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Down to Earth
ISBN # 978-1-78184-252-2
©Copyright Elizabeth Coldwell

2013

Cover Art by Posh Gosh

©Copyright February 2013

Edited by Stacey Birkel

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DOWN TO EARTH

Elizabeth Coldwell

When Ryan’s life comes crashing

down, can the hottest nurse he’s ever
met help put it back together again?

It started out the happiest day of

Ryan Johnson’s life. At breakfast,
his long-time boyfriend Craig
accepted his proposal that they
enter a civil partnership, and in the
afternoon he’s making a parachute
jump—a surprise organised by his
new fiancé. But when his chute fails
to open, experienced skydiver Ryan
finds himself in the hospital, in
traction and not going anywhere
for a while…and everything starts
to fall apart.

High-maintenance

Craig

doesn’t seem to want to be there for
him anymore, but down-to-earth
Luke—the hottest male nurse Ryan
has ever seen—is determined to
help him make a full recovery…and
maybe even win his heart in the
process…

Dedication

For Jude.

Trademarks

Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the

trademarked status and trademark
owners of the following wordmarks
mentioned in this work of fiction:

iPod: Apple Inc.
Porsche: Dr. Ing. h.c. F. Porsche

AG

Formula

One: Formula One

Licensing B.V.

Swarovski: Swarovski AG

Chapter One

The

ground

was

coming

towards him far too fast.

Remembering the words of his

instructor, drilled into him when
he’d first started taking skydiving
lessons, he did his best to relax. His
main parachute might have failed
—the problem caused by more than
a simple twist in the lines that
could quickly be untangled—but he
still had a reserve. He could see the
white expanse of Craig’s chute
fluttering below him, and tried to
judge his own altitude from that.
Less than a thousand feet, he

reckoned. It left him no time to cut
the main chute away. But that’s
why he had a back-up. The chances
of that failing, too, were so small as
to be negligible.

Pulling at the deployment

handle of the reserve chute with all
the strength he had, he counted
down the seconds, waiting for the
reassuring feeling as the furled
bundle of nylon cloth opened and
the wind tugged him upward.

It didn’t come.
Oh, fuck, this is bad…really bad.
Fighting against the panic that

threatened to overwhelm him, he
tugged at the handle a second time.

Still nothing. Despite the odds, the
second chute had turned out to be
as faulty as the first.

Below him, Craig’s parachute

was a white blanket spread across
the springy grass. It appeared he
had landed safely. For him, this had
been nothing but a routine jump.
Praying that once Craig had
gathered up his chute, he’d look up
and notice what was wrong, Ryan
closed his eyes, wanting his lover to
be the last thing on his mind.
Hitting the ground was going to
hurt more than anything he’d ever
known, and he needed a pleasant
memory to distract him from

thoughts of the pain to come.

Thinking of something pleasant

where Craig was involved wouldn’t
exactly be hard. Until then, today
had been pretty much the best day
of his life…

The smell of freshly brewed coffee

awoke him. What was happening? Why
hadn’t his alarm gone off? He couldn’t
be late for work again, not with Mel in
New York. Someone had to be around
to take delivery of the artwork for the
gallery’s latest exhibition, and he
couldn’t screw up, not when Mel had
been muttering darkly that, with the
economy the way it was, and the
gallery’s takings significantly down,

there might have to be job cuts…

“Hey, Ryan. Happy anniversary,

babe.” Craig’s voice cut into his
confused thoughts. Hauling himself up
into a sitting position, he watched his
boyfriend walk into the room, carrying
a tray that he set down on the bedside
table. “Thought I’d treat you to
breakfast in bed, seeing as it’s our
special day.”

This was a first. In the year they’d

been together, Craig had never been up
and functioning before Ryan—or, if he
had been, he’d be hogging the
bathroom, showering, applying his
anti-ageing moisturiser and eye cream

and tweaking his honey-streaked hair
into a style that gave the impression
he’d just tumbled out of bed.

Ryan’s immediate anxiety eased—

if today was their anniversary that
made it Sunday, which meant the
gallery was closed. No delivery till
tomorrow—no need to panic. Instead,
he could enjoy a leisurely breakfast
with Craig.

Alongside a cafetière—the source

of the appetising coffee aroma—the
tray

contained

that

morning’s

newspaper and a plate of Danish
pastries, bought from the bakery down
the road. Ryan couldn’t have expected

anything more ambitious from Craig,
given that the limit of the man’s
culinary skills was programming the
microwave, but the gesture was much
appreciated. He felt spoilt, wanted.

Craig stripped off his T-shirt and

jeans, making sure to put them on
hangers so they wouldn’t crease, then
climbed into bed beside Ryan.

“Has it really been a year?” Ryan

asked. Their first date, in a cocktail
lounge in the city centre, seemed only
moments ago. He’d been smitten with
the vivacious blond hair salon owner
from the instant they’d met, but he’d
never expected them to form a lasting

relationship. Craig was everything
Ryan wasn’t—a night owl, obsessed
with celebrity gossip and the latest
fashions—but they had clicked. They’d
had their rocky spells, but they were
still together twelve months later, and
Craig was obviously determined to
mark their anniversary with this
unexpected show of affection.

“Hasn’t the time flown?” Craig

grinned. “Speaking of which, I’ve got
something special planned for us later
on. We’re going skydiving.”

“You’ve arranged that? Wow,

thanks, Craig.”

Skydiving had become their shared

passion. Ryan had already been a
veteran of close to a dozen solo jumps
when he’d met Craig, and he’d never
believed

his

boyfriend—happiest

holding court in a darkened club with a
fresh mojito in his hand—would have
warmed to the concept of throwing
himself out of a moving plane. But
Craig, who had a passion for campy old
spy

films,

had

enthusiastically

embraced his inner James Bond, and
learnt to skydive—first in tandem with
an instructor, then on his own. Ryan
privately thought that freefalling
through the air was the only time his
lover really let himself go. Even when

they had sex, he never seemed so
daring,

so

unconcerned

about

everything. Not that Ryan had any
intention of sharing that impression
with Craig.

In gratitude, he gave Craig a soft

peck on the lips, half expecting him to
recoil at the stale taste of his breath.
Instead, he returned the kiss with
surprising enthusiasm, rolling over so
that he was on top of Ryan, pinning
him to the mattress. His tongue
flickered into Ryan’s mouth, and he
ground his crotch against Ryan’s
through the bedcovers.

“Hey, what about breakfast?”

Ryan asked when they finally broke the
kiss. The strength of Craig’s reaction
had made his cock, already sporting the
beginnings of a healthy morning
erection, stiffen further, and his groin
ached pleasurably.

“It can wait. Suddenly, I’m

hungry for something else.” Craig
reached down under the sheet, cupping
Ryan’s cock. Ryan always slept in the
nude, and his breath caught in his
throat at the feeling of Craig’s fingers
closing around his shaft. With slow,
steady movements, Craig wanked him
till he humped his arse against the
mattress, wanting to have his cock

buried in his lover’s mouth or, better
yet, his tight rear passage.

As if he’d read his mind, Craig

pushed aside the sheets, and slithered
down till his mouth was on a level with
Ryan’s cock. Looking up at Ryan with
clear adoration in his grey-blue eyes, he
grasped the thick shaft by its base,
pausing for a teasing moment before
forming his lips into a circle and
closing them around Ryan’s helmet.
Plunged into the wet furnace of Craig’s
mouth, Ryan could only moan in
wordless pleasure, lost in the sensation
of being so expertly sucked.

In his ideal world, every morning

would start like this, with his cock
lodged in Craig’s throat, and a finger
straying down, down between his balls
to find the hidden pucker of his arse,
stroking over its rim and promising to
push deep inside…

“You love that, don’t you?” Craig

stopped mouthing him long enough to
pose the question, his expression pure
wickedness.

Ryan could only grunt in reply.

Every fibre of his body seemed to
scream for Craig to go back to what
he’d been doing, to keep on licking and
caressing, bringing him to the point
where he could only arch his back and

shoot his spunk deep in his lover’s
throat. Craig got the message,
increasing the wet suction on Ryan’s
cockhead till all Ryan could do was let
out a tormented cry. “I’m coming!”

The warning gave Craig just

enough time to pull his mouth off
Ryan’s cock, using his fist instead to
coax out Ryan’s cum in long, rhythmic
squirts. The milky fluid puddled on
Ryan’s belly, and Craig reached for a
tissue to wipe it away. Maybe one day,
Ryan hoped, Craig would allow him to
come in his mouth, but not today.

They cuddled together, Ryan

reaching for Craig’s hard, neglected

cock so he could return the compliment.
In that moment, he felt closer to Craig
than ever, and was prompted to ask a
question that had hovered in his mind
for a while. “Craig, I’ve been thinking
about this, waiting for the right time to
ask you, and today feels like the right
time. Will you…will you be my
husband? I don’t have a ring or
anything, but—”

Craig said nothing at first, and

Ryan was sure the answer would be in
the negative. Then, at last, he said,
“Honey, I’d love to.” They kissed, long
and deep, then Craig continued, “Had
you thought of a venue, because I know

that Wolfenden Hall caters to civil
partnership ceremonies, and I’ve
always fancied holding my reception in
a stately home. And they have bedroom
suites available, and there’s supposed
to be a really nice B and B in
Wolfenden village, too, so that solves
the accommodation problem. Though,
God knows what my mother is going to
say. She always told me I should hold
out for a man who earns more than I
do… Joking, lover, joking…”

Ryan silenced him with another

kiss, before licking his way down
Craig’s body, over his chest and abs,
heading for his waiting cock. Their

coffee would be cold by now, but he
didn’t care. Craig had just made him
the happiest man in the world, and the
best way to show that happiness was by
making him come till he saw stars…

Concentrating on the way

Craig had felt in his arms, the taste
of his warm, salty skin, Ryan braced
himself for impact. Less than
twenty feet to fall, the wind
whistling in his ears and nausea
rising in his belly. Muttering a
fevered prayer that someone,
anyone would help him, he landed
in the twisted branches of a gorse
bush with a blow that seemed to
shatter his world into a thousand

pieces, and darkness claimed him.

Chapter Two

“How are you feeling, Mr

Johnson?”

Ryan opened his eyes with

some difficulty, to see a black-
skinned, middle-aged woman he
didn’t recognise. She wore a crisp
white medical coat over her floral
dress, and her expression was
friendly but concerned. He didn’t
need to ask where he was. Her
attire, coupled with the antiseptic
hospital smell and the humming of
machines by his left side, gave him
all the clues he needed to work that
out.

