Chapter 2
2
T he schedule showed the incoming train should have arrived five minutes ago. For once I didn’t mind the delay. The cab ride through downtown DC rush hour traffic had been nerve-wracking. I white-knuckled my overnight bag as the taxi driver careened around corners at gravity defying speeds in his effort to make sure I wasn’t late. I handed over a large tip on top of the fee and shook my head at the absurdity of paying for what surely could have been my last ride on the planet.
I took out my phone and scrolled through messages while I waited. My thumbs flew across the small keypad as I typed a brief response to a request for a ridiculous discount in marketing pricing for a hip new designer shoe company. Not happening. I made an effort to keep my wording cordial but firm, smiling slightly before pushing send just as the train approached the platform. Perfect timing.
“Hi! Um… wow. I didn’t expect—you heading to Baltimore too?”
Or not.
Seth. He was dressed in a blue, long-sleeved plaid shirt and a pair of very worn jeans. The guitar case and rucksack at his feet completed the ultra-casual look of a “dude” on his way to play a gig somewhere. The man was a chameleon. He looked nothing like he had at the fashion shoot or even at coffee last weekend. But he still looked delicious. The instant memory of my relief when our “date” was over kept me from staring too long. Handsome but vacuous. Not my type.
“Yes. For work. One night only.”
I was aware of my clipped tone and distant vibe, but I couldn’t fake it. I didn’t want anything more to do with him. He was dangerous eye candy, but we had nothing in common. I couldn’t bear the thought of engaging in innocuous conversation even on the express ride to Penn Station. I’d rather read caustic e-mails, thank you very much.
“Cool. Me too. I’m playing with my buddy’s band tonight. I was supposed to get up there earlier today but I got going in the studio and—where are you sitting?” He slung his bag over his shoulder and glanced up at the numbers on the express train car before looking at me.
“First class,” I said in my snobbiest posh accent. I hated the blasted affectation, but on the other hand, it was generally an effective way to ensure I’d be left alone.
Seth chuckled and rolled his eyes, then sauntered toward the first class cabin, throwing a sly grin at me. “Me too. Allow me to escort you.”
He picked up his guitar case and walked toward the car, leaving me with my mouth wide open. I let out a deep breath and pocketed my phone before trudging after him.
I found my seat and pulled out my computer. I was usually content to read or listen to music or an audiobook on a shorter ride, but now I was anxious to appear as busy as possible. When the train lurched to a start and the seat next to me remained empty, I sighed with relief. I didn’t dare look to see where Seth was sitting. Knowing he was on the same train was distracting enough.
Five minutes into a mostly quiet ride, I was successfully immersed in a fashion editor’s blog about upcoming fall styles. The much-anticipated September issues wouldn’t be released for another five months, but the hype began early. Buzz words like clean lines, capes, furs, and androgynous silhouettes were used liberally. It was part of my job to spice up bland descriptions with jazzier catchphrases to pair with the scintillating photos the better publications generated. I didn’t do as much copywriting as I had in the past, but I still used the skills I’d honed to direct the general feel I wanted each ad to depict. I was contemplating the word “androgynous,” thinking it sounded rather 80s, when someone flopped into the seat next to me.
“Hey. Looks like this seat is free. Thought I’d keep you company. How’s it going?”
I bit the side of my cheek hard before turning to my unwanted company. He was giving me a wide-eyed, playful look that threw me off guard. I stared at him lamely for a moment, trying to remember why I hadn’t liked him. Then he opened his mouth and it all came back to me.
“The moron next to me was listening to classical music so fuckin’ loud on his iPhone I swear it was like, ‘why bother with the headphones, dude? Everyone can hear anyway.’ At least it wasn’t jazz.” His gorgeous grin split his face in two. “JK! That’s short for ‘just kidding’ in case your American slang is rusty.”
I gave him a tight-lipped smile and closed my laptop as I counted to ten in French in my head. Then English. “Thank you for clarifying. This seat might be taken.”
“Whatevs. If it is, I’ll trade. So whatcha doin’ in Baltimore?” He chuckled at my blank stare, but pressed on. “What? You don’t feel like talking? I must have made a worse impression than I thought last weekend. You never returned my text. Are you pissed?”
This sort of direct inquiry was something I never understood. Why couldn’t he take the social cue and move on? No. I didn’t like that he’d been late, but it wasn’t necessarily the reason I didn’t care for him. Did I really have to spell it out? I took a deep breath and pasted a plastic smile on my face as I turned to answer him, willing myself not to be swayed by his chiseled cheekbones and stubbled jaw. Or the way his eyes twinkled mischievously.
“No. I’m not bothered in the slightest.”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re using the mega Brit accent on me.”
“Excuse me? Whatever is that supposed to mean?” I sounded like a priggish arse to my own ears. I’d move if I were sitting next to me, I thought with a frown.
“You know what it means. You’re giving me the brush-off, the ‘I’m not interested’ vibe.”
“And you’re not picking up the signal,” I said testily.
We stared at each other for a second before Seth burst out laughing. He flung his head back merrily before draping himself over the armrest, completely invading my space. “I’m slow. Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry in the slightest. Nor are you sorry you were late. Not that it matters. As I told you, I don’t care. We’ve met once. For a coffee and it was… well, if we’re speaking plainly?—”
“What does that mean? ‘Speaking plainly,’” he asked with a smirk, fluttering his long eyelashes.
“Are you having fun?”
“Yeah. Kinda. You’re funny.”
“You don’t think I’m funny. You think I talk funny.”
“True. Funny sexy, though. Not funny ha-ha.”
“Hmph. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. So plainly speaking, you don’t like me because… why? I’m an asshole, a stupid American, a?—”
“You’re a tosser. And we’re not suited in the slightest. So while having a spot of coffee with you was passable, I’m not keen on pretense, Mr. Landau.”
“Ooh. Mr. Landau must be code for ‘I think you’re a bloody fuckhead’ too. Do you think that? No. Don’t answer. You’ll only hurt my feelings.”
He slumped back in his chair with a dejected look that made me roll my eyes.
“Somehow I doubt your feelings can be hurt.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’m the sensitive artist type. A brooding model and sometime guitarist who really just wishes he could paint in peace and quiet. Unless my rock star dream comes true,” he added in a jocular tone, inviting me to laugh at him.
“Rock star. Right.”
“It’s a joke. This gig in Baltimore will probably be another one of those craptastic nights when my inner voice of reason is screaming at me to get a fucking clue. I have to stop saying yes when Rand calls me to take over for his lame ass guitarist. The rocker dream needs to die. It’s not my dream anyway.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. I reached for my cell, fully intending to ignore him for the hour or so till we pulled into the station, but I heard myself ask, “Whose is it?”
“Rand… my best friend. Any and all art is vicious. You will forever suck if you don’t practice your craft. No shortcuts. No excuses. If you’re serious, you have to give it your all. It must be like that in… what do you do again? Advertising, right?”
“Yes, and I do understand, believe it or not. I’ve been surrounded by artists in one form or another my entire life.”
“You mean fashion designers and stylists?” He gave a short laugh and brushed his fingers through his hair before continuing. “Talk about divas! Some of them are unbelievable. And handsy. I get groped during fittings on the regular. There’s always someone with their hand on my junk claiming they have a small adjustment to make. I know for a fact designers, photographers, stylists, assistants… none of ’em would get away with half the stunts they pull if they tried the same shit with the girls.”
“Probably true,” I muttered.
“So what kind of artists are you surrounded by? Did you mean designers?”
I gave him an incredulous look. “Why? Are you suddenly interested or are you just bored?”
