A Taste of Paradise

For all his life, Riordan Maguire has chosen his career over feelings.
He prefers to have even the most basic emotional needs satisfied
with the help of professionals, but his attitude gets challenged when
a wrong flight booking on a business trip takes him to a peaceful little
tropical island instead of his intended destination.

Finding himself stranded for a week, he meets Marc Forrester, a
social worker with summer-sky-blue eyes, a sunny look at life, and a
heart bruised by too many inconsiderate lovers—lovers like Riordan.
They begin an affair which to Riordan is nothing but a suitable
arrangement, and Marc knows his own weaknesses well enough to
realise that his instant attraction to Riordan only proves that they
don't stand a chance—but maybe one involuntary taste of paradise is
all it takes to change their lives.

Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Contemporary
Length: 23,329 words

A TASTE OF PARADISE

Sage Marlowe

EROTIC ROMANCE

MANLOVE

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A TASTE OF PARADISE
Copyright © 2012 by Sage Marlowe
E-book ISBN:

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First E-book Publication: August 2012

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DEDICATION

To the moments that can change a life…

A TASTE OF PARADISE

SAGE MARLOWE

Copyright © 2012

Chapter 1

Riordan Maguire’s arrival at the airport was not

as he’d expected it. Not that he’d given much
thought to what he was expecting beyond two
things. There should have been a driver to pick
him up and take him to his destination. And this
driver should have been there on time. That wasn’t
asking too much, was it? Well, apparently it was.
He kept craning his neck for someone in a uniform
holding up a sign with his name on it, or maybe
just his company’s name, which often happened
when the driver couldn’t be bothered to make the
effort to find out his name. Or spell it correctly, for
that matter. Used to all kinds of misspellings of his
name, Riordan scanned the signs that were held up
for anything that bore even a remote resemblance
to his name, but there was nothing.

Great. So not. He took out his iPhone to call

Nadia and get her to sort it out, absently noting that
it would be just around four a.m. at home, which,
admittedly, he didn’t care about at all. Nadia had

started as his PA only a month before, so it was
high time for her to learn what she was expected to
deliver in return for the exorbitant salary she
received.

Just as he tapped the screen to dial her private

number, his phone informed him there was no
network signal. Riordan stared at it, annoyed.
What was the point in an all-over-the-world, all-
services-available, smartphone contract when you
didn’t have fucking

network

reception? Was that

even possible? If there still existed a place on the
planet without decent mobile network availability,
Riordan was certainly not going there. No network
meant the time on his phone’s display wasn’t
correct either as it couldn’t automatically switch to
the local time zone, so he looked around for an
old-fashioned clock. The meeting was planned for
ten a.m. local time, so...

The big, friendly clock on the wall opposite him

informed him it was exactly five past twelve,
which was entirely impossible. His flight had been
scheduled to arrive at just before nine, which,
barring any delays, should have given him plenty

of time to meet the fucking driver—who had yet to
turn up—get driven across town to the huge,
modern, and indecently expensive-looking building
that hosted TorCom’s Indian branch, sign a bunch
of bloody contracts over a cup of coffee, sack the
current assistant manager, welcome the new
assistant manager, get back into the car, and be
back at the airport in time to catch his flight to
Sydney at half past one. Was that cutting it close?
No. He’d yelled at Nadia because she’d failed to
get him an earlier flight out.

Now it appeared he had

somehow lost three

hours during the flight,

which meant he could stay

where he was and hop on the plane to Australia
straightaway. It would probably be boarding soon.
The thought had him looking around in mild
astonishment as he was beginning to realise that
the terminal didn’t exactly look like the airport of a
fast-growing metropolis.

There hadn’t been any announcements about a

delay either, and what was probably the most
worrying, there was no board anywhere in sight
that showed the outgoing flights. There was none

showing the incoming ones either. In fact, there
was very little showing anything at all, and the
airport building itself was practically no more than
a large room. Riordan felt confusion rise.
Something wasn’t quite right here. Little by little,
he was becoming aware of his surroundings. The
lack of check-in counters. The lack of duty-free
shops that battled each other for every potential
customer’s attention. The lack of basically
everything

that,

in

his

experience,

was

characteristic of an airport. Hell,

there weren’t

even any people around anymore,

and now that he

came to think about it, the ones that had arrived
with him had invariably been wearing very casual
clothing.

