Chapter 14 – King
Chapter
Fourteen
KING
Iwake up with a raging hard-on, and as usual, my thoughts immediately turn to Mason James.
What I wouldn’t give to have those sinful lips wrapped around my shaft.
I wrap my own hand around it instead, picturing his dark eyes when I tug hard.
He was in good shape when he was younger, though much skinnier than he is now.
But I’ve already gleaned enough about his routine to know that he works out six days a week, and I can only imagine how good he looks beneath those tailor-made suits of his.
I can practically feel the taut muscles of his ass and how good it would feel to dig my fingers into them. To sink my cock into him.
“Fuck!” Precum weeps from my slit, and my balls draw up. I picture him the whole time. Imagine him on his knees for me, or with my tongue in his mouth, or have him bent over that damn desk he uses like a shield.
Light splinters my vision as hot jets of cum streak over my hand.
I sink my head back into the pillow and blow out a breath.
If only I had the balls to say something last night when we were drinking coffee and pretending we weren’t thinking about getting the other one naked.
He might have told me to go fuck myself.
Or he might have ended up right here in my bed, with my cum inside him. That surely would have been worth the risk of rejection.
I’m not blind—I know he wants me. And he no doubt knows I want him every bit as much. But I suspect it’s a line he’s unwilling to cross without some significant pushing. I’m just not sure I have the right to push after what I did.
I roll out of bed and head to the shower. Amanda is taking a rare Saturday off, and I’m determined to get Grampa out of the house today for some sunshine. I’m equally determined to put thoughts of Mason out of my head for as long as possible.
“I don’t know why I need fresh air,” Grampa croaks, then immediately starts coughing.
I stop pushing his chair and gently attach his oxygen mask, giving him a pointed look.
“Really? I’ll give you three guesses.” His eyes tell me to go to hell, but he doesn’t have the breath or the energy to tell me with his words.
“Seriously Grampa, being cooped up in that apartment all day isn’t good for you.
Now quit whining and let’s have a little fun, you old goat. ”
Ignoring his protests, I go back to pushing his wheelchair along the sidewalk. “Where are we going?” he huffs, arms folded across his chest.
“For ice cream.”
He makes a lip-smacking sound. “Can I get rum and raisin?”
“Yeah.”
“And whipped cream?”
“Yup.”
“And sprinkles?”
“Of course, Grampa.” Personally, I think rum raisin ice cream with sprinkles sounds revolting, but he can have whatever makes him happy.
Grampa grins at me, and I dab a smudge of rum raisin from his chin with a napkin. “Did you enjoy your ice cream?”
He purses his lips like he’s giving his response a lot of thought.
His mask hangs on the armrest beside him.
Today is one of his better days. He’s survived much longer than the doctors predicted, and we’ve settled into a routine together.
And today is definitely a good day. The sun is shining.
We got to eat some delicious ice cream. It’s the smallest things that make the biggest difference. “I’ve had better,” he finally declares.
I arch one eyebrow. “Oh you have?”
He nods. “It was 1972 at a movie theater in Kentucky. Best rum and raisin ever.” His green eyes twinkle, and I drop a brief kiss on the top of his head that makes him cackle.
And when I straighten up again, bam! I’m looking right into the dark-brown eyes of Mason James, who’s staring at me like I have an extra head.
Self-conscious, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
If there was any leftover mint chocolate chip on my face, then he has nothing else to gawk at me for.
But he goes on staring anyway. And it seems like it takes forever for one of us to speak.
“You need something? A picture maybe?” I snap before he does. But I feel vulnerable here with Grampa, and I hate that, especially around Mason.
“I-I,” he stammers for a second before his cool facade slips back into place. “Just didn’t expect to see you at an ice cream shop is all.”
“I could say the same about you. Especially here in Marble Hill. Little out of your comfort zone, isn’t it?”
His jaw tics. Grampa is craning his neck and trying to get a look at who I’m talking to. “Introduce me to your friend, son,” he demands.
With a sigh, I spin him around until he too comes face-to-face with Mason James. All six foot two of toned muscle and charm wrapped up in obscenely well-fitted jeans and a casual shirt, which look as good as his suits. “Grampa, this is Mason. Mason, meet my grandfather.”
Grampa extends his hand. “Arthur Blackthorn. Nice to meet you, son.”
Recognition dawns on Mason’s face at Grampa’s last name, but he quickly plasters on a smile and shakes his hand. “It’s great to meet you too, sir.”
Grampa glances between the two of us. He likes being addressed with respect, and I know Mason has already won him over. “How do you boys know each other?”