“You’re being rude, Mr. Fallon,” he deadpanned with a mocking serious expression.
I let out a huff of reluctant amusement. He was rather charming suddenly and though I wasn’t going to fool myself that I may have misjudged him, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to be friendly for the duration of the ride to Baltimore.
“Perhaps. No, I didn’t mean designers, though yes, I deal with some persnickety types daily. I meant… well, my father is an artist and my mother is a curator for a small museum in Canterbury. I’ve been around painters, sculptors, and photographers since birth.”
“Canterbury. Is that where you’re from? I thought you said you were from London.”
“Canterbury is relatively close to London. Less than a two-hour drive. I was born there but I lived in London proper for years before moving to the States.”
“Something famous happened there. A book or something.” He snapped his fingers as though he were trying to remember the title.
“You’re thinking of The Canterbury Tales .”
“Yeah. I read it in high school. Boring as hell. What the fuck was it even about?”
I sighed dramatically and picked up my phone. Forget it. I couldn’t even pretend not to be put off. It was one thing to be ignorant of a subject, but to wallow in stupidity was ridiculous.
“Uh oh. I’m losing you. Let me try to remember. Hmm. Hmm.” He hummed, pursing his lips and tapping at his temple as though trying very hard to conjure a long-forgotten lesson. His expression went from thoughtful to earnest till he finally slapped his leg and turned to me with a triumphant grin. “I got it!”
I cocked my head and made a face. “What is it you’ve ‘got’?”
Seth chuckled, nonplussed by my snobbish inquiry. “It’s a collection of stories, written in verse and prose, about a storytelling contest during a pilgrimage. It was significant because… hmm, well one reason was that it was the first time a story was written to reflect the voice of all classes. Which was cool in theory, but in the fourteenth century, I don’t think the lower class was doing much reading, you know?”
I was flabbergasted and no doubt looked the part. Who was this man? I couldn’t begin to guess his game, but he was certainly toying with me.
“No, they weren’t. The point was the idioms and slang of the lower class were represented. It was the first time everyone was given a distinct voice in print. But you knew that, didn’t you?” I studied him thoughtfully. “You’re putting on an act. I’m not clear what your motivation is but perhaps you missed your calling. You might want to give the theater a go.”
Seth’s grin rivaled a Cheshire cat’s until a slow building chuckle finally morphed into a belly laugh. I couldn’t help joining in. I didn’t understand him, and I doubted our difference in nationality had anything to do with it. He was… quirky. Strange and yet somehow compelling in a way that had nothing to do with his beautiful exterior.
“I’ll keep that in mind when I’m too old or fat to model or worse, when my muse leaves me for good, and I have no reason to paint.”
“What is your style of art?”
“It’s probably closest to expressionism. I love bright colors and heavy texture.”
He turned suddenly to face forward giving me the impression he was done talking. Just as he finally became interesting, I mused with a shrug. Fine by me. I reached for a folder in my briefcase, but went still when he continued in a hushed, serious tone. “I have three things that keep me going. I model for money. I play guitar to satisfy some weird compulsion to help someone I care about who’s always been there for me… and I paint.”
“And….”
“What?”
“You said you model for money, play music to help your friend. What does painting do for you?”
He waited a heartbeat before answering. His gaze became noticeably intense. “It’s how I breathe.”
I understood the weight of truth behind those simple words though I knew nothing about his work, his medium, his style, or his muse. However, I recognized a very telling authenticity in the sentiment. For many artists, the compulsion to create wasn’t a matter of earning money to pay the bills… it was who they were.
“Hmm. What do you paint?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” He considered me for a moment before continuing, “So you’re from Canterbury, the enchanted place of castles, cathedrals, archbishops, and Chaucer. What else?”
“What else?”
“Yeah. What do you like to do? Do you travel? Play an instrument? Tell me something.” He shrugged indicating wordlessly it was my turn to do the talking.
“I play the piano. Poorly. I’ve traveled extensively for work and I’ve enjoyed it, but it’s grueling so I’m looking forward to a small break. And I love jazz, the one type of music you hate if I remember correctly.”
Seth grinned devilishly but had the grace to look chagrined. “I love jazz. I was being a dick. A tosser. I apologize. You made me nervous.”
“Nervous? How so?”
“I don’t go on dates. Ever. I went for two reasons, maybe three. One, it’s hard to say no to Aaron. Two, it was coffee and I figured it couldn’t be completely awful.”
“What’s the third reason? You heard I have a British accent?”
“Yeah.”
I rolled my eyes and looked out the window at the dark landscape. I couldn’t see anything outside, but I could see Seth’s handsome reflection in the glass behind me. I saw him reach out to brush his finger lightly over the shell of my ear. The gesture was sweet, but too familiar. I turned abruptly to find him closer than expected.
“I was kidding. The third reason is… I thought you were sexy.” He shrugged and gave me a wry grin, “I still do. I’m sorry I acted like a jerk. I freak out a little when I get nervous and—I’m sorry.”
The apology was as smooth as walking on a bed of rocks, but his sheepish countenance and silly smile went a long way toward erasing my earlier irritation. Plus he said I was sexy. It didn’t mean I wanted to start over and, God forbid, go on another coffee date, but I suddenly didn’t mind him sitting next to me.
We chatted idly about general topics ranging from my favorite musician, John Coltrane, to his rock star hero, David Bowie. Seth was pleasant and unexpectedly engaging. He knew more about jazz and probably most genres of music than he let on, but there wasn’t time to delve deeper.
The engine slowed as the train pulled into the station. Our fellow passengers scrambled to gather their belongings, talking and laughing at a higher volume in an almost frenzied anticipation of finally arriving at their destination. I tuned out the background noise and focused on my companion. He was telling me about a gig he’d performed at a dive bar in New York City where the women in the front row took off their shirts and bras and threw them on stage.
“It was crazy! It was this tiny club so it wasn’t like anyone gave a shit. We played a complete set to this group of bare-chested women dancing with their tits out.”
I smiled at the bewildered amusement in his voice as I zipped my computer in its case and gave my phone a brief glance. People were filing out of the car now. It was time to go.
“Are you ready?” I prodded when he didn’t move.
“Yeah. Hey, I was thinking… um… hang on a sec. It’s in my backpack.”
Seth stood abruptly and placed his bag on his seat. He rifled through the contents with an almost manic concentration before pulling out a wrinkled postcard. He handed it to me with a shy grin completely at odds with the cocky attitude he’d shown so far.
“What’s this?” I asked as I quickly read over the black-and-white glossy card. There was a drawing of a guitar engulfed in flames and large print giving details to an “awesome” show featuring Spiral.
“If you’re looking for something to do later, come check us out. It’s not jazz, but… well, if you feel like it, the info is all there.”
He slung his bag over his shoulder and turned away abruptly. I watched him grab his guitar case from the storage rack nearby before I stepped forward to follow him. Seth was waiting on the platform when I finally emerged. His playful grin spoke volumes, like he was dying to taunt me for being so slow. It was hard not to smile in return.
We walked side by side in companionable quiet through the drab station and into the grand entry area with its majestic vaulted ceilings, intricate circular skylights, and pillared columns. I loved this type of traditional architecture and took a second to appreciate the recent renovations as we made our way toward the bank of glass doors to the exit. We stepped outside into the chilly Baltimore evening and stared at each other for an awkward moment.
“I’m heading to my buddy’s place to practice. Do you need a ride?”
“Thank you, but no. I’m going to take a taxi to the hotel and prepare for my meeting tomorrow morning.”
