Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Graeme felt transformed. He slept soundly through the night in Art’s arms, and as the first rays of dawn began to lighten the room, he floated out of one dream and into another one.
Art’s naked body was warm against his. The scent of their lovemaking from the night before was still on the sheets.
His body ached slightly and was sore in places that made his face heat. But it was wonderful.
He drew in a breath, filling his nose with Art’s unique, musky scent as he did, and twisted so he could lay on his side, still touching Art, but now able to study him as he slept.
Transformation wasn’t a descriptive enough word for what he felt, not really.
He felt like a plant that had struggled to put down roots, to stick its head up above the dirt, and to reach for the sky.
But now he’d burst into bloom. Now he was closer to being the man he’d been born to be.
With a smile stretching lazily across his face, he brushed his fingertips over Art’s collarbone and over his shoulder.
Art was such a touchy-feely guy, but Graeme was beginning to think it was contagious.
He wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of his skin, feel every breath and shudder as Art reacted to him.
It hadn’t been like that at all with Damien.
A deep part of him thought his first male lover should have been the one to make him feel transformed.
Damien had certainly opened his eyes, but that had been more about impulse and surprise lust, not affection and completion.
But maybe Graeme had needed someone to break the wall of convention that he’d been raised behind so that Art could come along and shatter it completely and drag him out into the world and the person he was supposed to be.
Art and Ryan. Ryan was there in his heart as much as Art. Graeme didn’t understand it, he just knew that the three of them were better together.
“Are you going to stare at me all morning or are you going to do something about it?” Art asked in a gravelly morning voice.
Graeme yanked his hand away. “I didn’t know you were awake,” he said, heart racing for several reasons.
Art grinned devilishly before opening one eye. “So you were just going to perv on me sleeping, then?”
“No! No, that’s not it at all,” Graeme defended himself, even though he was pretty sure Art was teasing him.
Art chuckled, then moved with surprising speed and wakefulness to roll Graeme to his back and pin him under him. “Good morning, lover,” he said in a deep purr.
He moved like he would kiss Graeme, but Graeme twisted his head to the side. “I’m sure my breath is terrible,” he said.
“I’m sure mine is, too,” Art said, his smile broadening and his expression more alert by the second. “I guess we’ll just have to think of something else to do to greet the morning instead.”
“I’m not sure how much time—”
That was as far as Graeme got before Art disappeared under the covers. Graeme felt him slide down his torso and spread his legs open wide using his own knees. He lifted his arms like he should be doing something to either help or stop whatever Art was doing.
A moment later, Art’s hand cupped and gently squeezed his balls while his other hand stroked his semi-hard dick. All Graeme had time to do was gasp before Art’s mouth was around the head of his cock, licking and sucking.
“Art,” Graeme managed to gasp, moving his arms so he could grip the headboard behind him.
Graeme could count the number of times he’d been given a blow job on one hand and have fingers left over. It wasn’t something good girls did in the community he’d grown up in, and Damien had claimed he didn’t like giving head, just receiving it.
Art, on the other hand, clearly loved what he was doing.
He groaned as he used his tongue to slather the whole flared head of Graeme’s cock with spit, then made the most erotic sounds Graeme had ever heard as he bore down, taking Graeme in deep.
The warm, wet sensation of sucking and tightness as Art swallowed were unbelievably good, and the fact that Graeme couldn’t see Art under the covers, only feel what he was doing, was even better.
He was a moaning wreck on the verge of orgasm in no time. He gripped the headboard with white knuckles, half of him feeling like he should hold out as long as possible out of respect for Art and half of him wanting to shoot the biggest load the world had ever seen down his throat.
In the end, Art didn’t give him much choice. The man knew what he was doing and knew how to play Graeme’s body like a fine instrument. He picked up the pace of his plunging, and with a gasp and a cry, Graeme shouted, “I’m coming!” far louder than he should have.
It was amazing, like white lightning coursing through his groin and his entire body.
He bucked his hips, thrusting deeper into Art’s mouth because he couldn’t help himself.
Pleasure was quickly followed by satisfaction, and by the time Art emerged from under the covers with a wicked grin and a dribble of white at the corner of his mouth, Graeme couldn’t remember his own name, let alone whether he was supposed to feel guilty for the sin of whatever.
