Chapter 14 #3
Even though he was not moving, Wayward stumbled a bit. “I . . . That was . . . My aunt shouldn’t have told you that.” He could not bring himself to look at Jamaal.
“Yes.” Jamaal nodded. “Very manipulative, et cetera, et cetera. But is it true?”
Wayward looked down, unable to speak.
Without warning, Jamaal reached out and pulled Wayward into his arms, embracing him. The two men held each other. Wayward
could not help but sneak a deep inhale of Jamaal’s natural scent, that warm, spicy musk that he had missed so much.
“I don’t understand why she’s involving you in our family mess,” Wayward sighed, unable to let go. “I’m sorry, J.”
Jamaal breathed Wayward in as well. “I have a confession, Wayward.”
Wayward pulled back just enough to tilt his head up. “A confession?”
“I didn’t come here for the reasons your aunt wanted me here. I came here today to take you away.”
Wayward leaned back, confused. “What do you mean?”
Jamaal’s hands were still clasped against the small of Wayward’s back protectively as his amber eyes stared into him. “Come
away me, Wayward. Right now. We can leave this all behind. Let me take you away.”
Wayward reached up to affectionately cradle Jamaal’s face with his hand. But when Jamaal leaned in to kiss him, Wayward used
this hand to hold him back. “You know, alone in my bed, I dream of you every night, J,” he said.
Jamaal nodded. “I dream of you too.” He chuckled. “I hate waking up nowadays.”
Wayward bit his lip. “What’s brought all this on? What’s with the shining armor?”
“Wayward, I love you because you’re brilliant and idealistic and visionary—but you have an Achilles’ heel.
It’s your family. You have sacrificed nearly every part of yourself for them.
And still, they will take and take from you until there’s nothing left.
Already you are about to compromise everything you believe in for them.
” Jamaal brought his forehead against Wayward’s.
“These people might be your blood, but that is not who you are.”
Finally held again by the man he loved, with alcohol coursing blissfully through his veins, Wayward allowed himself to bask
in this moment he’d craved for so long.
But . . . was it too late now?
Jamaal could feel Wayward’s hesitation. He released him. Now apart, the two men stared at each other.
“Jamaal,” Wayward replied softly, “my family will always be a part of me, and I will always be a part of my family. If you’re
asking me to choose between you and them, you might as well be asking me to cut off a limb.”
Jamaal sighed. “I don’t want to do that. But I have to. Look, you’re right. You should probably be with someone who understands
your background, who was raised in a family like yours, who shares your ambitions. But for whatever reason, we fell in love.
So please, Wayward, come with me.”
Wayward nodded sadly. “Being loved by you was the happiest I’ve ever been. But in my family, happiness is the one thing we
can’t afford.”
Jamaal grimaced, his eyes welling up in pain. “Goddammit, Wayward,” was all he could say. “Goddammit!”
Seeing Jamaal like this destroyed Wayward. He reached out, but Jamaal recoiled, tears streaming down his face. There was so
much Wayward wanted to say . . . but he was unable.
Without looking at Wayward, Jamaal left.
Alone again, Wayward struggled with whether to go after him.
Instead, he walked over to the bottle of champagne that Kat had left on the counter and chugged it all down.
Then he opened the refrigerator and found a nearly full bottle of rosé. He drank all that too, then slumped down onto the
marble floor.
As the alcohol infused his bloodstream, he felt that familiar tugging, that longing for a fix.
“My, my. Someone’s thirsty.”
Without looking up, Wayward already knew who it was. “Hello, Galahad,” he slurred.
Galahad Chu sat down next to him, legs crossed in a full lotus pose. “Everything all right, Wayward?”
Warily Wayward looked over at the holy man. “Something tells me you already know.”
The beautiful Galahad only smiled back, and Wayward was struck by the perfect symmetry of his pouty Cupid’s bow lips. How
could someone be this attractive? Wayward did not know whether he envied Galahad or wanted him.
“You look like trouble, Gal.”
Galahad leaned over to whisper in Wayward’s ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His warm breath made Wayward shiver. He
reached over and placed a hand on Wayward’s inner thigh, giving him an innocent smile. “Besides, I’m just looking for the
loo.”
“All the water in the house is shut off,” Wayward said, returning the smile. “There was a leak or something.”
“We don’t need water to get wet,” Galahad replied, tugging on Wayward’s tuxedo.
On the side of the Malibu compound, far away from the raucous revelers in the courtyard, April stood alone in the darkness
in her bloodred gown.