“Cool. Maybe I’ll see you tonight. If not, I’ll catch you another time.”
“All right. Break a leg.”
He smiled widely before turning away with a wave. Then he stopped and walked back toward me with an inscrutable look on his handsome face.
“I just remembered another reason I didn’t like that book.”
“What boo— The Canterbury Tales ?” I felt my forehead pucker in confusion. What was he talking about?
“Yeah. All that shit about the Church. The Summoner and the Pardoner. Corruption, greed, ultimate authority in the name of a higher power. Evil in the guise of saving your fucked-up soul. But then again, it’s the twenty-first fucking century and that’s all still going on, isn’t it? Different times, same problems.”
“Uh….”
“But I love that saying, ‘All that glitters is not gold.’ I know Shakespeare used it in The Merchant of Venice , but Chaucer used it too. Interesting, huh? See ya, Paul.”
I stood with my mouth open, torn between shock and awe as I watched his retreating form. He stopped to light a cigarette before picking up his guitar case and crossing the street toward the giant Male/Female statue across from the station. He looked like a wandering minstrel or a bohemian poet in no particular hurry.
A taxi driver honked his horn, effectively snapping me into motion. I hopped in and gave the impatient driver my hotel information before turning in vain to get another glimpse of Seth. Less than two hours ago, I hoped I’d never see him again. I was sure he was self-absorbed and extremely immature for his age. However, the intense man on the train was obviously well-read and more intelligent than he’d let on over coffee.
He left a trail of intriguing clues that made me very curious about him. I smiled as I settled back in my seat thinking I’d have to Google The Canterbury Tales . I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Summoner and Pardoner. It had been years since I’d been required to read it in school, but I was fascinated by his outburst. Seth Landau was much more than a pretty face. He was a puzzling surprise.
Later that evening I closed my laptop and rubbed my eyes tiredly. My meeting was scheduled at nine the next morning. I hoped it wouldn’t go past noon. It would be nice to be back in DC before rush hour, I mused. I stretched my arms over my head and leaned back in the hotel room desk chair. It had been a long day. And a strange one.
My mind kept wandering back to Seth. He was gorgeous, albeit a bit daft, but the truth was I had a thing for beautiful crazy people. I’d tried dating normal men like Curt, for example, but those efforts usually fizzled before we even thought about getting into bed. The ones I couldn’t get out of my head and almost always fell into some sort of tumultuous affair with were the oddball, temperamental types. The mercurial artist who might ignore his cell for days on end, then surfaced to find inspiration using any means possible the moment his muse fled.
I swiped my hand over my jaw and stood abruptly as thoughts of Simon Pickard came flooding into my head. Damn. I wished Aaron hadn’t brought his name up. What was that about? An artist’s work his editor wanted to use for a British influence fall spread. Hmm. Simon was undeniably talented, but he was complex. And very difficult. I didn’t want to think about him.
I walked back to the desk and searched my briefcase for the postcard Seth had shoved in my hands earlier on the train. I pulled out the battered card, noting the drawing of the guitar again. The initials SL in tiny print were visible at the bottom of the design near a lick of fire that curled in an intricate twist and formed the S in the band’s name. Spiral. It was good. Simple but eye-catching. I hadn’t asked him, but I’d bet Seth drew it. I traced the long neck of the instrument before allowing my gaze to shift to the bold font at the left. Cyanide Studio, Eager Street 10 p.m. I glanced at my watch. It was nine forty-five. Too late to?—
Fuck it. I grabbed my wallet and headed for the door before I could change my mind.
The moment the cab driver pulled away from the hotel, I had second and third thoughts followed quickly by a fourth. I’d been much too impulsive. It may have been a Thursday evening, but this section of downtown Baltimore didn’t get the memo. The street was packed with barhoppers dressed in torn jeans, ripped tights, or their finest clubwear.
I looked down at my khaki pants and traditional black V-neck pullover and knew I was out of my element. I chuckled as I stepped toward the entrance to Cyanide Studio. Really… the name alone should have served as a warning. Yet as I showed the overzealous bouncer my ID to prove I was beyond legal, bless his soul, I realized this impetuous trip was so very typical of me. I saw something I shouldn’t have or met someone I knew was disastrous to my mental health and well-being and bam! I was instantly transfixed. Like a bloody crack whore, I thought with a sigh.
I waited for my eyes to adjust to the small club’s dark interior before I searched for a much-needed drink. The word club gave the cramped space a laughable delusion of grandeur. It was a large square room with dark walls. High-top tables dotted the area, leaving space at the far end near the back wall for a raised platform with the band’s instruments on display. There was a drum kit, an electric guitar, a bass guitar, and a lone microphone positioned front and center.
Music played in the background, but it competed with raucous laughter and chatter and was reduced to something like a dull hum with a beat. I sidestepped my way around scantily clad women and tragically hip men with overgrown facial hair and multiple piercings, and leaned across the sticky bar to order a gin and tonic.
A woman standing nearby gave me a lascivious once-over, stopping for a measured few seconds at my crotch before grinning up at me suggestively. I wanted to laugh, but honestly I had a hard time making my mouth cooperate. I looked away and sent up a prayer the bartender was quick. And another that the drink was strong. Sitting in a crowded dive bar with a group of wasted twenty-somethings was madness.
My unhip clothing didn’t bother me in the slightest because everyone here appeared too stoned or drunk to notice. I paid for my gin and scanned the room for an inconspicuous place where I could stand for the length of a song or two before heading back to my hotel. I had a feeling the type of music that appealed to this crowd would definitely not be for me, but curiosity made me stay.
I stood off to the side, close to a door with a clearly marked exit sign overhead. I took it as a beacon of sorts as I sipped my drink, cautiously avoiding eye contact with anyone around me. My body was present, but my head was already planning my escape. Suddenly the dim club area went a little darker. The crowd cheered and whistled as the shadowed figures of the band filed onto the makeshift stage.
And my traitorous heart skipped a beat. All pretense of being aloof and uninterested flew out the proverbial window. I knew full well why I was in this little shithole of a bar, and I wasn’t going anywhere until I saw him in action. My dick twitched in anticipation as the first sound of an electric guitar sounded above the din. The audience went nuts, screaming, cheering, wolf whistling. The air was charged with a palpable energy that buzzed, then jumped when the meager spotlight shone on the four young men. They were all good-looking in an überhip way that begged the audience to believe “cool” just oozed out of them naturally. A captivating drum beat, a bass lick with a hook, a lead singer with a Jaggeresque attitude and a guitarist who—fuck.
Seth was beyond beautiful. His longish hair was tied back. He wore snug fitted designer jeans and a denim shirt opened to the middle of his toned chest. But there was something about the way he held the slim red guitar that was sexier than hell. He cradled it lovingly as he strummed, creating a melodic and soulful sound. He ran his fingers over the strings a few times, then looked up at the lead singer to signal he was ready to go.
I wanted to blame the obscene volume for the pulsing rush of blood throughout my body, but I knew it was more. As the band played, I kept my gaze trained on Seth. He was perfection. Graceful yet painstakingly precise. Other than to cast the occasional playful glance at the audience, he was in a zone. And I was mesmerized. The way he swayed with the rhythm and held his instrument to him was nothing short of sensual. I practically vibrated with a sudden, fierce desire to know him, to touch him, to run my fingers through his hair and feel him against me. I took a deep drink and swallowed hard.
