped towels around their waists.

Aaron retreated back into the apartment, where he opened a window, allowing a cool breeze to sweep in. Jake gazed at the sexy man, seeing nipples harden in the fresh cold. He wanted to take the man into his arms again, but something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He did a double-take when he saw a suitcase. But his wandering eye found something more. Flat, empty boxes, several of them, resting against the wall. Jake’s heart deflated, just as he knew it would at some point tonight. An encounter like this, it was too good to be true. Aaron wasn’t interested in tomorrow. He had just been reliving yesterday for one last time.

“When were you planning on telling me?”

“Jake, I’m sorry. New York, it’s not for me. I’m moving back to Chicago.”

Jake nodded, a lump in this throat preventing him swallowing. “So this was…”

“You were the only thing keeping me in New York. I guess I wanted to remember you.”

“But our meeting tonight, at the theatre, you couldn’t have planned that.”

“No, I didn’t. I guess the fates were looking out for us.”

Jake nodded, determined not to allow a tear. “I’ll get dressed. I’ve got to go.”

Even to him, his voice sounded like a stranger.

That’s when Aaron reached out, his hand grabbing Jake’s. He could feel the pulse of the man’s heart. “You could stay the night. We could still have fun…the sex between us was always great.”

“I think I’ve had all the fun I can endure for one night,” Jake said.

He dressed and he left the apartment, feeling like he was the first thing Aaron had packed away. Back out on the street, the cool spring New York night allowed him to fade into anonymity. Eight million people in this city, why should his life have any more meaning than everyone else? He wasn’t guaranteed anything, certainly not happiness. Then he thought of Matt, of his happiness and his upcoming wedding, a wave of jealousy hitting him in the face. Hadn’t their European flings been Jake’s idea? So what right did Matt have to be the one to have found true love?

But despite his feelings now, nothing would stop him from attending that wedding in Paris.

It just looked like he’d be going alone after all. Single, unattached, lonely Jake Westbury.

That, he told himself, needed to change.

 

 

 

PART TWO

 

Lovers Forever

 

 

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

Matthew

 

Never try and predict the direction of your life. Where you think you’ll end up and where you actually do will never match.

Matthew Donovan was living proof of this.

It was a Thursday in April, and even though the city of lights was a bit of a misnomer now with the heavy cloud cover and rain threatening, the lovely view from his balcony was still one he would never get accustomed to. Living above the gallery in a stylish one bedroom apartment was more than Matt could ever have dreamed of, and truth be known, it was his third dream residence since he’d made Paris home. Not counting the Hotel d’Louvre where he’d stayed after first landing, he called the garret in the Latin Quarter his first home, and later Anton’s place in Menilmontant, not far from the fabled Pere Lachaise ceremony. But it was thanks to the financial resources and connections of Colton Abbott that Matt and Anton had found the narrow building which housed their home, their start-up business, two things which added up to their future. He and Anton had just finished up a light lunch of salad and a crepe, prepared by Matt.

Taking his glass of white wine to the balcony, Matt let out a sigh of contentment, even as a light wind ruffled his hair. He took a sip. He’d allowed himself one glass, but Anton had refilled it before he’s excused himself to prepare for an afternoon of selling art along the Seine. The view stretched west, but the usual sight of the Eiffel Tower was obscured by the gray skies. He could only see a few buildings before him, and even the honk of the taxis on the street were muffled by the low-hanging fog. It was the perfect kind of day to stay inside, curled up with your lover, where you could explore the inner depths of your relationship. If the sky was going to close in on you, why not hide within its clouds?

“You look lost in thought.”

Matt spun around at the sound of Anton’s voice, allowing a sly smile. “Days like this, they make me think.”

Anton came up behind him and slid an arm around him. He kissed his neck. “You think too much. Life here is as lazy as the flow of the Seine. Is it the wedding plans that have your mind occupied?”

“Well, despite Colton’s kind offer of his villa on Cap Ferrat, we still haven’t picked a date.”

“Is that your worry, Matt? That I’m stalling?”

“No, never,” Matt answered, turning around to face the man who filled his nights.

Anton leaned forward, kissed him. “Tonight, when I return. We will decide.”

“You sound so Parisian when you talk, Anton. I know the truth.”

“You fell in love with a Parisian painter, and that is who you get. The past is more hidden than our beautiful city is today.” Anton edged out on the balcony, his fingers curling around the iron rail. Matt joined him, and together the two men looked out at the world that lay at their feet, knowing their future was as promising as tomorrow’s forecast. They would just have to weather the storm that hung over them now.

“I must get back to my place along the Pont Neuf,” Anton said, “sell to the tourists what I can before the rain comes. Nothing spoils an afternoon of strolling along the Seine like raindrops.”

“It sounds romantic to me,” Matt said.

Anton kissed him. “That is what I love about you. You find silver linings in clouds. Now, though, I must go. Tonight, my love, we will choose the date for our wedding. It will be a night for us to always remember, planning a day we will never forget.”

“Now who’s the romantic?”

“See? That is what makes us work.” Another kiss, and then Anton headed back into the flat. Matt remained where he was for another five minutes, his mind lost in a jumble of thoughts, and only hearing his name shook from his reverie. He realized Anton was waving to him from the sidewalk. Matt waved back, smiling as he saw Anton back in character—his head covered by an artist’s chapeau, complimenting the patchy beard on his cheeks and the twinkle in his eye. He already had him in his bed, but he’d happily be seduced again and again by the idea of a French painter selling his wares along the river Seine.

With Anton gone to work, Matt realized work was what beckoned him, too. Back into the kitchen he went, where he cleaned the dishes and tossed back the last of the wine in his glass. On the table, the wine bottle held a tiny amount and rather than let it go to waste, Matt poured the last remnants into his glass and nursed it while he tidied up the apartment. Satisfied with his housework, he finished the wine and washed the glass and then decided it was time to return downstairs to the gallery. He’d spent the morning working on the plans for Stone’s show, including putting together an invite list of influential critics and wealthy donors, many of whom remained skeptical about the prospects of the Gallerie Passione. Managed by an American, underwritten by Americans no matter how long they called Paris home, it was an uphill battle to gain acceptance into such an exclusive world. Snob was indeed a four-letter word.

Closing and locking the door to the balcony, again Matt Donovan reminded himself that life went beyond planning. Anton was right, you just had to go with the flow and hope that what your heart desired was what the world gave you.

As he started down the stairs, he missed a step and stumbled. He was a lightweight when it came to booze; had he had too much at lunch? Anton had drunk down more than half the bottle and seemed unaffected by it. But of course Anton had more practice at it. As the saying goes, a meal without wine is called breakfast, and he thought with easy bemusement that even the French might find an exception to the rule. Matt reminded himself to make a cup of coffee when he got to his office to help wake him up, or at least to keep his wits about him. Stone was expected in 30 minutes or so, he and Matt still going through his paintings to decide which ones were best representative of his talent. His show, “Stone’s Throw,” was a month away.

Matt arrived back at the gallery to find his assistant, Sheeba, clicking away at a laptop. She was seated on one of the plush chairs which they had set up in the reception area. If not for her round, small size, she might have been able to manage crossing her legs for comfort. As it was, her legs dangled a few inches above the floor. She looked up at him but continued to type.

“Nice lunch?”

“Yes, thanks. Your turn.”

“You sure?”

Matt nodded. “Take as much time as you need.”

“Matt, you trying to get rid of me?”

“Hardly. But you don’t have to put in such long days either. You may be my assistant, but that was your decision to accept the job. Before I even posted it. Someone who invests money in a business usually has a loftier title.”

“It’s Daddy’s money, not mine. Besides, I like helping out.”

“Well, you’ve helped out enough today. Take the rest of the afternoon off. Go spend time with Amanda.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

She closed her laptop and got up off the chair, attempting to properly kiss him on the cheek. He bent down to accept not one, but two, one on each cheek. “You’ve really embraced the Parisian way, haven’t you, Sheeba?”

“Best time of my life. I owe it all to you and Anton.” She paused. “And Amanda.”

“Go, enough with the compliments. You’re already in the inner circle, no need to butter us up.”

Sheeba grabbed her coat and umbrella and headed out the front door of the gallery, leaving Matt alone. He turned the lock and spun around, walking into the main gallery room. The walls were bare, since the gallery presently did not a show up, but that didn’t stop Matt from marveling at the promise before him. This was his world, blank as a canvas before imagination could claim it. He wiped a hand against the wall, thought he could almost feel a pulse beneath the plaster. As though it knew the life’s images that would soon hang from its surface.

A buzzing sound broke his concentration, and he retreated back toward the entrance to let in his artist: Stone stood there, his clothes soaking wet and sticking to his muscled frame, his dark hair matted against his head. Matt saw that the sky had erupted with heavy raindrops, dampening everything in its wake. He urged Stone inside, closing the door behind a waft of strong wind.

“Wow, that came on suddenly,” Stone said. “Nasty out there. I was only two blocks away.”

Matt immediately thought of Anton and his kiosk along the Seine; it would keep his wares dry but not always Anton himself. He felt bad for him, since the arrival of rain would mean only one thing: ironically, his business would dry up.

“Go on upstairs to the office, Stone, use the bathroom up there and dry yourself off.”

“Thanks,” he said, “not sure it will make a difference. I’m soaked to the skin.”

He was indeed, and Matt could see the fine contours of his chest through the thin shirt; his nipples were like coins.

Still, Stone rounded the spiral stairs that led to the gallery’s office, leaving Matt to wait an additional time for them to get down to business. He was eager to hear how the painting was going, and whether Stone had made progress on rounding out his collection. Given the last time he’d seen him, he’d been quite distracted. Legs in the air, Gavin Simon pumping away at him. He had tried to push the image out of his mind, but now that Stone was in his presence he couldn’t help but see it again. He hadn’t said a word. It was Stone’s life, but damn, Gavin was no good for anyone but himself; a selfish lover who would discard you with barely a wave. He wondered, not for the first time, if the two men had carried their affair beyond that night. Had Gavin too taken him to the garret in the Lain Quarter and screwed him for as long as he saw fit? And why did it matter? Matt was marrying Anton. He was happy. What he had seen in Stone was envy at his easy confidence; it wasn’t an attraction. So he told himself. Again. And again.

“Hey, Matt, do you have another shirt up here I might borrow/”

Matt looked up and saw a shirtless Rich leaning over the ledge, his strong, bulked up arms giving him the appearance of a hawk scouting his prey. Matt blinked at the image of the hunky Texan, his smooth pecs flexing. It was a sexy image for sure, one he wished he wasn’t witness to.

“Oh, uh, check the closet behind my desk?”

He disappeared from his perch, only to call out. “The cabinet is locked.”

“Be right up,” Matt said, and he turned and headed toward the stairs.

Why, as he rounded the stairs, was his heart beating? Did the sight of a man without a shirt on really get him that excited? Or was he picturing him completely naked, like he’d seen in Gavin’s office the night of his engagement party? This was silly, he told himself, a school boy crush that meant nothing beyond the physical. Not that he’d even act upon his feelings, his heart was taken. No, it was stolen, and Anton was the thief.

He arrived at his office, where he found Stone standing there in his wet jeans, and only his jeans. He thought he could detect the sizable bulge; or maybe it was a trick of the dim light in the gallery. Shadows crept across Stone’s broad chest, a glint of light highlighting the sheen created from the rain. He was naturally smooth, no sign of stubble or of being waxed anywhere, not even around his large nipples. Not even the hint of a trail beneath his belly button.

Matt blinked, then turned away, heading over to the cabinet behind his desk. From his pocket he withdrew a ring of keys and slid a small one into the lock. He opened the door, where a small light came on, illuminating the inner contents. Files were on the bottom shelf, as well as some hanging supplies and additional light bulbs that went along the tracks on the ceiling. What he didn’t see was any clothes. He usually kept an old shirt or two here for when he knew the work would get sweaty. But then he remembered he’d brought everything up the other day and put them in the laundry.

“I’ll have to go upstairs to the apartment,” Matt said.

But before he could make a move, Stone made his. His body slid in tight against Matt.

“It’s okay, I don’t need one. Not right now,” he said.

“Stone…”

Stone pressed his body against Matt, and Matt backed up, only to find the wall blocking his retreat.

“You’ve been thinking about me, I know you have.”

“Stone, look, this isn’t…”

“You saw us. Gavin told me.”

“What you and Gavin do is none of my business….”

“He’s a horrible lover,” Stone said, his breath hot on Matt’s neck. Their eyes connected. “So full of himself. Thinks he’s so good in bed. What kind of man can resist what I have to offer? And don’t try and feign ignorance. Like I said, you saw us, which means you saw me.” He paused and smiled. “You know that old adage about how they grow things big in Texas? Well, in my case, it’s very true.”

With that, Stone pressed himself against Matt, the bulge in his pants undeniable.

“Stone, I’m sure there are plenty of men out there…who would enjoy you.”

“But not you?”

“I’m engaged. I love Anton.”

“So? This is Paris? Land of sexual freedom. I’m not looking for love. Just suck me.”

Matt’s mind traveled back to that fateful date in New York two summers ago, the straight guy who had signed up to the gay dating service only because his girlfriend wouldn’t go down on his rather sizable cock. He wasn’t gay, he said, but he knew plenty of guys would want to suck him. It’s what had led Matt to deciding that the city was full of assholes and he wanted out. He had booked his flight to Paris, and the rest was history. Cheap sex had given way to meaningful love, he and Anton, together, forever. Except now here was this Texas-sized hunk with the strong chest hovering beside him.

He tried to push away, but Stone flattened his palm against the wall, trapping him. With his other hand, he unzipped his jeans, and he pulled out his raging hard cock, worked it till it lived up to his name. It took all of Matt’s will not to look down, but when that cock poked at him, he stole a glance. It was long, that was sure, and it was as thick as a beer can. A light circle of pubes surrounded it.

“Come on, Matt. I know you want it. Gavin told me, he said you stopped and watched.”

“Stopped and watched what?”

It wasn’t Matt who spoke those words, nor Stone.

Matt’s eyes widened as he realized Anton had just walked in on this unfolding scene.

“Anton…”

But that’s all Matt got to say. Anton didn’t stick around for an answer to his question.

He bolted from the office, and the slam of the front door of the gallery reverberated all the way up in the office. Matt’s nostrils flared with sudden anger. Any physical response he had had to Stone soon fell away, repulsion consuming him. Why did men think owning a big cock gave them the authority to mess with others, with a loving relationship? Stone might believe his large endowment was a blessing, but right now Matt saw it as a fucking curse.

“You prick,” Matt said.

“Exactly,” Stone said, smugness still written across his face. “What was he so mad about? He could have had his turn too. I’m big enough for both of you. Come on, a threesome would have been a fun treat for my cock.”

Matt angrily pushed past the near-naked man, knocking him over onto the floor. He ignored Stone’s complaints as he dashed down the stairs and out of the gallery. The fierce, falling rain pelted him, nearly blinding him. Or maybe those were tears, salty and stinging. He ran down the street, aimlessly, helplessly, calling out Anton’s name to ill effect.

There was no sign of his lover. He existed only in Matt’s wounded heart.

 

***

 

He called him more times than he could count, so many times he felt less like his betrothed and more like an obsessed stalker. Not once did he pick up. After the sixth attempt, it went straight to voicemail. Which meant only one thing: Anton had turned off his phone.

The rain continued, and Matt was beyond soaked.

He’d walked from the gallery to the banks of the Seine, seeking out Anton’s kiosk. It had been closed up, as were the neighboring ones which housed other painters, booksellers, jewelry designers. The storm that had swept over Paris this afternoon had doused the tourist trade, bringing a pall of gray over the city. Even the spires of Notre Dame were covered by a cloud of fog. As he stood on the bridge, watching Bateaux Mouches tourist boats float on by, he felt like he was trapped between two worlds: the one he’d first known and the one he’d created. Happiness couldn’t exist, not in such dreary weather. And if his mood was this bad, he could only imagine the tortured soul that was Anton.

He’d been betrayed by his wife.

He’d been betrayed by his own hidden desires.

The only person is his life who represented pure innocence was his son, Henri.

Which of course was where he’d gone. Why hadn’t Matt thought of that hours ago?

Night had fallen, the grayness of the day giving way to darkness.

Matt hailed a taxi, and in practiced French directed the driver across town to Menilmontant, where Anton had once lived with his ex-wife and their son along the picturesque rue Houdart. Traffic was snarled on the narrow streets, but eventually they drove their way past Pere Lachaise, where Matt asked to be let off at the curb. He skirted out, darting the continual raindrops until he made his way to the building. Anton had lived on the third floor, with a small ledge-like balcony allowing them to sit outside. He gazed upwards and saw the tiny orange glow of a cigarette.

“Anton….” Matt said, calling up.

The response was a flick of the cigarette to the ground, not hitting Matt but making its point nonetheless.

“Let me in. Come on, this is…”

This is what? In the hours he’s spent looking for him, not once had he thought to offer up a reason for what Anton had walked in on. He hadn’t invited any of Stone’s come-ons, and for sure he hadn’t gone through with what the big Texas hunk wanted from him. Matt knew that. So why didn’t Anton know that, too? Why didn’t he feel it? Weren’t they a team? Weren’t they, tonight, supposed to be choosing a date for the wedding? Not trying to explain away a naked man in his office?

“Matt, I cannot talk to you. Not tonight.”

“Well, too bad, you’re going to.”

“I think you are not ready, for this. For us.”

“Dammit, Anton, buzz the door and let me up. I’m not going to scream up at you all night long. The residents across the street deserve to have their rest undisturbed. Even Jim Morrison is complaining of the noise.”

There was a pause, and then the door buzzed. Finally, Matt was out of the rain.

He ran up the four flights of stairs, where he found the front door to the flat open. It wasn’t Anton who was waiting for him but young Henri, who was nine now. He was in his pajamas, but didn’t look like he was anywhere close to sleeping. He hugged Matt, and then led him inside.

“Papa is being the moody artist,” he said.

Henri was a smart kid. He’d given Matt a hard time when they’d first met. Now he trusted Matt like a second father.