He assumed he’d been brought

to the City General, the nearest
hospital to his landing site, but
Ryan had no memory of anything
from the moment he’d fallen into
the tree until now.

“I’m Jasmine Benning,” the

woman

continued.

“I’m

your

consultant surgeon. I just wanted to
check on you, see how you’re
doing.”

Glancing along the length of

his body, he established that almost
the whole of his right leg was set in
a thick cast and held in traction to
prevent him from moving. When
he went to speak, it was through a

fog of opiates. Whatever they’d
dosed him up with, it made him
feel fuzzy in the nicest of ways. It
would, he sensed, be a completely
different matter when the pain
relief wore off.

“I’m okay, I think, doctor.

What…what’s the damage?”

“Not as bad as it could have

been. I have to say you’re an
incredibly lucky man, Mr Johnson,
given the severity of your accident.
As you can see, you’ve got a broken
leg, and you’ve fractured a couple
of ribs. Apart from that, your
injuries are mostly superficial cuts
and bruises. We had to pin the tibia

and the fibula, but the surgery went
well and I’m expecting you to make
a full recovery in due course.”

“When can I go home?”
“Oh, you’re going to be with us

for a good few weeks, Mr Johnson,
but we’ll take good care of you, and
I’ll be checking in on you to make
sure everything’s healing as it
should be.” The pager attached to
her breast pocket beeped, and she
checked it quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m
needed in paediatrics. The red
button by your side will call the
duty nurse should you need one.”

With that, she left his room,

leaving him with unanswered

questions—the most important of
which

involved

Craig’s

whereabouts. His lover must be
going frantic with worry. He
pressed the call button to attract the
attention of a nurse.

A couple of minutes later, the

door opened. Ryan’s first thought
was that Craig had popped his head
round the door. Only when the
young man stepped inside did he
notice the teal-blue scrubs. His
blond hair was overdue a cut,
rather than being overly styled. But,
superficially, he couldn’t help but
notice a resemblance.

“Everything

okay,

Mr

Johnson?”

the

nurse

asked,

stepping into the room. His voice
had a strong Yorkshire accent that
Ryan found strangely appealing.
“I’m Nurse Elding, but you can call
me Luke. I don’t usually bother
with any of that formal stuff.”

“The consultant… She left

before I could ask her. What I want
to know is, is my boyf— Is Craig
here?”

“You mean Mr Angell? Yes,

he’s out in the relatives’ room. Been
there quite a while now, and he’s
not too happy. The chair’s too hard,
his coffee’s too hot…” Luke
grinned. “Regular little Goldilocks,

isn’t he?”

Okay, so maybe Craig’s a bit high

maintenance

, Ryan thought, bristling

a little, but who does enjoy waiting in
a hospital, especially when they’ve no
idea how long they’re going to be there

?

“Can I see him?”
“Well, visiting hours are over,

strictly speaking, but I’ll send him
through. Just for a couple of
minutes, though. You know what
it’s like. If the other patients see
you’ve got a visitor, they’ll all want
one…” He winked at Ryan as he
left the room.

Despite his initial irritation at

Luke’s attitude, Ryan found himself

warming to the young nurse. It
wasn’t just that he was so like Craig
physically—and he’d always had a
weakness

for

broad-shouldered

blonds—there

was

something

endearing about his irreverent
manner. He gave the impression he
wouldn’t stand for any nonsense,
but you could have a laugh with
this guy, Ryan was sure of it. If
they’d met in other circumstances,
like the bar where he’d had his first
date with Craig, he might even
have found himself wondering
whether Luke was interested in
him, and what it would be like to
kiss those soft lips of his…

When the nurse returned a few

moments later, he had a worried-
looking companion with him, and
Ryan instantly felt guilty for having
even an idle fantasy about another
man. Craig bustled over to Ryan’s
bed, face screwed up with tension.
“Oh, thank God you’re all right.
You look like you’ve gone ten
rounds with Floyd Mayweather,
mind.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

Ryan tried to reassure himself as
much as Craig. He hadn’t seen his
reflection, and he got the feeling he
didn’t want to.

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds

alone,”

Luke

said,

the

first

indication he’d given that he knew
Ryan and Craig were more than
just friends, and was completely
comfortable with their sexual
orientation.

Watching

him

go,

Craig

commented, “If all the staff here
are that cute, I’m tempted to book
myself in for a minor procedure.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, on
the opposite side to Ryan’s injured
leg. “Seriously, I was so worried
about you. When I didn’t see your
parachute open, I didn’t know
what to do. As soon as I landed, I
called an ambulance. I—I knew

you’d need one. The doctor said the
problem’s with your leg?”

“Yeah. They’ve had to pin it

together. I’m not going to be
coming home for a while.”

“Don’t worry, lover, I’ll come

and visit you every day.” He
considered for a moment. “Well,
maybe not every day. I have got a
salon to run and a wedding to
arrange, after all. And being
somewhere with so many ill people
freaks me out a bit. Joking, lover,
joking… The important thing is that
you’re okay.”

Craig

hugged

him,

manoeuvring round the pulley that

held Ryan’s plastered leg in place in
order to do so, and making sure not
to put any pressure on the damaged
ribs. Ryan pressed his face against
Craig’s neck, breathing in his spicy
cologne. He yearned to keep
Craig’s sweater as the one familiar
reminder of home in this hygienic,
alien environment, something to
curl up with when he slept.

When the door opened again

and Luke entered, the two men
pulled apart, Ryan feeling suddenly
bereft. Craig said his goodbyes.
“But I’ll be back soon,” he
promised. “And I’m sure you’ll be
in good hands.”

Ryan didn’t say anything.

When Luke handed him pills
intended to help him sleep, he
swallowed them down, ignoring
the nurse’s chirpy conversation. He
was going to have to get used to a
whole new routine—a new way of
life for as long as he was in the
hospital—and he couldn’t shake the
feeling that, for all he claimed his
remarks weren’t to be taken
seriously, Craig really didn’t want
to be part of it.

* * * *

That routine established itself

in the most unexpected way. As far
as Ryan could make out, the nurses

in the City General worked twelve-
hour shifts, though his sense of
time was a little hazy. Luke was his
night nurse. The day nurse was a
pretty Asian girl, Shilpa, who kept
up a constant chatter about her
home life and her impending
wedding as she attended to him.
Like Luke, she seemed genuinely
interested in talking to him, and he
found himself warming to her, too.
Maybe his enforced stay wouldn’t
be too bad, after all.

As much as he tried to

anticipate the daily routine, it
surprised him when Luke arrived
on his second night in the hospital

and announced he’d come to give
him a bed bath. This Ryan hadn’t
expected, though it wasn’t as if he
could get up and make use of the
bathroom facilities. He tried to tell
himself it was a straightforward
procedure, something all the nurses
here must do a hundred times a
day, but the moment he felt the
warm washcloth, and the touch of
Luke’s hand against his skin, he
knew he was lost.

Luke worked methodically,

cleaning Ryan’s arms and legs then
his torso, while Ryan did his best to
distract himself with thoughts of
work, wondering whether Mel

would keep his post open for him.
That was the last thing he needed,
to come out of the hospital only to
find himself out of a job. Though,
Craig wasn’t doing badly, with talk
of opening a second salon, given
how much of a success the first had
been. Maybe he could become a
kept man…

Then the washcloth was placed

to his groin, and any attempt to
remain detached flew out of the
window. He felt his cock rising, as
if seeking to push itself into his
nurse’s grip. Their eyes met as Luke
became

aware

of

what

was

happening. Ryan knew he was

blushing,

and

willed

his

disobedient cock to behave, but, if
anything, it only grew harder.

“Don’t worry about it, Ryan.”

Luke’s tone was reassuring. “This
happens to blokes all the time
when they’re being washed. It’s
nothing to be ashamed of.”

Everything else having failed,

Ryan tried to joke his way out of
the situation. “Well, I suppose it
proves everything’s still in working
order down there. And I’m sure it
would have happened whoever
was doing this to me.” As he said it,
he knew that to be a lie. The
strength of his body’s reaction was

down to a deep attraction to Luke,
impossible to ignore.

He gazed up at the ceiling,

wanting to concentrate on anything
but the feel of Luke’s hands on his
skin and the wet washcloth trailing
over his most intimate places. Think
of Craig, at home on his own, probably
leafing through a wedding magazine,
trying to decide what colour the place
settings at the reception should be

.

He’d be sitting up in bed, mug of
chamomile tea by his side, more
than likely having applied one of
his favourite strawberry face masks.
The image—so familiar, so very far
from erotic—brought a smile to

Ryan’s face, caused his rebellious
erection to subside.

“There, all done,” Luke said,

withdrawing

his

hand

from

beneath the starched hospital sheet.
He caught Ryan’s gaze once more,
and this time Ryan sensed some
kind of understanding. For the
briefest moment, he wondered
whether Luke felt the same way he
did, then dismissed the thought.
Luke hadn’t given any obvious
indication he was interested in
men.

He

was

simply

an

experienced

health

care

professional, doing his job. And
even if he did find Ryan attractive,

what was he going to do about it?
Any guy worth having knew better
than to try to come between the
two halves of an established couple.

For a long time after Luke had

continued on his rounds, Ryan lay
in silent contemplation. Craig had
brought in his iPod, wanting him to
have a few familiar home comforts
around him, but he didn’t want to
listen to it right now. He couldn’t
get Luke out of his mind. Those
cool fingers, those clear, intelligent
blue eyes. The faint, cinnamon
smell of his cologne…

His thoughts drifted, and now

he fantasised that Luke was back in

his room, preparing to wash him all
over again. Only this time he set
down the bowl and washcloth, and
donned a pair of thin latex surgical
gloves…

Luke pulled the sheets down to the

foot of the bed, revealing every inch of
Ryan’s body. Ryan’s striped pyjama
bottoms had somehow melted away,
leaving him naked and expectant. He
was stiff before Luke’s fingers closed
around his shaft, his cock growing even
harder as the hot young nurse began to
stroke up and down his length,
caressing him from base to tip.

Being in traction, his overheated

imagination told him, was the medical
equivalent of strict bondage, keeping
him in helpless restraint as Luke
wanked him with mounting speed.
Luke’s lips were set in an expression of
professional detachment, as he watched
Ryan writhe against the thick hospital
mattress, unable to exercise his full
range of motions with his leg held
steady at an upward angle. He wanted
Luke to come close, so he could reach
out and pull down his regulation
scrubs, bringing the nurse’s cock out to
play with, but Luke was in control here,
and all Ryan could do was give in to
the pleasure of being so expertly

caressed.