They played what I assumed was original material for forty-five minutes, then took a short break and continued for another fifteen. The songs had a rock edge, but the singer’s voice was bluesy with an appealing raspy texture. The crowd danced in the confined area to the livelier tunes and seemed to know every line of the lyrics. I may have come out of curiosity, but Spiral obviously had a loyal fan base. I grudgingly admitted they were good. But when the lead singer covered the microphone with his mouth and growled a final thank you to the energetic audience, I set my empty glass on a nearby table and moved toward the side door, hoping to make a quick exit.
I wasn’t sorry I’d come, but the spell had broken when the music stopped. I was a visitor in cashmere who no doubt looked like someone’s very uncool older brother. It was time to return to reality.
The door was locked. Of course.
I sighed heavily, hoping to muster the mental strength required to navigate the throng of drunken patrons and reach the front entrance. I looked back at the side door longingly just as Seth and the band’s drummer reentered the bar area from a hidden passage near the stage. Seth pointedly scoped out the crowd, then laughed at something the shorter man said. His lovely eyes crinkled with mirth as he slapped his friend on the back and gestured toward the bar. I froze.
This was where I should say a brief hello, tell him I enjoyed the show and would see him sometime in DC. Eventually. Maybe. But my feet were rooted to the sticky cement floor and my palms felt sweaty. It took a moment for me to realize what was wrong with me and once I did, I was dumbfounded. How could I be nervous?
I moved toward the men, chiding myself for being an idiot when Seth’s head snapped up. He spotted me immediately and grinned, a beautiful, radiant smile that literally took my breath away.
“Hey! You made it! I thought I saw you, but then I wasn’t sure and…. Want a drink?”
He jumped up and grabbed my right shoulder to pull me into a hug, but stopped as though suddenly remembering we didn’t actually know each other very well. “Um, shoot… uh, Tim this is Paul. Paul, Tim.”
“Great show. You were brilliant.” I gestured between them to indicate I meant the band, but I couldn’t take my gaze off Seth.
He gave me another gorgeous grin before he burst out laughing. “I love the way you talk, man. What do you want? Vodka, gin, ru?—”
“Nothing. Thank you. I need to get back to the hotel. I have an early meeting tomorrow and?—”
“Hang on. I’ll come with you.” Seth pushed away from the bar to give his friend a bro handshake.
Tim yanked at Seth’s shirtsleeve before I could ask him what the hell he was doing. “Aren’t you gonna wait for Rand?”
“No. Tell him I left. See ya.” He turned back to me with a devilish grin and motioned for me to lead the way.
I pushed through a group of sweaty partiers three people deep before finding a small place to stand without being in physical contact with a stranger. “What are you on about? I’m leaving now, Seth.”
“‘On about’? You’re funny. I need to get out of here. You’re the perfect excuse. Go with the flow. Come this way.” His expression went from playful to painfully earnest in a flash. “I have to get my guitar and my bag. Meet me in the alley. It’ll only take a sec.”
“No. I need a cab and?—”
He pulled my elbow and ended up snagging a button from his shirt on my pullover. He stopped to carefully disengage the fabric and looked me directly in the eye. “Please.”
We stared at each other for a long moment before I nodded in acquiescence. He led the way back toward where I’d been standing then pointed at the side exit. “The alley is that way. Meet me outside.”
“The door is locked,” I said in a clipped tone, curbing the desire to cross my arms and give him a “what’s next, Sherlock?” look.
“Try it again.” He turned with a wink and disappeared down the hidden passageway behind the stage.
Five minutes. No more.
I pushed open the side door and breathed in the cool evening air as I took a brief look around. There were a couple of people leaning against the brick facade of the building across the alley and a few stragglers walking toward the main street. The night was cool, but it felt refreshing after the suffocating confines of the cramped club. I pulled my cell from my pocket to give myself something to do. Any diversion to keep from wondering why I was standing in an alley waiting for someone I hardly knew. It was eleven thirty-three. If he wasn’t here by eleven thirty-eight, I was out.
I heard the heavy door squeak open behind me a few minutes later. I pushed away from the wall and started to move out of the shadowed area under the eaves, but stopped at the sound of a heated exchange nearby.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“I’m just going. No big deal. Don’t make it into one. See you later,” Seth’s tone was hurried, but not angry per se.
“Whoa. Are you pissed about?—”
“I’m not pissed about anything, Rand. Leave it the fuck alone. Okay?”
Silence.
“You’re so fucking obstinate,” a deep raspy voice answered. Probably his friend Rand.
A resigned sigh was followed by the shuffling of feet.
“Fine. Say what you need to say,” Seth huffed impatiently.
“Where are you staying?”
“Rand, I’m fine. Stop being such a mommy. Just let me go.”
I heard a frustrated growl followed by a resigned sigh.
“Okay. Stay away from that creep with the paint-stained fingers and smooth moves. The dude is trouble. If you wanna get laid, wait for me. He’s not gonna fuck you like me anyway.” The deep raspy voice was tinged with worry, though his words were purposefully crude. “And neither will the tall guy who was fuckin’ drooling in the audience. Is he out here now? Is he?—”
“Fuck you.”
“That can be arranged.” More laughter then the smacking sound of a sloppy kiss. “Call me when you get home, Seth.”
The door creaked closed. Silence.
Something fell and the clattering noise echoed in the dark alley. I stepped away from the wall with one hand in my pocket and the other holding my phone.
“Goddamn fucking fuck fuck fuck.”
“Are you all right?”
Seth turned with a start but recovered quickly. His face was cloaked in shadow, making his expression impossible to read. “Hunky fucking dory. I thought you left.”
“I’m here. And you’re late.”
“I’m always late.” He picked up his guitar case, slung his battered backpack over his shoulder, and gave me a lopsided smile. “Which way are you going?”
I stepped forward and studied him for moment before answering. The altercation I’d overheard seemed to have dampened his spirits, but his eyes blazed with a fierce determination I didn’t understand. There was a story here and it wasn’t mine. If I were smart, I’d walk away. Now.
I bit my bottom lip but couldn’t stop the words from leaving my mouth. Bloody hell, I was a fool. “This way.”
We walked through the alley to the main street in silence. I had no idea what to say. Now that we’d come this far, I decided to allow him to tag along as far as the hotel. After that, he was on his own. I settled back in the cab after I gave the driver the address, careful to not bump my knee against the guitar case resting between us.
“You’re staying near the Harbor?” he scoffed.
“Yes. Is there something wrong?” I heard my imperious tone and wasn’t surprised when Seth chuckled.
“Not at all, milord,” he mocked in a decent Cockney accent. “We could have walked. That’s all.”
“I wouldn’t have known where to go. I’m not familiar with the city and I’m not traipsing about at midnight hoping a kind soul will point me in the right direction.”
“Well, I’m a kind soul and I happen to be from this fair city. I coulda saved you a couple bucks.”
“I’d gladly pay the few dollars for peace of mind,” I snarked, glancing curiously over at my companion. “I didn’t realize Baltimore was your home.”
“It’s not. I was just born here.”
His sharp tone told me that line of conversation was closed.
“Ah.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. You’re a bit tetchy, aren’t you?” I snorted as I turned to look out the smudged taxi window. “I’m compelled to point out that you paid extra to ride the express train this afternoon. If you were so intent on saving, I have to wonder why you didn’t take the regular train into the city.”
“I was late.”
“Again?”
Seth chuckled heartily and flashed me a wide grin. “Yep. Here we are, guv’nor.”
I looked up as the cab came to a stop in front of my hotel. “So we are.”