Matt walked into the apartment, found in the kitchen an empty bottle of wine and an ashtray filled with butts.

“His?”

“Oui,” Henri said.

“Can you give us some time?”

“Please,” he said. “He has been as happy as I remember him. Until tonight.”

Matt thanked him and sent him off to his room, and then he made his way to the window.

“Go away,” he heard from the narrow ledge.

“You don’t mean that. Otherwise you wouldn’t have had Henri buzz me up.”

Anton had nothing to say that, so he just continued to drag on his latest cigarette.

“I thought you quit.”

“I smoke when people piss me off.”

“I didn’t do anything, Anton. You know I wouldn’t.”

“He’s an American, so are you. You all have the same carnal desires.”

“You’re American, too. Remember? We talked about this just today.”

“Mon Dieu,” he responded, in denial about everything.

Matt, his clothes still dripping from the rain, hefted himself off the windowsill and out onto the balcony. It was tight quarters, forcing them to be close. Still, Anton tried to back away a little.

“Don’t do this, Anton.”

“I don’t know you. You are not the man I thought.”

“You’re being ridiculous. I love you. What do I care for…hell, anyone, much less Stone?”

“He was naked. He was…”

“He was showing off. Big deal he’s got a big dick. I’m not attracted to him. He wasn’t looking for anything but a quick blow job.”

He said nothing, took another drag on his cigarette before tossing it into the air.

“Nothing happened?” he finally said.

“Of course not. I thought you trusted me.”

“I am scared, Matthew. Life has not always worked out for me.”

“Or for me. Until I met you.”

“That is sweet.”

“That’s the truth. Anton. You changed my life. You define my life. You, and Henri.”

“So you still wish to marry me?”

“Still? It never changed. Not from the moment you blind-folded me and led to the garret.”

“I didn’t know what to think. I saw you, and I saw him. All of him. Men have desires, and they often act upon them. I should have known you were not one of them. I have been in France too long and met too many men who want nothing but sex. You are unique, Matthew Donovan, in that you came to Paris to really fall in love.”

“And fall in love, I did.”

“So, you forgive me for over-reacting?”

“Nothing to forgive,” Matt said. “There’s only one thing we should be concentrating on.”

“What is that?”

“Our wedding day. We were supposed to choose a date tonight.”

A smile found his face, visible now that their eyes had adjusted to the dark night.

“Tell me when,” Anton said.

“Anytime. Anyplace. Tomorrow. City Hall, or whatever they call it here.”

“No, you will have the wedding of your dreams. Two weeks from this Saturday,” he said.

“Two weeks?”

“Why should we wait? We love each other, we already live together. Let us have a great party and celebrate our love.”

“I want my friends there,” Matt said. “Jake, Freddie.”

“We will make that happen. We will make anything and everything happen”

Anton leaned forward and planted his lips upon Matt’s, which left Matt melting beyond his rain-soaked self. It was like he’d become a puddle, and only when the two of them stared into it could they envision the future that lay before them. A night that began troubled, thus ended with the two them tucking Henri into bed, and then retiring to the other bedroom, where they made soft, tender love, the sound of the raindrops upon the roof keeping rhythm with their entwined bodies.

Love was alive in Paris, Matt thought as he lay in his lover’s arms while the man slept off his wine. He couldn’t believe it. Two weeks from now, a wedding would happen—his wedding—where he would be reunited with his best friends and they would celebrate the culmination of their crazy, impulsive quests of summer love. For Matt, that journey had turned into a lifetime of love, but he had the sneaking suspicion that there were still surprises awaiting not just him, but Jake, and Freddie too.

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Freddie

 

Again, Freddie Markson was seduced by a remarkable view. But unlike the lines of headlights on freeways, the thick brush of the canyons of L.A., they had traded up. Spread out before him on the second floor terrace were mountains of sunflowers, rows upon rows of them, stretching in a yellow glow as though the sun itself rested upon the lush, golden land. He sighed with contentment, with freedom. He knew it was only a temporary reprieve and that he and Santo would soon have to return to Hollywood to begin principal filming of The Stranger Inside Me. But for now, they could do as they liked during the day, and even better, during the night.

It was their first time back in Italy since leaving for New York over a year ago. When told of his idea, Santo had allowed the first genuine smile Freddie had seen in too long. A month away from Los Angeles, a chance to recharge their batteries and rediscover the love between them. Just them hiding out among the sunflowers and hills of Tuscany; well, the two of them plus the entire Mancusi family coming and going. The Mancusis, who owned both a nightclub and a restaurant in Italy, were over-protective of their youngest clan member, and once Santo announced that he was returning home, it was like Italy got that much brighter, the food that much fresher.

Mother Mancusi had pulled out all the stops upon his arrival in Rome.

That had been two days ago. They had been fed and feted, Santo’s mother barely leaving his side the entire time. She continually hugged him and kissed him, constantly saying “bene, bene,” and then cupping her hand against Freddie’s cheek. “You take good care of my son,” she had said. The wine had flowed, too, the celebration going long into the night, until jet lag had caught up with them and they’d nearly passed out in their hotel room. The next day was a near repeat of the previous, until finally they were able to excise themselves from Mama’s warm clutches.

They had arrived at the villa last night, had a light meal in the town of Arezzo and walked around its cobbled streets with a gelato, holding back in holding hands, licking their ice cream and exchanging secret messages between them. They returned to the quiet villa, had gone for a swim and then made love under the stars. It was after midnight when they crawled into bed on the second floor of the spacious villa and sleep had come to them quickly.

Now, Freddie marveled at his first morning view of the valley.

How had he gotten so lucky? Finding a sexy man, one who was available both physically and psychologically, was usually good enough for Freddie, but add in the fact Santo was Italian, came from a good family, and owned this stucco-roofed villa in the hills of Tuscany only added to the fairytale existence he felt he’d been living in since Patsy Abbott had introduced them. Most of Freddie’s family was gone, and his best friend—his mother—had died only two years ago. Her passing had been the impetus to travel to Italy to find himself; more of a mission to find what was missing in his life than in tracking down that elusive thing called love.

The love part had just happened.

From Italy to Broadway to Hollywood, his life with Santo had been a whirlwind.

But now they had returned to their roots. He and Santo, alone, together. When he had gotten up this morning, he’d allowed Santo to continue to sleep peacefully. No doubt his heart was content being in his own home, his own bed. Like the contours of the mattress knew him and had claimed him. Freddie thought of going downstairs to the kitchen to prepare coffee; nothing like the rich odor of Italian coffee wafting up the stairs to wake a virile man.

But his mind was so filled with fantasy, he didn’t hear Santo until he had wrapped his arms around him. Freddie felt a kiss on the back of his neck, felt the man’s warmth envelop him.

“Good morning, my love,” Santo said.

With his thick accent, Freddie’s knees buckled. His grip on the railing saved him. “Hi.”

“You are up early.”

“How can you not be,” Freddie said. “Look at where we are.”

“Yes, it is beautiful, my home.”

Freddie ran a hand along Santo’s thick forearm, feeling the thick dark hair that coated it. He leaned his head back into the crook of the man’s shoulder, and again he sighed. His eyes remained focused on the valley, where a light wind was blowing the sunflower stalks to the east. The same wind ruffled his mussed hair, and he felt if he spread his arms open wide he would take to the sky, that’s how filled with love he was.

“It couldn’t think of anything more perfect,” Freddie said.

“Oh, I can. Let us feed our hunger before breakfast.”

Without warning, Santo snaked a curious hand down, then around his naked torso, gripping Freddie’s flaccid cock. It didn’t stay that way for long, as blood flooded him, just as much as love filled the ventricles of his heart. He reached back, ran a hand across Santo’s cheek, feeling the dark scruff he’d let grow the moment they’d left L.A. As though his growing beard was a symbol of being released from obligation. But like their eventual responsibilities, the rough whiskers could be gone with the ease of a shave, and he wasn’t ready for either. He spun around, kissed his lover, wrapping his arms around the man’s strong back. He tasted of last night’s wine, the last of which stained the bottom of the glasses on the night table. Freddie saw them as Santo led him back inside, taking him onto the bed. Freddie felt the man’s powerful body smother him, indulged in his kiss. The man’s hungry cock pressed against his leg.

Freddie opened his eyes. He blinked. Then he said, “Now.”

His legs pried open, Santo raised his body, giving his cock a clear entry point. He reached over, where beside those wine glasses was a bottle of lube, which he slid down over his shaft and against Freddie’s pulsing crack. Then he slid inside him, Freddie’s gasp of pleasure easing him in further.

“Oh my love, you haven’t been this hungry for me…for so long. Since before L.A.”

“I am home, I am the real Santo.”

Indeed, he was. Like a transatlantic flight was all it took to restore Santo to the man he’d first met, the devastatingly handsome man with the dimpled smile, with the big heart, one buried beneath a chest of dense black hair. Freddie ran a hand across his chest, reveling in the lush fur that had finally grown back to its rich fullness. It felt so good, rough but tantalizingly silky at the same time. He watched as Santo took a deep breath, his chest heaving, and then he braced himself for the man’s hard impact.

The man’s cock thrust deep inside him, then pulled out, then pushed back in.

Freddie cried out with each new re-entry.

“Fuck me, Santo. Give me what I want.”

Santo said nothing. He complied with Freddie’s request. He thrust his hips with all of his energy, his grunt matching the force, filled the room with his urgency. Freddie could feel his cock grow thicker, fill his ass. He took every inch, every hearty thrust. He dug his nails into Santo’s back, pulled him so tight against his body that he could feel that magnificent chest brush against his smooth pecs. It was like being fucked in a car wash, the brushes attacking him with a cleaning fury. What Santo was cleansing them of was the past few months. Their lives being dictated by others—Patsy, directors, temperamental actresses, the paparazzi. All of those shadows were gone, all those complications were on hold, the only entanglements those of their limbs.

“Harder, babe, harder…”

Santo pushed himself in deep, his hips slapping against Freddie’s ass. He let out a sharp, sudden cry.

Freddie leaned up and kissed him, felt the scruff of his face against his neck.

“Yes, yes, yes…”

Freddie’s cock was rubbing between their two bodies, afire from the friction of the man’s furry stomach and redness of his shaft. It was pulsing with desire, with heat, and he knew he was seconds from blowing. He pushed Santo upward, watched as the man flattened his palms against the mattress, his biceps bulging with resistance. Then Freddie’s fingers wandered up, running them over thick hair in search of the man’s nipples. He tweaked them, leaned up and nibbled at one with his teeth. He felt his cock jerk. His orgasm was close…so close…

He rubbed the tip against Santo’s furriness, and he felt a thickening, then a tightness in his balls.

“Oh fuck…yeah, yeah…”

Splatters of white hot come burst from Freddie’s cock, streaks against Santo’s body, drops hitting Freddie’s chest.

And then Santo cried out loudly, and Freddie felt the man shoot inside him. He closed his legs around him, keeping him locked inside, urging every drop out of him. Santo didn’t stop, his hips still reacting with power as though the rest of his body hadn’t realized it had achieved climax. He cried out once more as another spurt found its way into Freddie, and then he collapsed atop his lover, his lungs in search in air.

They lay in each other’s arm for a time, whispering sweet words to each other.

Love.

Hot.

More.

Much more.

Later.

At last Santo pulled out and fell back across the bed. Freddie watched with delight as the man stretched his body, his muscled arms nearly hitting the bedpost, exposing under arms of damp hair. He leaned over, inhaled his smell. It was manly, slightly sour, but he kissed him anyway. Any part of this fabulously furry man he could devour. Every day, anytime. He had never felt this way about another man. Who knew that Freddie Markson, the joker amidst his friends, could find the corner of serious and settled, much less turn that corner. But when the reward was this man, how could you not venture forth?

“Breakfast, my stallion?” he asked.

Santo smiled. “Yes. And then a swim. And then you will make love to me up in the hills behind the house, where you and I were first together here.”

“You remember,” Freddie said.

“My mind is clear. It remembers only you, us.”

Those were dreamy words to begin with, but when spoken with that Italian accent, he felt a stirring in his loins.

“You’re the sweetest, hottest lover ever,” Freddie said. “And incredibly insatiable.”

“I am home. Besides, Mama will be here in two days to feed us all weekend,” he said. “So until then, we will take advantage of our time alone and make love in every corner of the villa. We will hide from the world until the time comes for your friend’s wedding.”

 

***

 

Mark’s wedding. Hadn’t it been the impetus for them returning to European soil? True, Freddie knew it was crucial to return Santo to the wanting folds of his family, if only for a brief respite, but knowing they had another reason to travel gave their trip that much more purpose. The text he’d received from Matt, finally announcing the date and location of the wedding had come two weeks ago, and that had set in motion a flurry of activity—booking airline tickets, calling Mama Mancusi and hearing the glee in her voice at the coming home of her son, it had made everything so real. Honestly, though, Freddie thought how can you call living in an Italian villa and taking part in sexual pleasure whenever the mood struck you real? It was the stuff of fantasy, especially when you had such a hot specimen like Santo Mancusi.

After a hearty breakfast, Freddie had given Santo some space, retreating to take a shower, and now, as he dried off his body, he noticed out of the corner of the window Santo sitting beside the pool, stretched out on a chaise lounge, sunglasses hiding his dark, liquid eyes, dressed only in a tight pair of Speedos. He was paging through what he could only assume was the script of The Stranger Inside Me. Freddie mused on how that was no longer the case; the man in his bed, the man the sun gleamed upon down by the shimmering pool, he was no longer a stranger. He was the love of his life.

Again, he thought of Matt’s wedding, and a flood of envy fell over him.

Envy, he wondered, or jealousy?

What would it be like to exchange vows with Santo, to profess their love in front of all their family and friends? Freddie supposed he was going to get an up close and personal preview of such an occasion. And not in Paris, as originally thought, but at a villa in the South of France. Whatever gods had been at work when Matt, Freddie and Jake took flight to their sexy European excursions, they had allowed good work. Matt had Anton, and Freddie had Santo. Only Jake had struck out in London. He reminded himself to call Jake; see when he would be arriving in Nice.

For now, Santo was his priority, wanting to rejoin him by the pool.

He slipped on a pair of swim trunks, stopped in the kitchen for a couple glasses of chilled white wine—it was noon, and in Italy that meant you could indulge your first taste of the grape. He set the glasses on a tray, added a hunk of cheese, some fresh fruit, and then made his way to the pool area.

“Well, don’t you look like the sexiest waiter ever,” Santo said, looking up.

“I thought we could do with a snack,” he said, setting the tray down on a table beside two chairs. Santo leaned up and accepted first a kiss from Freddie before taking possession of a glass of wine. Freddie took his, they cheered and drank, after which Freddie settled contentedly onto the neighboring chair. He felt the sun begin to bake his body; he’d put on sunscreen as part of his bathroom ablutions; he was already decently tanned after months in Los Angeles. This high sun, though, it was bright, gilded with the golden touch of the gods. It beamed down on both of them, and he thought he detected a glow around Santo.

“You’ve been studying your lines?” Freddie asked, sipping at his wine.

“I promised Patsy I would learn what I could. She wants a quick production time. So no delays, not from her actors.”

“It really is a good script,” Freddie said. “Hard to pass on.”

“I will take Hollywood by storm, reap its benefits…”

“And then we slip out under cover of darkness, never to return,” Freddie said.

“To a reclusive life in Italy. To be with my Mama, to be with you.”

That was the plan. Santo was promised a big pay day for signing up for Patsy Abbott’s. He had signed the contract the day before they left for Italy. Filming began upon their return. This film was their security blanket.

Freddie gazed around his surroundings, at the spacious villa up the hill, at the glistening water in the pool, at the nearby cabana, the array of flowers situated all over the property, and then beyond their borders, to the city of Arezzo spread out before them. It was a far cry from the life Freddie had known in New York, where the only slice of sky you could see was between two hulking buildings of steel and glass. While Manhattan was amazing, it was man-made, fabricated and unnatural. The fields of Italy were quite the contrast, and Freddie sometimes had to pinch his skin to realize that the rolling hills and fragrant air were his to enjoy. He stole a quick glance at Santo, who was back to reading his script, his mouth silently saying the words he would commit to celluloid. For just this movie, he would have to share this sexy man with the world; he was be larger than life upon that silver screen, the object of countless fantasies by men and women alike. Freddie knew he could sit in the darkened theatre and watch him, knowing that after two hours he could reclaim Santo as his alone.

Freddie felt his cock stiffen. He wanted this man, and he realized he wanted him now.

But he was working, and he had to give him some space.

Still, maybe Santo was looking for an easy distraction, a reason to put down the script. Freddie’s mind conjured several scenarios and finally, rather than attack his hot body and have his way with him, he chose a more personal route.

“Did I ever tell you, Santo? My parent’s honeymooned in Italy?”

He looked over at Freddie, sunglasses pulled down over the bridge of his nose. “No, you never told me that. Where did they go?”

“They flew to Rome, as most Americans tend to do. But it was Venice where I think the vows they had recently exchanged really took effect. I remember my mother speaking of the city, of its unique beauty. The canals, the gondola rides they splurged for. My friend, Jake, he thinks I chose to go to Rome because of the posters on his wall. I told you about them—he has these cool vintage posters of London, Paris, and Rome on the walls of his apartment. When he announced that he was going to London for the summer because the poster had fallen from his wall during a night of hot sex, he set all of this in motion. Matt choose Paris, and why wouldn’t he? He was the hopeless romantic among us, always thinking a quick fuck was the prelude to a wedding. So I was left with Rome, but there was no rule I had to accept the last city offered by Jake’s posters. I could have picked any city…”

“And so why did you not choose Venice? Where you say your parents truly fell in love?”

“Because I only ever want to see Venice when I too have that special love,” he said.

“You are being very mysterious, my Freddie.”

He loved when he called him “My Freddie.” This man he didn’t mind being possessed by.

“Just being in Italy, it’s conjured all sorts of emotions. My mother would be happy.”

“I am sorry she cannot know of your happiness.”

