19. Disney World for Horny Adults
DISNEY WORLD FOR HORNY ADULTS
WEDNESDAY
Mark
I wake up reluctantly. When I become aware that it’s awfully bright in this room, I bury my face in a soft, unfamiliar feather pillow. Somewhere nearby, my phone vibrates. I ignore it. The cotton against my skin is too soft. And the ocean breeze against my naked body is too soothing.
As I drift here in partial wakefulness on the comfortable mattress, I slowly realize a few crucial things that ought to be alarming.
This is not my bed.
I’m not wearing underwear.
My body feels heavy with sexual satisfaction.
My eyes fly open. And the first thing I see is the muscular back of an ex-professional soccer player, and miles of his golden skin.
I let my gaze travel lower to a tan line that begs me to run a finger across it. And below that, the most impressive bare ass that I've ever had the pleasure of sharing a bed with.
Okay, yup. Last night happened. And it’s all a little hard to take in.
I blew Asher St. James. And he liked it.
Then? He made me see stars.
But do I panic? No way. I’m not a guy who panics. I’m the man who doubles down when the ten-year note breaks out of its trading range. I’m the dad who calmly bandages the cut on his daughter’s finger while her mother freaks out in the other room.
This is no cause to freak out. I'm living my best life right now. Yup, that's a cliché. But now, I know why the saying exists. For moments like this.
I roll over, fully awake. And so is my cock, now that I'm ogling Asher. I slip a hand down my bare stomach, the same one Asher traced with his tongue. And I wrap my hand around...
My phone vibrates again.
Ugh . That call could be important. We have a million errands scheduled this morning.
I slide my loose body off the bed, grab my glasses and put them on, then hunt down my phone in the pocket of my discarded khakis.
Hannah’s calling, so I swipe to answer. “Morning.” My voice is rough with disuse.
“Mark! How's Miami?” she trills.
If she only knew. “It's great,” I manage as Asher rolls over with a groan.
And, wow, that view. His famous hair is messy from me running my hands through it. And that toned, biteable body is spread out on the sheets.
I step into the living room, so I can’t get too distracted. And so that Hannah won't hear whatever it is that Asher says when he wakes from a night of impulsive sex.
“Miami is great,” I repeat. “It's like Disney World for grown-ups.” Horny grownups .
“That’s great, Mark. You deserve a vacation.”
“I do,” I agree. I deserve this moment of reckless fun and mayhem. I have two more kid- and job-free days in the sultry sun. And I’m going to live it up.
I glance out of the guest house window. A young man stands maybe twenty feet away, a pool skimmer in his hand. His T-shirt says Bobby’s Pool and Spa .
And he’s staring at my naked body with a funny little smile on his face.
Oops.
I walk quickly into my bedroom and shut the door. “What’s up, Hannah Banana? Everything okay with you? Any cold feet?”
“No way.” She laughs. “But feel free to send me some more drunk texts about my life choices. That was very entertaining.”
I scrub my face with my hand, but I’m smiling at the same time. “I’m trying to cut back. Does Flip still think I hate him?”
Her hesitation is revealing. “Hate is a strong word. Wary is more like it.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. He comes from a different world, you know? But that’s not his fault. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing. I let it bother me when I shouldn’t have.”
“It’ll be all right,” she insists. “We’ll laugh about it one day. How are things with Flip’s superhot wingman?”
“Fine,” I say briskly, offering no further details. But my neck is probably turning red.
“Good.”
And it’s good, too, that my baby sister can’t see me right now. Eventually—some night in the distant future—I might confess last night’s fling to Hannah. But we’re definitely not talking about it now. First of all, because she’d ask a lot of questions that I can’t answer. Like—will it happen again?
I hope so. After all, we’re sharing this tiny house for a couple more nights. That seems like the obvious timeframe.
But also, it’s a distraction. Hannah sent me to Miami to make her wedding special. And I don’t need her worrying that I’m too punch drunk to fulfill my duties.
“Hey, Mark? Thanks for checking in with the florist yesterday.”
“No problem. They’re going to do a good job. Today I’ll check on the caterer. I want to look every vendor in the eye before Saturday, so they know I’m paying attention.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate this. Today I’ll be busy staring at my phone, hoping the dressmaker finishes her alterations in time for me to make our flight tomorrow.”
“I’m sure she will,” I say soothingly. I find a fresh pair of underwear and step into them. And I follow those with a pair of shorts. “I’d better run. I’ve got things to do.”
Like Asher St. James . If I’m lucky .
“Go, go!” she says. “Taste those appetizers! And do me a favor? Hide all the casserole dishes in the kitchen of that house.”