I paid the driver and waited near the revolving glass doors for Seth. I figured this was where we said the awkward good-bye we could have gotten out of the way at the club. But when he sauntered toward me like he had all the time in the world and no particular plan, I felt a very strong urge to be with him. If only to see what he did next. He had a carefree nomadic aura about him that fascinated me. He was a puzzle. Or a lovely painting I couldn’t stop gazing at… so colorful yet textured and?—
“Wanna get a drink?”
I hesitated for half a second before gesturing him to follow me inside. I chanted a litany of “this is not a good idea” and even composed a “let’s do drinks another time” speech in my head as we passed through the lobby area to the bar.
The hotel was part of a reliable chain. The décor was traditional with dark paneled walls and contemporary chandeliers. Tasteful enough not to offend anyone, yet hardly memorable. The bar was the same. Other than the blue backlighting behind the ubiquitous liquor-laden glass wall, the space was decorated with the same dark paneling, hotel art, and tasteful cobalt pendants. We could have been in any bar anywhere in the world. Except this one was inexplicably overrun with a large group of inebriated businessmen.
I glanced at my watch. It was almost midnight.
Seth adjusted the burdens in his arms and smirked, “We can always tear up the minibar in your room.”
“Uh….”
He laughed at my expression and shook his head. “It’s cool. We can do this another t?—”
“No. One drink.”
“One drink,” he repeated with a sly smile.
As we headed toward the elevators, I asked silly questions about anything from the band’s playlist to how long he’d had the shiny red guitar in his case. He didn’t know me well enough to know I was babbling, but as the elevator binged to the fifth floor, I recognized my chatter for what it was. Nerves. Again. What was wrong with me?
Seth didn’t seem bothered. “I’ve had this baby for a year now. She’s a Fender Stratocaster. Beautiful. She plays well, kind of like she was made for this music.”
“Rock and roll?” I slid my card in the lock and opened the door with a flourish.
Seth waltzed ahead of me. He left his bag near the full-length mirror across from the bathroom, then continued into the room and set his guitar case against the desk before turning with a mischievous grin.
“Yeah, and the blues. Rand loves the blues.”
“Rand is the lead singer?”
“Yeah and songwriter. And to answer your question… all the songs are original material. Some of it was brand new tonight and the audience ate it the fuck up!” His grin was electric and very self-satisfied. He was obviously still buzzing with a performance high.
I smiled then crouched low to examine the contents in the minibar. “What will you have? There’s cheap wine, beer or Stoli, Bacardi, Jack. Hmm, it looks well stocked.”
“What about mixers?”
“Let’s see… club soda, orange juice an?—”
“Club soda works. I hate orange juice,” he declared, flopping gracelessly into the leatherette desk chair and then quickly jumping up again. “We need ice. I’ll get some. Back in a jiff.”
He grabbed the ice bucket and was gone before I could respond. I set the tiny bottles, soda water, and glasses in a neat row. Anything to keep my hands moving so my head wouldn’t wander. One drink. This was an innocent nightcap. No more. It would give me a chance to ask about his music and maybe about the conversation I’d overheard before he hopped in my taxi and charmed his way into my hotel room.
No, that wasn’t fair. I’d invited him. One drink.
I moved toward the door thinking I’d leave it ajar for him, but stopped as I caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair was slightly disheveled and my jaw was scruffy, but my clothes were perfectly pressed. I looked like what I was, a tired businessman dressed in conservative casualwear. I shrugged. The ad exec mooning over the male model slash wannabe rock star, artist was hardly a new role for me, but it was one I hadn’t played in years. I was an idiot. With any luck, I’d grow up one day.
Seth sashayed into the room carrying the ice bucket a few minutes later. He grinned triumphantly and shook the contents like a child shaking his piggy bank.
“Well done,” I deadpanned.
Seth threw back his head and laughed gleefully before dropping unceremoniously onto the bed. “You’re a dick.”
I tossed him a faux scornful look, then turned to pour us each a somewhat stronger drink than intended. I handed him one and chuckled when he took a gulp and immediately sputtered.
“Sorry. It’s a bit strong,” I said with a smile. I pulled the desk chair around to face him and leaned forward to clink our glasses together. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
Our eyes held over the rims of our glasses. I racked my brain for something clever to say, but I was too distracted by my guest. He’d rebuttoned his denim shirt so he wasn’t showing nearly as much skin as he had during the show. But the fabric clung to his toned physique in all the right places. I swallowed hard and settled back in the chair. Conversation, I reminded myself. I could manage this.
“The show was very good. How long have you been with your band?”
Seth’s eyes twinkled. I could tell he wanted to tease me for my wooden tone and my stiff accent. Instead he leaned back on his right arm and took a smaller sip before answering.
“Six months maybe, but longer if you count high school. I think we started playing in Rand’s parents’ garage when we were fourteen. Ha! I guess that makes me a founding member. Whatever. I played off and on with them until I left for Europe when I was seventeen. Now, I help out when I can. Rand calls when his regular guitarist is ‘indisposed.’”
“What does that mean?”
“Drunk, high, MIA… you name it. Rand wants me to reclaim my spot, but I’m not interested. I should stop doing it at all.”
“Why? You seem to enjoy it.”
“Yeah, but I’m not serious and Rand is. The lifestyle isn’t for me. Like tonight. The guys will stay and party till they can barely stand, then they’ll either go home or wake up in a strange bed around noon and press repeat. I’m not good at the whole ‘pack’ mentality thing either, you know? Rand is the indisputable leader and he wants to run the show his way. That’s cool, but I don’t take direction well and we… it just doesn’t work.”
“Is he your boyfriend or an ex?”
Seth grinned then burst out laughing. “You’ve been dying to ask me that, huh? You’re so… prim and proper, but then not really.” He took another long drink and averted his eyes as though he was embarrassed.
“Be careful. I was generous with the vodka.”
“I can tell. I’m feeling tipsy already.”
“So…?”
“Hmm? Oh Rand. Yeah, we’re friends. Nothing else.”
“Really? If he’s the same man who was chatting you up before you got in the cab with me, I’d say he’s under the impression there is much more between you.”
Seth smiled wanly. “There isn’t. We just have history, that’s all.” He snorted derisively and shook the ice in his glass lazily before continuing. “I s’pose technically he’s an ex but now he’s just a good friend who worries too much. Like a fucking mother hen.”
I studied him for a moment. Talking about Rand obviously agitated him, but I was too curious to leave it alone.
“Is he from Baltimore too?”
“Yeah. We were neighbors growing up. His family lived down the block from mine. It was like the perfect slice of American pie. Block parties, baseball in the streets, kids running wild….”
“Sounds nice.” I smiled wanly thinking his description was rather idyllic and certainly nothing like my own upbringing in the English countryside.
“It was, I guess. But then you grow up and it all goes to hell in a Gucci handbag. Can I have ’nother?” He held out his glass and shook it slightly. When I didn’t take it immediately, he added, “Please.”
I rolled my eyes and refreshed both our drinks, going much lighter on the alcohol this time. So much for one drink.
“At some point we figured out we were little gay boys. His folks were cool with it, but mine beat the fuck out of me and kicked me to the curb.” He took his glass and flashed a dark grin devoid of humor at me before swallowing half the contents.
“Slow down. You’ll make yourself ill.”
“Hmph. It takes a lot more than a couple vodkas to do any damage, baby. The worst that will happen is I’ll say something I shouldn’t, like tell you a bunch of crappy family stories. No. I won’t do that to you, but I gotta admit, I don’t get it sometimes.”
“What don’t you get?” I prodded.
“I don’t get people. I don’t understand cruelty or what draws you to the same idiots. I don’t know why Sim—hmph. Some people are like drugs, you know? ’Nough about him. That asshole will be fine without me and I’ll be better too. Way better.” He shook his head as though attempting to clear his mind of negative thoughts then gave me a small grin. “What made you come tonight? I’m glad you did. I was surprised.”