Luke’s gaze never left Ryan’s as he

licked the middle finger of his free
hand, wetting the glove. Ryan didn’t
need to ask where that slick, latex-
covered digit was going—this was his
fantasy, after all—and he felt it circle
the tight pucker of his arsehole, making
his mouth open in a silent ‘O’ of want,
before it was pushed slowly inside him.

Somehow, Luke managed to retain

the impression that this was all part of
Ryan’s treatment, not a deliciously
perverse way of bringing him to an
erotic boil with almost the minimum of
effort. With one finger buried deep in

Ryan’s arse, hitting his secret pleasure
spot, and the other hand now shuttling
in rapid motions that concentrated on
the so-sensitive place just beneath
Ryan’s cockhead, Luke’s wanking was
having the desired result. Ryan
couldn’t hold back any longer, the seed
rising from his balls in preparation for
its imminent release. Professional to
the last, Luke removed his finger from
Ryan’s arse and plucked a couple of
tissues from a box by the side of the
bed.

His mouth contorted in a grimace

of ecstasy, Ryan surrendered to his
orgasm, spunk spilling out in quick

bursts that were collected by Luke in
the tissue.

“Same time tomorrow night,

Ryan,” was all Luke said before leaving
the room.

It had all seemed so real that

for a moment Ryan almost expected
to see a pair of latex gloves and a
wad of used tissue in his waste bin.
His fantasies weren’t usually this
vivid, but then, he reasoned, what
else could he expect? Everything
here was so removed from his
everyday experience, and the
opiates in his painkillers induced a
dreamy, almost euphoric state.
Though, he still couldn’t help

feeling a little guilty that he’d been
imagining his nurse doing all kinds
of kinky things to him, rather than
Craig. Luke might be delicious eye
candy, but that was all. Craig was
the man he intended to spend the
rest of his life with, and fantasies,
no matter how exciting, weren’t
going to distract him from that fact.

Chapter Three

Despite his stated aversion to

hospital environments, Craig was a
regular visitor to Ryan’s bedside, at
least for the first week or so after
the accident. He rearranged his
schedule of appointments to make
sure he had free time during
visiting hours, and brought Ryan
the latest copy of his favourite film
magazine to keep him entertained.
The female nurses on the ward
perked up visibly whenever Craig
arrived, as he flirted with them the
way he did with his clients at the
salon.

“You’re

shameless,”

Ryan

would chide him.

“I know, but you love me for

it,”

Craig

responded,

helping

himself to one of the white
chocolate truffles he’d ostensibly
brought as a present for Ryan.

Most importantly of all, Craig

had rung Ryan’s parents the
morning after the accident and had
let them know what had happened.
They’d visited him later that day,
and, though his mother had been
visibly distressed, sniffling into a
tissue as she took in the sight of his
bruised and battered face and his
right leg in its extensive plaster

cast, he’d really appreciated Craig’s
thoughtfulness.

The situation hadn’t gone

unnoticed by Luke. He popped into
Ryan’s room one evening. At first,
Ryan thought he might be coming
to check on the bandaging around
his ribs, till he noticed the coffee
mug in his hand and realised Luke
was on his break.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he

asked.

“Not too bad.” Ryan raised his

bed so he was in more of a sitting
position.

“According

to

Mrs

Benning, I’m healing nicely. I’m
bored out of my mind most of the

time, but, everything considered, it
could have been a lot worse. You
hear of skydivers who have a bad
fall and are left paralysed, or even
—”

Luke cut him off before he

could finish the sentence. “That
Craig of yours seems a decent
bloke. I might have been a bit
unfair to him the first night you
were here.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, you

weren’t that far off. He can be a bit
of a diva when he wants to be, but
his heart’s in the right place.”

“Stop me if I’m being nosy, but

what is it he does for a living,

exactly? I mean, he looks to be
doing

all

right

for

himself.

Everyone’s seen that bright red
Porsche of his rolling up in the car
park.”

“Oh, he owns the hair and

beauty salon on Main Street.”

“What, Angell Hair?” Luke

whistled softly through his teeth.
“Bit out of my price range, that
place.” He took a sip of his coffee.
“You know, you’re a very lucky
boy, Ryan.”

“Hey, I’m not with him

because of his money, if that’s what
you’re thinking,” Ryan replied
sharply, stung by the insinuation in

Luke’s words.

Luke put a hand up in apology.

“No, that wasn’t what I meant at
all. It’s just that—well, you have
Craig, and your parents are really
nice, too. Not everyone has parents
who are quite so comfortable with
the fact they’re gay.”

The note of anguish in Luke’s

tone was unmistakable, and Ryan
sensed he had more to say on the
subject. Ryan gestured to the chair
by the bed. “Take a seat, mate.”
Once Luke had made himself
comfortable, he continued, “You
wouldn’t be talking about yourself,
by any chance?”

With a grin, Luke replied,

“Yeah, it’s a fair cop. You got me.”
He looked down at his coffee mug,
collecting his thoughts, before
looking back at Ryan. “Telling my
dad I was gay was the most difficult
thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.
I was brought up in a small mining
village just outside Doncaster—not
exactly the easiest environment to
come out in. He’s tried his hardest
to accept my sexuality, but he’s a
bit set in his ways, you know? After
I told him, I don’t think we spoke
for six months.”

“But things are okay between

you now?”

“Yeah, as much as they’ll ever

be. I see him at Christmas and we
have the odd awkward phone
conversation, but that’s it, really.”

When he’d first seen Luke,

Ryan had been struck by his
superficial similarity to Craig, but
the more he poured his heart out,
the more he found himself noticing
all the differences between the two
men. Luke didn’t constantly check
his reflection, or rub petroleum
jelly into his lips to keep them
smooth, or manage to make himself
the centre of attention no matter
what the topic of the conversation.
Ryan

found

himself

hoping

desperately that, once his stay in
hospital was over, he could find
some way of remaining friends
with Luke.

The pager on Luke’s hip

bleeped, and he rose to his feet.
“Oops, got to go. Sorry, mate, I
didn’t mean to inflict my whole life
story on you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryan

assured him. “I’m always happy to
listen. After all, it’s not like I’m
going anywhere for a while, is it?”

* * * *

When Craig arrived for his

daily visit the following afternoon,
he was also in the mood to vent his

problems. In his case, these seemed
to revolve chiefly around the fact
that one of the TV breakfast news
presenters was sporting a new,
choppy hairstyle all his clients were
now clamouring for, whether or
not it suited their hair texture or
the shape of their face. Then there
was the small matter of the
wedding cake.

“At first, I was thinking we

should only have one layer of fruit
cake, because, even though it’s
traditional, I know not everybody
likes it, and maybe another tier of
vanilla

sponge

and

one

of

chocolate. But then I thought why

not forget about cake all together,
and just have one of those
enormous towers of chocolate
profiteroles?”

“I’m

sure,

whatever

you

decide, it’ll be perfect,” Ryan
replied. “You know I don’t have
that much of a sweet tooth.”

“Well, in that case, I’m sure

you won’t mind if I just…” Craig
reached over to the box of truffles,
which had remained untouched
since his last visit, and helped
himself. Between bites of chocolate,
he said, “And I’ve found the most
darling brocade jackets that I know
are going to look fantastic on both

of us…”

Ryan didn’t see himself as a

brocade kind of guy—indeed, he’d
have been just as happy if they’d
decided to get married on a beach
in Hawaii, wearing nothing fancier
than shorts and a T-shirt, but
Craig’s fairy tale wedding seemed
considerably more elaborate than
that. When, at last, Craig took a
breath, Ryan said, “That all sounds
fantastic. But you know what I’m
looking forward to more than any
of that?”

“What?”

Craig

sounded

genuinely intrigued.

He lowered his tone, inviting

his lover to bend closer to the bed.
“Getting this cast off my leg, and
getting into bed with you.” He
sighed. “God, Craig, just lying here
all day, I’m so frustrated, and so
horny. My mind is full of the
filthiest fantasies. I keep thinking
about all the things we’re going to
do when we’re finally alone
together.”

“What kind of things?” Craig

licked melted chocolate from his
fingers, and Ryan felt a strong pang
of desire shoot down to his groin.
He hadn’t been lying. Fantasies
were one thing—and no one ever
needed to know Ryan had been

having erotic daydreams about a
certain nurse—but he missed the
feel of Craig’s naked skin against
his own, and the taste of his lips.

“Imagine it’s our wedding

night,” Ryan said. “The day has
been

absolutely

perfect.

The

weather’s been beautiful, neither of
us fluffed our vows, and we’ve
been surrounded by our families
and friends, all of them wishing us
all the love and luck and happiness
in the world. Downstairs, a few
people are still dancing and
finishing off the last of the
champagne, but we’ve just called it
a night. We’ve got an early start the

next morning, after all, checking in
to catch our flight to Antigua.”

“Aruba,” Craig cut in. “I’m

booking the honeymoon in this
gorgeous all-inclusive resort in
Aruba. I knew you weren’t
listening to me when I was telling
you about it.”

Ryan ignored him, already

wrapped up in the fantasy he was
weaving. He might not picture
himself

and

Craig

wearing

anything made from brocade, but
he could see them making their
slightly tipsy progress up the stairs
to the honeymoon suite, arms
round each other, pausing every

now and then to gaze into each
other’s eyes and share a slow,
sensual kiss.

“We both know we should try

and get some sleep,” he continued,
“but that’s the last thing on our
minds. The honeymoon suite has a
huge four-poster bed, and as soon
as we’re through the door, I push
you on to it. I undress you between
kisses, gradually stripping you out
of all your wedding finery, till
you’re down to nothing but a pair
of dove-grey silk boxer shorts.
You’re so big and hard, your cock
thrusting against the silk, and I
reach into the opening of the shorts

and stroke you ever so lightly…”

When he looked at Craig, it

was to see his eyes were closed and
his face bore a faraway expression,
as though he was completely swept
away by the fantasy Ryan had
made him the centre of. Realising
Ryan had paused in the story, Craig
murmured, “Go on.”

“You’re loving what I’m doing

to you, and when I pull those shorts
right down so I can take your cock
in my mouth, you almost squeal in
pleasure. You just love it when I
suck you, don’t you?”

