Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
In which I discover that Australian restrooms differ from American ones, and Ocean makes use of them. And me.
By the time we deplaned, I was still confused. I was also still half-hard, but my suit jacket hid that, thankfully.
As we walked through the terminal, the energy between us crackled like the air before a storm. Our shoulders brushed, sending jolts of electricity through my body. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so…alive.
“Come with me,” Ocean said, taking my hand and leading me into the men’s restrooms. He quickly looked around, but there was no one else there. He pulled me into one of the stalls and locked the door behind us. The space felt impossibly small, Ocean’s presence filling every corner.
“Ocean!” I protested, but he put a finger against my lips.
“Australian restrooms.” He pointed at the door of the stall. Unlike the standard American ones, it didn’t have a gap you could see through, and the door went all the way to the floor. No one could see us.
He stepped closer, his warmth radiating through the scant inches between us. “Shh,” he murmured. “Stop thinking so much. Just feel.”
Before I could even respond, he was deftly unbuckling me again, and he had me out in seconds. He spun me around and pinned me with my back against his chest, his left hand over my mouth and his right around my cock. Holy shit.
“Not a sound,” he whispered in my ear, and I nodded automatically.
He let go of my cock to spit in his hand, and then he wrapped it around me again, squeezing me tightly. He went slow, almost methodically, the pressure tight enough to turn my dick to steel but not so hard it hurt.
Someone walked in, proceeded to use the urinal, and I held my breath until Ocean nudged me to breathe. Why was I so afraid of getting caught? It wasn’t like it was a felony to get a hand job in a restroom stall. But Ocean had told me to be quiet, so I wanted to be.
As soon as the man left, Ocean sought my earlobe with his mouth and teeth. “You negative?”
Was he going to fuck me here? That thought should have made me put a stop to things right then and there, but instead, my cock jerked in his hand. He chuckled. “I see you like the idea of my cock in your ass. That’s good to know. But answer me.”
I swallowed, my mouth impossibly dry. “Negative, and I’m on PrEP.”
“Same. Put your right hand on my hip.”
I did as he told me.
“Now tap if you want me to stop.”
I nodded.
The hand on my mouth disappeared, and funny enough, I missed that tight, almost possessive grip immediately. When he let go of my cock as well, I wanted to cry out in frustration. I must’ve made some sound because Ocean bit my earlobe again. “I told you to be quiet.”
“Sorry.”
He rustled, but I couldn’t see what he was doing until I caught his shorts and underwear dropping. Then, the unmistakable sound of a packet of lube being opened, followed by an all-too-familiar slick squelch. Seconds later, he sent my pants and underwear to the floor as well, and then his right hand, now all slick with lube, wrapped around my cock again. Thank Jesus.
“Left hand against the wall.”
I could hardly ask him to cover my mouth again, but how I wanted him to. I braced myself with my left hand, and oh Jesus, he pressed himself against me. His slick cock slid into my crack, and I couldn’t hold back my moan of pleasure. Immediately, he slapped his left hand on my mouth again, and I could’ve wept in gratitude.
Another man came in, and we both froze. Ocean only squeezed my cock with a corkscrew motion, not moving his hand, and his own hard shaft stayed buried between my ass cheeks. The whole thing was dirty, maybe even demeaning, but I fucking loved it.
As soon as the man left, Ocean went to work again, snapping his hips as he used my crack to get himself off, jacking me at the same time. My fingers dug into his thigh, maybe in the vain hope it would speed him up, but Ocean wouldn’t be rushed.
“You feel so fucking good,” he grunted into my ear. “So goddamn hard for me.”
Another pause while two men came in, both making quick work of their business, luckily. By then, my body was trembling with the need to come. If Ocean wasn’t so good at keeping me on that edge, I would’ve already come minutes ago. But he held me back from the brink, stopping before I tumbled over the cliff every time.
I mumbled against his hand, and he loosened his grip. “What was that?”
“Please,” I whispered, no longer ashamed to beg. “Please let me come.”
“Fuck, I love hearing you beg,” he growled. “I guess you’ve earned your reward by being so good for me.”