“You got it. I won’t let you down.”
She signs off after a little more chatter about the dress.
I tiptoe into the living room, but the pool boy is gone, and Asher is brushing his teeth. So I head into the kitchen to start the coffee, but Asher has already done it.
And that’s where the panic finds me—as I stand in front of the coffee maker, mug in hand, waiting for the pot to fill. I breathe in the hopeful scent of coffee, wondering what the hell Asher will say when he comes into the kitchen.
Hey, Banks. That was a fun time. Thanks for the BJ. Nice knowing you, but I’m going back to hooking up with the rich and famous now .
Okay, he’s too suave to actually say that. But if he doesn’t want a repeat, he’ll probably be distant. Cool, even. He might suggest dividing and conquering today’s activities, just to make his point clear.
It could be so awkward.
This right here is exactly why I never let on that I’m attracted to him in particular.
And I’m still trapped in this tiny house with him for at least three more days. Just him, me, and the memory of my mouth on his cock, and the sounds he makes when he comes.
I’m still staring at the coffee maker when he pads into the kitchen. I don’t turn around, though. I need to put on my game face first.
But he doesn’t give me a chance. He comes up behind me, presses his bare chest to my bare back, and kisses the nape of my neck softly.
Fuuuuuuck that’s nice.
“Good morning,” he says huskily.
“Isn’t it?” I reply.
“I’d hate to interrupt the mind meld you’re having with the coffee pot, Banks. But I thought we should plan our day. The caterer is this morning, no?”
Setting the mug down, I turn around. And there he is, at point-blank range, all floofy hair and tanned smirk and sleepy hazel eyes. My heart spasms, like I won some kind of hookup lottery last night. “You do want coffee, St. James? I didn’t suck off some kind of monster, right?”
He barks out a laugh. “Of course I want coffee. I made it, didn’t I? And guess what—your poker face is good, but everyone has a tell.”
I successfully fight off a smile. “No way. I have no tells.”
“Yeah, you do,” he says in a low, guttural voice. “It’s right here.” He lifts a hand to my throat, which is strangely sexy. Then he strokes a thumb across my Adam’s apple. “This jumps when you’re turned on.”
He drops his hand and leans down to kiss my throat instead.
Check, please . I just want to shove him back into the bedroom and have my filthy way with him.
Instead, the coffee pot dings, and Asher straightens up.
“Outta the way, Banks. We have to drink coffee and sample crab cakes.” He moves me to the side and picks up my mug to fill it.
“There’s no time for whatever is running through your mind right now.
We have a wedding to throw. It has to be perfect for Hannah! Not one detail out of place.”
“Are you quoting me back to me?” I ask grumpily.
“Just telling you how it is.” He shoves the mug into my hand and reaches for a second one. “Get out your spreadsheet. Let’s see what’s left on it.”
About ninety-nine more wickedly dirty things.
Oh, wait. “Which one?” I mumble.
He pokes my belly. “What do you mean, which one? Is there more than one wedding spreadsheet?”
“No,” I say quickly.
His coffee mug stops on the way to his mouth. “Hang on. What’s the other spreadsheet?”
“Nothing.” I take a gulp.
Those hazel eyes narrow. “You use spreadsheets a lot, right? For any kind of list?”
I shrug indifferently. My poker face is tight.
Asher’s gaze drops to my throat, and I gulp. “Banks. You mentioned a list of things you’d like to do to me. Do you keep it on a spreadsheet ?” The corners of his mouth twitch.
“Spreadsheets are very convenient,” I mutter.
“Huh.” He struggles not to laugh. “Break it down for me. If you were going to keep a spreadsheet for sex, how would that work?”
I sigh. “The rows are for the action, and the columns are for body parts. If you’re going to laugh, just make it quick. We have a busy day planned.”
“I’m not laughing.” He takes a slow breath and masters himself. “You gotta do you, Banks.”
“That’s why the spreadsheet exists. Because me doing me was all I ever got.”
He bursts out laughing. “Okay. I see your point. And kudos to you for giving new meaning to the word spread sheet. Do I get to see this thing?”
“Only if you’re nice.”
“I’m very nice,” he says, ghosting a hand over my ass before withdrawing it quickly. “But we need some rules.”
“Rules. Okay. Tell me.” But what I really mean is stop talking and kiss me more .
“We get the work done first,” he says. “Because I don’t want to rush next time.
I want to play with your body. Show you things I can do to make you writhe and moan, harder and hotter than you did last night.
Want to spend some time doing,” He lowers his voice, leans into me, and whispers his plans into my ear. My head pops.
I actually moan into my coffee mug. “Not fair. That’s 9A, 9B and 9C.”