“God, yes,” Craig replied. Ryan

could see it was taking some effort

for him not to start rubbing his cock
through his cream linen trousers. If
they’d been anywhere apart from
the confines of the hospital, Ryan
might have encouraged him to do
just that, maybe even take his dick
out and stroke it, but this wasn’t
the right environment for that kind
of behaviour. There was every
chance they might be interrupted
by Mrs Benning coming to check on
him—and it wasn’t unknown for
her to bring one or more of the
junior doctors with her, so she
could

quiz

them

on

their

knowledge of how to deal with a
patient in Ryan’s situation. He

could just imagine the look on the
consultant’s face if she entered the
room to see Craig with his cock in
his hand, wanking himself as they
fantasised about their wedding
night…

“Well, I don’t let you get too

used to the feel of my tongue
slurping along your shaft,” Ryan
said, “because I need to get naked,
too. You watch as I take off my
wedding suit, stroking your cock to
keep your desire on a steady
simmer. Oh, you look so gorgeous
like that, your fist easing up and
down that big, fat shaft, and I get
out of my own clothes in double-

quick time. We’ve been wearing
matching clothes, right down to our
underwear—”

“Ooh, I hadn’t thought of

that,” Craig interrupted him. “That
sounds really sexy.”

“Yes, it is, and you’re so excited

as I ease down my silk boxers at
last, revealing a cock that’s at full
hardness, letting you know I want
you so damn much. I give it a few
slow tugs as I crawl up the bed
towards you, and for a moment I
think about rolling you over and
sliding my full length up your hot,
tight arse. But I’m in the mood for
something different, and instead I

curl my body alongside yours, my
top to your tail, so that we’re both
able to suck on each other’s cock. It
feels incredible, having my dick
buried in your wet mouth, having
you slurp at it like it’s your
favourite flavour of ice cream,
while I’m doing just the same to
you. You taste salty, so delicious I
know I’ll never be able to have
enough of you. And the knowledge
that this is only the beginning, that
we have the rest of our lives
together to explore each other’s
bodies in so many wonderful ways,
is the best wedding present of the
lot.” Ryan sighed, certain Craig

shared his vision of this intimate,
perfect moment. “When you come
down my throat, and I come down
yours, I feel closer to you than I
ever have. It’s my first orgasm as a
married man, and it’s the best I’ve
ever had…”

Craig reached out, took his

hand. “That’s such a wonderful
story. Just think of all the fun we’re
going to have making it come true.”
He glanced at his watch, face
falling as he registered the time.
“But I really have to be going. I’ve
got Mrs Atkinson coming in for a
cut and blow at four. Sorry to leave
you, lover, but you know there’s no

rest for the wicked.” He dropped a
kiss on Ryan’s forehead. “See you
tomorrow. Same time, same place.”

And with that he was gone,

leaving Ryan to his fantasies of how
life would be after their wedding.

Chapter Four

Craig didn’t visit the following

day, or the day after that. He’d sent
a couple of apologetic texts,
explaining that one of his stylists
had come down with a forty-eight-
hour bug and he was having to
cover. “Feeling sniffly myself.
Taking lots of Echinacea and
hoping it’s not contagious,” he’d
added.

As if conscious that Ryan’s

regular visitor was missing, Luke
took to popping in during his
breaks for a chat. It helped to break
the monotony of lying in bed all

day. Though Mrs Benning seemed
satisfied with the progress Ryan
was making, he had to wait another
three weeks before the cast would
be ready to come off. At least he
had one less thing to worry about.
His colleague at the gallery, Sarah,
who’d been working there a couple
of years longer than he had, was
leaving at the end of the month to
take up a position at an auction
house in Chelsea. It meant he’d
have a job to go back to once his leg
was fully healed.

“I don’t know much about art,”

Luke said, when Ryan had told him
the news.

“Don’t tell me—but you know

what you like,” Ryan replied. He’d
heard that comment so many times
before.

Luke shook his head. “Not

even that. I don’t really get art, you
know? I’ve walked past that gallery
of yours before now, and there’ll be
some painting hanging in the
window that just looks like
someone’s chucked a pot of paint at
the canvas. What is that about?”

Ryan chuckled. “Yeah, modern

art can be like that. You need to see
some of the old masters, then you’d
appreciate good painting. There’s a
Pre-Raphaelite exhibition coming

to the City Gallery at the end of
next month. I should take you to
it.” He stopped, aware that he
sounded uncomfortably close to
asking Luke out on a date. “You
know, and then we could meet up
with Craig for drinks afterwards.
He’s not really an art lover, either.”

“Don’t take this the wrong

way, but the more you talk about
Craig, the more I wonder what the
two of you actually have in
common.”

“Well, we both love skydiving.

Though I guess I’m probably not
going to be doing much of that for a
while.”

When Luke had gone back to

the nurses’ station, Ryan couldn’t
help reflecting on his words. Were
he and Craig really as ill-suited as
Ryan seemed to think? It had never
felt that way to him, not really.
Okay, so there had been times
when Craig had wanted to go out
partying and he’d have been
happier to stay in and watch a film
on TV. And he could talk about
football and Formula One racing
with Luke, subjects that didn’t
interest Craig in the slightest. But
the two of them were meant to be
together…weren’t they?

It didn’t help that on the next

couple of occasions that Craig
visited—visits punctuated by long,
tedious days when all Ryan had
received from his lover had been
the odd, brief text—he seemed
distracted by something, as though
he’d rather be anywhere else than
sitting at the side of a hospital bed.
Not only that, he looked paler than
usual. Must be fighting off that bug,
Ryan assumed. Either that or the
process of looking for suitable
premises to become the home of
Craig’s second salon wasn’t going
as smoothly as he’d hoped.

Still, Ryan told himself, only a

few more days, then the cast would

be removed and he’d be out of
there. Whatever was on his
boyfriend’s mind, it would be much
easier to talk about in the familiar
surroundings of their flat. He
wondered if Craig appreciated how
much he was looking forward to all
the things that had always seemed
like irritations before, like the hours
Craig spent preening in the
bathroom, or the dance music he
liked to play just a little too loud
when he was getting dressed for an
evening out. He would relish them,
because it would mean he was
home.

Then, one morning, an orderly

delivering

the

morning

post

throughout the wards dropped a
thick, cream envelope on the tray at
the side of his bed. His name was
scrawled on it in Craig’s big,
flamboyant handwriting. Bemused,
he slit it open. Why on earth would
Craig be writing him a letter?

The answer became obvious

the moment he started to read.

Dear Ryan,
This is the hardest letter I’ve ever

had to write. I’m so sorry I couldn’t
say this to you in person, but I guess
I’ve always been a coward when it
comes to breaking bad news. I’ve been
thinking a lot about us over the last

couple of weeks, and though I still have
really strong feelings for you, I’ve come
to the realisation that I can’t marry
you.

Ryan almost crumpled up the

letter and threw it in the waste bin
at that point, but something
compelled him to continue to the
end, to find out the reasoning
behind

Craig’s

simple,

brutal

declaration.

It’s all because of that fantasy of

yours, funny as that will sound. Such a
lovely, sexy story about making love on
the wedding night. I could see the
whole thing so clearly in my mind as
you told it—but I couldn’t see it

happening between me and you. I just
know there’s another man out there for
me, one I haven’t met yet, and how
could I commit myself to you, knowing
that? It wouldn’t be fair on either of us

.

The remainder of the letter

dealt with the practicalities of how
Ryan should collect his possessions
from the flat, and how they’d
divide the things they owned
jointly, but he couldn’t take any of
the information in. His eyes
scanned to the bottom of the letter,
hoping this was all some kind of
cruel prank on Craig’s part, and
that when he reached the end he’d
find as the sign-off the familiar

refrain, ‘Joking, lover, joking’.

But it wasn’t a joke. While he’d

been lying here, looking forward to
resuming his everyday life with
Craig, Craig had been assessing that
life and had been deciding that he
wanted something different.

It’s far better that I found this out

now

, Ryan tried to tell himself. What

if we’d made all the plans, booked the
venue for the ceremony, invited
everyone we know, then Craig got cold
feet on the day? At least he’s spared me
that humiliation

.

Pretend

as

he

might,

attempting to look at their break-up
with a cold, rational eye didn’t

help. He couldn’t bury his head in
the pillows and cry, because he
couldn’t twist himself into position.
All he could do was stare up at the
ceiling, lost in a world of pain more
intense

than

anything

he’d

experienced when he’d had his
skydiving accident, and wait for
Luke to say, ‘I told you so’.

Because Luke had called it

right, hadn’t he? He’d seen Craig
and Ryan together, and had noticed
all the ways they didn’t fit. And
Ryan—blinded by his feelings for
Craig, his certainty that their
differences made their relationship
stronger—hadn’t noticed a thing.

When Luke paid his next visit

to the room, he took one look at
Ryan and said, “What’s he done?”

“Is it that obvious?” Ryan’s

voice sounded flat, lifeless, even to
his own ears.

“I can’t think of anything else

that would make you so unhappy.”

“If you must know, it’s over

between us. He sent me a letter
telling me the wedding’s off and
he’d like me to move out of the
flat.”

Luke leaned against the wall,

arms folded. “You say that like it’s a
bad thing.”

“Joke if you want, but I was

going to spend the rest of my life
with that guy.”

“Yeah, and you would have

been making a hell of a mistake.”

Ryan wanted to yell at Luke to

get out of his room and stop
making a bad situation worse.
Except a small, insistent voice in the
back of his head told him Luke’s
opinion might just be worth
listening to.

“I’ve got a few minutes if you

want to tell me about it,” Luke
continued.

“There’s not much to tell,”

Ryan admitted. “Actually, it’s
pretty funny when you think about

it. I scared him off by talking to him
about our sex life.”

Luke stifled a chuckle. “You

what?”

“Yeah, I wove this whole story

about what we were going to do on
our wedding night, and it seems his
fantasies don’t quite match up with
mine.”

“Don’t tell me. He didn’t like

the fact you wanted to chain him to
the marital bed and stick a butt-
plug up his arse. Though he might
not have objected too much,
provided you used one of those
plugs with the big Swarovski
crystal in the base.”

Ryan wondered how Luke

knew

quite

so

much

about

bejewelled sex toys, but decided
against asking. Instead, he said,
“No, it was all very vanilla, really. I
just wanted to sixty-nine with him.
It’s just one of my favourite things
to do, particularly when you’re
with a guy whose cock is just the
right size to fill your mouth…”
Then he shook his head, registering
what he’d just said. “I’m sorry. I
don’t quite know how we’ve got on
to talking about my sex fantasies.”

