Chapter 8
CONNER
The Betty Anne is remarkable. Solid, polished wood and what had once been considered rich fabric, now faded with time, though in remarkable condition. There are a ton of windows, letting in daylight everywhere.
The fact that these things float is astonishing to me.
I know—the physics of buoyancy and all that.
I feel the same about planes. A giant hunk of metal, that isn’t nearly as optimally designed for flight like a bird is, can travel for hours in the sky with all the accommodations of an apartment. For a price, of course.
I understand physics enough to not understand a thing.
I’m always in awe of those who have a science-y brain.
In a way, I can say I have a mathematical brain when I angle a puck toward the goal.
But I don’t do calculations. It’s muscle memory.
If I adjust my stick this much, it’ll send the puck in that direction.
We gather on the deck while the boat cruises slowly around Alexandria Bay as the sun paints the sky with beautiful oranges and reds. I’m not sure where to look, with the islands beginning to become covered in shadows or the beautiful watercolor sky.
“What d’ya think, Conner?” Zephyr asks. His smile is big and bright.
I nod. “I’m impressed that the wood hasn’t rotted more than a hundred years later.”
“We take care of our stuff,” Paisley says, winking at me.
“It’s cool to see how people lived in those days, right?” Moll asks. “The conveniences that were modern and the peak of technology and luxury.”
“I can’t imagine,” I agree.
“I think it’s ironic that only the wealthy owned a vacation houseboat, and now only the wealthy own the same vintage luxury houseboat. It’s one of those things that only gained value,” Paul says. “Which I suppose can be said about most things, right? Hundred-year-old houses. Cars. Toys.”
I lose track of the conversation for a while as I watch the world around us take on a darker skin. Its beauty is vibrant, even in the dark. There are mysteries peeking at us from the shadows.
When I turn back, I examine all the faces.
Four Van Dorens, a Deth, a Seagrave, and a Hildreth.
Admittedly, I’m only familiar with the Van Dorens in more than a passing way.
Part of which is because I went to school with Arek, and my curiosity got the better of me, so I maybe did a little more research on his family than I would have otherwise.
I’ve never heard of Zephyr’s family, though they clearly have some wealth if the family is a member of the boat club, right?
Or is it just Zephyr? If he’s Jude’s best friend, I have to think that they must be similar in age, so…
young twenties. It’s not impossible to become wealthy at twenty-three, but it is unlikely.
Seagrave is more familiar. I think they’re a shipping company. But like Van Doren Technology, Seagrave Enterprises is the legal umbrella company, not the name we know the companies that operate under it. I could probably name fifty VDT names. I couldn’t name a single Seagrave.
Hildreth is a partial owner of five major online retailers. Wait. Maybe that’s Hildebrandt.
“Who are the Hildreths?” I ask. Conversation quiets as everyone looks at me. Oh, right. I asked that out loud. “Sorry. That was rude.”
Moll, the current Hildreth in our company, laughs. “Nah. It’s cool. I just need a context in which you’re asking to give you an answer.”
“Right. Van Doren Technologies owns the world. Seagraves control oceanic shipping. Who are the Hildreths?”
“Vincents dominate hockey,” Jude says.
“Two pro hockey players in your family doesn’t constitute domination,” one of the guys, whose name I can’t remember, says.
“That’s still one more than yours.” Jude smirks.
“I didn’t want to play hockey,” he argues.
Context tells me that the man Jude is ribbing must also have a hockey relative. Parent, possibly. I study his face, trying to find the connection.
“Didn’t want to or couldn’t hack it?” Jude teases.
The man glares. “If I had something to throw at you, I would.”
Jude grins, his hand landing on my leg.
“Anyway,” Moll says, putting their bickering to a stop. “Hildreths are shipping as well, though we have air fleets. We’ve made our name in air travel technical advances and are boasting no air disasters in over thirty years.”
“Wow, that’s pretty cool.”
She gives me a proud smile. “Yep.”
“What do you do there?” Zephyr asks. “Or are you just successful in name association like your useless brother?”
Moll snorts. “Actually, I’m working on my aerospace degree, and before anyone argues that it’s not actually a degree, I know. But that’s the field I’m aiming for. I’d love to see how we can bring our technology to space.” She looks at Paisley. “I’d love to beat Van Doren in the space race.”
“It’s adorable you think we’re putting much effort into getting to space,” Paisley says, brushing a strand of Moll’s hair behind her ear like an indulgent lover.
“Aren’t you?” Moll asks, tilting her head.
Both of their gazes turn toward Axl. He’s lounging in a chair, listening and watching. Much the same as I am, except there’s an air about him that I don’t have. I suppose that comes from being born into a family that rules the entire world.
“No,” he answers, shrugging. “VDT has fingers in different space companies in preparation for our interest to turn in that direction, but so far, it has not, and as far as I know, it’s not on the horizon.”
“Too busy getting ready to dominate the American political climate,” Zephyr says, smirking.
Axl shrugs. “I’m not sure it’s going to happen.”
“Oh, please. Someone with zero political background or education making it to the presidency has happened before. Your father is far more qualified than that tyrant was,” Moll says.
“He’s gay,” Axl says. “Well, he’s in a gay relationship. There’s still too much hate in the world, never mind our own backyards, for that to happen.”
“I think you’re underestimating the appeal that your family holds,” Paul says. “Having a Van Doren in office would be good for the country. For so, so many reasons.”
Axl shrugs again. “Meh. I don’t think Dad’s seriously considering it. Uncle Myro, though.” Axl shrugs.
Paisley grins. “Sure. Push the only straight-presenting relationship in two generations into politics. I see what you’re doing.”