Freddie smiled. “That’s sweet, Santo. Thanks. I have my memories of her. She was so cool about having a gay son—she actually embraced it, almost to the point of embarrassment. I never tried to hold her back. My father died way too early and I was all she had. She all I had.” He paused. “And now I have you, and your wonderful Mama…”

“And she thinks of you as her son, too. One who makes her boy so happy.”

“Do I, Santo? Make you happy?”

“Look at us now. Is the world not perfect right now?”

Freddie knew not to say anything more. Santo was the kind of man who preferred not to think of tomorrow; he loved the moment. He indulged the moment. He stared down at himself, saw that a last sip remained in his glass. So he let the last of the wine slid down his throat, and he got up afterwards.

“You could just bring the bottle, save you further trips,” Santo said.

“Actually, I was thinking of switching beverages,” he said.

He grabbed a towel from the back of his chair, set it down on the hard patio. Then, with a smile on his lips, he dropped down onto his knees, kneeling before his sun-baked Italian god. He saw Santo begin to respond, his cock thickening inside those tight Speedos; a welcoming bulge that let Freddie know his instincts were dead on. Santo even tossed the script aside, leaving his full body exposed to the sun, and to Freddie. From his perspective, he looked up and saw this hot, furry stud, his for the taking. He ran his hands along Santo’s hairy legs, all the way to his crotch, where he rubbed the encased cock.

Santo nodded, a smile highlighting his dimples.

Sliding a hand under the rim of the swim trunks, Freddie pulled them down. Santo’s cock leaped up from a matted bed of dark pubes, its shaft growing hard as it relished its release from the material. Freddie pulled the Speedo off from around his ankles, tossing them to the ground. Then he slid upwards, his eyes locked on Santo’s. There was fire inside them, a desperate call to pleasure him. Freddie took hold of the shaft, rubbing it, feeling resistance. The skin was taut, so he bent down and took it into his mouth, lubricating it. He loved how thick it felt, pushing to the back of his throat. He bobbed up and down on it, sucking the long shaft with enthusiasm, erotic sounds emanating from Santo only encouraging him.

As he sucked, his hands wandered up, feeling the thick brush of hair upon his chest. He slid fingers beneath the surface, pulled and twirled at coils of black fur, the sexy touch of his hot body deepening his assault on his cock. He took every inch inside, his motions increasing. Then he pulled out, and his face was even with that pulsing cock, and he licked the under belly of that hard cock, from the tip down to hairy balls, sucking them, feeling them tighten. Santo cried out like a man near climax, and so Freddie redoubled his efforts. He took that hot cock back into his mouth, and this time he didn’t let go. He sucked it like a man possessed, Santo’s hips bucking up to give Freddie as much of his cock as he could handle. He took it all, again, again, up, down, up, down, feeling the heat of the sun on his back, feeling the heat spread throughout his own body. His own cock was raging hard inside his shorts. He imaged he was going to blow too. But first Santo.

He licked, and he sucked some more. Harder, deeper. Full penetration to where he might gag. But he didn’t, his touch expert, his limits stretched. He felt the tip grow, and he knew that a rush of hot come was soon to blast. As Santo’s climax neared, Freddie again grabbed hold of the man’s chest hair and he pulled it hard, and then he heard the shortness of breath coming from Santo and then he felt the first shot of come, then another, another, so much, and he drank it all down with the need of a man who’d not seen water for days. He pulled out, and his tongue licked at the remnants of his come that seeped out of his tip.

“Oh, Freddie, that was so good…so good…”

“Just you wait,” he said, panting, wiping at his mouth.

Freddie stood up, slipped out of his shorts, and he mounted Santo, his legs on either side of the chair, the man’s still hard cock rubbing against Freddie’s ass. He grabbed his cock, stroked its rock-hard shaft, all while staring at the sexy, hairy lover spread out before him. It wouldn’t be long, not after what he’d done, what’s he’d felt, what he’d drunk down. This time he didn’t need to touch Santo, seeing his hot body right before him, it was enough….he was so ready… ready.

“Ahhhh,” Freddie cried out, and that’s when his cock let loose a massive blast of come. Ropes splattered against Santo’s chest, the white streaks seeping into his dark blanket of fur, as though it was seeking out the man beneath that the furry exterior. Freddie continued to jerk his cock, allowing every drop to escape his body. At last he felt drained, empty of his seed but filled with an overwhelming sense that he’d planted a new future with this man. He leaned forward, a kiss waiting for him.

“I think I need a swim,” Santo said, “to clean myself of such an explosion.”

“I came a lot, I know.”

Another kiss. “That you love your Santo so much, that’s what that means.”

Freddie got up, and Santo rose as well. He wasted no time and dove into deep end of the pool, his body resurfacing moments later.

“You wish to join me?”

‘In a moment,” Freddie said. “Let me go fetch that bottle. We can finish it, we can swim, and then…”

“And then we will make love again. Freddie, that is all I want. You and me.”

Those were words that carried Freddie back to the villa, almost as though a cloud was his escort. But it wasn’t the kitchen he went to, but instead he padded up to the bedroom. He went to the closet, where he withdrew his suitcase. He dug into a hidden compartment, and then held up to the sun glinting through the blinds, a pair of rings. One for him, one, he hoped, for Santo. But then he put them away, his heart fluttering with anticipation.

When, he wondered, was the right time?

A ringing of a cell phone by the bedside interrupted his thoughts. He turned, noticed that it was his. He went over to it, saw the caller ID and picked it up immediately.

“Matt, hey buddy, how are you?”

“Great. So great. I can’t believe, a week from now I’m getting married.”

“I know. And I’ll be there.”

“Good, that’s great. I mean, if you can make it…”

“Matt, I’m already in Italy…in Tuscany, with Santo. We’ll be driving to Cap Ferrat.”

“Wow, that’s so great. I appreciate it…”

Freddie sense that something was wrong, and he said so.

“Oh, it’s nothing…”

“Matt, you wear your heart on your sleeve, even when on the phone. What’s up?”

“Have you heard from Jake?”

“No, I haven’t. Why?”

“I can’t reach him.”

“Reach him? You mean he won’t pick up, or answer a text?”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying for the last couple of days. Nothing.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, Matt. He’ll be there. Jake would not miss your big day. Knowing him, he’s met some guy and is holed up somewhere, screwing his brains out. You know how he was after he and Aaron broke up. My guess? He’s doing everything he can to make sure he doesn’t arrive stag at your wedding. Don’t worry about Jake. Remember, how our lives have changed, it’s really his fault.”

“Yeah, except, you and I got what we wanted. Jake didn’t.”

Freddie gazed out the window, where he watched with pleasure as the strong, furry body of Santo Mancusi ran laps in the pool, he filled with energy despite what they had just done. The connection they shared was probably not unlike that of Matt and Anton. But what of Jake? Even after the two friends had said their goodbyes, and Freddie returned to the patio with that bottle of wine, his mind was filled with so many questions. Foremost was this simple one: where in the world was Jake Westbury?

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

Jake

 

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

Wasn’t that how that old adage went? Jake Westbury wondered if there was any truth to it.

Or maybe he should go with “nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Go back to the well?

No matter what cliché he went with, he knew there was no turning back now.

The guy eyeing him across the aisle was certainly cute, but young. Maybe 25, an innocent, clean-shaven face heightened by sparkling blue eyes. He had a short haircut, with a severe part on the side. He wasn’t Jake’s usual type, but then again, these days did he know what that was? He’d fucked the blond beach-bum Noah and then allowed himself to be drawn into the web that was Aaron, all furry and masculine. Total opposites, smooth and not, bottom and top, and in each instance Jake had given in to his baser instincts: sex now, regret later. Isn’t that how he had come to define his life? Finding the one man who mattered seemed like a futile mission, a one way trip to disappointment.

So maybe just being impulsive was the way to go. Jump in, don’t think.

So that’s why he decided to play the game, see where it went. He kept sneaking looks at the guy who sat a row in front of him on the opposite side of the aisle. And the guy looked at him, flashing a smile before darting his eyes away. A game of flirtation taking place at 30,000 feet. To what end? A quickie on board an overnight flight? A rush of power from hungry bodies as the jet hurtled through the sky with the hope of landing safely at its destination. What if it didn’t? Would Jake regret not following through on the intent the kid was flashing inside those baby blues? It’s not like it would be his first time as a member of the mile-high club. Wasn’t that how he’d begun his original summer sojourn to London? Locked in a tight bathroom with an equally horny guy.

The Virgin Atlantic flight from JFK en route to Heathrow had departed at 11:06 pm, with an arrival time scheduled for roughly nine o’clock in the morning London time. Jake’s decision to return to London was not exactly impulsive, given that he had to fly oversees anyway for Matt’s wedding, now, only a week away, but given his bad string of luck lately in the love department, he figured why not get out of New York and see where the wind took him. Currently the wind was taking him across the Atlantic Ocean, flying through the night sky with ease. Turbulence had been at a minimum, and all was calm with the notable exception of the cute guy’s continual gaze.

Jake was seated in row 37, seat D. He liked the equilibrium of the aisle seat, and also its ready access to getting up. He’d had a beer before dinner, another with the meal. He’d watched an episode of The Big Bang Theory on the small screen in front of him before finally turning it off in favor of the quiet of the night flight and the dim lighting in the cabin. His neighbor was already asleep, a mask over her eyes, a blanket covering her entire self. She looked safely cocooned. There was no one in the middle seat between them.

Just then Jake noticed the guy in the row in front get up. Jake braced himself, wondering where the guy was going and what he was going to do about it. Rather than a surreptitious escape to the back of the plane, the guy stopped right before him. Jake looked up, surprised by direct his approach.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” he asked, his accent pure American.

“Um, do you think?”

“Peter’s party, the rooftop on 23rd Street. I’m sure it’s you…”

Jake was about to disabuse him of his beliefs and then realized it was an act. “Peter, right, he throws great parties.”

“Name’s Steven. You were with…oh, I geez…I forget.”

He was good, carrying his myth with authority. “I’m Jake. Friend of Scott’s. Peter’s…”

“Boyfriend, right,” said the guy who claimed his name was Steven. The fact he’d followed through on the story by mentioning a gay relationship sealed the deal. This hunky guy was looking for a mid-Atlantic hook-up and he’d chosen Jake as his prize. “Jake, nice to see you again. So, London you’re final stop?”

“For now. Headed to the South of France for a wedding,” he said.

Why was he telling him the truth when Steven was so full of shit? He could have told him anything.

“And you?”

“Munich, connecting flight in the morning. So I guess, you know, we’ll part ways at LHR.”

The fact he spoke in airport code made him seem like a seasoned traveler. Which made Jake think this wasn’t his first come-on on board. What to do about it?

“You want to share a drink? Let’s see if the flight attendants might have a spare beer.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“Great. By the way, I like the beard. You didn’t have that when we first met, right?”

The way this guy was selling it, Jake wondered if maybe they had met. Given his track record, he wasn’t even terribly good at remembering the men he’d slept with. Except he didn’t know anyone named Peter who was dating Scott and who lived in a rooftop apartment on 23rd Street. Steven was good, maybe an actor, or just well-versed in the art of the pick-up. Jake got up from his seat, followed Steven toward the back of the plane, where a lone flight attendant fussed about at the rear counter.

“Help you boys?” he asked.

“Can we grab a couple of beers? I just ran into my old friend, had no idea he’d be on this flight,” Steven said.

“Sure, happy to reunite two friends,” the attendant said. His name tag read: Peter. He leaned over and grabbed a couple cans of Heineken from a metal cabinet, handed them to each of them. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to check the entertainment system, make sure everyone on board is happy. Everything okay with you guys? Happy?”

“Great flight,” Steven said.

Jake just nodded agreement and watched as they were left alone in the rear of the plane.

That’s when Steven slid into the tight confines of the restroom, grabbing Jake’s hand at the last minute, pulling him inside. Then he slid the lock, the sound loud in Jake’s mind but not in the rest of the cabin. The scream of the engines dominated the rear. He doubted anyone could hear anything.

Steven wasted little time, coming at Jake and planting a kiss on his lips. Jake responded in kind, pulling the guy in tight against him. He could feel the guy’s cock harden in his jeans. Jake’s thickened as well, stretching the limits of his pants while Steven ran a hand across his beard. Finally, the guy pulled away, smiling.

“You’re fucking hot,” he said.

“So are you. So, what do you want?”

“I want you, all of you,” he said

As if to seal the deal, he pulled from his pocket a condom and a small packet of lube.

So this wasn’t just going to be some quickie blow job in an airplane restroom. The guy wanted to be fucked. It amazed Jake sometimes, how random sex between two guys could pop up at any time. At a bar, a coffee shop even, and in the ultimate place, on board an airplane. Steven flipped the condom packet Jake’s way, and luckily he caught it.

“Slid it on your big cock,” he said. “At least, I hope it is.”

“Never had any complaints before.”

Steven unzipped his jeans, pushed them down around his ankles, showing off tight cheeks, perfectly rounded and smooth. He ripped open the lube with his teeth, then spread a generous amount between the cracks. Jake gazed into the mirror, saw Steven staring back at him with desire. With impatience. This was due or die, go through with it and hate himself upon landing, or slink back to his seat now and have to stare forward at Steven’s profile for the remainder of the flight. So he slid down his pants as well, his eager cock springing to action. He rolled the condom over his shaft, and then in one quick motion he slipped inside the lubricated hole.

“Oh, shit, yeah…that’s nice man. Fill me up.”

Jake pushed again, thrusting his entire self into the willing ass. His face was pressed up against Steven’s, his breath on his neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“Unbutton your shirt, show me what you’ve got. Then fuck me hard.”

Jake did as requested, undoing the series of buttons, revealing the light coating of hair that grew upon his chest. It was dark, and thick between his pecs.

“Nice, I like it. Push up my shirt.”

Steven wore a T-shirt, and Jake pushed it up toward his shoulders.

“Press your chest against my back, let me feel that scruff while you pound me.”

Again, Jake listened and obeyed, and before long he was pumping this guy’s tight ass, his hard cock sliding in, out, in, out, in a furious motion, his actions aided by the gentle movement of the aircraft. Like they were all riding the waves of the current together. Steven continued to beg for more, more, more, and Jake gave in to every wish. There was no going back now, not that he could stop even if the rational side of his brain told him to. His synapses were in overdrive, his cock like a piston. He fucked the guy in front of him, watching his tortured, pleasured expression in the mirror. As he thrust his hips forward, again, again, Steven stroked his cock over the sink, crying out with joy when suddenly he blew his load. Streaks of come hit the sink, the faucet, and the sight of it only urged Jake on, desiring his own climax.

“Come on, sexy, come on, let me feel you blast a hot load…do it.”

Jake let out a cry, grabbing hold of the guy’s shoulder while he plowed him. Just then the plane jerked, rising up over an air pocket, driving Jake’s cock deeper into him, as deep as he could get. Steven cried out so loudly he thought maybe everyone on board could hear them. It was just the primal sound Jake needed to release himself, and before he knew it he felt the welling up in his balls and the rocket of come shoot through his cock, spurting into the condom that sheathed his heated meat. He bucked again, again, allowing each drop to escape him, finally bringing his body to rest. He pulled out, and tore the condom off, letting it fall into the toilet.

“That’s was totally hot, man. Just what I needed.”

“Tell me my name,” Jake suddenly said.

“What?”

“Do you even remember?”

“You’re a good fuck, man. But weird. Who cares what your name is.”

Once again, Jake felt the deflation of sex. How could something so powerful and urgent be such a thing of the past moments after climax? He’d given the guy what he wanted, and hadn’t he gotten a bit of pleasure of it, too? What else was he expecting? They were on an airplane, he going one way, Jake another. Two souls, lost in the void between time zones, taking a moment to release a pent up load? What was the big deal?

Steven, or whatever his name was, secured his jeans closed. Then he popped the top of the can of beer and drank down a healthy gulp.

“You go first,” he said, sliding the lock of the restroom.

Jake grabbed his own beer and slipped out, thankfully finding everything as they’d left it. No flight attendant, no passenger waiting impatiently for the bathroom. He quietly returned to his seat, drank his beer, stared out the window as the morning rushed toward him, and wished he could be as innocent as the woman beside him. She was still wrapped up in her blanket, her eyes still covered by a mask. How nice for her. Jake himself felt so exposed, even more so when he saw so-called Steven return to his seat, put on headphones, and then easily drift off to sleep.

London couldn’t come soon enough.

Why not, Jake had already come too.

What the hell am I doing? he wondered. Chasing a lost fantasy that didn’t even exist a year ago. So why should now be any different. What had time altered? Jake was still the same person, seeking something he had yet to find no matter which continent he found himself on. New York had been a bust. Hadn’t London been the same?

So what was he doing, hopping a flight that would whisk him back?

Because if sleeping with Noah and with Aaron again had taught him anything, sometimes you had to give something a second chance. Sometime you had to enjoy the hunt. Especially if the man is named Hunter.

 

***

 

Except, his second chance wasn’t really to be found in London. He still had a train to catch, which would take him into the brushy English countryside, to a musty old estate called Voignier House, found outside a small village. It’s where tricks had been played, games were manipulated, and sex had been used as a weapon. But damn if it hadn’t been fun, perhaps the most adventure Jake had had in his pursuit of sexual fulfillment. But was there a deeper truth to be found there? Even though he’d flown all the way here, he wasn’t convinced he was ready for the next step.

For now, he was in Central London, having booked a room at the Hotel Strand, a large European-style hotel with small rooms that encouraged you to stay out late on the narrow, crowded streets of this historic city. He’d checked in, surprised to find his room available at noon, where he’d unpacked, grabbed a fast nap and then headed out by three o’clock and emerged to see what had changed since his visit a year and a half ago.

Lots had. Some of the pubs he’d frequented were gone, replaced by chain-owned wine bars or worse, by Starbucks or other cafes. It was not unlike what he found on any street in Manhattan, and disappointment began to settle over him. Thankfully he found a familiar location, the Chandos, a pub on the corner of Charing Cross Road and St. Martin’s Lane, and so he stopped in and ordered a pint of their local brew. Outside the sky was gray, and rain threatened, but given it was London in April, the weather was hardly surprising. Jake had donned a blue windbreaker over his shirt and jeans. He was comfortable and primed for anything—minus an umbrella. If he got rained on, so be it. Welcome to England.