He hadn’t paid much attention to any of them

during the flight. He’d been busy checking a report
and the corresponding presentation Nadia had sent
him at some point very late last night, after he had
called her and told her he wanted both finished and
e-mailed to him before takeoff or she would be the
one taking off as soon as he returned. The files had
arrived within two hours of the phone call, which

meant she must have really dug her nails in to get
them done. All the more reason for him to check
and double-check every single figure and fact
she’d put in both the report and the presentation.
No, he didn’t trust Nadia to have gotten it right.
Yes, he was a control freak. Absolutely. But if
there was one thing that didn’t happen to Riordan
Maguire, it was turning up somewhere with
important documents that contained false data.
What apparently just had happened to him was that
he had turned up somewhere he hadn’t meant to go.
That much was already dawning on him, even
though a part of his mind was still trying to deny
that fact.

There was a small information desk in sight,

which looked just as deserted as the rest of the
building, but Riordan spotted a young woman
wearing something that looked remotely like a
uniform at a little distance. He picked up his two
bags and chased after her, startling her with his
harsh shout of “Hey, you! Wait!” Oh, Riordan
could be polite, charming even, but he didn’t use
this talent unless necessary. In his experience,

people reacted much better to simply being told
what to do. They might not enjoy it as much, but the
result was usually faster—and better.

The woman, or rather girl—she didn’t look

older than eighteen—stopped in her tracks and
looked at him, a faint frown line mixing with the
professionally bright smile she automatically
bestowed upon him. “Sir? Anything wrong?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Riordan

grumbled. “Where the hell are we?”

“I’m sorry?” Her smile dimmed a little.
“Where are we? This place, this...airport…

Where is it? What’s the name of the city?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said

apologetically, but at the scowl Riordan bestowed
upon her, she hastily added, “This is Mumbayana
airport.”

“What?”
The girl took a step back at Riordan’s yell.

“Mumbayana,” she repeated timidly, then, dark
eyes turning concerned, she asked “Where did you
think you are?”

“I am supposed to be in fucking

Mumbai,”

Riordan growled, instantly understanding what
must have happened. Nadia had messed up the
booking, getting him on a flight to a place with a
similar name and he, accustomed to relying blindly
on such insignificant things after years with the
brilliant Marjorie, had merely verified the flight
number she’d given him and boarded the plane.
Oh, that stupid, incompetent cow Nadia with her
blonde mane and painted nails.

He’d mistrusted her from the start, but she’d had

by far the best references so he’d put his doubts
behind him even though he could barely stand to be
in one room with her. Her good references, as he
had soon found out, came from doing a lot of
voluntary overtime with her previous bosses, and
she appeared intent on continuing this practice
with him. He simply detested the way she seemed
to constantly be assessing him, making him feel
like a piece of prime meat. Now, for the first time,
he found himself wishing she were nearby. On
second thought, it was probably a good thing she
wasn’t. Angry as he was, he might actually run the
risk of throttling her if he got hold of her. Even if

that meant having to touch her.

“And where the fuck is this fucking

Mumbayana?” he asked tetchily.

Apparently deciding she was not going to get

killed by this unfriendly stranger, the girl
explained, “Mumbayana is one of the most
beautiful of the many, many islands that belong to
the Philippines—”

“The

Philippines?

I’m

in

the

fucking

Philippines?”

“Uh, yes.”
In spite of everything, Riordan was beginning to

feel a little sorry for the girl, who had turned quite
pale underneath her naturally dark complexion. It
really wasn’t her fault, so he took a breath, counted
to ten and eased off a bit. “Fine. When does the
next flight leave and where is it headed?”

“The next flight? That would be the return of the

one you just arrived with and—”

“Great, I’ll take it. Where can I check in?”
An apologetic smile appeared on her face. “Sir,

I’m afraid you don’t understand. There is only one
plane a

week

coming here. The one you arrived

with has just left, so the next one will leave at
eleven-thirty next Thursday.”