And then he finally, fucking finally, sped up, making use of the otherwise empty restroom to jack me off hard and fast while chasing his own release at the same time. My body tensed, and I rose on my tippy toes, all my muscles contracting in anticipation. I hovered there, my balls clenching, and then I erupted.
Spurts of cum painted Ocean’s hand, some landing on the wall in the toilet. He held on to me tightly as he grunted, and then his warm seed sprayed my crack and ass cheeks. Fuck, I wish I could see it, watch him mark me like that.
We stood like that, both panting, until we came down from our highs.
“Stand still,” Ocean said and let go of me.
He was a bossy little fucker, wasn’t he? Commanding came so easily to him, just as it was so natural for me to obey. The dangers of that dynamic were not lost on me, but that wasn’t something I wanted to think about right now.
He dug around in his backpack with one hand, and then a cold, moist wipe touched my ass cheeks, and I shivered.
“Sorry, it’s cold,” Ocean mumbled.
He used several wipes to clean me, then nudged me to turn around. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark, as he took me in. “You look better. A little less tense.”
No kidding. I felt like melted butter after that orgasm.
He cleaned my cock thoroughly, then hoisted up my pants and underwear and tucked, zipped, and buckled until I was presentable again. He opened the stall door. “Wait for me outside. I’ll clean up here.”
Still a little dazed, I nodded and left. I washed my hands first—god knew what had been on the wall I’d braced myself against—then stepped outside. A minute or two later, Ocean came out as well.
“I’d say that was an excellent start to our relationship, boyfriend,” he said, then kissed my cheek. “Let’s get our luggage. Can’t wait to see that swanky suite you’re staying in.”
He took my hand without hesitation, and we made our way to the arrivals hall, where a chauffeur was waiting for me, impeccably dressed in a black suit and shiny dress shoes, holding up an iPad with my name. He showed no surprise at me showing up with someone else, and after loading our luggage—three suitcases for me and one well-used backpack for Ocean—we were on our way.
“It’s about half an hour to Melbourne’s CBD—Central Business District. That area offers major shopping, theaters, the best restaurants, and, of course, the famous rooftop bars. Your hotel is right in the middle,” Ocean said.
“Have you ever been to the Queen Victoria?”
Ocean grinned. “Once or twice. You’re not the only rich, gay playboy looking for a good time. Though I haven’t made it to the presidential suite yet.”
“Happy to be of service.” A thought popped into my head. “Where did you meet those guys? I mean, did you ever…?”
Ocean didn’t seem offended by my question at all. “Nah, I’ve never needed the money that badly, though I have no moral issues with it.”
“Me neither. I sometimes hire a sex worker, especially when I travel. It can make things easy and uncomplicated.”
“I can see that. I’ve met most of the guys at the beach club or while teaching a surfing lesson. They like that I’m not only good-looking but also know how to conduct myself in the world of the rich and famous.”
Marcia would’ve raised him with excellent manners and expert knowledge of the appropriate etiquette in all social situations. “So they’ve brought you as their dates.”
“Exactly. I usually get good food out of it, sometimes nice clothes, excellent tips for my surfing lessons, and about half the time, great sex.”
“And the other half?”
He sighed. “Alcohol and cocaine don’t make for great sex.”
“Been there, done that.”
He shot me an inquisitive look. “You’ve done coke?”
“A few times. But then I realized it could all too easily become an addiction, one that could cost me dearly, and I haven’t touched the stuff since. I do like to drink, but I’ve become one of those whiskey snobs, so I rarely get drunk anymore since it’s more about the experience for me. You?”
He shook his head. “Smoking pot is common enough among the surfing crowd, but I don’t do drugs. I’ve seen what they did to my mom.”
Marcia had done drugs? Not when I’d known her, but a lot had happened since then. “I was so sorry to hear of her passing. Unfortunately, I didn’t find out until weeks after.”
“My father didn’t want it widely known. She OD’ed on heroin, much to his fury. He considered that a poor people drug.”
Jesus. And Ocean had only been a teenager back then. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“It surprised me your parents never divorced. I know your father wasn’t faithful to her.”
“The man doesn’t even know the meaning of the word. And no, they didn’t because they never signed a prenup. She would’ve taken half his fortune in a divorce, and he didn’t want that.”