“Keep going, I’m finding it

very entertaining. And you should
try some of the rougher stuff some

time, Ryan. Nothing wrong with a
bit of bondage. Though I suppose
you’ve probably had enough of
being held tight in one place to last
you a lifetime…”

The words were so close to

Ryan’s fantasy about Luke, and his
thoughts of being restrained while
the handsome nurse pleasured him,
that his cheeks flushed hot. This
kind of talk was dangerous. If Luke
kept on about bondage and butt-
plugs and all the dark, delicious
games

two

men

could

play

together, his erection would be
tenting out the hospital sheets in no
time.

“I know at this moment it feels

like you won’t ever get over it,”
Luke said, his flirtatious tone
replaced with something more
serious, “but broken hearts heal,
just like broken bones do. They just
need plenty of tender, loving care,
and someone who’s prepared to
nurse you through the worst part.”
He turned to leave the room. “You
know where I am if you need me,
Ryan.”

Was that a come-on

? Ryan

wondered, alone with his thoughts
once more. The meaning in Luke’s
words had been unmistakable, but
right now he was too raw, too

vulnerable to even think about
dating someone else. Though, if
that someone was Luke…

His cock, which had stirred

into life as he and Luke had
discussed their kinky fantasies,
stiffened further as he imagined the
scene he’d described to Craig, in
that lavishly appointed bridal suite
with its huge, inviting four-poster.
Only this time he did what Craig
had done. He erased the man he’d
been planning to marry, replaced
him with someone more desirable,
more worthy of commitment…

No fancy brocade outfit for his

down-to-earth Yorkshire lad. Instead,

he wore a classic black morning suit,
cut to flatter his broad frame and long
legs. Luke undressed in a slow, sensual
style, stripping down till all he wore
was a pair of clinging black jersey
trunks. Ryan’s imagination equipped
him with a sizeable bulge in that
underwear, just the right size to make
his lips strain round it when the
moment came for him to swallow it
down.

They rolled on the bed together,

Ryan peeling down Luke’s trunks to
reveal that big, meaty cock. His mouth
watered at the thought of sucking it, of
tasting Luke’s thick, creamy essence.

And Luke seemed to want that, too,
but, even though this was Ryan’s
fantasy, he wanted it on his own terms.
He snatched up his discarded tie,
wrapping the length of black silk round
Ryan’s wrists twice before tying it off.

“I’m going to use that beautiful

mouth of yours,” he murmured in
Ryan’s ear, his dominant tone causing
Ryan’s cock to twitch in delighted
response. “Going to make you suck me
till I come down your throat.”

“Yes, sir,” Ryan replied, making it

clear how much the thought excited
him.

Luke helped him climb down off

the bed, before easing him into a
kneeling position. The thick pile of the
ivory-coloured carpet was soft against
Ryan’s bare skin. He felt cradled in
luxury even as Luke loomed over him,
clutching his rock-hard shaft in his
hand. Tugging it a couple of times, he
eased the foreskin back, presenting the
unhooded head to Ryan’s lips to suck.

Ryan placed soft, reverent kisses

all over the crown of his lover’s cock,
worshipping him with his mouth. For
these few moments Luke was his
master,

setting

the

pace

and

demanding his pleasure be satisfied,
but he knew the roles would soon be

reversed, with Luke taking his turn to
fulfil Ryan’s every desire. The thought
encouraged him to take more of Luke’s
length between his lips, bobbing his
head back and forth on the thickly
veined column. Looking up, he met
Luke’s blue eyes, full of lust and need,
then glanced a little lower to see the
way he bit his lip, trying to maintain
some semblance of control despite the
sensations that must be shimmering
through him. So strong, so beautiful, so
absolutely right for him…

Consumed only with thoughts of

pleasing Luke, he sucked harder,
swirling his tongue over the bloated

cockhead till he felt it jerk between his
lips. Luke muttered a word of warning,
but Ryan didn’t pull his head away. He
let the thick, deliciously bitter cum
pump into his throat, gulping it down
before licking the final few drops off
Luke’s cock…

The rattle of the trolley

bringing his lunch startled Ryan
back

to

awareness

of

his

surroundings. Dreaming about all
the things he would do if he ever
found himself alone and naked
with Luke was a pleasant enough
distraction, but did they really have
any kind of future, or was Luke’s
offer of a shoulder to cry on one

that didn’t extend beyond the walls
of the City General? And, after the
way Craig had treated him, did he
have the courage to try to find out?

Chapter Five

He should have been looking

forward to the day the cast came off
and he could finally walk out of the
hospital, but what had been a
welcome prospect only a few days
ago now seemed like something he
wished he could put off for ever. In
this sterile, safe environment, Ryan
could almost forget the outside
world existed. Returning to that
world

involved

pain

and

disappointment, and all the mess
that was left when long-time lovers
broke up.

At least Craig had only

mentioned the possibility of finding
someone else. Ryan wasn’t in any
immediate danger of walking down
the high street and seeing him on
the arm of another man. But it still
hurt to have their life together
dismissed as some kind of warm-
up, an appetiser before the main
course to come.

Talking about it with Luke

might have helped, but that wasn’t
an option. Some kind of vomiting
bug had broken out on one of the
wards, affecting patients and staff
alike, forcing Luke to cover for his
sick colleagues. Ryan already knew
Luke wouldn’t be around on the

morning of his discharge, as that
was his scheduled day off. He’d
hoped to say goodbye to him, thank
him for making his enforced stay
here a little more bearable, but that
didn’t look as though it would be
possible—at least not in person.

Ryan didn’t know what to feel

when the cast was carefully cut off
his leg. He’d thought he would be
relieved, but somehow it seemed
more like losing an old friend. The
thing had been part of him for
nearly two months, and his leg
looked strange without it, the skin
pale and flaky, the muscles of his
thigh and calf thin and wasted.

“You’ll have to take things easy

for a while,” Mrs Benning warned
him, as he prepared to leave the
room. “Soak the leg in warm water
for twenty minutes a day for the
next few days, and wash the skin
gently, don’t scrub it. And start
slow with your exercise regime.
Just remember you’re not going to
be as mobile as you have been, not
at first.”

He nodded, doing his best to

take all the information in. Even
standing took some effort, after so
much time on his back, immobile.
He’d been supplied with a pair of
crutches to help him get around,

and take the weight off his
damaged leg. So used to charging
around at top speed, jogging on a
regular basis and spending time in
the gym, not to mention his
skydiving

exploits,

he

found

himself feeling oddly helpless.

“Well, good luck, Ryan,” the

surgeon finished. “You’ll be called
for a check-up in a month’s time,
just to check how everything’s
coming along.”

“Thanks,”

Ryan

replied,

picking up the backpack containing
his pyjamas, washbag and other
personal possessions, and sliding
the straps onto his shoulders. Then,

supported by the crutches and
keeping as much weight as he
could off his injured leg, he made
his way slowly off the ward and
down to the hospital reception.

The plan had been that, on the

day of his discharge, Craig would
come to meet him and take him
back to the flat. Now, he almost
didn’t care if he never saw Craig
again, and he’d arranged to stay at
his parents’ house, at least for a few
days,

until

he

could

find

somewhere to rent. He knew his
mother would let him sleep in his
old bedroom for as long as he
wanted, fussing round him and

making sure he was all right, but he
didn’t want to impose on her or his
dad, however tempting the idea of
having someone to cook his meals
and do his washing might be.

About to reach for his phone

and dial for a taxi, he saw a familiar
figure standing in the lobby. His
heart beat a little faster at the sight
of Luke, dressed for once not in his
scrubs, but in low-slung jeans, a
black T-shirt and a battered leather
biker’s jacket. He held a helmet in
the crook of his arm and he walked
towards Ryan, smiling.

“Hey,

Hopalong,

looking

good.” Luke grinned. “I nearly

didn’t recognise you without your
pyjamas on.”

“What are you doing here?”

Ryan asked. “I thought today was
your day off.”

“It is, but I came to see if you

wanted some help getting home. I
mean, walking’s going to be a little
awkward for you, given as how
you’ve been flat on your back in
that bed for weeks. Maybe I could
give you a lift.”

“A lift?” Ryan glanced at

Luke’s bike helmet, then at his
crutches. “Where am I going to put
these things?”

“You’ll be fine, just hold

everything tight and I’ll take it
slowly.”

So many levels of meaning in

that sentence, every one of them
reinforced by Luke’s slow, sexy
grin. Ryan felt blood surging to his
cock, and hoped he wasn’t going to
get an obvious hard-on, here in the
busy surroundings of the hospital
lobby.

“Come on,” Luke said, “I’m

parked just out front.”

Propelling himself with the

crutches, Ryan followed Luke out
to the area of the car park set aside
for staff. His bike was parked in a
corner space—a sleek, black beast

big enough to carry two people in
comfort. Luke opened up the top
box and took out a spare helmet,
which he handed to Ryan before
straddling the bike and turning the
key in the ignition. The engine
responded with a well-tuned roar,
as Ryan carefully climbed on
behind Luke, settling himself on
the padded leather passenger seat
and holding the crutches securely
in the crook of his arm.

“Okay, so where is this flat of

yours?” Luke asked, over his
shoulder.

“Oh, I’m not going there.”

Ryan could hardly think of it as his

flat anymore, despite all the time
and money he’d put into making it
a home with Craig. “I’ll pick up all
my stuff tomorrow. Craig’s always
booked out with appointments all
day Saturday, so there’s no chance
of me bumping into him at the flat.
No, I’m going to crash at my folks’
place until I can find somewhere
else to live.” The thought of his
parents made him grab for his
phone again. “I should really give
them a ring, let them know I’m on
my way.”

“Why don’t you let them know

you’ve had a slight change of plans,
and that you’re stopping off to look

at a place you might be renting?”

Ryan paused in the act of

taking off his helmet, regarding
Luke with a quizzical look.

“I’ve got a spare room in my

house,” Luke explained. “I was
renting it out to one of the nurses
on the children’s ward, Theresa, but
she went back to Sydney last week,
so I’m looking for someone else to
take it on. I wanted to mention it to
you sooner, but the last few days
have been a bit hectic…”

Was it wise even entertaining

the thought of living under the
same roof as Luke? Unless he’d
been misreading the signs, there

was definite chemistry between the
two of them, a thrilling tension
whenever they were together, but
that didn’t mean the guy intended
to act on it. And, if nothing else, it
was so soon after he’d been
dumped by Craig. He was still raw,
still smarting from the humiliation
of that goodbye letter. So why did
he find himself agreeing so
enthusiastically to Craig’s proposal?