As he sat and nursed his pint, Jake considered his next move.

Did he take a couple days to enjoy himself here, or should he jump right into his plan?

And just what did he think was waiting for him?

Newbury was about two hours west of London, and given that it was coming up on late afternoon already, Jake decided his trip could wait until the morning. Wasn’t that the prudent thing to do? After all, if he left now, he’d arrive in the noted horse-racing town close to eight, maybe nine at night, and then he had to hire a cab to take him to the estate. What if what he came upon was an empty house? Its windows dark, the doors just as locked to him as the man who might—or might not—be living inside it. Dammit, he thought. Was this ridiculous quest of his simply because he didn’t want to go to Matt’s wedding alone? To see Matt and Anton exchange vows, to see Freddie and that sexy Santo displaying their love? Hadn’t this entire European venture been Jake’s idea? So then why had it worked out so well for his two friends and not for him? Not worked out of course being a euphemism for disaster.

Fuck it.

He knocked back the last of his beer, headed out in to the street and didn’t even look back.

Slipping down to the Underground station at Leicester Square, Jake paid his fare and got aboard the Piccadilly Line one stop, then on to a transfer to the Bakerloo Line, which took him to Paddington Station. Memory aided him, or perhaps instinct did, and the next thing he knew he was buying a one-way trip to Newbury. He hadn’t any luggage with him. If nothing worked out, he might have to find a local hotel, or even take a late train back to London. But all that was for the future to decide. For now, Jake headed down the platform with a host of bustling commuters who were ready to retire to their villages for a night of relaxation. Jake was the opposite, a bundle of nerves suddenly, still debating if he was doing the right thing.

The doors to the 6:09 departure closed, and suddenly the train was chugging forward.

For the next hour and 42 minutes, Jake would be alone with his thoughts. With his memories of his first and only trip to Voignier House, all the while bringing into question whether this trip was the most foolish thing he’d ever done, or the most romantic. He might be laughed at, or he might be swept into his arms.

As the city of London gave way to open countryside, Jake stared out the window and gave thought to the man he was intent on seeing…and surprising. He had an appropriate name, one that fit his personality, his traits. One that turned Jake Westbury into willing prey.

Hunter.

In full, Walker Hunter Abbott, and he was only the most sexy, alluring creature Jake had ever met, much less slept with. Not that they had done much sleeping during their brief, tumultuous fling that summer. He had been insatiable, ready and able to fuck at a moment’s notice, wherever, and—and this was the kicker—anyone. Jake recalled his six foot two frame, those thick muscles which broadened his back, and he also remembered the magnificently hairy chest hidden beneath his shirt. Dark brown, thick like a pelt, coating him from neck to waistline in a delicious swirl of tufts. And then there was the final piece: his cock. Jake grew light-headed just thinking about its size; the way it had felt when it entered him…he’d never known pain could be so desirable.

But as overtly sexual as Hunter had been, he was an enigma when clothed.

Never content with the man he was with, ready for the next conquest.

Jake had become an unwitting pawn in Hunter’s complex relationship with a bookmaker named Nevil. He’d allowed himself to be manipulated by both men, screwed over by them literally and figuratively, and slinked out of Newbury angry but wealthy. Jake had managed to turn the tables on them as they let their need for outsmarting each other betray them. That enabled Jake to escape only with the money, leaving behind his self-respect and perhaps his morality. Each man had gotten what they deserved, and that included Jake.

So why was he willingly putting himself back into the middle of this?

Because of how he and Hunter had left things, inside a limo en route to Heathrow.

Saying good-bye, but had that been the truth? Had their words still been raw with emotion? With betrayal? The attraction had certainly been there, with Hunter practically undressing in the back of the black limousine. How easy it would have been to ravage Hunter right then and there. To miss his flight, go back to the estate with Hunter and see what would have happened? But he had stayed strong, resisted temptation for perhaps the only time in his life, and now look at him, on his way to see if how they had left things so long ago was like putting something on ice; frozen till it was ready to be thawed. How quickly would things melt between them? How fast would that ice come to a boil?

Jake shifted in his seat, fighting the erection growing in his pants. He didn’t need the man sitting next to him to notice, or worse, think Jake’s reaction was to him. He was 50-ish, with a shiny bald head and dressed in a stuffy, a pink shirt and tie. Go home to the misses, he thought, his mind’s games allowing him a distraction where his cock withdrew softly.

The train made several stops along the way, the car emptying with each passing platform. Soon Newbury was announced as the next stop, and Jake steeled himself for what the next hour would bring. He could do the easy thing, the wimpy thing: cross to the eastbound platform and returned to London. But he hadn’t come all this way for that. Hunter Abbott might lay at the end of this crazy journey. Hunter, who might open the door and just slam the door in his face; Hunter who might demand the return of the ill-gotten money Jake had taken home with him; Hunter, who might just take him into his arms and kiss him, whisk him up that long staircase and into his bed. The night was as unpredictable as it was exciting.

The night could also be a complete bust. Hunter may not even be home.

Not like he was the type to stay in one place for long. He was a wild man, an adventurer.

“Newbury Station, one minute,” came an announcement over the speaker system. “Don’t forget to take your belongings with you.”

He had none of those, and realized how ill-planned this trip was.

All he had was his wallet, and his cell phone. He’d already checked. He’d deleted Hunter’s number months ago, in a purge of his past after Aaron had ended things with him. Jake was like that, rash with his emotions. Now he was being rash with his decisions, and as the train pulled into the station, he got up, excusing himself past his seat companion who was busy reading the day’s Guardian, and stepped out once the doors opened.

A light mist was falling, accompanied by a mild wind. It was almost ideal, something rather Gothic. An unannounced stranger coming to the remote estate, seeking out a man of mystery from behind its walls. Jake smiled at the scenario, thinking he would add the scene to his book when he got back to New York and resumed writing. First he had to see how the scene played out in reality before he could commit it to fiction. He might have to rewrite the result.

“Cab, sir?” said a waiting driver leaning against his compact Fiat.

Was it that easy? Take me to Voignier House outside of town? Was he ready?

“No thanks,” Jake said. “Just going into town.”

“Raining, sir.”

“Not so bad, it’s perfect for walking.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, his voice disdainful. Whether it was because of the lost fare, or a response to Jake’s American accent, it didn’t matter. Jake just continued forward, following a hint of light in the distance. He’d been here only once, but remembered walking with little effort from the train station to the small downtown area of Newbury and its cobbled streets. Along a highway he walked, not alone as he did so. No one had umbrellas out. For any proper Englishman, this fine mist was nothing to get his knickers in a bunch.

The walk into town took less than 15 minutes, but of course he was nowhere near the estate; that lay out in the country, a car ride away or at least a decent-length walk along the paths beside the canal. He skipped both of those options and instead ventured into the Hogshead pub, a squat white and red structure that, when inside, was high-ceilinged with exposed beams. It was a busy place tonight, but Jake managed to make space for himself at the bar and order himself a pint of Wychwood Ale. He slapped down a five-pound note, got back his change and left it on the bar in case he decided upon a refill. He took a drink, then surveyed the lay of the land.

The pub seemed to be filled with regulars; few tourists came this way, though he supposed during racing season the Hogshead would be wall-to-wall. Several flat screen televisions had been hung on the walls. A football match was playing out, the crowd cheering when an attempt at a goal was made. Jake just stood his ground, trying to determine his next step. It was eight thirty at night, and unless he wanted to be homeless and wandering the cobbled roads of Newbury till dawn, he had to make a decision.

“Excuse me,” Jake said, catching the attention of one of the bartenders.

“Help you, mate?”

“I was wondering, do you know Hunter Abbott?”

The man, about sixty, with weathered skin and white hair, harrumphed. “Who doesn’t?”

“Does he ever come in here?”

“On occasion,” the bartender answered, his voice wary.

“Recently?”

Now his eyes narrowed. “Couldn’t say.”

“Couldn’t, or won’t?”

“You a friend of Hunter’s?”

“You could say that.”

“I could say a lot of things,” the bartender answered.

Jake realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this line of questioning. A foreigner asking about one of the village’s most notorious locals was nothing but suspicious. The bartender moved on, Jake drank down and his beer and decided he’d made himself unwelcome at Newbury’s stalwart pub. He left the change as a tip, hoping it bought him a little goodwill, and then he headed back out into the dark night. There were no stars, the cloud cover and the steady mist keeping any light from marking his way.

“Need a ride, sir?”

This was the second cabbie to offer him a ride, and this time he accepted. “Do you know Voignier House?”

“Who don’t? Friend of yours, the Abbott’s?”

“You could say that,” Jake said.

“I can take you as far as the gate. After that, the rest is up to you.”

Jake knew what that meant. The cabbie wouldn’t stick around to see whether Jake was granted access or not, and that would leave him in the midst of nowhere. He’d have no choice but to walk back if Hunter wasn’t home, or worse, if he was home and refused him. But he hopped into the back seat and was soon headed out of the downtown area and into the wooded flatlands of Newbury and environs. It was familiar looking to Jake, a resurfaced memory. The driver wound around several turns, traveling several miles until coming before a set of locked iron gates.

“Here you go, mate,” the driver said, quoting a fare.

Jake paid it, then got out. The cab disappeared around a bend in the road before Jake could catch his breath. He stepped forward, looking up the driveway in hopes of seeing a glow of light emanating from the house. But the brush was overgrown, the trees in need of trimming. The estate had the look of neglect, and Jake wondered if maybe Hunter had abandoned a life in the country for a wild time in London. Maybe he should have tried a few of the haunts he remembered Hunter going to back in the city. Or checking in with his friends in Putney, where Jake’s flat had been.

But he was here. Might as well fulfill this part of the trip. It had been a long time coming. Not just the amount of travel involved, but Jake’s resolve that maybe he had missed the boat on what he and Hunter might have shared. So he stepped forward to the side of the gate and pressed the button on the intercom. He waited, waited again, then pressed it again. No response. Just the empty quiet of the night. Maybe an owl asked who.

“Who the hell is out there?”

Okay, owls didn’t swear. But Hunter did.

Jake was so shocked by the sound of his disembodied voice, he jumped back.

“If you’re some neighborhood brat, the security cameras will identify you…”

“No, no…Hunter, is that you?”

“I could ask, again, who are you?”

“It’s…” Christ, did he just say his name? Like a hot specimen like him would remember.

“It’s who…”

“Jake. Jake Wesbury.”

There was silence from the other end. Jake wondered if Hunter was trying to conjure up the name in his memory banks, or if he was just refusing him entry. But then he heard a buzzing sound, followed by the gates opening. He waited for instructions but none came. He supposed the fact the gates had opened was invitation enough, so he started down the bramble-coated path aside the driveway, feeling his way in the darkness. But then came a flood of light as the front door of the grand house opened, creating a yellow path that guided him forward. An impressively sized man stood in the doorframe.

Jake approached, and he sucked in a deep breath at the sight before him.

There was Hunter Abbott, standing in a pair of jeans but nothing else. His broad chest was aglow in the light that surrounded him, highlighting the coarse brown hair that blanketed his torso. A thick bulge in his pants was beyond obvious. Jake felt himself grow weak in the knees, but still his legs managed to push him toward the front steps. He nearly dropped to his knees right there and then.

“Well, Jake Westbury, what a surprise,” Hunter said, a smile alighting his scruffy face.

“Look…I, I took a chance…I found myself in…”

“In what? Newbury? No one finds themselves here. You came here with a purpose.”

He nodded, breathless. “I did.”

“Your timing is awfully good. A week from now I wouldn’t be here. Leaving town for a wedding.”

“Funny, so am I,” Jake said. “It’s what brought me overseas. But then, I thought…”

“You thought? You thought what? Look up an old friend? We’re hardly that.”

“We had fun together. But you, you and Nevil…”

“Nevil got himself in a bit of trouble. Serving some jail time.”

“So, you’re alone.”

That’s when Hunter smiled, and it was a wicked one, the one Jake remembered and had been irresistibly drawn to. “Not now I’m not.”

Jake’s mouth went dry, words evaporating on his lips. Hunter extended a hand, Jake took a step forward, and their fingers entwined, their touch setting off electric sparks in the night. My God, Jake, thought, his fantasy was standing before him. What he’d thought about the entire flight, on the train ride, and in the pub while he drank his beer and awaited his mind’s decision. He was here now, in his arms. He was being whisked into the house, and into the hungry embrace of one of the sexiest men he’d ever known, much less been with.

“So, I guess we could go to the wedding together,” Hunter said.

“I hate going stag.”

“I’m never single for long.”

Jake nodded. “I know.”

Silence fell between them, tension rising. Or was that heat level?

“Shall I take you right here in this foyer?” Hunter asked.

Jake could only nod, and then he allowed his body to set itself free. “For starters.”

Hunter’s first kiss was magic, and as the night stretched onward, it wasn’t his only trick. Jake found himself in the throes of a fresh new adventure, with a man who’d taught him that life could be lived on the edge. That you could take a chance on anything, live by that code, learn from that code.

He felt his clothes falling away, felt himself, almost in a dream-like state, being whisked upstairs to Hunter’s bedroom, where the big man produced his bulging cock, and where he pushed Jake to the large bed, climbing on top of him. Jake reached up, ran a hand across the man’s chest, reveling as much as remembering the feel of the rough mat of hair. He knew they would play later, and they might even talk, but right now they were possessed, their pasts taking ownership of them. The future could wait.

When Hunter entered him, Jake cried out, and he tightened his hold on the man above him. He took him, every inch, begging to be pleased. The bed rocked, and Hunter thrust hungrily at him, his voice a series of animal grunts. The plane ride, the anonymous sex, the indecision he felt in London, the impulse to come to Newbury tonight, it was like the past day had happened long ago, his problems dissipated by the touch of this man. Nothing mattered but now.

“Hunter, you’re so good…so good…”

He thrust at him, opened him up. He said nothing, his actions saying everything.

It was only much later, after they had climaxed, that Hunter found words that Jake’s cautious mind had trouble believing. Except he did say them, and they would reverberate inside his brain all night, even as they fucked again, and a third time before finally falling to sleep. What Hunter said, as they kissed, and as Jake lay in his protective, massive arms, couldn’t have surprised him more. Hunter Abbot wasn’t one for the confessional. Emotions not easily displaying.

“I’ve been with a lot of men, Jake,” he said. “But none ever came back, not like you did.”

 

 

 

CHAPTER TEN

 

Matthew

 

The TGV train was scheduled to depart Gare De Lyon at 9:50, and according to the monitors the departure would be on time. Matthew Donovan checked his iPhone, and saw that only a minute had passed since last he’d checked. 9:39. The hands of the clock were ticking ever-forward. Matt nervously glanced around the crowded Paris train station, looking for any sign of a bustling Anton. Any other day he might have taken in the beautiful architecture around him.

“Where the hell are you?” he said aloud.

A couple walking past him gave him a curious look, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he swore or because he did so in English. Nothing pissed off the assertive French than failing to speak their language. Even though his French had improved the past year and a half, his mind still thought in English, and what it was thinking right now was jumble of things. Would they make this train? Would Anton even show?

It was their wedding weekend, and maybe he’d gotten cold feet?

Wasn’t this what the past two months been leading up? Their special day? One originally envisioned to take place on the balcony of the garret where Anton had proposed, now changed to a glamorous villa atop St. Jean du Cap Ferrat. It was almost unreal—surreal, Matt supposed—that he would be exchanging vows of forever with the man of his dreams in such a venue? Colton Abbott had been nothing but good to Matt, moving behind their initial hook-up on the plane to Paris, and later, after he and Anton’s relationship had suffered a riff and he’d sought refuge at this same villa. Colton was nothing if not giving, including insisting on sending a stretch limousine to pick them up at the train station in Nice. As he’d said on the phone just last night, “nothing but the best for both of you this weekend. It should be quite a joyous celebration.”

Matt heard those words in his head now, but doubted their truth.

Where was Anton?”

He checked his phone again. 9:42.

An announcement was made for their track number, and he saw a rush of people make way for the platform. After all, it was a Friday morning and the weather was warm, with skies filled by puffy white clouds. Ideal weather for a weekend escape to the sparkling Cote d’Azur, or Provence, which was one of the stops along the way. The train would pass through the countryside en route to the gleaming blue waters of the Mediterranean, and Matt for one couldn’t wait to take a dip in that salty water and feel the warm heat of the sun upon his skin. Not that the wedding ceremony itself was secondary, but their destination was beneficial not just for the two grooms. All of their guests would be able to partake of the lovely forecast and surroundings.

“Matt…I’m sorry….”

Matt spun around at the sound of his name and saw Anton and Henri rushing toward him.

“It’s my fault, Matt, I couldn’t find my swim trunks,” Henri said.

How could Matt be mad at a kid? A kid who after tomorrow would be his step-son.

“No worries, but we must run to catch our train.”

The three of them, rolling luggage trailing after them, waded their way through the crowds, finally reaching the platform and finding their passenger car. This was the best part of what Matt loved about European train service, assigned seats. It guaranteed you traveled together, and wasn’t that what this entire weekend was about? The three of them being together?

They settled into First Class, taking up four seats, two pair that faced each other. A minute later the doors closed and the train took off, pulling out of the station and beginning its journey out of Paris and into the rolling green countryside of France. Matt leaned his head back, his heart no longer racing from worry. He wiped at his brow, smiling at Anton as his future husband took the seat opposite him; he’d just secured their luggage in the rack above them.

“Papa, may I go look through the front window and watch the tracks?”

“Of course, Henri. Just don’t get in the way of the conductor.”

“I won’t, Papa!”

An eager Henri went dashing forward to the front window, where he took up residence as the train clacked its way south. It would be five hours to Nice, a leisurely ride with an energetic nine-year-old. For now, though, Matt and Anton had a few moments to themselves. Anton leaned forward, taking Matt’s hand in his. He rubbed a finger against the ring on Matt’s hand.