I shrugged, a little confused with his ping-pong style of chatter. I set my glass on the desk knowing I had to slow down or risk a scorching hangover in the morning.
“Impulse, perhaps. I was curious about you after you regaled me with an impromptu critique of Chaucer and the Church.”
Seth chuckled and sat up on the bed. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I couldn’t help it. You should have seen your face. Priceless. Nothing like making a snobby English dude who’s pretty sure stupid Americans don’t know shit about literature blink a few times.”
“Touché. I apologize. In my defense, you gave a decent first impression of being rather….”
“What? Brainless?”
“No. Indifferent. If I thought you were witless, I doubt we’d be sitting here now.”
“Gee, I’m honored.”
“Right,” I snorted. “Since you’re here, tell me how you know so much about English literature.”
His eyes sparked with humor.
“Is this the kind of stuff you say to get guys in bed? Does it work? Don’t answer. I might get hard.” He chuckled when I rolled my eyes in response. “Okay…. English literature,” he said with a short laugh. “I read a lot. I like mysteries and sci-fi stuff more than classics. I loved Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings. I have a great memory for books that pack a visual punch, you know what I mean?”
“I think so, but?—”
“I see words as pictures and add color in my mind. Everyone does that probably but in my head, they go a little wild. Colors collide and figures take weird shapes. And anything can act as a catalyst. I’m never sure where my muse comes from sometimes. It can come from a cool character in a book, song lyrics, a woman pushing a baby in a stroller. Anything, anywhere. Once it hits, I’m consumed. All I want to do is paint.”
“Do you show your work?”
Seth nodded and took another drink. “I’ve had shows at tiny offbeat places or art in the park kind of gigs, but I have a real exhibit coming up.” His eyes twinkled with a mischievous glee. “It’s a huge one in October at Harry Weltzer’s gallery in Dupont Circle. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever done. He wanted ten pieces. Eight are done, one is in process, and the other is—well, it hasn’t come to me. Yet.” He grinned with a cocky confidence that seemed better suited to his rock star persona than a conflicted artist.
“I’m sure it will. I’d love to see your work sometime. If you’re willing to show it, that is.”
Seth nodded in a manner that suggested he didn’t want to commit, but he’d consider my request. I smiled, hoping to convey I understood his reticence. Artists were a finicky bunch. Many wouldn’t consider sharing until they were good and ready. I steered the conversation toward general art-related topics. We talked for a while about painting techniques, artists we liked, and the best museums in DC.
“We’re so lucky to have the Smithsonian. Free access to some of the most important works in the world. Exposure to art is… so crucial. I sound melodramatic but?—”
“No. I agree. A whole day spent lost in a museum is my idea of heaven.”
“Me too. We should do it together sometime.” Seth’s smile was sweetly earnest. I returned it, though I was aware my expression was a little sappy. I couldn’t help it. Vodka was partially responsible, but the truth was he intrigued me. And surprised me. I was struck by the same stab of longing I’d felt a few hours ago when he was on stage with his band. It was more dangerous now because we were alone and I had his undivided attention. I swallowed hard and raised my glass to my mouth.
His cocked his head and furrowed his brow thoughtfully.
“What is it?” My voice sounded hoarse, like it belonged to someone else.
Seth brushed his hair behind his ear and gave me a lopsided grin. “Nothing. Look, not that it matters maybe but… the reason I was late for coffee was—I was in my studio and I lost track of time. I just…. If you wanted to go to a museum or get coffee in DC or whatever, I wouldn’t be late again. That’s all.”
I stared at him for a long moment unsure how to respond. His extension of the apology he’d offered earlier was just as awkward. But he sounded so damn sincere and he looked very fucking lovely sitting at the edge of a hotel bed with a drink resting on his knee. I was hopelessly charmed. I inclined my head and smiled.
“I’d like that. I wasn’t angry, by the way.” I chuckled at his wide-eyed look of comic disbelief before continuing. “Maybe I was. I assumed you were uninterested.”
His pointed gaze turned sultry. “I’m very interested.”
I felt my chest tighten as my heart fluttered like a caged bird desperate for escape. My palms were sweaty and though I was suddenly desperate for a drink, I was afraid my hand would shake and give me away. I couldn’t understand how a cocky, long-haired punk eight years my junior could possess such hypnotic sensuality. I swallowed nervously but held his stare, determined not to be thrown off guard by his divine body or gorgeous face.
“Uh… well, I have a meeting in the morning,” I said weakly.
Seth nodded and set his glass on the desk, then held out his right hand. I stared at it for a second before tentatively touching my fingers to his. He grinned like a madman and yanked me onto the bed, pulling me into his side with one arm around my waist. I laughed as I pushed at his chest, struggling to keep perspective. I was sitting in a hotel room after midnight, drinking vodka sodas with a ridiculously beautiful man. What was holding me back? He was interested and the bulge tenting my khakis made it difficult to deny I felt the same way.
“So what you’re saying is….” He reached out to trace my cheek with his thumb before setting it over my bottom lip, “… you’re not interested.”
I was as mesmerized by his rough husky tone as I was by the powerful haze of eroticism he emanated. I held my breath and waited to see what he’d do or say next. He leaned forward and ever so gently removed his thumb to place a gentle kiss on my lips. A whisper light touch, nothing more. But he didn’t pull away. He went completely still, as though silently suggesting it was up to me to make the next move. I closed my eyes and inhaled his musky, manly scent. It was a heady aphrodisiac. If I wasn’t careful I could devour him.
My eyes fluttered open at the feel of him smiling against my mouth. When he hummed and started to pull away, I pounced. I held his face between my hands, surprising him with a crushing kiss. There was no finesse, no gentle persuasion. This was a manic and fiery response to a pent-up yearning I was through holding inside. Fuck propriety and coherent thought. I wanted him and I wasn’t about to let him go if there was a remote chance he felt the same way.
Seth groaned, angling his head slightly to deepen the connection. The first probing touch of his tongue sent a tingling sensation up my spine. I brushed my hand over his longish hair, entwining it through my fingers before giving in to temptation and pulling it back to expose his neck.
I licked a path over his Adam’s apple and underneath his chin, reveling in the feel of our stubbled jaws rubbing together like sandpaper. Seth hiked his right leg over my thigh and pushed me down on the mattress. He straddled my hips, caging my head between his arms as he lowered his pelvis to grind his hard-on into me. I gasped at the incredible sensation and curled my leg around his waist to pull him closer. Even with two layers of clothing between us, the feel of him covering me and languidly rubbing his rigid member against mine was outrageously sexy.
I arched off the bed in my quest to get closer. Seth’s tongue plunged inside my mouth. His kiss went from exploratory to demanding in a flash. I could barely breathe under the assault, but I didn’t care. I was desperate for more. Fingers pulled at fabric and groped for skin. My legs wrapped higher around his hips in a powerful hold. It felt so good, but it wasn’t nearly enough.
Seth sucked my bottom lip into his mouth and pulled back slightly.
“More.” I reached for his collar and yanked him forward.
He shook his head as he braced himself over me. “Yeah. No clothes.” He bent to lick my lips before kneeling back between my knees to work on my belt buckle.
I propped myself up on my elbows to watch him through half-hooded eyes. This was like a dream. A vodka-infused fantasy starring a gorgeous male model and inexplicably… me. I wasn’t drunk enough to blame alcohol for my impetuousness, but I was tipsy enough to not give a fuck. If this were just one very bad idea I’d regret in the morning, I’d deal with it then. Right now, there was a six-foot-two hunk between my thighs, unzipping my trousers.