Rapidly dialling his parents’

number, he waited for his mother
to pick up. “Hi, Mum… Yeah, yeah,
everything’s fine. I’m just leaving
the hospital now, but I’m doing a
bit of house-hunting before I come

home.” Before she could launch
into the inevitable stream of
questions, he continued, “One of
the nursing staff has a room
available. I don’t know if it’s going
to be suitable, but it can’t hurt to
look at it, can it…? Yeah, I’ll give
you a ring when I’m on my way…
Love you too. Bye, Mum.”

“Sorted?” Luke asked. When

Ryan nodded, he kicked away the
bike stand and pointed the machine
towards the car park exit.

Ryan wrapped one arm around

Luke’s waist, holding the crutches
upright with the other. Luke had
promised he would take the

journey at a steady speed, and Ryan
appreciated how he resisted the
temptation to weave his bike in and
out of slow-moving traffic on the
ring road out of the city centre, as
he might have done if he’d been
alone. Clinging on tight, Ryan
revelled in the feel of Luke’s body
so close to his own, and the
controlled purr of the engine
reverberating through the bike, the
sensation concentrating between
his thighs. He’d never thought of
riding

a

motorbike

as

an

aphrodisiac, but in combination
with Luke’s nearness it was having
a definite effect on him. By the time

Luke brought the bike to a halt in
front of an end-of-terrace house on
a street that backed on to the
railway line, Ryan’s cock was rigid
in his jeans.

If

Luke

noticed

any

awkwardness in his movements as
he got off the bike, Ryan hoped
he’d put it down to the strain of
trying not to put too much weight
on his weakened leg. If he looked
closely, he’d see the straining bulge
at Ryan’s crotch, but he seemed
more concerned about opening the
gate and pushing the recycling bin
to one side, making sure Ryan had
an unobstructed passage up the

path to the front door.

Ryan manoeuvred his way

along a narrow hallway into a big,
sunny kitchen. Setting his backpack
down on the scrubbed pine table
and glancing out of the window, he
saw a long, neatly tended garden
with a hedge of leylandii trees at
the bottom, shielding the house
from the railway sidings.

“Can I get you a cup of tea, or

would you like a tour of the house
first?” Luke asked.

“Tea can wait. I’d rather look at

what’s on offer.” Ryan knew the
remark was heavy with innuendo,
but somehow he hadn’t been able

to help himself.

“Okay, well, this is the kitchen,

obviously…” Luke showed Ryan
the ground floor, where the dining
room

and

lounge

had

been

converted into one big room with a
double door that could divide it
back into two, if necessary, then led
him

upstairs—more

accurately,

Luke took the crutches, bounding
up the stairs two at a time, while
Ryan sat on the bottom step and
made

slow

progress

on

his

backside,

climbing

the

stairs

backwards as he’d often done when
he was a small boy.

Luke was waiting for Ryan at

the top of the stairs. Ryan heard
him stifling a chuckle at his strange,
crab-like progress. “Well, I suppose
your biceps are getting a good
workout,” he conceded, as Ryan
took the crutches from him.
“Anyway, here we have the
bathroom…” He pushed the door
open, giving Ryan a glimpse of a
small, white-tiled bathroom, with a
claw-footed tub. “And this would
be your room.”

The room looked out over the

back garden. Even through the
window’s double glazing, Ryan
could hear the loud rumbling of a
passing train.

“Don’t worry,” Luke said, “you

stop noticing them after a day or
so.”

Ryan took a moment to inspect

the room. A comfortable-looking
double bed, a desk and chair
beneath the window, plenty of
cupboard space. Just what he
needed. If this was any other
prospective rental, he’d more than
likely be asking how much of a
deposit he needed to put down to
secure it for his own, but still he
hesitated.

“Which only leaves my room,”

Luke said, filling the silence that
had enveloped them.

Ryan didn’t know why, but it

seemed the natural course of action
to follow Luke through to the
master bedroom, with its big bed,
the covers rumpled, and an antique
armoire with one door open,
revealing jeans, shirts and jackets
hanging within. He realised he’d
only seen Luke in his role as a nurse
—a job where everything had to be
neat, exact, controlled. At home, he
seemed messier, wilder. Ryan
found the contrast intriguing.
Would Luke come down to
breakfast as Craig had done,
dressed and ready for the day, or
would he slouch round the house in

nothing but his jeans, maybe only
his underwear…

Aware his thoughts were

drifting into places it might be
better not to venture, he cleared his
throat. “You’ve got a really nice
house, Luke, and I love the room…”

“Why am I sensing a ‘but’ on

the end of the sentence?” Luke
asked.

“I’m just not sure I… Well,

what I’m trying to say is that, if I
was going to move in with you, I’d
need to know where we stood. I
mean, did you ask me if I wanted
the room because you feel sorry for
me after what Craig did, or because

we’re friends? I mean, I’d like to
think we’re friends…”

Luke sat on the bed, and patted

the covers, gesturing to Ryan to join
him. “Shut up and sit down, Ryan.”

Ryan did as he had been told,

setting his crutches down on the
floor. They were so close, Luke’s
denim-clad thigh pressed lightly
against his own, reawakening the
sensations the bike’s engine had
sent throbbing through him on
their ride through the city.

“You really want to know

where you stand?” Luke asked.
“Maybe this will give you some
kind of indication.”

With that, he took Ryan’s face

in his cupped hands, and dropped a
kiss on his lips. Startled and
delighted in equal measure, Ryan
made no attempt to pull away. He
parted his lips, the motion drawing
Luke’s tongue into his mouth.

Soft at first, the kiss deepened

as each man responded to the
other’s passion, Ryan’s fingers
twining in Luke’s shaggy hair and
their chests pressing so tight
together Ryan swore he could feel
Luke’s heart beating in time with
his own. When at last they pulled
apart, flushed and panting, he
found himself staring into Luke’s

eyes,

seeing

his

own

desire

mirrored there.

“So now do you know how I

feel about you, and why I want you
to share this house with me?” Luke
asked. “I know you must be feeling
vulnerable after what Craig did to
you, and you’re probably afraid I’m
taking advantage of you, but
nothing could be further from the
truth. I want you, Ryan, and the
way you kiss tells me that you want
me, too…”

Now it was Ryan’s turn to ask

Luke to shut up. There’d be plenty
of time to talk, but for now he
needed to kiss Luke’s soft lips

again. More than that, he needed to
kiss other parts of his body, to bare
the chest hidden beneath that tight-
fitting T-shirt and run his lips over
the planes and dips of Luke’s broad
chest.

They fell back on the bed in a

clinch, lip to lip, rolling and
fighting for supremacy. They came
to rest with Ryan lying on his back
and Luke crouching over him, like a
wild cat about to devour its prey.
Luke kicked off his boots, which
landed on the floor with two solid,
heavy thuds. Then he set about the
process of helping Ryan to undress,
unbuttoning his jeans and easing

them carefully down and off. He
ran his fingertips along the length
of the leg that had, till this
morning, been encased in plaster,
tracing the scars that would be a
lasting

reminder

of

Ryan’s

skydiving accident.

“It’s funny,” he remarked, as

he turned his attention to Ryan’s T-
shirt, pushing it up towards his
armpits to expose the bare chest
beneath and stroking the soft fuzz
of hair covering Ryan’s pecs, “I
know your body by feel so much
better than sight. All those nights
washing you, tending to you…”

Getting me hard

, Ryan thought,

but he said nothing, just let Luke
strip him of his T-shirt and boxer
shorts. His cock reared up, rock-
hard, begging to be taken in hand.

“Now this is the part of you

I’ve really wanted to get to know
better,” Luke said as he reached
down and did just that. “I often
wondered how you coped, being on
your own night after night.
Whether you did anything to
relieve the frustration. I know I
did.”

Was Luke admitting to playing

with himself while thinking of
Ryan? Lost in the feeling of Luke’s
cool fingers sliding up and down

his length, wanking him with
strokes that took their sweet time in
travelling from base to tip and back,
Ryan couldn’t concentrate on
finding an answer to that question.
All he knew was that if Luke kept
up this teasing pressure, this expert
grip on his cock, he’d be coming in
the next couple of moments,
spilling his load all over the red and
cream patterned duvet cover.

Ryan’s breathing grew shallow,

and his hips humped and squirmed.
It gave Luke the message to pull
back. He rocked back on his
haunches, loosening his hold on
Ryan’s shaft. Then he peeled off his

T-shirt before tossing it to the floor.
His skin, smooth and honey-
tanned, looked almost edible to
Ryan’s lust-dazzled eyes, and he
longed to lick every inch of it. He
lay back, keeping his own hand
well away from his over-stimulated
cock as Luke removed his jeans.
Bare beneath them, his cock sprung
up as soon as the garment came
down, temptingly long and thick.

Still in his socks, a look that

would have horrified Craig but
which Ryan found oddly sexy, Luke
walked over to the dressing table,
hunting around in one of the
drawers

until

he

eventually

retrieved condoms and lube. Ryan
wasn’t usually the type to fuck on a
first date—if this could be called a
date—but

nothing

about

his

relationship with Luke had been
orthodox, from the way they’d met
to the manner in which he’d found
himself there—naked, hard and
more than ready to have Luke’s fat
cock sliding into his arse.

Climbing back on to the bed,

Luke dropped more hot, greedy
kisses on Ryan’s mouth, stoking the
fire that had barely died down
while Ryan had been watching him
undress,

and

together

they

manoeuvred until both lay on their

left sides, Luke’s right leg curved
over Ryan’s hip and his groin
nestling against Ryan’s bare arse. In
this position, there was no weight,
no pressure on Ryan’s weaker leg,
and

he

waited,

tense

with

anticipation, as Luke tore open the
condom

packet

and

sheathed

himself in latex.

A stream of cool, slick lube was

drizzled down between Ryan’s
cheeks, then he felt Luke’s finger
take the same path, coming to a
halt at the rim of his arsehole,
circling and tantalising.

“Mmm, that’s good,” Ryan

murmured, as Luke’s lips traced a

wet trail down the back of his neck.
He never thought anything could
feel as good as lying skin to skin
with a man who seemed purely
intent on giving him pleasure. His
senses were alive with Luke’s hot,
musky scent and the steady rise and
fall of his lover’s chest against his
own back.