“Can you believe, 48 hours from now…no, sooner…we will be one.”

“All three of us,” Matt said.

“It stirs my heart that you include Henri in your life like that.”

“I never thought I’d be a parent.”

“Gilly will always be his mother, and I his Papa. You will be…”

“Whatever Henri wishes to call me. We will work on that. I don’t take it personally.”

“He’s an amazing kid. He has no issues with the fact his father will marry a man.”

Anton kissed him on the lips, a soft exchange that spoke volumes. It held the promise of what awaited them when they were alone. Matt grinned at just the idea of it.

“So, your friends, you have heard from them?”

Matt nodded. “I spoke to Freddie just a few days ago. He and Santo are already in Tuscany and will arrive later this afternoon. They are driving up along the Italian coast; in fact, they were supposed to leave yesterday. Freddie said they staying overnight in Monte Carlo.”

“How romantic. I look forward to finally meeting them,” he said. “And Jake?”

“Jake…remains a mystery. It’s been a week since I heard from him. He said he’d booked his flight. But since then…all quiet. But he’ll be there. He has to be. This is all his fault.”

“Fault? Our wedding is someone’s fault?”

“It’s just an expression, Anton. I think you’ve been away from the states too long. Without Jake, none of this would have happened. We wouldn’t have happened.”

“So Jake, we are to be forever grateful to him?”

It was an odd statement, but Matt let it go.

They shared another kiss, and then settled back into their seats, alternatively staring out the window at the pastoral beauty of France and staring at each other. No matter what stole their minds, beauty and promise swirled around them. Soon, Anton got up and found his way to the dining cart, where he bought back an Orangina drink for Henri, and a two splits of champagne for him and Matt. Henri came running back to his seat at the sight of the sweet beverage. But he waited until the bubbly had been uncorked, smiling as he got to join his two fathers in a toast to the upcoming weekend.

“Papa, do as they do in movies,” Henri said.

“Which is what, my son?”

“Link your arms, then drink,” he said.

Matt laughed aloud, and Anton acquiesced. The two men entwined their arms, their glasses, and then they drank, and then, since Henri had referenced the movies, wasn’t every romantic scene better when sealed with a kiss? Matt and Anton kissed again, Matt placing his hand upon Anton’s patchy beard, rubbing it and wishing he could do so much more with him. But he pulled back, his face flush.

“You’re blushing!” Henri said.

“It’s the champagne,” Matt replied.

“I don’t think so.”

“Henri, go check on our progress. We should be coming up on Aix-en-Provence.”

Henri rolled his eyes, knowing he was being dismissed, but his energy for train travel won out, and he went running back to the front window, joining another boy his age who seemed just as anxious to chart their progress.

An hour passed, another one did. Anton slept, and Matt watched him, surprised at how easy sleep came to him during the day. Was that life as an artist? You caught sleep when you could? Because what if at three in the morning inspiration struck and you had to get up and start painting right away? Content only when finished. It was a rare sight to see Anton so sedentary in the middle of the day. Usually he was out selling his wares, or at night he was hunched over a blank canvas awaiting the fleeting image in his brain to come to life. Matt knew they were in love, but he never realized just how different they were: he so practical, Anton such a dreamer. He supposed that’s what made them work. Together they grabbed hold of challenges and turned them to success.

What he ultimately realized that after this weekend, their lives really wouldn’t change that much. They already shared a home, a business, and they had to continue to forge ahead in raising Henri. It also meant, when returning, dealing with Stone: not just his art show, but the way he’d nearly destroyed what Anton and Matt shared. If not for loyalty to Sheeba—and hers to Stone—Matt might have canceled plans for the self-satisfied artist’s show. But business had to turn a blind eye sometimes.

At last, Nice was near. The TGV train was pulling into Cannes, and Matt looked out at the busy upper reaches of the small city. It wasn’t the most attractive of places, the downtown area, but as he’d witnessed on his last visit, further down along the Croisette, Cannes was as lovely as advertised, with golden stretches of beaches, exclusive hotels and high-end shops. Perhaps he and Anton would stop here on their way back to Paris and spend a couple of days. But of course they had Henri with them, so maybe a romantic honeymoon would have to wait.

Soon the train departed Cannes, and less than thirty minutes later they had reached their stop. Henri gave up his post at the front of the train, helped with the luggage, and soon the three of them departed the train, immediately feeling the shift in the weather. The air was warm, dry, and the late afternoon sun created a glow around them. As they made their way outside, they saw a shiny black limo parked among a row of taxi cabs. An Asian man in a black suit stood at attention, nodding familiarly to Matt. He remembered him from his last visit: Colton’s driver.

“Mr. Donovan, very nice to see you again,” he said.

“Thank you….”

“Ti-Wuan,” he said. “And you must be Mr. Anton, and of course the best man, young Mr. Henri. If you would,” he said, holding open the rear door, “Mr. Colton is expecting you. And he’s told me to say he has champagne on ice and surprise guests awaiting you. Now, shall we? It’s just a short trip up to the Cap.”

“I’ve never been in a real limo before,” Henri said.

“Why don’t you sit up front with me, help with the directions?”

Henri didn’t need to be told twice, Anton mouthing “thank you” while he and Matt scrambled into the back seat. Soon they were off, the darkened windows keeping them locked inside their own world, oblivious to the gorgeous scenery that unfolded before them. Sparking blue water, a streak of sun to rival Apollo’s chariot ride, rocky hills and bluffs, none of it mattered because for the first time today Matt and Anton were locked in together. They held hands, and exchanged a tender kiss. Matt’s hand wandered further down, where he stroked a growing erection. Anton allowed a small laugh.

“While that would be the sexiest thing imaginable, not with Henri so nearby.”

“You’re such a tease, Anton. Later, when we get settled into our room.”

“We will have plenty of time this weekend—and beyond—to share ourselves.”

They kissed again, just as the limo veered off the highway and began to climb up the hills of Cap Ferrat. They took a turn, then another, winding their way up a road that narrowed as it gave off views of the French Alps, their majestic crests rising up one last time, only to slide effortlessly into the sea. Matt recalled the view from the room he’d stayed in, the jagged mountains descending into the Mediterranean as though they sought to swim alongside Pegasus.

Soon the limo pulled into the driveway beside a villa painted yellow, with white trim, one that rose up two stories atop the bluff. Matt had shown pictures to Anton, but nothing served the grounds better than seeing it up close and personal, and as they stepped out on the blacktop, Matt spread open his arms and smiled.

“Did I say this was beautiful?”

“Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it,” Anton said, gazing about at the foliage that grew all around the house. It was green and leafy, carefully tendered but not obsessively so. Nature was given its chance to bloom, and Matt felt a sense of pride at being able to show his love the house in which they would be married. Actually, it was the grounds out back where they would actually exchange vows. Matt took Anton’s hand in his, walking him toward the edge of the driveway.

“Oh my God, it’s stunning,” Anton said.

Below was an Olympic size pool, with a patio that surrounded it edges, and included a spot where you could sun bathe, relax, swim laps, or, given the privacy afforded the fences and plentiful bougainvillea, other matters, those of body and soul. Matt had himself shared such delicious nights here at the villa with Colton, always knowing what transpired between them was temporary, a simple escape. Colton was an elusive man, one whose personality preferred limited entanglements, physical contact that came without binding intimacy. For an innocent, romantic like Matt, it was an enticing, enigmatic mixture. He’d enjoyed himself here, but now with Anton on his arm, it was all the better, all the more celebratory.

“Welcome, welcome,” came a voice from behind them.

Matt, with Anton and Henri at his side, turned and watched as Colton emerged from the cool interior of the house. He was dressed smartly, casual slacks and an open-necked shirt, a thick tuft of his chest hair curling up over the undone buttons. He also wore a happy, gregarious smile; he was in host mode, and he would be all weekend. Having opened up his home to Matt, he’d wound up inviting a houseful of strangers into his close-knit world. Matt couldn’t have been more grateful, and he went and hugged his host, Anton following suit.

“It’s amazing, Colton. Really. You’ve outdone yourself,” Anton said.

“You’re here a minute, and already filled with high praise. I can only imagine the response I’ll get when it comes time for your vows. Ah yes, a most memorable weekend awaits us. And that includes you, my young lad. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

“I’m Henri, and I am very pleased to meet you.”

“Haha, a delight. Come my boy, let me get you a beverage while these men get settled.”

Colton took Henri’s hand and led him inside, Ti-Wuan directing Matt and Anton to follow him upstairs. They were escorted to the same room Matt had stayed in before. The door was opened with a flourish, sunlight bathing in through tall, open windows. A light breeze filtered in. The room was yellow in color, and the sun only heightened the glow inside what would be their honeymoon suite. Ti-Wuan excused himself, leaving their luggage just inside the room.

“Well?” Matt said.

Anton had dashed over to the window, where he saw what Matt had earlier described, with the jutting Alps sliding into the sea. He turned back, waved Matt toward him. Matt acquiesced, and then he felt himself being drawn into his lover’s arms. They kissed. Anton, though, had other ideas…more ideas, and he led him to the bed. After the five-hour train ride, and after resisting their temptations in the rear of the limo, both men came at each other as though they had been denied each other’s touch for years.

Clothes fell away, naked bodies linked together. Anton pulled Matt to the bed.

In no time, Anton slid himself inside Matt, and he thrust at him with hungry desire.

“Oh, my love, my love…I’ve waited for this all my life.”

“Wait until tomorrow night, when we will make love until the dawn rises,” Anton said.

That sounded like magic, but right now wasn’t a moment he wanted to see disappear any time soon. He dug his nails into the muscled flesh of his lover, urging him on harder, harder, feeling the contours of his hard cock inside him until a rush of heat bathed them both and they reached their wondrous, pent-up climaxes. Moments later they lay together, with Matt absently running his hand along the coating of dark chest hair Anton sported. He leaned over, kissed his chest, tasted a nipple.

“Do we have time for another round?” Matt asked.

“I think we should honor our host, and see about those special guests he spoke of. We don’t want to leave them all hanging.”

“Then we’ll wait,” Matt said, tightening his hold on Anton briefly.

“We have a lifetime of love. Let us enjoy our friends.”

That last word sparked an idea in Matt’s mind, and he wondered, with a sudden burst of energy that had him bounding out of bed: had Freddie or Jake arrived already? If his heart hadn’t already been beating from the intense love-making of moments ago, it might have skipped a beat in thinking of his long-awaited, upcoming reunion. It had been more than a year in the making, and so finally, the time had come for the three friends to meet face to face once again.

 

***

 

Except, as it turned out it would only be two friends taking part in the reunion.

Matt and Anton returned downstairs an hour later, refreshed, showered, dressed not unlike the rest of the guests who were assembled on the back patio in shorts and casual shirts. They slid open the glass door off the kitchen, emerging into the early evening warmth hanging over the South of France. Having a wedding in late April, the weather could have been unpredictable, but the forecast—so Matt had checked—was for the more of the same all weekend long. As he and Anton made their entrance, a small group turned around and began clapping. Henri leading the pack, and at his side, definitely a surprise.

“Gilly, you came…?” Anton said, stepping forward to kiss his ex-wife on each cheek.

“It’s not every day you get to attend your ex-husband’s wedding to another man.”

“It is rather unconventional,” he said. “Henri, did you know your mama was coming?”

He was standing beside her, and his grin, which ran from ear to ear, gave him away. “She insisted I train down with you and Matt.”

“Well, of course. I wouldn’t have had it any other way, and besides, it would have spoiled the surprise! Well played, my very smart son.”

Henri beamed. Gilly then took another step forward, clasping Matt’s hand.

“And Matt, you look great,” Gilly said. She’d always welcomed him to their family. He too kissed both cheeks, feeling ever-so continental.

The three of them ensured the peace all for young Henri, wanting for him as normal an upbringing at you could get under the circumstances. Matt accepted her embrace, then shook hands with her own boyfriend, a guy in his twenties with long dark hair and tattoos on his exposed arms.

“Biker, nice of you to join us as well.”

“We’ll bring Henri home,” he offered. “Give you two some alone time.”

Other congratulations were offered, the rest of the gang part of Matt’s circle. Of course the troupe was led by Simone, looking as stylish as ever with a wide-brimmed red hat and equally red lips; Sheeba and Amanda; Gavin Simon was in attendance, too and he was gracious, thanking Matt and Anton for allowing him to be part of the celebration. He was his usual tan self, dressed in tan slacks and a button down shirt that was barely buttoned, his voluminous chest hair exposed. At his side, and again, another surprise, was Stone.

“Hope you don’t mind, Matt…Anton, Gavin invited me…”

I’m sure he did, Matt thought. A weekend getaway to the Cote d’Azur, Gavin would need a fuck buddy, and as he’d proven before, Stone was a ripe piece of Texas charm and hot body. At least he wouldn’t be a distraction to them on their special weekend; Stone could keep Gavin well occupied, and vice versa. He wondered if they were sharing a room.

“I hope you enjoy yourself,” Matt said.

At that point Colton came over, where he escorted a smart-looking lady of impeccable looks and taste; she looked like she had stepped out of a fashion magazine. Matt noted how jealous Simone had looked. Simone was style for sure, but she was all attitude, whereas this lady was pure refinement.

“May I introduce my sister, Lady Patricia Viognier,” Colton said.

“If you remember, Colton, I met Lady Viognier on my last visit to Cap Ferrat,” Matt said.

“Oh course, we dined at the Grand-Hotel du Cap-Ferrat. A lovely lunch poolside.”

“A pool which pours directly into the ocean, why it could just sweep you away,” Patsy said. “And speaking of which, I do believe I’ve just been swept away by this handsome artist of a future husband. Anton Marcel, you know I’ve heard of you.”

“You have?” Anton said, surprise in his voice. “I doubt we travel in similar circles, Lady Voignier.”

She gazed about the villa and its lush foliage, smiled nicely, and answered with, “I believe we do now, my dear. I insist you both must call me Patsy. None of this Lady stuff this weekend. I just want to put my feet up, drink, and celebrate.”

“A fine transition, Patsy, dear. We are here to drink and to cheer and witness the exchange of vows between our two friends,” Colton said, “So, we have a pitcher of martinis, or if you prefer, there is always champagne, and plenty of it. The cellar is well-stocked. And of course fruit punch for those of a younger vintage.”

The crowd gathered around the bar area, where Colton himself did the honors, refreshing drinks, serving Matt and Anton each a flute of champagne. As Matt waited for the fizz to subside, he stole a look around the remaining grounds, his eyes on the lookout beyond the manicured foliage for any stray guests that might have wandered away from the gathering. But he saw no one. Not Freddie, not Jake. He felt deflated, and not even a sip of the energetic bubbles could lift his sudden shift in mood. The most important day of his life, and his best friends were nowhere to be seen? Hadn’t Freddie promised that he and Santo were already in Italy, and that they would be driving across the border? Perhaps they had hit a glitch and were still on their way. And Jake, just what had become of him? Matt had checked his phone before coming down, and it was silent. No text messages, no missed calls.

Just then Matt felt Colton approach him from behind, taking hold of his hand, leading him away from the guests, all of whom were drinking and chatting and enjoying the sunshine. Matt saw Anton being absorbed into a conversation with Gilly and Biker, but he looked back and smiled. One of contentment that Matt shot back at him.

Colton led Matt beyond the pool, where the second level of the patio rose up higher than the rest. Matt remembered this view, as it offered up sweeping vistas of the Mediterranean, where waves crashed down upon a beach you access by climbing down a series of sharp, slippery rocks. Back when he had stayed with Colton while he was nursing his broken heart over Anton, Matt and Colton had shared several intimate nights in just this location.

“Colton, I still can’t believe we are here. That this day is here…well, that tomorrow is near. So near. When Anton proposed, saying yes was easy. I love him, of course I do. But once you say yes, your world changes and spins out of control. You make plans, always knowing what you are planning for will happen later.”

“Except later has become now,” Colton said. “Matthew, a man in my position, he has such limited time to indulge in the good life. I’m too busy attending to my clients’ needs—and taking their money, of course, which helps pay for my lifestyle—so when I can give back to my friends, it gives my life that much more meaning. And realize this: you are a dear friend, special to me like so few other men. Certainly our initial encounter on board that flight to Paris was fortuitous, even if it was intended to be as fleeting as any transatlantic crossing. But I recognized a sweetness within you that belied your sexual adventures on board. It was like you were trying to stretch your comfort zone…”

“I’d never done anything like that before. My entire trip was a fluke, really.”

“And yet here you are. Your life changed. You are soon to get married, have a step-son, all while continuing to build your gallery’s reputation. Of the latter, I have no doubt you will achieve success. You have untapped drive—something I’ll guess you were never aware of.”

“I was always ambitious, but yeah, I had to find that inner fire.”

“And you did. I’m proud of you, Matthew. Tomorrow you will marry Anton, right on this very spot, overlooking one of the most wondrous view on this planet. You will profess your love, and I, as a deputized officer of the court, will pronounce you husband and husband.”

“I cannot wait, thank you, Colton.”

“Good, good, I’m glad we got that out of the way. Now you can say hello to your friends.”

“Wait…what?”

From behind the thick brush that led to the rocky bluff and the beach emerged Freddie and another man, one of dark olive-toned skin and a face that belonged in the pages of international magazines and up on the silver screen. They were holding hands, smiles wide.

“Oh thank God, you’re here,” Matt said, running over to embrace Freddie.

Freddie hugged him tight, and Matt felt the warmth of enduring friendship envelop him, more so than what the sun could achieve. He kissed his cheek, then pulled back, only to embrace him once again.

“My God, it’s so great to see you…you look…Freddie, you look amazing,” Matt said, his hand running along Freddie’s curled bicep. “I don’t remember you being so…buff.”

“The house we’ve been renting in Los Angeles, it has a private gym. Santo works a lot, so I get to work out a lot. Oh, shit, wait, you haven’t met…Santo, come, come over, and finally meet my best friend, Matt.”

Matt felt the handsome man embrace him before kissing him on both cheeks. “I feel I know you already, from the stories Freddie has told,” Santo said. “But to meet you in person is far better. I know Freddie is happy, and so that makes me so very happy.”