He slid his fingers under the elastic of my briefs, then looked down at me, silently asking my permission. I licked my lips and nodded. He smiled his approval and slipped the fabric over my ass. I struggled to sit up and yank my sweater over my head. I faltered when I heard his sharp intake of breath.
“God, you’re fuckin’ hot.”
I was stuck in black cashmere, unable to see and quickly losing the ability to breathe as I hastened to get my clothing over my head. Seth chuckled somewhere near the foot of the bed, tsking as he muttered something about being patient. He leisurely removed my shoes and socks, then slipped my khakis and briefs down my legs.
“Help me,” I mumbled.
I could hear the telltale sound of a belt buckle, a zipper, and the rustle of clothing as I fought to free my arms. This was torture. I’d effectively blindfolded myself and was surely missing the best part.
“Here. Let me do it.”
I could feel the heat of his bare skin as he climbed over me. I reached out to see how close he was just as he yanked at the fabric. It slipped easily from my head, but I was still wearing a white collared shirt with a ridiculously long row of buttons. I looked up intending to ask for assistance but my eyes got no further than the impressive, thick cock mere inches away. I gulped.
“Since I got you unstuck, I think I deserve a reward.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Suck my cock while you work on your shirt.”
I hissed as warm hands stroked my painfully hard member. I moaned and started to close my eyes, but they flew open a second later. Seth shifted his weight and moved up my body so his knees rested on either side of my chest.
“What are you doing?” I croaked like a bloody frog.
“Making it easier for you. Go on. Suck me.”
He surged forward so the wide mushroom head of his dick was an inch away from my bottom lip. I looked up at him one more time then tentatively swiped my tongue over his slit. He groaned in approval somewhere above me. I needed no further encouragement.
I flattened my tongue and sucked the tip of his cock into my mouth, then reached around to knead his ass and bring him closer to me. He was bigger than me and thicker. Being flat on my back made it difficult to take more of him than I could handle unless he fucked himself in my mouth. I wouldn’t necessarily have minded, but not until I had a chance to get acquainted. I licked him from base to tip and back again, then stroked him with a tight grip before swallowing him whole.
“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Seth caressed the back of my head. It was a sweet gesture totally at odds with his porn-like dominating stance over me. I fondled his balls as I sucked a little harder. My hands wandered back to his ass, pulling the taut globes apart. Seth’s hips gyrated slowly, like he was lost in a carnal dance. I flicked my tongue between his balls and let my hands roam. The slightest touch of my finger at his hole made him nuts. He groaned loudly, then pistoned his hips into my mouth. I gagged as his movement became more frenzied, and he immediately backed off.
“I’m sorry. Shit. I—here. Let me?—”
“Shh. Turn around. Suck me at the same time.”
His eyes widened slightly but he instantly obeyed, reminding me of an overzealous puppy. The second I felt his talented mouth close over my hard prick, all coherent thought fled. My only focus was pleasure. His and mine. I struggled to unbutton my shirt and push it off my shoulders as we lay on our sides devouring each other. Licking, sucking, stroking.
I loved the way he smelled and tasted. A little sweaty and musky from his time on stage. And all male. The sensual way he moved his hips seeking release was a wild turn-on. Precum leaked from his slit. I wondered if he was close when he pulled back and scrambled to sit up.
“What’s wrong?” I fought to catch my breath. I could taste him on my lips and I desperately wanted more. My aching cock was pointing north, begging for attention.
He bit his bottom lip and lowered his hand to stroke himself. Then he reached out to do the same to me. It was nice, but I liked the blow job better. I was confused. And really fucking horny. He didn’t strike me as a cocktease, but what did I know?
Seth leaned in and licked my lips, a featherlight connection he immediately deepened. He groaned into my mouth as he pushed me backward. I stopped thinking. He surrounded me in every way possible. His legs were hooked around mine, holding me down. He held my hands hostage above my head as he buried his face between my shoulder and neck, licking and biting at the sensitive skin, while he ground his thick shaft against mine. I heard him speaking but I couldn’t make out the words at first. His voice was husky and fraught with desire. The sound alone was intoxicating.
“So sexy. So fucking hot. I want to?—”
I pulled my legs free and wrapped them around him, lifting my hips to meet his thrusts. He growled his approval and crushed his mouth over mine. I could still taste myself on his lips. And all I could think was I wanted more as I tried to tune in to his litany of “so good, so hot, I want?—”
“What do you want?”
“I wanna fuck you. So bad. I want….”
I think he was still talking, but a rush of intense desire made it difficult to hear. We were two grown adults. If we both wanted it, why shouldn’t we—I shoved at his shoulder to get his attention.
“Do it, then.”
He went still. His gaze was fiery and intense, though it seemed to take him a second to unravel my words. I watched his heated expression through a haze of lust, mindful of our hard cocks leaking precum between us. Yes, this was extraordinarily impulsive of me.
I wasn’t the guy who jumped into bed with a guy on the first date, but hell… this wasn’t a date. I had no clue what it was really. However, two things were very apparent. First, Seth Landau was gorgeous, naked, and had clearly said he wanted me. And second, I might never get this chance again. I didn’t want to talk myself out of a one-night stand with a hunky male model because we weren’t destined to have a lasting relationship. I’d had just enough vodka not to be swayed by moral reservations. I waited for him to tell me he felt the same.
He kissed me softly and grinned before climbing off me. Oh. Fuck. I supposed I had my answer. I gulped and stared up at the ceiling fixating on the standard issue hotel room sprinkler head as I attempted to control my mind and body back to a neutral state. I heard a rustle of clothing but I wouldn’t allow myself to look. If he wanted to leave, he should go.
“You okay? You look far away. Did you change your mind?”
Seth tilted his head curiously. He was holding a condom and a packet of lube. He smiled gently as though wordlessly assuring me it was my decision. I patted the mattress next to me and shook my head.
“No, but?—”
He crawled between my thighs and pushed my legs apart. “What is it?”
“I haven’t bottomed in a long time so….”
“Me either. Um, do you want to top? I can?—”
“No, I want you.”
“I’ll be gentle. Lay back and let me take care of you.”
I don’t know why, but it struck me as strangely sensitive and very… sweet. I didn’t know Seth well, but he didn’t seem like the overly attentive type. Nor would I have thought of him as particularly sweet. He was edgy, impetuous, sharp-witted, and carefree. And dangerously sexy. Artists, models, rock stars were notorious egoists in my experience. They might be fabulous lovers, but that didn’t necessarily translate to altruism in bed.
All coherent thoughts fled when he gripped my dick with his left hand and steadily stroked me up and down, then twisted his wrist before repeating the motion. My eyes closed in bliss. The very concept of letting go, even if only for the duration of a shared orgasm, sounded too bloody good to pass up. I raised my hips and heard myself moan while his talented hand worked me over. At the first touch of his finger at my entrance, my eyes flew open. I struggled to sit up but stopped and fell back on the pillow as an overwhelming tingling feeling spread like wildfire through my heavy limbs. He pressed one digit inside, twisting it sensually as he bent to suck my cock. I lifted my hips and writhed into his touch.
“Another?” He didn’t wait for my response before pushing a second finger in my hole.
“Bloody—fuck Seth. I’m ready. Fuck me already.”
He hummed then backed off slightly with a naughty chuckle. “Not too fast. Relax.”