“Oh, come on. Your mother as First Lady?”
“Who are you kidding? We both know that regardless of which of my parents ran for president and won the role, Mom would be the one ruling,” Paisley says.
“She’d have this country whipped into shape within a year,” Axl agrees. “Let’s convince them to run.”
“I think Zeph’s dad should run. Having a president covered in tats with a diagnosed psychopathy disorder, three lovers, and the last name pronounced death? Fuck, yeah,” Jude says.
Zephyr grins. “Oh my god, can you imagine?” He laughs. “Even if Dadaz ran and won, like Myro, it’d be Dadis who ran the country.”
“You have four parents?” I ask.
Zephyr turns to me with a beaming smile. “Fuck yeah, I do. Three dads and a mom. I have two brothers, too—Lanzo and Erez. I think Mom had one biologically from each of my dads. Pretty sure I share biology with Dadwa.”
“They take the first two letters of their father’s name and add it to dad to identify them,” Jude supplies. “Dadaz is Azlan. Dadis is Isidro. Dadwa is Wade.”
“Ah, that’s clever.”
“Mom thought of it,” Zephyr says.
“So… who are the Deths?”
“Minions of the Van Dorens,” Zephyr says, winking. Jude rolls his eyes, making Zephyr laugh. The kind of laugh that comes from the belly and has everyone else smiling too.
“Azlan works for our family,” Paisley says. “None of his other parents do.”
“Lan and Erez do too,” Zephyr says.
“What do you do?”
“Enjoy my parents’ wealth.” He grins.
“Ah, rich boy syndrome.”
My comment earns me laughter. I’m glad that no one takes offense.
“Don’t let Zeph lie to you,” Paisley says. “He works for me. He’s a PI with Van Doren.”
“Sometimes,” Zephyr amends. “I work less than my brothers but I suppose more than Darwin.”
“Oh?” I ask.
“Darwin truly suffers from rich boy syndrome,” Jude says, nodding in the direction of the man who said he didn’t want to follow in a hockey player relative’s steps. “The son of a legend. Both parents came from money before hockey.”
“I’m trying to connect the dots, but I haven’t memorized my idols’ offspring,” I say. “Who is your father?”
Darwin laughs. “Azure Dayne.”
“No way. How did I miss it?”
“He has Azure’s icy eyes,” Zephyr says, gripping Darwin’s chin and wiggling his face like one would do a small child. Darwin shoves him away.
“Azure came from old money before he made his hockey career. Enoch has multi-award-winning parents—one in Hollywood, one as a rockstar. Neither touches their inherited money much for various reasons, but yeah, I’m a leech on my parents’ money,” Darwin says, shrugging.
I can’t believe I didn’t see the resemblance. Darwin is the spitting image of Azure Dayne with less hockey bulk. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see it.
We stop at the docks in Alexandria Bay to eat at a local steakhouse before heading back to the boat. The boat continues to cruise around with Paul’s brother at the helm, along with some others I didn’t see get on the boat.
Even with the sun down, it’s warm out. Not hot, and the mugginess has dropped considerably, so it’s comfortable. There are other boats cruising around in the dark, weaving through the islands along the St. Lawrence River.
Jude and I are among the last to turn in. His hands tangle in my shirt at my chest as soon as the bedroom door is shut. He hauls me to him, his mouth landing on mine roughly. His mouth is harsh, biting my lips and tongue.
“Get me naked and fuck me,” he demands. “Make the entire boat hear what you’re doing to me.”
Chills race over my skin. My cheeks flush.
Even with my internal reluctance over our activities being overheard, my hands move all on their own without hesitation.
I pull his clothes from his body, not being gentle or mindful of seams. Mine follows, and then I have him shoved onto the bed, on his hands and knees, ass presented to me.
That’s where I stop. This was an impromptu trip. No toothbrush. No change of clothes. No condoms and lube.
“Drawer,” Jude says, nodding toward the desk built into the wall.
I yank it open and find half the drawer has condoms neatly lined up, and the other side has a variety of lubes lined up. “Huh.”
“Take your pick,” Jude says.
“Weird thing to stock in a desk drawer on a houseboat,” I say as I choose a random condom and the first tube my fingers touch.
“You’re surrounded by young, horny guys. Many straight men have a gay night in a boat club,” Jude says.
I find I’m laughing as I roll the condom on my dick before focusing on stretching his hole. I’ve never done this in the daylight. Hell, I think I’ve only done this a handful of times. Usually, always, my partners are in the dark, anonymous, and most of the time, prepped before I step into the room.
I’m not entirely sure exactly what I’m doing, but I employ common sense. Need lube. Check. Need to stretch. Check. Curl fingers to tease. Check.
“Hurry up,” Jude commands. “I hate foreplay unless you’re sucking my dick.”
“Greedy fuck,” I mutter as I wipe my fingers on my dick to get the excess lube somewhere useful. Then I grip his hips, line mine up, and awkwardly, so I don’t have to get my hands all slimy again, I work my way into his body.
Jude hangs his head, his groan low and vibrating through me. So good. So sexy.
I sink in to my balls and close my eyes as I feel his muscles tense and relax without rhythm against my cock. So good. The same two words keep flashing in my head. So good. So good.
My body leans away, though I keep my hands gripping his hips tightly. I slide out about halfway before pushing myself back inside. I could live like this.
“Make them hear what you’re doing to me,” Jude says.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his back between his shoulders, my hands running down the length of his arms. I wrap one of my hands around his wrist. The other, I press against the frame between the windows to brace myself.
Then I’m fucking him until he’s moaning and grunting so loudly that I think even the stars hear us.