In front of her, with its many pipes running up the side of the mansion, was the main water valve.
April took a step toward it, and instantly staggered. She rubbed her head, wincing. Why did she feel so dizzy, so woozy? Was
it because of last night? The lack of sleep? Or maybe the agita of being in this fucking family was truly getting to her.
Determined nevertheless, she shook away her nausea and with both hands grabbed the old valve, a big metal wheel that controlled the entire water system within the Malibu compound.
Before that night, April had never known exactly how many faucets, spouts, and taps there were in her home, but as she had just gone around turning, switching, and twisting every single one on, she had lost count somewhere in the hundreds.
Grunting through her teeth, April pushed with all her might to reopen the water valve, wondering how it was jammed when it
had been shut off only that morning. As she struggled, her heels slipped in the wet grass behind her and she fell onto the
ground, instantly feeling the mud seep through her gown onto her knees.
But April didn’t even glance down at her soiled couture. Immediately she was back at the valve, her fists clenched around
the metal wheel.
“Fuck!” she gasped as she pushed with her entire body weight. But it would not budge. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
“Let me help you.”
April froze at the sound of Cristiano’s soft voice. Before she had time to react, he was at her side, his clenched hands next
to hers on the valve. When she looked over at him, his face was eerily emotionless as he stared straight ahead at the home
they had just lost.
Together, April and Cristiano pushed. Finally the valve wheel began to squeak, at last turning.
When they finally fully opened the valve, they were greeted by the sound of running water rushing back into the mansion’s
faulty pipes.
With a satisfied sigh but not a word to Cristiano, April turned and stumbled into the night. He stared after her for a moment,
then followed.
Wayward and Galahad were ravenously kissing in one of the compound’s many powder rooms when the faucet suddenly turned on, startling them both.
Wayward untangled his arms from Galahad’s voluminous robes, where he had been running his hands over the holy man’s impressive physique, and reached over to the sink to shut it off.
“That’s weird,” Wayward said. “I thought there was a plumbing issue.” He further wondered to himself why this faucet had been
left turned on, but then out of the corner of his eye, he became distracted.
Galahad had shorn his robes, and underneath them he was completely nude. His rich golden skin and brawny muscles shone at
Wayward, as if they had been recently oiled up for this very occasion. There was a small tuft of downy hair at the center
of his perfectly cut chest.
“Damn,” Wayward whistled. He shed his tuxedo jacket, pulling off his black silk tie, and began undoing the buttons on his
red shirt.
“Not yet.” Smiling like a smug kitten, Galahad reached out and pressed his palm against Wayward’s chest, squeezing and kneading
Wayward’s muscular pectoral with his fingers. Then, he brushed his thumb over Wayward’s left nipple.
Wayward let out an involuntary soft moan, before gulping it back down. But it was too late. Galahad’s propped fingers were
rubbing and flicking at Wayward’s quickly hardening nipple, which stood up through the shirt fabric like a volcano’s peak.
“This one is more sensitive, isn’t it?” Galahad murmured, his thick lips pursed. His wet tongue appeared at the corner of
his mouth, as though beckoning Wayward.
An involuntary twitch shook through Wayward, who could only nod back at Galahad. His left nipple was his button of absolute
pleasure, and Galahad was stimulating it into a tizzy.
“Isn’t it unfair,” Galahad continued, “how only some men have sensitive nipples? You have to be lucky enough to be born with them. For the men who don’t have them, they have no idea what they’re missing.”
With a sudden motion, Galahad yanked Wayward’s shirt out from underneath his belt, so that Wayward’s chest was fully exposed.
In the cool air, Wayward’s pink-tipped nipples fully swelled with blood, begging for more. Galahad smiled at him, completely
in control. He spit onto his fingertips, then brought them to Wayward’s chest, massaging it with the wetness. Wayward let
out a shuddering gasp, closing his eyes as they rolled up in euphoria.
Galahad nodded encouragingly. “But for those of us who do . . . we know how lucky we are. To have erotic lightning in our
chests.”
Now Wayward’s pants were beginning to tent and a wet spot was quickly forming at the peak of the protrusion—indeed, Wayward
could feel each droplet of precum as it beaded its way out of his body. He had never been more aroused in his life.
Unable to resist anymore, he grabbed Galahad by the waist and brought his face to his to kiss the boy . . . but Galahad instead
descended downward, bringing fat moist lips to Wayward’s left nipple.