Matt nearly swooned over Santo’s thick accent. “When did you arrive?”

“A couple hours ago,” Freddie said, “Colton wanted to keep us a secret. So we were down on the beach. Jesus, Matt, you really landed in the right place. I mean, you just happened to have a friend who happens to own a villa in the South of France, and he agreed to host your wedding. I guess your decision to summer in Paris was a good one.”

“I could say the same for you about Rome, and I think you have an Abbott sibling to thank as well.” Matt said.

“Ah yes, Patsy. She actually introduced me to Santo. Of course, she had an ulterior motive, she always does. But I have to say I didn’t mind being so manipulated. I mean…”

Matt leaned into his friend’s ear and whispered, “I get it. Freddie, totally. I mean, wow. Santo has to be one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen.”

“Hey, you’ve got your guy, leave mine alone,” Freddie said. “Speaking of…”

“Oh, shit, yes, come up to the patio by the house, meet Anton, and Henri…”

“Henri?”

“My future step-son.”

Freddie paused, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You really got all you wanted.”

“Almost,” Matt said.

“Almost? What’s missing?”

“Jake! I mean, seriously, where the fuck is he?”

Freddie allowed himself a hearty laugh that the wind caught. It echoed out to sea. “That’s the keyword, isn’t it? He’s probably fucking his ass off right now. Like a porn version of My Best Friend’s Wedding. My Best Friend’s Bedding.”

Always with the jokes, that was Freddie. “God I’ve missed you, Freddie. This is going to be such a special weekend, now that you’re here. Come on, let me introduce you and Santo to Anton, and then we can really get this party started. Honestly, I think I’m living in a fantasy land.”

Freddie stole a look at Santo, and then he concurred with his friend.

Matt looked at his friend with joy as he saw Freddie lean in and plant a kiss on Santo’s lips. If the sun wasn’t already beaming down on this day, Matt could have sworn the heat generated by those two men caused the mercury levels to shoot off the thermometer. Yet he detected something else, maybe a nervous energy bouncing off Freddie. Matt had to wonder what his jester of a friend was plotting. Because knowing Freddie meant knowing he was always working some angle, but this time he seemed so…well, serious.

 

 

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

Freddie

 

Three nights in a row, three gorgeous bedrooms in which to sleep, all of them with the hottest man he could think of. Two nights ago they were in Tuscany, last night at the four star Hotel de Paris Monte Carlo, and now in a villa on exclusive St. Jean de Cap Ferrat. Did life get any better than this, or more indulgent? It did when that man in your bed had made love to you each night in both of those places, and the promise for a third night of hot, sweaty sex lay beyond promising. Right now Santo was in the shower, as he always liked to do before bed, which left Freddie pacing the room in a pair of tight briefs and secretly wishing to slip them off and join his lover under the hot spray. But why, when in their room at the end of the hall was this king size bed, plenty of room for them to roll around, touch, caress, kiss, fuck. Just the thought of it was making Freddie hard.

In his hand was the last remnants of a glass of champagne. He’d consumed so much tonight, he’d lost count. He was also feeling a bit tipsy, which meant he was super horny. It had been a hell of a night, a gourmet dinner that Colton himself had prepared. He’d even done the shopping that morning in the outdoor markets in Nice. The fish had been spectacular, so fresh it could have leapt out of the ocean and into the skillet. A lamb course came paired with fresh mint a lovely, velvety red wine, and of course a tart, cheese, and port had been on offer afterwards. Freddie’s mind was swimming in booze, and he felt so full he was anxious to work off all those calories. He edged near the bathroom, where he could still hear the shower. Santo enjoyed his showers, so he would just have to wait a bit longer. It’s funny, Santo would emerge squeaky clean, and Freddie would just want to dirty him up with some hot sex.

He had no doubt they wouldn’t be the only people indulging their passion tonight.

Matt and his sexy painter would surely be getting it on. But then again, maybe not. Matt was a fairly traditional guy, so maybe he wanted them to spend the night before the wedding apart. Perhaps he was already sleep, or worse, staring at the ceiling with a frustrated hard-on, wishing he hadn’t gone the traditional route. Freddie had also noticed that man Gavin, with his hunky boy toy adorned with the Texas twang, thinking there was only one reason the two of them were together. Freddie might be attached, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t look, and what he’d noticed in Stone’s pants was a package any man would sign up for. He figured Gilly and the tattooed Biker too for a round of passion; she’d barely kept her hands off him all night, though truth be told, if Freddie were attending his ex’s wedding, he’d be sure to bring someone along to boink. The girls were no doubt getting some action: Sheeba and Amanda were probably munching carpet right now, Freddie thought with drunken amusement.

Still impatient, he made his way over to the antique dresser, where their clothes had been unpacked. He opened the top drawer, where his briefs and socks had been placed. Freddie reached over and felt for a sock that had something hidden in it. He slipped the object out, and stared at the ring box again. Stealing a look to ensure Santo was still in the bathroom, he flipped open the lid and stared at the two rings. He’d had them buffed at a jewelers in Beverly Hills before they left, and so they gleamed, even under the dim lights of the room.

Did he really have the guts to go through with his plan?

Would Santo say yes?”

Before he did anything, he needed to talk to Matt. This was his friend’s weekend. The last thing he wanted to do was steal any of his thunder.

He heard sounds, and panicking, he pushed the box back into the sock and quickly closed the drawer. Spinning around, he expected to see Santo standing there, perhaps naked, perhaps with a towel wrapped around his waist, drying his hair while he looked expectantly at his strange-acting lover. But there was no one there, the bathroom door still closed. Then he heard voices again, and he realized they were coming from outside. The window was open, offering up a view of the back patio. It was dark except for moonlight streaming down and a distant light on the patio; Freddie could still hear murmurs, while shadows crept into his sight.

The time was after midnight, and he thought everyone had retired to their rooms with the promise of a busy day tomorrow. But a nocturnal rendezvous had been arranged, apparently, and Freddie grew curious about who was getting ready to do what, and to whom. He doused the light that was on in his room, tossing him into darkness. A moment later his eyes adjusted, and he could see the shadows take shape, and who he saw was Gavin Simone, Matt’s friend’s business partner. He wore nothing, and in the glow of the moon the man took on a feral look; he was hairy all over, even more so than Santo, but not as beautifully sculpted. His cock dangled between his legs. Then another man appeared, whom Freddie assumed was the boy toy named Stone. No surprise, as he saw the strong stud walk across the patio; he too was naked, his body smooth and bulky, all muscles and sinew. What was between his legs was long and thick, and he wasn’t even hard yet. Freddie had guessed right. That kid was packing serious meat.

Freddie felt his loins stir, not because he wanted either man. But he’d watched enough porn in this life to know what was going to happen. Except, maybe he hadn’t seen the latest releases, because his sense of the plot was off. He had pictured the two men going at it, but then came a third man, he too naked, as though all of them had known—prearranged—that this was going to happen. Like secret messages had passed among them between courses. Freddie recognized their host, Colton Abbott, and he was more than ready to take on both men. His cock stood at attention, and he stroked it even harder. His chest was coiled hair, a bushy mix of dark brown and gray.

The men wasted little time on niceties.

Colton took Stone into his arms, and he began to kiss him, all while Gavin came up behind Stone, his hardening cock rubbing against his ass. It was clear Stone was the object of desire for both of them. Freddie watched, his body hidden behind the pulled drape to ensure he wasn’t found out. His cock was stretched, straining with the pressure of the hot scene playing out before him. He saw Colton drop down to his knees, and he began to suck at Stone’s big cock. Gavin continued to press his own hardness against the young stud’s rock-hard butt cheeks. With his chest, he drew up, then back, against Stone’s back; Freddie could imagine how that furry pelt felt. After all, he had the Italian Stallion Santo nightly, he knew how hot chest hair felt against a back when you were getting ready to fuck, all friction and fur.

It didn’t take long for the situation to escalate, and soon Gavin had slipped himself inside Stone’s ass. He pushed his cock at Stone, holding his shoulders to lock him in place. Colton continued to suck him with gusto, and so Stone was getting it from both ends. He could hear their growing sounds of ecstasy waft through the air. Freddie reached down, touched his cock, which was rock hard and throbbing in his fist. This was crazy, the reaction he felt watching these three men fucking, sucking, pleasuring this hot stud, but he couldn’t help himself. He was lost in their world, so much so that he failed to hear the padded steps of Santo creeping up behind him. But he felt the man’s furry arms encircle him, and he nearly jumped, so startled was he.

“Sshhh,” Santo said, “Don’t let them hear you.”

He felt Santo lean in, rubbing his heavy beard against Freddie’s neck. Freddie nearly died at his touch.

“Santo…”

“Don’t say anything,” he said.

Freddie continued to watch the scene unfold beneath him, the three men pumping, sucking, their strained voices urging them toward heady climax. Santo came at him suddenly, from behind, his cock entering Freddie with surprise and aggression. Freddie’s hands grabbed hold of the edge of the windowsill, his grip tight as Santo’s cock pierced him. He wanted to cry out, but he didn’t want to be discovered and turn that threesome downstairs into a five-some upstairs. He felt Santo’s hands settle on his shoulders, holding him in place while he thrust at him from behind. Freddie received each eager thrust, wanting to beg for him to go harder, but Santo’s moves were slow and steady. It was way hotter, being fucked slowly while in their vision another man thrust with high energy, his hips slapping against skin in the quiet of the night.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah…that’s it, fuck me…suck me…” said Stone, his voice carrying.

Gavin gave him what he wanted, burying his entire cock inside him, and Colton redoubled his efforts, swallowing the guy’s entire cock. He continued to stroke his own. But best of all, Santo began to increase his movements, as though he were responding to the increased pressure below. Uncontrollable urges took over, both down on the patio and up in their room. Freddie felt Santo’s cock dig in deep, and he imagined Colton deep throating that massive cock, and Gavin sliding the last of himself in. Cocks in motion, everywhere, climax inevitable, and he wondered who would achieve it first.

That’s when he felt a rush of heat deep within himself, and he realized he was going to be the winner. He reached behind him, feeling for Santo’s ass, pushing him forward, so close their bodies were one. He could feel the harsh brush of Santo’s thick black chest hair on his back, rug burn in the making. Freddie’s cock erupted just then, his come shooting toward the screen of the window, drops of white catching in the tiny squares, sticking, dripping. Then he felt Santo pull out quickly, and he knew what was next. He felt the hot spurt of come on his back, Santo no doubt grabbing hold of his cock to allow the final drops to seep out. He felt the warm come ooze down his back, sliding between the crack of his ass.

And still the men downstairs were going at it. None had climaxed yet. They were a jumble of limbs, cocks, furry chests and hardened muscles, a concentration of energy which powered the moon above them. But Freddie stepped away, turned and saw Santo watching him with a curious expression on his face.

“Are you okay, my Freddie?”

“Never better.’

“Forget them. Come to bed. Make love to me, just me. Love is always better with two.”

“Two people,” Freddie said.

“No, my love, two hearts.”

They retreated to the king size bed, and Freddie realized they didn’t need so much room. Not when he climbed atop his beautiful, furry lover and he pressed his raging cock inside him, just as Santo had asked. The sounds from outside faded, but theirs increased with every hungry thrust. They enjoyed loud, aggressive sex, Santo even more expressive when he allowed Freddie to pound him. Santo’s legs were splayed open, Freddie attacking his ass with zeal while his hands were planted firmly on Santo’s broad chest, fingers lost in the thick chest hair. He thought of now, how wonderful this moment was, but then he thought of what tomorrow would bring, and pictured Matt and Anton exchanging their vows. He wanted to do the same, with this man who beneath him took every urgent, wild thrust of his hips, taking his entire cock. And why not, he’d already taken his heart. Now to marry their souls.

“Oh God…yes, yes, Santo, my sexy man, my furry, sweet, wonderful lover…”

He felt his cock erupt again, and this time he allowed himself to spill himself deep within Santo. His hips bucked as every burst hit him, felt Santo’s fingers dig into his back, heightening the pleasure which rocked his body. Santo then cried out, and Freddie watched as his thick cock blew, a fresh load of come shooting onto his sexy chest. He leaned down, licked it, tasted him, his come and his sweaty musk hidden deep within the whorls of his chest hair.

Freddie then slid in beside his lover, kissing him.

“You know the life you want is the life I want,” Freddie said.

“And soon, very soon, we will have it,” Santo said. “Tomorrow, love is celebrated, and not just for your friend.”

It was an enigmatic comment, and Freddie wanted to explore it further, but after the indulgent meal, the endless wine, and now a healthy round or two of tipsy sex, Santo was suddenly fast asleep. Freddie was left alone with his own thoughts and the glow of the moon, except when the urgent sounds from the patio intruded upon them.

He’d been right. This house oozed sex tonight.

Tomorrow, though, when the sun came up and its rays shimmered across the glassy surface of the Mediterranean, it was love’s turn. Freddie stared at the sleeping form of Santo, thinking how wonderful it would be wake to him every morning, forever. He gently ran his fingers through his chest hair, lovingly watching the steady rise and fall of his lungs as he breathed, and wondered if Santo had any idea what he was planning.

 

***

 

The room was quiet when Freddie stirred, Santo still asleep beside him. He stole a look at the clock on the bedtable, saw that it was eight in the morning. Early, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep again, not this day. He tossed back the covers, padded his naked self over to the dresser, where he pulled out a pair of shorts, tossed them on and padded his way along the carpet in the hallway, ensuring he didn’t disturb the rest of the guests inside the villa. Freddie made his way down the sweeping staircase, found his way to the kitchen, drawn suddenly by the smell of fresh-brewed coffee.

Someone else was awake.

“Good morning,” said Patsy Abbott, sitting by herself on a stool in the center island. She was wrapped up in a comforting bathrobe.

“Oh, Patsy, morning. You’re up early.”

“I don’t sleep well,” she said. “When you travel like I do, your body never has a chance to catch up to the time zone. So, big day today.”

“For Matt,” he said.

“Aren’t you one of the best men?”

Pouring a cup of coffee and taking a grateful sip first, he said, “Looks like I’ll be the only one. Our other friend, Jake, seems to have disappeared. Neither Matt nor I have heard from him despite our attempts to contact him. If he’s going to make it, he’s cutting it awfully close.”

“I know what you mean. My other brother was supposed to be here as well.”

“Hunter, right?”

“Of course, you’re aware of him, thanks to…wait, a minute, Freddie, you don’t suppose he and Jake have hooked up again. I mean, both are expected to be here yet neither are here. It would be a hell of a coincidence, but then again, the three of you crossing paths with the Abbott siblings during your European flings tour already took that idea to extremes. Matt met Colton, Jake met Hunter, and of course, there was you and I knocking back shots together at JFK before our flight to Rome. It’s almost like those three flights were in the hands of the gods, determined to push us all toward this moment. A wedding, who’d have thought? So let’s leave the rest of the day in those same hands. Jake will be here. I trust Hunter will be, too, though he’s not exactly known for his reliability. It’s one of the reasons we asked him to the wedding. It was time for a family meeting.”

Freddie said nothing in response, merely staring down into his coffee cup.

“Hello, Freddie? Did you hear a word I said?”

“You said a lot of words, but yeah, sorry, I got distracted.”

“What’s got you in a twist? Santo? Something wrong in Italian paradise?”

“No, everything is great. Better than great. We spent an amazing week in Tuscany.”

“How could you not? The Mancusi villa is gorgeous, with an amazing view of the hills. It’s also Santo’s home, and…oh, crap, he’s not thinking of backing out of my film, is he? Or worse, did you convince him to pass on it?”

“Patsy, he signed a contract. You know Santo. He honors his commitments. But before he agreed, he needed this escape. He needed to see Italy, his family, to embrace Mama Mancusi. The trip has recharged him. He’ll be ready for filming; he’s been studying the script, running lines.”

“Well, that’s wonderful to hear,” she said.

“But know this, after this film, it’s over.”

“What’s over?”

“His obligation to you. Santo’s debt will be paid.”

“Oh, Freddie, it’s never been about…owing me. Paying me back.”

“You played upon his good nature, his sense of honor.”

“Freddie, we don’t have to do this now. It’s a lovely day, the sun is shining, and later, at sundown, a wedding will take place. So, let’s table all talk of business. But let me close with this: you speak of honor, and I agree, Santo is one of the most honorable men you’ll ever meet. I will honor his request to retire from acting after this film is made. So the next six months are mine, and afterwards…”

“I get him for forever,” Freddie said.

“Why, Freddie Markson, the way you speak, it’s almost sounds like you’re the one getting married today.”

Freddie again stared down at his coffee cup, feeling a rush of heat in his cheeks.

“Freddie?”

He gazed up, slowly. “Don’t say a word.”

“You’re not planning on a double wedding, are you?”

“No, of course not. But maybe I might propose…I don’t know. I haven’t picked the right moment.”

Patsy got up from her seat, came over and placed an arm around Freddie. Despite the fact they were of similar age, her touch was strangely maternal, a feeling Freddie had been missing in his life since his mother had passed. He put a hand on hers, her skin warm. “Who knew I was such a matchmaker,” she finally said. “When I introduced you to Santo, I thought, well, they ought to have a fun time together, a summer fling. I had no idea that such a spark would sustain itself this long.”

“It’s more than a spark, it’s an eternal flame.”

“Propose with words like that, you may just find Santo wanting to get married today.” She kissed the top of his head. “It’s nice to know that if this Hollywood thing doesn’t work out, I’ve got a future as a matchmaker. And you, dear man, if you don’t screw it up, you could have a future of fresh pasta and hot sex. Period.”

She ruffled his hair and departed, leaving Freddie alone in the kitchen. He poured himself another cup, the coffee having done its job of opening his eyes. Or had Patsy done that with her own brand of caffeine?