“I wish my phone was in reach, because I would absolutely take a picture of you looking like this right now,” Art said, kneeling up, his cock standing up hard and proud, gazing down at Graeme’s flushed body. His cock had deflated a bit, but it lay against Graeme’s hip, shining and noticeable.
Art drank in the sight for a moment before spreading himself over Graeme and slamming his mouth into Graeme’s. The shock of such a powerful kiss had Graeme’s eyebrows shooting up, and the musky taste of the kiss should have been gross and shameful, but somehow turned him on all over again.
They sank down to their sides and continued kissing.
Art deftly reached for Graeme’s hand and moved it to his still solid erection.
With just a little prompting, Graeme gladly stroked his lover until his breathing hitched and he started to come all over his hand with a satisfied growl.
It was all so simple and basic, but so good at the same time.
“Now that’s how you greet a new day,” Art said a few minutes later, once he’d caught his breath. “It’s only a shame Ryan wasn’t here to watch or to join in.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Graeme said sheepishly. “Is that wrong?”
“What? No,” Art laughed, sliding his hands all over Graeme’s body. “We’re a triad, remember? That means we’re all fair game to each other in all the combinations. And let’s face it, I know you liked watching Ryan rearranging my insides last month.”
Graeme went hot all over again. “I couldn’t look away,” he confessed. “It was hot.”
“Want to watch us when we’re all naked and horizontal?” Art asked, eyes sparkling.
Graeme laughed. “Yes,” he admitted. “God forgive me, but yes. I want to watch the two of you having sex, and I want you to watch me in whatever combination we end up in.”
“And participate,” Art said. “Don’t forget about that.”
“How could I?” Graeme asked with a grin, then leaned in to kiss Art.
The kiss lasted longer than he expected, and it might have gone on or led to another round of wickedness, but the alarm he’d set on his phone the night before went off, throwing cold water on everything.
“We’ve got to get up,” he said, gasping and sitting up immediately. “Ryan needs us.”
Art laughed. “Normally, I would coax you back into bed and sit on your cock, but you’re right, Ryan needs us.”
Graeme smiled as he got out of bed and raced for the bathroom. Art must have been focused and cared about Ryan if he was forgoing more sex to help him.
When he’d set the alarm the night before, Graeme had given them plenty of time to wash, dress, and grab some breakfast before they absolutely needed to be on the road.
Even with that planning, it took them longer to shower than it should have, mostly because Art insisted on getting in with Graeme and messing about when they should have just washed and run.
A whole other complication hit them when they headed downstairs, bags already packed and stashed in the car before they headed into Penwith Grange’s dining room for their complimentary breakfast. Graeme and Art weren’t the only guests at the hotel.
In fact, the dining room was at least half full when they entered to grab a few things they could take with them to eat on the road.
And among the guests were Graeme’s parents.
At first, Graeme thought he was seeing things. His parents lived closer to London, not in Cornwall. It was a Thursday morning in early September, nobody’s birthday or anniversary or anything. But there they were, chatting stiffly to each other by one of the windows.
“Hurry,” Graeme whispered to Art as they joined a small queue near the buffet. “We have to get out of here.”
“Hmm?” Art glanced back at him with a smile that was still warm and sated from earlier.
It was too late. Graeme’s parents’ table wasn’t far enough away for them to go unnoticed. The sudden clatter of a fork falling against a plate told him he’d been seen.
“Graeme?” his mother’s voice cut through the low buzz of morning conversations.
Graeme winced, his shoulders dropping but his heart pounding.
Art looked around more intently, but he didn’t have to search for the disturbance for long. Graeme’s father stood from the table as soon as he saw Graeme standing there. There was nothing to do but face the uncomfortable situation and to try to stop it from spinning out of control.
“Hi, Mum, Dad,” he said nervously, stepping out of line and going over to their table.
A horrible, cowardly part of Graeme hoped Art wouldn’t follow him.
That part was quickly overshadowed by the part of him who wanted Art by his side desperately.
Fortunately for him, Art was doggedly protective and strode over to stand firmly by Graeme’s side, preemptively confrontational for his sake.