When Luke pushed the tip of

his finger home, breaching the ring
of muscle, he let out a long,
shuddering breath. If just a finger
could elicit that response from him,
how would it feel when Luke’s
cock slid into his rear passage?
Sticky with lube, the digit pressed

in farther, then a second finger
joined in the quest, gradually
opening him up. When Luke
seemed satisfied that Ryan had
relaxed enough to take him without
problems, he shuffled slightly,
taking himself in hand, and guided
the head of his cock to Ryan’s well-
lubricated entrance.

In one long shove, he pushed

all the way in, filling Ryan with
hot,

solid

man-flesh.

Ryan

remembered the comment he’d
made to Luke about wanting a cock
that felt just right in his mouth. He
might not have had that pleasure as
yet, but certainly this felt perfect in

his arse. Thick, but not too thick—
so that he was aware of it stretching
him, but any discomfort quickly
gave way to pure, rich pleasure.

He couldn’t have known it, but

everything that had happened since
he’d jumped out of that plane with
a faulty parachute on his back had
been leading up to this moment.
All the agony, all those long, lonely
nights in his hospital bed, all the
yearning and fantasising—every bit
of it had been worth it. Luke and he
fitted together in all the ways he
and Craig never had, in and out of
bed—he simply hadn’t wanted to
admit it to himself before.

“God, this is better than I’d

ever hoped it would be,” Luke
groaned, running a hand over
Ryan’s chest and plucking at one of
his nipples, bringing it to a hard,
aching peak.

In their spooned position,

Luke’s thrusts were shallow but
sure, each one taking both of them
closer to mutual satisfaction. As
Luke’s smooth movements in and
out of his arse sped up, his nerve
endings seemed to sing out their
pleasure. He couldn’t help reaching
down to grasp his neglected cock,
wanking it in time to his lover’s
rhythmic movements.

“So good, so fucking good,”

Ryan said, whether to himself or to
Luke he wasn’t sure. He was
finding it harder to form a lucid
thought, overwhelmed by the
sounds and sensations of being so
beautifully shafted.

Luke increased the pace, just a

little, and that was all it took. His
movements

lost

their

precise

rhythm and, with one hard jerk, he
was coming, muttering, “Oh, yeah,
oh, yeah,” over and over into
Ryan’s ear. In answer, Ryan’s spunk
pumped out, soaking the cover
beneath him, as his orgasm flashed
like lightning through his body.

It was Luke who recovered

first, though he took his time before
speaking, as if realising he’d just
been in on the start of something
very special. “You okay there,
Ryan?”

Ryan nodded sleepily. “That

was amazing.”

“Well, don’t think I treat

everyone who rents my spare room
like that. Only the ones I really,
really like.”

With a grin, Ryan eased himself

to a sitting position. ‘Really, really
like’ pretty much summed up how
he felt about Luke, too, and he
knew it wouldn’t take much to turn

those feelings into something much
deeper. But that was for the future.
For now…

“Now, what about that cup of

tea I mentioned?” Ryan asked,
picking his discarded jeans up from
the floor. “Then you can ring your
mum and tell her thanks, but you
won’t be needing her hospitality,
because you’re taking the room
here.” He waited for Ryan’s
response. “You are taking the room,
right?”

“Yeah, of course. I just realised

I haven’t told her what happened
with Craig yet. God, what’s she
going to say when she finds out the

wedding is off?”

“Well, you can worry about

that some other time. For now, all
that matters is you getting well,
getting that leg of yours back to full
fitness.”

“Spoken like a true nurse,”

Ryan said as they hugged, amazed
again at how right it felt to be in
Luke’s arms. ‘Take things slowly,’
Luke had said, and that’s just what
he intended to do. But he didn’t
doubt they had a future together,
and one that, in time, might prove
to be more lasting, more worthy of
a permanent commitment than
what he’d shared with Craig. For

the first time since the accident, he
could see a positive future for
himself, and he was beginning to
believe that, with Luke, the sky was
the limit.

Also available from

Total-E-Bound Publishing:

The Spirit of Stage 13

Elizabeth Coldwell

Excerpt

Chapter One

The noises startled Evin awake

some time after one in the morning.
A

low,

rhythmic

banging,

accompanied by rattling metal and
the unearthly moans of a soul in
pain.

When it had happened for the

first time, he’d sat bolt upright in
bed, wondering what the hell he
was

hearing.

The

apartment

building he lived in was the best

part of ninety years old—positively
prehistoric for Los Angeles—and
anything could have happened
within its walls. Maybe some
wizened

spectre

walked

the

hallways, doomed to drag his
chains behind him for eternity.
Evin had shivered as the moans had
grown

louder,

pulling

the

bedcovers over his head.

Then he’d made out, muffled

but still audible, the words, “God,
baby, you’re the best,” and had
realised what he was actually
listening to. Not a ghost, after all,
but

a

flesh-and-blood

lover

screaming out his pleasure as he

came, along the way reminding
Evin the only thing that had died
and gone to hell round here was his
love life.

He’d known exactly who the

lucky bastards were, fucking up a
storm on the other side of his
bedroom wall. They’d moved into
the building a couple of months
back, taking on the apartment
when old Mrs Brook had died. Ever
the good neighbour, Evin had
helped them carry in their boxes of
belongings, learning in the process
that they were moving in together
three weeks after meeting at a bar
just off the Strip. Gilson worked as

a personal trainer in a gym at the
corner of Sunset and Vine, his body
a perfect advert for his services,
with its broad, muscular chest and
prominent biceps. His boyfriend,
Red—Evin still hadn’t learned the
guy’s real name, but it seemed no
one ever called him anything else,
thanks to his striking mop of
carroty curls—tended bar at a five-
star hotel in West Hollywood. From
the looks they’d given each other
and the way Gilson’s big hand had
patted Red’s arse as they’d stood
talking to Evin, he’d gathered they
were very much in the stage of
their relationship where physical

need

was

constant

and

all-

consuming.

They’d

confirmed

that

practically every night since then,
fucking into the early hours while
Evin lay in his bed, listening
enviously as the metal-framed bed
banged against the wall and the
lovers yelled in bliss. Other people
might have been able to roll over
and bury their head in the pillow,
oblivious to the sounds of hot and
heavy sex coming from next door,
but Evin had always been a light
sleeper. Once he woke, it took
forever to drift off again. His mildly
insomniac tendencies, coupled with

the vivid imagination that drove his
burgeoning

career

as

a

screenwriter, led him instead to
listen in, speculating on just what
Red and Gilson might be doing to
each other.

Tonight, he couldn’t prevent

his hand snaking down to clasp his
cock, brought to sudden hardness
by the filthy soundtrack that
claimed his attention. He might
have a meeting over at Monument
Studios early in the morning, but
he knew he wouldn’t get back to
sleep till his neighbours had
finished

their

energetic—and

highly audible—performance. He’d

quickly established that Red was
the talker, constantly praising
Gilson for his big, hard dick and
clever tongue action. Red liked to
be sucked, that much was clear, and
from the way he groaned and the
bed clanked as he called out how he
needed to have his cock buried
deep in Gilson’s hot, wet mouth
once more, Evin knew he was
unable to dictate the action at the
moment. Maybe he’d been bound
by his wrists to the bed rail.

The thought created a delicious

image in Evin’s mind. Red lying
there naked, body slick with sweat,
cock sticking rigidly up from the

patch of ginger hair at his groin.
Gilson would be looking down on
him, a half-smile curving the
corners of his full lips upwards as
he watched his lover begging to be
sucked till he came. Maybe Gilson
would bring those wet, slightly
parted lips right to the head of
Red’s dick, so close Red could feel
his hot breath huffing over his love-
eye, taunting him with the promise
of swallowing him down once
more. Then, laughing, he’d pull
back, leaving a frustrated Red to
hump his hips at thin air. Evin
didn’t know why it turned him on
so much to think of Gilson as the

dominant partner and Red as
submissive—logic dictated it could
just easily be the short, wiry Red
taking control of his physically
more powerful boyfriend—but he
played the scene out that way as he
pumped his fist steadily up and
down the length of his cock. He
imagined Gilson bringing Red to a
stage

where

the

helplessly

restrained man promised he’d do
anything, if only he would give him
the satisfaction he craved. Only
then would Gilson take mercy,
wrapping his lips round Red’s
swollen pole and sucking till Red’s
pelvis jerked convulsively half a

dozen times and his cum gushed,
thick and salt-sweet, down Gilson’s
throat.

Evin’s moved his hand faster,

blurring on his shaft, spurred on by
the lusty noises coming from the
neighbouring apartment and the
explicit fantasy he’d woven around
their cause. Red was babbling now,
calling Gilson’s name over and over
as the bed rail beat its rhythmic
tattoo against the party wall.
Driven almost to distraction by the
sound,

arse

cheeks

bouncing

against the elderly mattress as he
jacked himself faster, Evin felt his
balls tighten, ready to release their

load. At the very moment he
pictured Gilson wiping traces of
cum from his mouth with the back
of his hand, ready to roll his lover
over and sink his cock into Red’s
oh- so-willing arsehole, he lost all
control. With a groan he was sure
would have been audible in the
next room, if only the two men
hadn’t been so wrapped up in their
own pleasure, he gave one last hard
tug of his cock, his seed arcing out
to land in a creamy puddle on his
belly.

Reaching to pluck a tissue from

the box on the nightstand, Evin
fought a momentary pang of regret.

How long had it been since fingers
other than his own had coaxed a
climax from him? When had he last
enjoyed the kind of sex that had
him screaming the walls down in
pleasure?

There’d been no one serious in

his life since he and Rob had split
up, and that had been close to a
year ago now. If he wanted what
Gilson and Red so clearly had, he
needed to get out there and look for
it, but that was easier said than
done. Working as a bus boy at the
Diamond

Diner

on

Sunset

Boulevard helped to take care of
the bills and gave him time to

concentrate on his writing, but it
kept him away from meeting the
kind of man who could give him
the satisfaction he craved. Until
recently, he’d been more than
happy with the arrangement. It had
taken time to get over Rob, as it
always did when you opened up
your heart to someone who you
thought loved you as much as you
loved him. Now, at last, he’d tired
of being on his own. If only it
didn’t feel as though he’d been
away from the dating game for so
long that he’d forgotten how to
read the signs of interest and
rejection, the subtle negotiations of

courtship.