Riordan couldn’t have been any more

flabbergasted if the tiny girl had slapped him
across the face. “Next...Thursday?”

“Yes. Next Thursday.”
“But...but there has to be a way out,” Riordan

protested vehemently, but the girl just shook her
head.

“I’m afraid there isn’t, sir. Not until next

Thursday.” She offered him a compassionate
smile. “Maybe this is a sign. You are very tense
and obviously in need of a holiday, so why don’t
you just book yourself into one of our lovely hotels
and enjoy the beauty Mumbayana has to offer?”

Riordan stared at her blankly. “Holiday?”
She nodded, seemingly pleased with her idea.
“I don’t have time for a fucking holiday,” he

snapped. “Is there a phone around here
somewhere? What about Internet connection? I
really have to check my e-mails.”

“There are very few telephones on Mumbayana

and no public ones, but if you stay at a hotel, the

owner will certainly let you make a call. As for
Internet connection... I’m afraid there simply is
none.”

Riordan shook his head in wonder. “How can

you people

live

like this?”

Smiling kindly, she said, “Quite peacefully.”
Realising he was arguing a lost cause, Riordan

grunted a thank-you to the woman and turned away.
He’d find a place to stay for the night, call his
boss, explain about the mess, request to talk to
Mary-Jane, his boss’s secretary, and ask her to
find a way to get him out of fucking Mumbayana
before the sun set a second time.

Letting

out a sigh, he slung his laptop case over

his shoulder and picked up the small suitcase
containing his change of clothes. Underwear, a
fresh suit, two shirts and ties. A maximum stay of
one night if entirely unavoidable was the rule, so
he liked to keep luggage light when travelling.
Every item brought along was an item that took up
space and having to check in a suitcase took up
time. Time he’d rather spend doing something
productive, and since standing around was nothing

but a waste of time, he left the small airport
building and went outside.

Tropical heat hit him like a very real, very solid

wall, and he felt sweat bead on his forehead. This
explained his fellow travellers’ outfits. The
temperature and humidity might be just about
bearable if you were dressed in shorts and a T-
shirt, but wearing a full business outfit made it feel
like a portable sauna.

Already Riordan felt moisture seep from his

hairline, run down his neck, collect between his
shoulder blades and trickle down his spine. At this
rate he was going to be soaked within minutes and
likely to stew in his own juices afterwards. He
was used to wearing a suit without complaining in
any weather, but this was ridiculous. He took off
his jacket and even went as far as rolling up his
sleeves. The part of his mind which had, up until
now, stubbornly refused to accept that this disaster
had really happened to

him

of all people finally

admitted defeat at the sight of palm trees and, what
was even more convincing, a perfect, picture-
postcard beach with the smoothest, whitest sand

imaginable kissing a turquoise sea rippled with
tiny, peacefully rolling waves. And all that under a
blistering, blue sky that didn’t seem to have seen a
cloud in months.

Fuck. Riordan took a deep breath. Took another.

Took out his phone, checked the screen. Just in
case. No network. He struggled to resist the urge to
throw it against the nearest wall. He gave in to the
urge. Watching the little useless electronic demon
smash into a hundred pieces didn’t help, but at
least it gave him something to do. There wasn’t
even anyone around he could yell at. He yelled
anyway, furious when the phone, instead of
smashing into a hundred pieces, bounced right
back and dropped to his feet in one, if somewhat
dented, chunk. Riordan gave it a hearty kick that
sent it skittering across the dusty road for a good
fifty feet where it landed right in front of a pair of
bare feet. Bare feet that were the end to slender,
tanned, bare legs.

Automatically, Riordan followed the legs

upwards. Even in his state of immense irritation,
he couldn’t help but notice that the legs were quite

nice. The part above them was even nicer. Narrow
hips and a promising bulge in cutoff jeans, a short-
sleeved, unbuttoned shirt revealing a firm, ribbed,
and equally tanned stomach and allowing for a
peek at a well-defined chest. Riordan swallowed.
It was getting even warmer, but that had nothing to
do with the climate. Broad shoulders, a delicate,
curved stretch of bare neck up to the jaw.
Chiselled. A sexy, full mouth, twisted into a cute
smile. White teeth. Dimples. A stubble. Sparkling
blue eyes that crinkled against the bright sunlight
underneath their veil of blond, unruly fringe.