As he made his way outside, heading toward the chaise lounges set out before the pool, his mind remained focused on Patsy. Freddie was glad they had been able to put aside their differences they’d revealed over lunch back in L.A.; Patsy’s longtime friendship with Santo was important, so Freddie would do as needed to ensure it stayed strong. But within reason. Patsy’s days of taking advantage of Santo’s guilt over what happened when they were teens had come to an end. Back when Patsy was 12, she was positioned as the breakout lead in a family sitcom, but exotic, youthful, handsome Santo Mancusi who played the exchange student intent on stirring up trouble for the all-American family, overtook the show. After one season Patsy Abbott was shipped off to boarding school. For five more seasons, Santo had been the Tiger Beat poster boy, until puberty forced the producers to rethink the direction of the show again. Santo’s character was eventually shipped off, too, and Santo had retreated back to Italy, shunning fame and fortune for the security of his family.

Now it was Freddie’s turn to protect Santo.

Freddie stretched out on a chaise, feeling the sun’s rays beaming down on his body.

“You look comfortable,” he heard from behind, looking up to see Gavin Simone.

Freddie nodded, his eyes taking in the scantily clad man standing before him. He wore only a tiny pair of swim trunks, to the point where he could see the outline of his cock. Freddie was guessing he was uncircumcised. It was also hard not to notice Gavin’s hairiness, with a generous coat of black hair on his chest, tufts of it growing up over his shoulders. It was a bit too much, but he looked proud of his pelt.

“Indeed, the sun feels great. Did you sleep well?” Freddie asked, knowing that the last he’d seen of Gavin he’d been pumping Stone’s ass full of his cock. Who knew how long into the night they’d gone at it.

Gavin grinned, scratching at his chest. “Like an angel. Thought I’d come down and swim some laps, stretch my muscles.”

He moved over to the diving board, and next thing Freddie knew he heard a splash as the man sliced beneath the surface of the water. He hoped Gavin didn’t clog the drain.

Freddie closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his own thoughts, going over in his mind the dilemma he faced regarding Santo. He so desperately wanted to propose before they went back to Hollywood, and he was mad at himself for not having done so when they were holed up in Tuscany. It would have been ideal. But he’d chickened out. What if Santo had said no? What if he wasn’t ready for such a commitment? But he was no closer to settling on an answer when more activity around the pool began to intrude upon his solitude.

Others had woken, including Colton, who was setting out a buffet of pastries, croissants, and juices, along with champagne in which to mix late-morning cocktails. Freddie saw the hunky artist, Stone, arrive, also in the tightest Speedo imaginable. The bulge was considerable, and again he recalled the scenes he’d seen playing outside his window. He saw Colton hand Stone a pastry, which he immediately bit into. It was nothing compared to what Colton had taken in his mouth last night. Freddie felt a stirring inside his own swim trunks, and thought perhaps he should throw himself into the pool as well, cool himself down.

Just then he noticed Santo appear. Yeah, he thought, now I need a cold shower.

Santo was also dressed for swimming, and while his trunks were more modest, the rest of his olive-toned body was on display, his beautifully sculpted chest of thick black hair as sexy as anything Freddie had seen. Combine that with his hairy forearms and legs, he was the picture of perfect sexiness, European exoticism being played out in front of him. He still could hardly believe this man was with him; but he loved him, and he knew the sensitive, unassuming Santo loved him. He could have dropped to one knee now and professed his eternal desire. Santo smiled at Freddie, even as he poured a glass of orange juice. Then he wandered over and kissed Freddie on the lips, the kiss carrying more sweetness than the fruit could produce.

“You were up early,” Santo said.

“You know me, an early riser.”

“I was hoping to be with you, again,” Santo said.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you. You were sound asleep.”

Santo kissed him again. “That is why I love you. You are considerate.”

“Ah, good morning boys,” Colton said, coming up beside them. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Is it possible to buy the perfect wedding weather?” Freddie asked.

“If it was, I would have wasted a lot of cash,” Colton said. “Always best to leave things to Mother Nature. She knows when to shine her light down on something special. Ah, speaking of, look who has stirred…the men of the hour.”

The sliding glass door opened and out stepped Matt and Anton, both of them in shorts and T-shirts, lazily making their way to the patio. Henri followed after them, making a beeline for the sweets treats that had been set out. The day’s grooms approached the gathering, exchanging hellos.

“You ready for this, Matt?” Freddie asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” he said, smiling at Anton.

“As am I,” Anton replied. “Knowing you love someone is one thing. Sharing that love with others, it’s a blessing.”

“Well said, Anton,” Colton said. “So, everyone enjoy the morning. Go for a swim, a walk down to the beach, or just lazily take in the sun. Cocktails are at six. I trust everyone is prepared with their outfits for the ceremony? We will begin at seven, just as the sun begins its slip into the sea.”

“That sounds nice,” Henri said.

“Ah, young man. And you need to be the first one ready. You are the best man.”

“I’m my Papa’s,” he said proudly.

The morning continued, small talk ensuing between the guests, all of them partaking in the food, the fun, the atmosphere of celebration which swirled around them like a trapped wind. For Freddie, the sight before him made him wonder if his own wedding would be as lovely. And why wouldn’t it? He assumed it would be at the Mancusi villa, but then again, he was assuming a lot, which started with assuming he had the guts to ask, and assuming Santo said yes. He remembered that old adage.

“Something on your mind?” Matt said, settling down in the chaise next to his.

“No. I’m good. Just…thinking.”

“About Santo?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because even though we’re talking, you haven’t taken your eyes off of him. He’s so hot. Look at that body…though, if you think about it, between Gavin and Colton and Santo and even Anton, in their swim trunks, showing off those furry bodies, this place looks more like Bear Week at Provincetown than a civilized wedding. You know who would be eating this up?”

“Probably eating them out, too,” Freddie said.

Matt laughed despite how anxious he was feeling. “I’m so mad at him. I mean, he said he’d be here. He wouldn’t miss my wedding for the world. I wonder what happened. Where’s he been?”

Suddenly Freddie was weary of worrying about Jake. He had his own issues on his mind, none of them resolved. Okay, not issues. One issue. The biggest one ever. One that would forever change his life. So enough about the wayward other best man Jake. He wasn’t here, Freddie was. He wanted to seek his friend’s advice, and he needed to quiet his nervous heart. He needed to make a decision.

“Matt, can I ask you a question?”

Matt turned to him, curious. “Sure, anything. You know that.”

“It’s about Santo. I want to ask him…”

But his statement was cut off by the blinking light of Matt’s phone. He held up a hand to quiet Freddie as he checked the incoming text message. Freddie noticed his friend’s eyes widening, saw the smile broaden his face.

He could well imagine what the text said. But best to have it confirmed. “What’s up?”

“How about that? I just heard from Jake. His flight landed in Nice a few minutes ago.”

That’s when Patsy wandered over to their area, a phone in her hand as well. “That’s funny you say that. I too just heard from my brother, Hunter. He says his flight just landed. In Nice. Same exact wording.”

Both Freddie and Patsy exchanged knowing looks, their unfounded suspicions from earlier this morning seemingly confirmed.

This ought to be interesting, Freddie thought. Jake wasn’t usually so mysterious.

Hunter Abbott and Jake Westbury, together again?

A double reunion awaited them, for both friends and the Abbotts siblings.

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

 

Jake

 

“Text sent?”

“Text sent. Yours?”

“Of course.”

“I can just imagine them all sitting around the pool. Wondering what the hell is going on.”

“Jake, you could have told your friends prior to this morning.”

“I was too busy.”

“Too busy being fucked.”

“Among other things.”

Jake grinned, from the idea of it, from the memory of it, from the promise of it beyond today. “You’re so bad, Hunter, you know that, right?”

“Isn’t that why you came back to London, looking for me? Even after a year, you couldn’t stop wanting me. You realized we hadn’t yet screwed each other in every room at the estate. You came to complete the job.”

“Yes, I certainly came. A lot.”

“Now who’s being bad?”

“You make a compelling argument. Either that, or I’m under some spell you conjured to make men want you.”

Jake Westbury noticed that Hunter Abbott didn’t dispute what he said. In fact, he embraced his bad-boy reputation with a healthy dose of cocksure entitlement, but he supposed spoiled rich boys with too much time on their hands and little ambition and who lived financially off their more accomplished siblings, had little option. Otherwise, Hunter’s act would fall flat, just another sexy guy with nothing to offer but a bed and a big cock. Instead, Jake had fallen for his act a year-plus ago, and again, during this past week. He’d fallen on his cock, gone down on it more times than the sun had risen, taken it, been screwed so many times he’d lost count. More times than there were rooms in that gloomy home. Last night in a London hotel had been particularly hot, so much so they nearly missed their flight out of Gatwick.

Now, on this sun-dappled morning, with the sky a color befitting the Cote d’Azur, he gazed back at Hunter’s devilish smile, and he knew the man wanted more. A rising bulge was evident in his pants, Jake’s touch confirming a second opinion of the initial diagnosis. Hunter allowed him to rub his crotch, all while his eyes danced with anticipation.

“Uh, we’re in the back of a limo,” Jake said.

“It’s a stretch, it’ll fit me. Besides, you remember the last time we were in a limo, you were leaving for New York. It didn’t go so well. I’d say we’re in a much better place.”

Indeed, they were. Jake recalled it vividly. Their so-called final meeting last year was been as unexpected as it was destined, a strained, regretful good-bye between two men who had shared their bodies but not much else. Hunter was the sexy schemer, Jake the reluctant foil. Hunter had tried in that limo to seduce him into staying, and it had taken all of Jake’s will to resist his charming advances. Hunter nearly stripped down to nothing too, his body so hot Jake might have scorched his fingers if he’d touched him. He resisted, hoping that instead of his cock he might have offered his heart, but he hadn’t. Hunter had been as cocksure as ever. So instead Jake caught his morning flight, thinking he would never encounter the infuriating Hunter again. Fate had a way of taking its time to force you to realize what you really wanted, and that’s just how Jake saw his reunion with Hunter. As inevitable as the stars that had shined down upon them as they fucked mightily that first night he’d showed up at Voignier House, so too was their arrival together in Nice.

Now they were headed for another reunion that fate had a hand in.

“Matt told me the ride to the villa is only about ten minutes,” Jake said, “not sure we have time.”

Hunter just smiled as he depressed the intercom from the back seat. “Ti-Wuan, please just drive around the Cap until I say we’re ready. Oh, you may want to play some music up front. You can let Colton know we thank him for sending the limo. We Abbott’s do like to arrive in style.”

“Indeed, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Jake looked at Hunter, his mouth slightly agape.

“You’re gonna have to open a bit wider,” Hunter said.

“But…”

“No buts. You think this is the first time Ti-Wuan’s had to deal with this? My brother is as much of a horny bastard as I am,” he said. “Just not as big.”

Hunter then shifted in his seat, grabbing hold of the snap of his jeans, unzipping them.

Jake knew it was hard not to give in to Hunter’s generous endowment, and now watching it sprung to action, shooting upwards from its nest of curly, dark brown pubes, desire won out over practicality. But hadn’t that been his theme all week? Shit but Hunter’s cock was impressively thick, and quite long. Jake found himself licking his lips in anticipation.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Oh, so I get to choose,” he said.

“Well, you got to choose where we celebrated last night.”

Just then, Jake straddled him, his hands lifting Hunter’s T-shirt up off his torso, exposing the furry mat of hair which dominated his chest. Like his forearms, the hair was a rich dark brown and so thick he could lose his fingers beneath it, and that’s what he did right now, relishing this sexy beast’s hirsute body. Hunter unzipped Jake’s pants, pushing them down, exposing his ass and hard cock. He smiled that wicked smile again, this time reaching a strong, hairy forearm to a side compartment near the door. Out came a square-shaped foil packet, and Jake could only laugh inside the confines of the limo. These Abbott brothers, like horny boy scouts, always prepared for sex anywhere, anytime.

Jake watched as Hunter slid the condom down over his thick shaft, securing it, dousing it then with a swipe of lube. Then he lifted his own body up, only to slide back down, his sphincter making initial contact with the tip of that engorged cock. Jake slid down further, feeling the first potent pierce of penetration; the movement of the car along the winding road helped matters. Soon Hunter’s cock was disappearing inside of him, and he could feel each inch as a rush of air escaped his lungs. But he was relaxed, because he knew he could handle it. Hadn’t he been doing just that the past few days? Hadn’t last night been the most powerful rush yet? The most meaningful fuck of his life.

“Oh, yeah…Hunter, damn but you’re good.”

“I thought I was bad.”

“You are, a bad boy. But you’re a great fuck.”

Hunter thrust his hips upward, and Jake cried out from full impact. “Ride me, Jake.”

Ride him he did, his hips going up and down like a well-oiled machine, Hunter laying back against the rear leather seat, working his own magic with his body. Jake grabbed hold of his own cock, and he brushed it against Hunter’s the flatness of his furry stomach. He felt a warm rush all over his body, a sensation he never wanted to end. Orgasm was great, but getting reamed like this by the handsome, furry hunk, it felt like the pleasure would never end. They rode out their rolling waves of desire as the sparkling waters of the Cote d’Azur passed them by without notice. These men had eyes only for themselves; heaving bodies that craved release. Jake bounced up again, again, sliding down his big cock with the force of being drilled. His cock thickened, and he felt his balls tighten.

“Yes…oh shit, yeah…Hunter, keep doing it, fuck me so hard…”

Hunter again bucked his hips, his hands grabbing at Jake’s side, holding him, urging him down. Jake stared down at the sexy beast, jerking his cock with one hand while brushing the man’s lush chest carpet with the other. He pulled the fur, he grabbed it, and Hunter cried out with a huge thrust of his hips, and then he bellowed in the confines of the back of the limo, his sound bouncing around; no doubt Ti-Wuan could hear that over the music he was playing up front. Or maybe it was sound-proofed, because no music was discernable.

His mind shot back to the moment as his cock felt heat overtake it, and he hungrily stroked the shaft, waiting for that first blast of come. Hunter begged him for his load, begging him to splash it all over his massive chest. The sight of Hunter playing with this own fur was what took him over the edge, and suddenly Jake’s cock was releasing one shot, then another, another, white streaks blasting against that dark carpet. He let out a sharp cry as one last blast hit, and then he eased back down, catching his breath while Hunter’s still hard cock remained buried inside him.

“Oh shit, oh shit…oh wow…”

“Yeah, that was great,” Hunter said. “I think we’ve circled Cap Ferrat a few times.”

“I can’t believe we just did that. Don’t get me wrong, it was totally hot. But, I mean, how is it going to look when we get out of the limo and greet everyone? Matt…he’s my best friend and it’s his wedding day. We’re already late as it is, and then we go and…”

“Fuck our brains out? Hey, he’s probably been doing that since he arrived. Why shouldn’t we join in in the festivities?”

Jake grinned, kissing him impulsively. “Didn’t we already start them ourselves?”

“Which is why we need to get there now and enjoy ourselves. Colton knows how to throw a great party. Wait till you see this place.”

“Remind me again why you live in a dreary old English estate, and your brother gets a villa in the South of France?”

“Voignier House is Patsy’s, inherited after her older husband died. You know she lets him live there because she doesn’t want to. As for Colton’s villa, he bought it with his own money. Come on, zip up. Let’s go get your friend married.” Then he shuddered and said, “What a thought. One man for the rest of your life.”

Jake slapped him on the arm. “Gee, thanks, said the guy you just screwed.”

Hunter leaned forward and planted a surprising kiss on his lips. “Feel better?”

“That’s better than $20 on the night-stand.”

Hunter laughed as he began stuffing his cock back inside his pants. Next he put the T-shirt back on. Gone suddenly was the hairy hunk with the big dick, only to be replaced by a hot devil with a killer smile. Trouble was, Jake had an overwhelming desire to go on this ride again. Hunter’s words might have stung, but it would take a while to relieve Hunter of some of his cynicism. And a while for himself from wanting this man to plow him again. Hunter knew what he was doing; Jake hoped he did too. But his sexual release had retuned his synapses to normal, and just in time, as Hunter depressed the intercom and instructed Ti-Wuan that they were ready to arrive at the villa.

“Very good,” Ti-Wuan said.

“Yes, it was,” Hunter said.

Jake punched his arm, and again told him he was bad. It was a running theme. “By the way, you do know your T-shirt is getting wet?”

“I know. But only you and I will know it’s your hot come making it like that,” Hunter said, again surprising Jake with a kiss on the lips. It had a rare, intimate feel to it, a deeper emotion than Hunter usually displayed. Had things begun to change that quickly?

Their moment passed, and just then Jake felt the limo turn and come to a stop. He wondered if he looked disheveled, like a man who had just had sex in the back of the limo, so he brushed his hair with his fingers, wiped his mouth. A confident Hunter did nothing but step out of the limo and into the bright sun after Ti-Wuan opened the door. Jake followed, feeling the warm sun hit his skin and ready to see his friends. He hoped Matt’s wedding-day wrath didn’t come with too much drama.

But no one was in the driveway to greet them, all sounds emanating from below the villa.

“Come on, we’ll go around back,” Hunter said.

Hunter grabbed his hand, and Jake trailed after him as they wound their way around a giant bougainvillea, its flowers brushing up against them. Down a stone path, they rounded the last of the hill and came to a locked fence. But it had a keypad beside the door, which Hunter immediately accessed. Jake heard a click and next thing he knew he was being drawn into a wondrous world of over-hanging trees, then a sleek, tiled patio, and the glimmering waters of a large pool. Scattered about the scene were various people, nearly naked men, women, and even one child. Did they have the right house, Jake wondered, but of course they did, Hunter knew the combination of the lock.

“Well, look who’s finally arrived.”

Jake turned and that’s when he saw familiar faces, recognized the voice.

He saw Matt, and he saw Freddie, and how he wanted to run and embrace them. The look on Matt’s face, and the tone in his voice, said otherwise.