“King works for me,” Mason replies before I get a chance to.
“Oh, so he’s your boss?” Grampa asks, eyes on me now.
He’s an asshole is what he is. I grind my teeth. “Not exactly.”
Mason cups his hand at the side of his mouth and makes like he’s whispering to my grandfather. “I pay him to work for me, but he gets a little touchy about people calling me his boss, Mr. Blackthorn.”
“That’s because I’m my own fucking boss,” I snap.
Mason winks at Grampa. “See. Touchy.”
Grampa laughs out loud. “I was exactly the same at his age. And please, son, call me Arthur.”
Mason smiles at him. It’s his genuine smile, the one that makes my cock twitch in a way it definitely wasn’t a few seconds ago. It also reminds me of the guy I lost.
“What the hell are you doing this far from Manhattan, Mason? Don’t you burst into flames once you cross the district line in daylight or something?”
He tilts his head, and the way his brown eyes rake over me does nothing to ease the situation going on in my jeans. I thank fuck for Grampa’s wheelchair right in front of me. “Marble Hill is part of Manhattan, Hotshot. And I’m here to meet Maddox. He works in the vegan café around the corner.”
“Is Maddox a friend of yours?” my grandfather asks. “Or is he someone special?”
Fuck, Grampa. Why not just outright ask him if he’s gay?
Mason’s smile widens. “He’s someone very special, Arthur. He’s my kid brother.”
“I had a brother once,” Grampa says sadly. “Died when he was only a few years old.”
Mason’s expression softens, and he crouches down, bringing his face level with my grandfather’s, and rests a hand on his knee.
“I’m really sorry to hear that, Arthur. We almost lost Mad once.
” There’s a crack in his voice that I haven’t heard for a very long time.
I had no idea about that. “Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful to still have him. ”
Grampa nods, a tear rolling down his cheek.
“He’ll be wondering where I am if I’m late, so I have to run, but it was great to meet you, Arthur.”
“You too, son.”
Mason stands tall, his eyes a little softer when they meet mine again. “Good to see you, King.”
He walks away, and I watch the overtly admiring glances of the people he passes. Men and women. He has the kind of energy that people are drawn to. Whether it’s charisma, pheromones, or something else, Mason James has it by the truckload. That’s why I keep watching him.
“He’s gay, right?” Grampa asks matter-of-factly.
“Why does that matter?”
“Doesn’t.” He shrugs. “I just consider myself to have a well-tuned gaydar. I knew about my buddy Leonard’s son before he did.”
I roll my eyes. “How do you even know what a gaydar is, old man?”
He huffs a laugh. “I’m a man of the world, young pup.” He coughs, and I replace his mask again before we head for home.
After a few minutes, he pulls it aside and says, “So, am I right?”
My mind is still on Mason and work, and Mason at work, and how each time I see him, it takes all of my willpower not to touch him. “Right about what, Grampa?”
“About your boss being gay.”
“He’s not my boss,” I remind him.
He waves a hand dismissively. “But I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah, Grampa, you were right.”
He grins with triumph and beckons me closer.
I crouch down, resting my hands on his knees.
His green eyes are always so full of life even when his is fading.
I wish there was more I could do for him.
He rests his hands over mine, gnarled fingers gripping mine as tightly as his frail health allows.
“From the day you were born, you have been the light of my life.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, and I don’t want to cry in the street, especially with Mason in the near vicinity. “You getting sentimental on me, old man?”
He squeezes a little harder, with all the strength of a small child. “You are a special boy, King. Never let anyone tell you differently. Never let anyone stop you from being who you are. You understand me?”
Do I understand? Is Grampa …? Does he know about me?
“Never pretend to be less than who you are to please anyone, my boy, especially not your parents. And never let them stop you from finding love.”
I press my forehead to his knuckles. Of course he knows. “How long have you known, Grampa?”
“Probably longer than you have.” He cackles, and it’s the perfect way to both preserve and break this tender moment. I’m not prone to displays of emotion in the middle of a crowded city street.
I look up at him and grin. “You think, huh?”
He taps his temple and winks. “Like I said, finely tuned.”
“You’re a lovable old goat, you know that?” I stand and drop a quick kiss on his forehead.
“Must be where you get all your charm from.”
If I have any charm, then I’m in full agreement with him.
The idea of my grandfather having a well-tuned gaydar makes me smile in spite of the lingering awkwardness from my encounter with Mason.
That he saw Grampa and me together isn’t ideal.
I don’t ordinarily share my personal life with my colleagues, and for good reason.
But somehow Mason meeting Grampa feels like it was meant to be. Like it was long overdue.