I watched him kneel between my thighs, his hair in his eyes and his head bent in concentration. His fingers trembled slightly. He cursed when he couldn’t open the condom package on the second try. I huffed in amusement and held out my hand for him to let me do it. He scowled and bit at the corner instead. I laughed at his silly, triumphant grin but sobered when he made a production of slowly rolling the latex on and lubing up.
He was perfection. I had an odd passing thought I should ask him if he ever modeled men’s underwear. But speech wasn’t really an option. Seth scooted closer, nudging my inner thigh with his knees. He poured a generous amount of lube into his hand, letting some of it drip onto my balls. I could tell it was intentional so I waited to see what he’d do next. He fondled my sac before dipping his fingers lower to spread the cool lube deep inside me. I panted as I pulled my knees into my chest, fully exposing myself.
“God, that is so?—”
“Seth?”
“Hmm?”
“Stop torturing me already and put your—oh fuck!” I gasped.
He didn’t get far but damn, it felt amazing. We stared at each other, breathing heavily. “You’re so tight. You okay?”
I nodded but set my hand on his stomach, silently asking him to wait. Sweat formed on his upper lip and his nostrils flared slightly. I was fascinated by his evident stoic hold on his control. He reminded me of a Viking warrior or?—
“Now who’s torturing who?” he hissed through clenched teeth.
“I’m—go. I’m ready.”
Seth growled as he pushed forward. I half expected him to bury himself inside me in one demanding stroke, but he didn’t. He went slow, stopping to let me acclimate to his girth until he was balls deep. Pain and discomfort soon gave way to a rush of pleasure and a promise of more… if he’d only start moving. I reached up and tweaked his nipples, rolling the sensitive flesh gently, then pinching him. Hard.
“Ow!”
I smiled and did it again, hoping he’d get the message. The mischievous grin he gave me spoke volumes. I braced myself for a sudden assault, but he had something else in mind. He pulled almost all the way out and languidly pushed his way back inside. I figured he was testing my readiness, but soon realized the languid pace was another form of torture. A sure way to make me beg for what we both wanted. On his next forward motion, I anchored him close to me, trapping him between my thighs while I raked my fingers down his broad back to clutch his taut ass.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want. Don’t make me beg.” I flung my arms around his neck and pulled him on top of me. “Just fuck me.” I licked his jaw, nibbled at his chin and lips, then added, “Hard.”
He blinked as he swiped at the moisture on his brow, giving me one last meaningful look before bucking his hips into me roughly.
“Like this?”
I cried out in surprise and he stilled.
“Don’t stop. Just fuck?—”
He growled, wrapping me in a strong embrace before finally losing himself in the moment. He moved like thunder, with an untamed abandon that left me utterly breathless. I clung to him tightly, arching my hips to meet him thrust for thrust. I slid my hand between our sweat-slicked bodies to grab my cock. The friction was good, but I needed more. Seth slowed his rhythm and knelt back. He smacked my hand and shook his head.
“Let me do it.”
I held eye contact for a moment and gave him a lopsided grin, but didn’t release my grip on my thick member. I wasn’t sure I meant to challenge him, but his fiery gaze told me he liked it. Seth returned my smile with a deceptively sweet incline of his head and smacked my hand again, sending a shock wave through my body. I groaned loudly as the pleasure built to the familiar point of no return.
I settled my feet on top of his thighs and rode his rock hard shaft while he jerked me off. When he massaged the sensitive area around my hole as he steadily fucked me, I felt my balls contract and tingle, signaling eminent release. But I was unprepared for the intensity. White light and a weird glittering effect dotted my vision as I trembled under my lover.
He slowed, but he didn’t stop moving. I swallowed hard and attempted to catch my breath as I reached up to caress his gorgeous, smooth chest. He captured my hand and kissed my fingers. I looked up, surprised at the intimate gesture. It seemed more appropriate to lovers of long standing rather than partners in an alcohol-influenced one-night stand. I squeezed his fingers and smiled softly in return. Seth lunged forward, crashing his mouth over mine as he let himself take what he needed before coming apart. He shook wildly with the force of his orgasm, bucking into me over and over until a reluctant calm finally settled between us.
We lay still for a minute or two, stuck together with sweat and semen. Our labored breathing and the hum of the hotel fan were the only sounds in the room. I glanced at the heavy, taupe striped curtains and the hotel art on the walls. This room was ordinary. Boring. Expected. But what had just happened in it was extraordinary. It went far beyond fabulous sex, but I couldn’t define why I recognized this as being more. It was a gut feeling. An instinct. The man in my bed was special and I wanted more than I should.
“If you were gonna get on a train right now, in the middle of the night, where would you go?”
I ran my fingers through his hair and considered my answer. We’d cleaned up and had fallen into each other’s arms in the dimly lit room as if we did so every night. Seth’s head rested on my shoulder, and his right leg was entwined with mine. I loved how he hugged me close with his arm slung over my stomach.
“Could I fly or?—”
“No. Say you don’t have money for a plane. Only a train from Baltimore to wherever. And don’t ask any smartass questions about connections. Just tell me the first place that pops in your head.”
I grinned and pressed an impulsive kiss on his temple before replying, “Miami.”
“Oh. I thought you’d say New York. Why Miami?”
“I’m from England. If I could be somewhere it’s warm with skimpily clad young men serving cocktails while I lounged in the sun, well… that would be lovely.”
“Lovely, eh?”
“Are you making sport of me again? I’ll have you know my accent might be thick at times, but I’ve been in America for five years or more and I’ve been a brilliant study on colloquialisms.”
“Sorry to break this to you, but when you say shit like ‘brilliant study’ in that snooty tone, you’re not gonna fool anyone into thinking you’re American.”
“I don’t want to be American. Nor do I want to fool anyone. I’m only saying I understand the quirks of your language. The fact you make sport of mine only shows ignorance.”
Seth propped his head on his hand, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You callin’ me stupid?”
I chuckled and turned on my side to face him. “Not at all. I think you’re brilliant.”
“You say everything’s brilliant. You’re going to have to think of a new adjective.”
His teasing grin was hypnotic. If I wasn’t so bloody tired, I could have happily stared at him all night long. I yawned and fell back on my pillow.
“You’re exceptional. Better?”
“Rather,” he imitated me playfully. I turned quickly and tickled his side. He yelped in surprise and giggled like a child. The sound was sweet and endearing. I felt a rush of affection I didn’t understand as I rolled on top of him and kissed his full lips. He smiled then reached to pull my head down. His soft lips and hard body were a perfect contrast. I deepened the kiss, loving the whimpering noise he made. I pushed away and flopped back to my side of the bed.
“You didn’t answer. Where would you go?”
“Huh? Oh. The train.” He let out his breath in a rush and turned to look at me. “Same. Miami or California. Somewhere warm. I want clean air and a fresh start, you know?”
“Fresh start? What do you mean?”
He shrugged and stared up at the ceiling. “I want to lose myself in a new start. No worrying about things I can’t change or people who don’t or shouldn’t matter.” He turned on his side and gave me a smile that clearly said he wasn’t going to reveal any deep secrets. “What time do you have to leave in the morning?”
“Early.” I closed my eyes. If reality had to invade, I wanted to sleep through it.
“Hey Paul?” He waited for me to refocus on him before he continued. “I’m not good at this stuff but… when we’re back in DC, call me, okay?”
I smiled softly and nodded my acquiescence before leaning in to kiss him. Lying naked with a man who was practically a stranger in a hotel room wasn’t the time to make promises you might not keep in the light of day. But this one I would. The unexpectedly awful coffee date I wanted to erase from my memory had turned into something very… promising.