“Matt…I can explain…”

Matt approached him, and Jake braced himself for anything. Even a good old-fashioned bitch slap. Didn’t he deserve that? But of course that’s not what happened, because Matt was Matt, sweet and gentle, a heart as bright as the sun, and so Jake found himself accepted his welcoming hug, warmth spreading between them. Jake instantly relaxed, letting out a rush of tension.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Freddie then joined the two of them, and he too wrapped his arms around them. They held together for a short time, none of them saying anything, Jake knowing what they were all thinking. How had an impulsive decision made one night in bar nearly two years ago brought them to this point in their lives? There was a time when they saw each other nightly, cruising the bars, laughing, and even thinking about what the future held for them, growing morose and cynical as their prospects dried up, or perhaps from the shots they indulged in. For now, they were here, and they were together, and they would celebrate not just Matt and Anton, but Freddie and Santo, and…

Jake’s thoughts were interrupted by a new voice to the situation.

“Hunter, you’re late.”

The three friends broke from their own world, returning them to the moment. Jake observed a distinguished looking man standing before Hunter, instantly knowing it was Colton Abbott, the older brother and the defacto head of the Abbott family. He just had that air about him. Hunter could do no right in his eyes.

“Hello, brother,” Hunter said, a slight grin to his face. “Where’s dear Patsy?”

“I’m here,” Patsy said, walking over from the pool area.

Jake hadn’t met either one of Hunter’s siblings, but he’d heard enough about them. Colton was the successful international lawyer, but right now that lawyer was in casual mode, dressed in shorts and a button-down shirt, though none of the buttons were doing their job. Colton seemed to have a nice body, Jake noting the dense chest hair peeking out. Must run in the family. Patsy was pretty if not beautiful, more stylish than anything else in her one-piece bathing suit, a man’s white dress shirt hanging over her graceful, lithe frame. He thought all this in an instant, waiting for the same embrace he had just experienced with his friends. Not so with these siblings.

“We’ll talk later,” Colton said, “the three of us. We expected you days ago.”

Hunter shrugged. “I received an unexpected guest. Colton, Patsy, meet Jake.”

“And Hunter,” Jake said, “Meet Freddie, and the groom-to-be, Matt.”

The six of them realized the rest of the guests were watching this little drama unfold, and so all recriminations where put aside, and they all shook hands and even hugged. As those greetings were completed, two more men joined them on the patio. Jake remembered Santo—how could he not—he sort of had a hot thing for Freddie’s sexy man, and he didn’t disappoint now, approaching in a tight red Speedo, his chest on display. Jake had never shied away from his love of furry chests, and Santo had a thick dark pelt to rival anyone, but what made him that much more sexy and exotic and alluring was his dark scruff and the dimples on his gorgeous face. It took all of Jake’s energy not to stare, and to think what it would be like to pick hair off his tongue while they rolled around on a bed. That’s not a good thought, Jake thought, this desire to sleep with his friend’s boyfriend. Not after he’d made the decision to seek out his own love.

He blinked, shifting his focus then on the other man, as he stood proudly beside Matt.

“Jake, I’d like you, finally, to meet Anton. Anton, my other best friend, and best man, Jake Westbury.”

Jake shook his hand, felt the man squeeze it, perhaps a bit too hard. “Hey, uh, oww…Anton, it’s nice to meet you…”

“I wasn’t sure it was you, and knew I wouldn’t be sure, not until I saw you in person,” said Anton, his words punctuated with bitterness. “You had a beard then too…and you were younger. As was I, of course. I saw pictures of you, with Matt and with Freddie, you looked different except for what I saw in your eyes. Now, I am sure.”

Jake didn’t know what the hell this guy was talking about. And wasn’t he supposed to be French? His inflections were off, but his accent was pure American.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Jake asked, looking at Matt, then at Anton and feeling the confusion that must be visible to all who were staring at him. “Have we met before?”

“Met before? Really, Jake? You don’t remember me? You don’t recall tossing me out of your bed the moment you got what you wanted? A quick lay, then see ya ’round.”

Stunned silence fell over the large crowd, and Jake could feel all eyes on him. But he could not honestly say anything. Words failed him. He stood open-mouthed, staring at the stranger who had just accused him of…oh what? Having met him once, and having had a one-night stand with him? Was it a stupid drunken night, years ago? Jake had never been to Paris, so how was any of what he said possible?

But resolving everything would have to wait.

“You slept with my fiancé?” Matt asked, incredulously.

Jake tried to find words again, failed again, and then watched, almost as if in slow motion, as his friend, Matthew Donovan, the groom, suddenly bolted from their group. He ran deep into the thick brush of the yard and disappeared into the world beyond it. No one went running after him. No one could move. No one could say a word, surprise played out on everyone’s faces.

“So, does that mean there won’t be a wedding?” Hunter asked, Jake giving him a look that then silenced him. “Man, it’s warm under the collar. Anyone else need to cool down?”

Hunter did what any bad-boy would do in a moment of awkwardness. He thought only of himself, stripping down to his briefs, and dove his near-naked self into the shimmering waters of the pool. Jake heard the echo of his splash, but even it couldn’t quiet the sound of betrayal in Matt’s voice that rang inside his head.

“You slept with my fiancé?”

Had he?

Damn, he really should have kept a diary.

Well, he thought, no more. He was done screwing strangers.

 

***

 

Six men, three couples, and one secret exposed among them.

Freddie was chosen as the one to go chasing after Matt, leaving Jake feeling frustrated and, ironically, given the accusation hurled at him, impotent. It also left him uncomfortable amidst all these guests, none of whom he knew, all of whom wore the badge of judgment. He retreated to the house, hiding inside one of the bathrooms, splashing water on his face. It was only when his phone rang and he saw Freddie’s name appear on the caller ID that he felt hope had a chance.

“I found Matt. He’s down on the beach. He’s fine. Just…shaken a little.”

“Should I come down?”

“He wants to see not only you, but the others.”

“Everyone?”

“Not the guests, no. Just Anton. Santo. Even Hunter. Gather them up. Bring some booze, too, I think we are going to need it.”

Freddie didn’t mean it for partying purposes, Jake got that. But as he emerged back out to the patio, he signaled over to Hunter, who was spread out on the diving board, catching rays like he hadn’t a care in the world. He’d changed into swim trunks at some point, and they fit quite nicely. But a romp was the farthest thing on Jake’s mind; for once he’d had to keep it in his pants, both literally and figuratively. There were bigger stakes at play today, and they needed to get to the end game. So he gathered up a reluctant Hunter, who then went and told Santo, and then Anton, who seemed unwilling at first but acquiesced when Jake himself said, in a tone filled with regret, “Matt needs you. Needs your assurances.”

Anton nodded. “Of course, for Matt.”

As the four men headed out over the back patio, into the thick brush and beyond to the rocky path, it was Hunter leading the way; he knew the lay of the land the best. Jake brought up the rear, his eyes taking in the magnificent view because it was easier to do that than to think about what led them to this moment. What he saw was the most beautiful countryside, filled with rocky bluffs, gorgeous houses built upon them, all of it bathed by the hot sun that seemed to own the azure sky. But when they rounded a large rock and emerged onto a white sandy beach, his breath was nearly taken away. The towering mountains of the French Alps seemed to diminish as they stretched out toward the Mediterranean, disappearing beneath the cool surface of the salty sea. It was Jake’s first-ever trip to France, and he could see why Matt had chosen Paris as his destination city and accepted the invitation to the Cote d’Azur for his wedding. The land just sparkled with romanticism.

Down near the edge of the water, Jake saw two figures sitting in the sand. His friends. He’d missed them, and he’d been envious of them, too. They had found what he’d been searching for, all while he was left sleeping with strangers he’d slept with before, his soul feeling as empty as his cock the morning after. But if anything could give life a jolt, a taste that hope lived in the future, it was this lovely enclave, their own part of the world. With no one else around but the six of them, Jake felt he’d uncovered a bit of paradise. Now it just needed to be regained.

As the men approached, Jake continued to wonder why all of them had been summoned. Surely this issue was between Jake, Matt, and Anton, but he supposed it was a good idea to have some impartial parties present. Freddie could be a good mediator; he might have a reputation as a jokester, but he’d always been the steadying force within their friendship. Matt was often a wilting flower, Jake the impulsive dreamer.

“Hey guys,” Freddie said, “thanks for coming.”

“Everything okay here?” Jake asked. The last thing he wanted was for the wedding to be in jeopardy, and for him to have been the reason why.

“It’s good, Matt’s good,” Freddie said.

Despite his assurances, Jake wasn’t convinced. Matt sat with his tanned arms wrapped in a protective cocoon around his legs while staring out at the shimmering sea. He’d yet to speak a word. But still, Freddie invited everyone to gather around, and they did so, Anton sliding in beside his love, rubbing his hands on Matt’s shoulders. Jake took comfort in the fact that Matt didn’t push Anton away, rather he placed a hand over his, their bond tight, deep and evident. Santo, who had tossed on a shirt but left it unbuttoned, took up beside Freddie, where they shared a quick, heartfelt kiss. Jake tossed a Hunter a helpless look and the man just grinned back at him. Hunter knew from drama, especially since in his world he was the one usually responsible for it.

“It is my fault,” Anton said, “for springing this surprise on you…and on this day.”

Matt turned to him. “It’s not true, though, right? You’re mistaken?”

“No, he’s not.”

It was Jake who said this. He’d been thinking about Anton’s pronouncement the moment he’d heard it. And while he may not remember the night specifically, it was not unlikely that Anton spoke the truth. Back in his twenties, Jake hadn’t exactly been interested in any kind of romantic relationships. He liked sex, and he wanted to experiment, and that’s what he did. Was he proud of it? Not exactly. But hadn’t his empty romances led him to this point, made him the man he was today? Yes. And while Jake didn’t believe in regrets, he supposed some of his life’s choices could have gone a different way. He could have thought things out a bit more.

Before Jake could continue, though, Anton spoke again.

“I had moved to New York from the Midwest, wishing to put my stamp the art scene—a naïve boy in a man’s world, and to top it off I was struggling with my identity. My sexuality. It was after I’d lived in the city for about six months that I felt I needed to see who I was—what I wanted. Fighting my attraction to men, I one night went to a bar, and I met a guy…he chatted me up, bought me drinks, and I suppose it was partly the booze’s fault that led me down a path I wasn’t ready for…”

“Sorry to interrupt, but speaking of…” Hunter said, holding up a bottle of Silver Patron tequila. “Someone said bring a bottle? Maybe what we all need before we really dig into this is a good belt. Unfortunately, no one thought to bring shot glasses…”

“That’s okay,” Matt said, ““I’ll get us started.”

Hunter broke the seal, and he passed the bottle to Matt. Jake found the exchange between the two men strangely comforting; his best friend and the man of impulsive actions, never having met before but suddenly bonding. Jake expressed a silent thank you, Hunter again with that devilish grin on his face. Matt, though, took a swig from the bottle and quickly wiped at his lips. He passed the bottle, and Anton drank, followed by Freddie, then Santo, and at last the bottle came to Jake. It was ritual now, the six of them forming a friendship today with the promise of many tomorrows. So he drank down a swig of the potent liquor before handing it back to who started off the passing of the bottle. Hunter at last took his shot, and then he did a surprising thing: he leaned forward and kissed Jake. Jake could feel the taste of tequila on his tongue.

Matt, staring at them intently, said, “So, you two…you are back together?”

“It’s a long story,” Jake said. “Why don’t we let Anton finish his story?”

“Thank you, Jake. You are humbler today than…”

“I was in my twenties, I was a jerk sometimes. Selfish,” he said to Anton. “So, we picked each other up in a bar, went back to my place and after some probably drunken sex, I gave you an out by telling you it was okay to leave. I sort of remember that you were really innocent, and that you’d…oh, shit…”

“That is true. I’d never been with a man before that night,” Anton said, following through with what Jake didn’t want to verbalize.

“Oh wow,” Freddie said. “Jake, you popped Matt’s husband’s cherry?”

“Really, Freddie? Do you have a porn title for that one you want to share?”

“Sorry…wow, guess that shot of tequila loosened me up too much.”

“A barbaric beverage,” Santo said. “Wine is fruit from the gods.”

“I think he’s had a bit too much, also,” Hunter said.

Anton allowed the distraction, though not without a hint of red glowing beneath his cheeks. He told of how empty he felt that next morning, how confused he was. It wasn’t Jake’s fault. That much he acknowledged. He had to assume some of the responsibility, even though back then he was too inexperienced to understand his feelings, much less his actions. “I decided New York was a cruel place, not one that would unleash my creative juices. So I packed up, and I arrived in Paris on a whim a week later. I never left. I pushed aside all of my feelings about men, and I even dated several women, and then I married Gilly. We had Henri, the greatest gift ever. My son is my life, and with him now, Matthew, you are my life as well.”

All during the telling of his story, Matt was holding his hand. He squeezed it tight now.

“Everything happens for a reason,” he said, “our choices shape our life’s direction.”

“If you think about it, Jake’s the real reason you two met,” Freddie said. “First, by pushing Anton out of New York and onto your life in Paris. And then he came up with that crazy idea where we all went to a different city for the summer. So, first he sent Anton there, then Matt. Fate took over from there, or maybe it had been working behind the scenes the whole time. And now look at them, getting married today.”

“That is still happening, is it not?” Anton said, staring deep into Matt’s eyes.

“Yes, yes, of course. You just…surprised me. But yes, we are okay. It was a long time ago. I cannot be mad at you for trying to follow your heart, even when you didn’t know what it wanted. As for Jake…I have known him far too long, known that he’s also been looking for something he can never find. He didn’t always go about it responsibly, but we all tend to live in glass houses, don’t we? No one should throw any stones.” Matt then paused, and then he kissed Anton, held it, as though the two of them whispered a secret exchange.

“Well, this all seems to have worked itself out great,” Hunter said. “How about we share another shot before we go back and assure the other guests that there’s still a wedding?”

It was agreed, and the six men passed the bottle around again.

“To love,” Matt said.”

“To the future,” Freddie added.

“To unknown surprises,” Jake finished with.

As the six men got up from the beach, dusting off sandy entrails, Jake watched as his two friends walked with the loves of their lives, Matt and Anton leading the way. Their hands locked, fingers entwined, he felt a pang of jealousy at what they had found. Love was tricky, it stole your rational self. But he was also happy for Matt, and pleased he would be there to stand up for him. As for Freddie and Santo, they seemed even happier; he could see the way Freddie’s eyes danced when they gazed at each other. Yet he detected a nervous energy around his friend.

They all approached the crest of the land where the beach ended and the rocky cliffs started. It was there that they stopped—or rather, where Santo stopped.

“My new friends, if you would indulge me a moment?” he asked, looking around.

“Santo, what’s wrong…what are you doing?” Freddie asked.

“You have all had your say, today while I sat quietly by. Matt and Anton, they have put to rest a piece of the past, shown their devotion to each other, and to the life they wish to share. Now, it is Santo’s turn. I find myself feeling envious of the bond you three friends share—how you have each supported the other, even when you could not be in the same city together. You made what you call a foolish, impulsive decision nearly two years ago to go out into the world and find love. Though, if the truth were to be known, I think of all of you, Freddie was the least interested in finding something long-lasting. He…he is a funny one, always with a quip, ones I confess I do not always understand. But I would like to spend a lifetime trying to…”

Jake was watching Freddie’s expression, and what he saw was wonder brighten his face.

“Santo, what are you saying…”

That was when Santo dropped down to one knee, and he took Freddie’s hand in his.

“Marry me, Freddie Markson,” he said. “I have known what you wished to ask of me, and I have known about the rings you carry with you. I waited for you, but I know finding the moment for us would be difficult for you. Tenderness lives inside you, yes, but it does not often know when to surface. So I am letting you know, yes I want to be with you, forever, and I want you to be with me.”

No one spoke a word. Jake wasn’t even sure anyone took a breath.

Freddie dropped to one knee also, taking his hand in Santo’s. “Forever is all I ever wanted with you. So yes, Santo Mancusi, not only will I marry you, but I will follow you to the ends of earth and back again, stopping for every adventure our lives toss at us and loving every minute of it, because every minute I know I will be loving you.”

They fell into each other’s arms, hugging, exchanging a tender kiss that promised so much more later, when the night hid them and when their newly confirmed passions could be explored and would explode. Like lights in the sky, fireworks only two could see.

“Well, that makes two happy, engaged couples,” Matt said. “Jake, Hunter, got anything to add?”

Both men looked at the other, eyes wide with surprise at the turn of events, and perhaps carrying a hint of amusement, pasted on their glowing faces. Then, as the sun started to dip below the horizon and turn the sky a radiant shade of orange and a the time for a wedding loomed before them, as the blue sea that was the Mediterranean shimmered like glass, and as romanticism swept all around them, Jake and Hunter locked hands.

Jake took a deep breath, not unlike he’d done last night.

Then he spoke, and what Jake said surprised them all, even himself, the words strange on his tongue, but lovely all the same. “Don’t be mad…but, this is a day we’re all going to remember. It’s Matt and Anton’s wedding day, and it’s the day that Freddie and Santo got engaged. It’s also the first day of our…” Jake paused, watching the curious, expectant expression on his best friends’ faces. “Our honeymoon.”

No one said anything, no one could. It was like the entire world had gone silent.

Jake was smiling, grinning really, one of triumph and delight. A glint of adventure alighted his eyes as he grabbed Hunter’s hand, squeezed it, locked it in his like he’d promised to do for forever. “Hunter and I got married last night.”

 

 

 

About the Author

 

ADAM CARPENTER is the #1 best-selling author of many M/M romance titles. His Passport to a Fling series begins with the short story Passport to a Fling, followed by the full-length novels French Men, Italian Guys, and English Lads. American Hunks is the fourth novel in the series.

Adam’s sexy, soapy new trilogy begins with Eden’s Past, followed by Eden’s Present and the finale, Eden’s Future.

His “White Pine” firefighter novels include Secret Flames, Heat of the Moment, A Raging Fire, and Burning Truth.

His “Wonderland” trilogy, co-written with Curtis C. Comer and Jeff Wilcox, are, in order: Desperate Husbands, Desperate Lovers, and Desperate Enemies.

Among his other novels are Dude Ranch, the White Pine-spin-off That Passionate Season, Summer’s Choice, its spin-off, Island Desires, and Hidden Identity, the first in a new detective series featuring Jimmy McSwain.

Visit him at www.adamcarpenterbooks.com for more information.

 

 

 

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