“I’m sorry you lost your mom so early. Were you close with her?”
Ocean stayed quiet, and so I looked sideways. He was staring out the window. “Your biological parents are dead, right?” he finally asked.
“I never knew who my father was, and my mom died when I was five, so I don’t remember her either. I only have vague associations of being loved and that she smelled like flowers.”
“What did she die of?”
“Armed robbery gone wrong. She worked as a teller in a bank. Some guy tried to rob the place and ended up shooting his way out. Two people died, a cop and my mom.”
Ocean turned his head toward me. “But you ended up with adoptive parents.”
I nodded. “They fostered me first, then ended up adopting me. They’re amazing people and wonderful parents, and every day, I’m grateful they chose me.”
Knowing that you were chosen, that your parents made the conscious, deliberate choice to not only adopt you but love you, was a powerful feeling. I had never felt unwanted or unloved—not until Preston screwed me over anyway. Maybe that was one reason his betrayal had hit me so hard. I’d never seen it coming, had never expected it because I’d never been rejected like that.
“I loved my mom, and I think she did the best she could in loving me, but she was flawed,” Ocean said softly. “Flawed and broken in a way I didn’t understand until much, much later.”
“She was the most amazing person when we met her. Full of life and sparkling. You couldn’t help but be drawn to her. You’re a lot like her, actually.”
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t made that connection before. Ocean had that same magnetic appeal Marsha had. Even I had been a little in love with her, though in a strictly platonic way.
“When did she change?”
I hesitated. Was it fair to tell him this? Then again, he deserved the truth. Maybe it would bring him a modicum of peace and acceptance.
“When she got pregnant with you, she was still so young. Only nineteen, and so was your dad. He wanted her to have an abortion, but she refused. She’d been raised Catholic, and the idea that abortion was a mortal sin was one she couldn’t let go of. So she kept the baby, and Preston was pressured into doing the right thing and marrying her. I don’t think he ever forgave her for that. He…” I let out a heavy sigh. “He cheated on her on their wedding day by fucking one of the waitresses at the reception.”
“Jesus,” Ocean muttered. “She never stood a chance with that bastard, did she?”
He looked so lost and stricken that I took his hand and threaded our fingers together. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“I’m glad you told me. My father refused to even mention her, so there’s so much I don’t know.”
“I’ll gladly share everything I saw over the years with you, but I’m sorry to say that a lot of it will be sad memories.”
He squeezed my hand. “Thank you. I’d rather learn the sad truth than have these unanswered questions.”
For the rest of the taxi ride, we sat hand in hand as I stared outside. Sleek skyscrapers mingled with Victorian-era buildings, creating a unique skyline that spoke of progress and history. The streets were alive with energy, locals and tourists alike weaving through the afternoon bustle.
The driver pulled up to a Victorian-looking building and shut off the engine. “We’re here, Mr. Sullivan.”
The grandeur of the building, with its intricate art nouveau facade, was a stark reminder of the world I usually inhabited—a world of luxury and expectations.
“Come on,” Ocean said, “let’s check out that swanky suite.”
“Mr. Sullivan, welcome to the Queen Victoria Hotel,” a voice greeted us as we stepped out of the limo.
I turned to see a man in his mid-fifties, impeccably dressed in a pinstripe suit, his short-cropped hair and manicured hands speaking volumes about the establishment’s attention to detail.
“I’m Mike Gerber, your personal concierge for the duration of your stay,” he continued, his tone professional yet warm. “May I assist you with your luggage?”
I cleared my throat, slipping back into the role of the confident billionaire. “Thank you, Mike. That would be appreciated.”
As Mike gestured at two bell boys who efficiently handled our bags, Ocean’s eyes danced with amusement.
“Pretty suave, Cash,” he whispered. “You sure know how to travel in style.”
Heat crept up my neck. “It’s part of the job,” I muttered, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the opulence in a way that I hadn’t had in a long time.
Mike led us into the lobby, providing a brief history of the hotel. I tried to focus on his words, but my mind kept drifting to Ocean, to the airport restroom, to the way my carefully constructed world seemed to be tilting on its axis.
“Your suite is ready, Mr. Sullivan,” Mike said, breaking into my thoughts. “Shall I show you up?”