His maudlin thoughts were

punctuated by a series of grunts
and gasps from Gilson. He’d heard
them often enough to realise they
signalled things were winding
down. The two men would be
cuddling in each other’s arms,
passion

spent,

murmuring

endearments as they settled down
to sleep. Which was, he reminded
himself, what he should be doing.
His meeting with Jason Wilkerson
was scheduled for nine, and it
wouldn’t do to be late. Not when
writers with decent scripts were a
dime a dozen in this town.

Someone

could

snatch

this

opportunity right from under his
nose if he wasn’t careful, and he
had no intention of letting them do
that. Double checking his alarm
was set for half past seven, Evin
closed his eyes and waited for sleep
to overtake him.

* * * *

Even though he’d walked on to

studio lots so many times in the
past, Evin still felt a thrill in the pit
of his stomach as he announced
himself to Jason Wilkerson’s PA.
This is it

, he told himself. Today is

the day you sell the script that’ll make
your name

.

Though he’d been cursing his

job at the diner the night before,
working there had been directly
responsible for the fact he now sat
on a ridiculously oversized cream
leather sofa outside Wilkerson’s
office, sipping at a cappuccino and
wishing he’d been able to grab
another hour’s sleep as he waited to
be called in to their meeting. The
Diamond Diner was a Hollywood
institution. By day, tourists flocked
to sit in the booth made famous
when Ryan O’Neil and Barbra
Streisand had filmed a scene for
one of their screwball comedies
there, and at night the place buzzed

with revellers spilling out of the
clubs on the Strip and in need of a
nightcap, convinced they’d just
heard the next big thing in rock
music. It was also popular with film
industry types, who shared the
latest gossip over a plate of Eggs
Benedict or the diner’s signature
Diamond Burger, served with a
smoky bourbon sauce.

Eavesdropping

on

a

conversation as he moved from
table to table, refilling customers’
coffee cups, he’d learned that
Monument Studios were looking
for vehicles for their hottest new
property,

stand-up

comedian

Roddy Belafonte. They were aiming
for a Christmas release, wanting to
cash in on the man’s sudden rise to
stardom. Evin had known he had
an idea in his files that would be
perfect for Belafonte’s abrasive yet
strangely loveable persona, and
he’d dashed back to his apartment
when he’d come off shift that night
to polish and refine the script. He
intended to pitch Wilkerson Gold,
Frankincense and Merv

—a feel-good

comedy about a slobbish loser of a
father who fell asleep at his son’s
school Nativity play and woke up
to find himself in the body of one of
the Three Wise Men.

Mentally rehearsing his one-

sentence pitch, designed to pique
Wilkerson’s interest before he
moved on to describe the storyline
in more detail, Evin heard his name
being called.

“He’s ready for you now, Mr

Pierce.”

Evin stood up, brushing specks

of lint from his one good jacket, and
followed

Wilkerson’s

secretary

through into the office.

“Evin, great to meet you. So tell

me what you’ve got for me.”
Wilkerson gripped Evin in a bone-
crushing handshake, pumping it
swiftly up and down before

returning to his seat behind the
desk. Linking his fingers behind his
head, he fixed Evin with an
impatient gaze, waiting for him to
launch into his pitch.

Evin took a breath, regarding

Wilkerson as he steadied himself.
With bleach-blond hair that had
been styled to within an inch of its
life, a suit that probably cost more
than Evin earned in a week and
chunky silver rings on three fingers
of each hand, the man struck him as
the typical production executive.
Surface

appearance

was

all.

Nothing of any substance lurked
beneath the bling and the designer

labels. Even though his attention
appeared to be focused completely
on Evin, his phone had been
deliberately placed within his line
of sight. If anyone of any
importance called, Evin knew he
wouldn’t hesitate to answer.

Trying not to let nerves get the

better of him, he outlined the basic
script idea.

“Okay, so tell me about it,”

Wilkerson said.

Encouraged, Evin went into

additional detail, explaining how
Merv, the film’s central character,
would learn vital lessons about love
and the importance of family, while

suffering a number of comedy
mishaps along the way. By the time
he’d finished, he felt convinced
Wilkerson would go for the idea.
The fact he hadn’t reached for his
phone at any point during the pitch
had to be a good sign.

At length, Wilkerson said,

“Evin, that’s absolutely perfect for
Roddy—like,

six

weeks

ago.

Trouble is, Krystal’s never going to
go for it.”

“Krystal?” Evin asked, hopes

deflating like a ruptured balloon.

“The lovely Mrs Belafonte.

Roddy’s new manager.”

Evin had seen the story. It had

been all over the entertainment
news shows a month or so ago.
Spending a rowdy weekend in
Vegas with a group of friends,
Roddy had wandered into a strip
club, where Krystal had performed
for him. It had been a case of love at
first lap dance. Eight hours later,
the couple had been married.

“His manager?” Evin didn’t

like the way the story was going,
but he needed to hear the rest.

“Yeah, she decided the guy

who’d been looking after him
wasn’t doing a good enough job.
Never mind the sold-out tours, the
best-selling DVD and the guest spot

hosting Saturday Night Live. She
wants Roddy to branch out in a
new direction, and that means
serious acting. Oscar bait, you know
what I mean?”

Evin nodded. Krystal Belafonte

wasn’t the first showbiz wife to
take over the running of her
husband’s business affairs. The
women didn’t seem to care who
else’s career they screwed up along
the way, just as long as they got
what they wanted.

“I’m sorry, Evin,” Wilkerson

said, in a tone that almost sounded
regretful. “It’s a neat idea—it’s just
not what we’re looking for right

now. But thanks for coming in.”

“Sure. I appreciate you giving

up your time.”

The receptionist favoured him

with a smile as he left the office,
but he didn’t return it. He’d been
so sure the studio would go for his
idea. At the very least, he’d hoped
they might take an option out on it.
Even if the project ended up
languishing in development hell,
he’d have made some money from
it, more than enough to ensure he
wouldn’t be scratching to pay his
rent for the next few months. But
now it was back to square one. Back
to the endless, frustrating round of

phone calls and emails, trying to
grab

the

attention

of

some

producer’s

assistant

for

long

enough to persuade someone,
anyone, to take a look at his script.

Wrapped up in his increasingly

gloomy thoughts, he didn’t realise
at first he’d taken a wrong turning
on leaving Wilkerson’s office. Only
when the concrete and steel bulk of
the building that housed Stage 13
loomed up ahead of him did he
realise he was walking away from
the main studio gates, not towards
them.

Evin had never seen Stage 13

up close, but he’d heard the stories.

No longer used on a regular basis
for anything other than storage
purposes, rumours abounded that it
was haunted. Even the regular
studio tours bypassed the place.

He’d have turned on his heel

and walked back in the direction
he’d come, if it hadn’t been for the
fact the stage door stood ajar.
Driven by a compulsion he couldn’t
put a name to, Evin quietly slipped
inside.

The first thing to greet him was

a pale, battered face staring
sightlessly

ahead.

He

almost

jumped out of his skin, till he
realised he was looking at some

leftover prop from a horror film, a
head no doubt designed to fly
across the room having been
severed with one swing of an axe,
wrenching shrieks and laughter
from a movie theatre audience in
equal measure. Now he knew how
people got the creeps simply
walking around this place.

Getting over his shock, he took

a better look at his surroundings.
What struck him more than
anything was the sheer size of the
building. Even with all the crates
and pieces of old scenery stacked
up against the walls, it still had the
dimensions—and solemn, silent

atmosphere—of a great Gothic
cathedral. No one challenged him
as he walked further into the
vaulted space, and he couldn’t help
wondering who might have left the
door open.

Gazing at the far wall, he

whistled in admiration. Before him
stood a perfect recreation of the
interior of a mediaeval castle,
complete with a deep-stepped
stone staircase. He’d watched a lot
of films over the years—first
through the sheer love of cinema
he’d developed as a kid, then later
in an attempt to define what made
the perfect script as he honed his

writing

skills—and

he

didn’t

remember ever seeing anything set
in a building like that. Why would
anyone spend so much time
constructing it, only to let it rot
forgotten on an unused sound
stage?

As he continued to stare at the

castle wall, thinking he really ought
to leave the deserted stage before
somebody saw him and questioned
what he was doing here, he seemed
to feel a hand brush his cheek. The
touch was featherlight, strangely
intimate. Startled, Evin glanced
round, wondering who’d crept up
on him, but no one was there.

Put it down to my overactive

imagination

.

The sensation of fingers on his

skin didn’t fade, though. Instead,
they moved with more purpose
now, tracing over the seam of his
lips, almost encouraging him to
open up and let them inside.
Trailing lower, they brushed his
neck, lingering in the hollow of his
throat. Convinced he was having
some kind of horny daydream,
inspired by the sounds of Red and
Gilson fucking like demons the
night before, Evin gave in to the
feeling.

Some movement in the air

around him gave the impression
someone stood behind him. Almost
unconsciously, Evin relaxed back, as
though pressing against the solidity
of a body he couldn’t actually see.
Now convinced this was more than
mere imagination, he let out a soft
exhalation as a second hand joined
the first in exploration, this one
gently brushing over the front of
his trousers and lingering on the
bulge it found there—a bulge that
grew beneath the subtle caress,
swelling and slowly rising, sending
delicious thrills all the way to
Evin’s core.

Then a figure stepped out of

the shadows.

Get your copy now

About the Author

Elizabeth Coldwell is the

author of numerous short
stories and two full-length
n o v e l s , Calendar

Girl

and

Playing The Field

. Her stories

have appeared in the best-
selling ‘Best Women’s Erotica’
series and Black Lace’s popular
‘Wicked Words’ collections.
Formerly the editor of the UK
edition of Forum magazine, and
contributed a spicy monthly
column,

‘The

Cougar

Chronicles’, to its pages. When
she is not busy writing, she is

an

avid

supporter

of

Rotherham United Football
Club and can be regularly
found on the terraces at
weekends, cheering her boys to
victory (hopefully!).

Email:

[e-mail]

Elizabeth Coldwell loves to

hear from readers. You can
find her contact information,
website and author biography
a

t

http://www.total-e-

bound.com

.

Also by Elizabeth

Coldwell

Her Dream Lovers

The Feel of Wings

Cougars and Cubs: Something

Within Him

Master Me: Neil and Obey

Subspace: Away From It All

Treble: Three Part Harmony

Switch: Wagers of Sin

Emergency Servicing: Down to

Earth

Sharing the Billionaire:

Everything to Him

Christmas Crackers: The

Christmas Box

Feral: Abyssinian Heat

Mi Amore: Missing in Milan

Haunted By You: The Spirit of

Stage 13

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