Riordan’s cock gave a curious twitch. It was too

hot and the situation as improper as it could
possibly be, but there was nothing that could help
him blow off steam as well as a good fuck. Well,
maybe there was. A good fuck that followed an
excellent blow job. A small army of well-used,
well-paid sex partners could confirm that. Staring
at those luscious lips, Riordan could easily
imagine the sight of them wrapped firmly around
the swollen head of his cock, the moisture of the
guy’s saliva adding a nice sheen to all that pink

flesh as it slid in and out and...

“Do you actually

hear

me talking to you?”

The amused voice interrupted Riordan’s fantasy,

which, admittedly, was a rather good thing seeing
as his cock was making its interest known.

Down,

boy.

Riordan looked up and met the blue gaze with

outward cool. Maybe the guy turned out to be
interested, in which case he at least had found a
nice way to spend the time until whatever rescue
troop Mary-Jane sent arrived to take him out of
this fucking scorching hellhole he’d ended up in.
The thought brought his blood to the boil again.

“I hear you,” Riordan grumbled. “It’s not that

difficult. You’re standing only a few feet away
from me after all.”

Indeed, the man had approached him and

stopped at a short distance, holding Riordan’s
battered phone in his hand. Riordan took in the
slender but nimble-looking fingers that were
curled around it. He could almost feel that grip
around his still semihard erection, stroking it,
bringing it back to full strength... Oh fuck, he was
horny as the devil himself. He really should have

seen Jamie, or any of his other regular sex
partners, before he’d gotten on that plane last night.

“Oh well, I wasn’t sure. You didn’t say

anything. You see, it helps if you give an answer
when people talk to you.” Grinning, the guy stuck
out his hand. The one with the phone. “Seems this
belongs to you.”

“Keep it.” Remembering the gigabytes of highly

sensitive data the small device still contained, he
hastily added, “On second thought, give it here.”
Trying to snatch it, he reached out, but the other
man was faster and pulled his hand away with a
teasing smile.

“Easy. You’ve been very hard on this poor little

darling already, and I’d hate to hand it back to you
only for it to be mistreated even more.”

“Huh?” Riordan stared at him blankly for a

moment. The guy was nuts, right? He held out his
hand and flexed his fingers. “Give it back. It’s
mine.”

“Only if you promise not to hurt it anymore.”
“Give me back the fucking phone!” Riordan

roared, feeling slightly silly when the pretty blond

merely smiled in return.

“My, my, we have a bit of a temper, haven’t

we?” Seemingly unruffled, he stuck out his hand.
The one without the phone. “Hi. I’m Marc.”

“I don’t care who the fuck you are. Give. Me.

The. Fucking phone!”

Laughing, Marc shook his head. “Oh, jeez, mate.

You’re really pissed off about something, aren’t
you? What’s wrong?”

Riordan needed two deep breaths to get his

voice back under control. “Are you fucking
kidding me? I’ve asked you to hand me back my
phone and you—”

“But that’s not really the reason you’re so

spitting mad, is it?” Marc asked, his voice
suddenly soft and sympathetic. “What’s wrong?”

Thrown off track by this sudden change of

tactics, Riordan didn’t really know how to handle
the situation. Or Marc, who, still smiling, was so
utterly

unimpressed

by

Riordan’s

hostile

demeanour so far.

The people Riordan usually dealt with fell into

two categories—those beneath him and those

above him. Those who worked underneath him or
were in any way dependent on him invariably had
great respect and made very sure not to be given a
taste of his legendary temper. The unlucky ones
who had already sampled it made very sure not to
ask for a second helping. The few people Riordan
himself had to treat with respect—his own boss or
business

partners—knew

that

he

was

unpredictable. He stuck to his word once it was
given, but a lot could happen until it was. And he
had an unfailing instinct for people’s intentions,
which made him an extremely powerful—or
extremely dangerous—associate.

So, feared and respected, he had never come

across anyone who openly challenged him, was
unimpressed by his temper, and had managed to
leave him confused with just one simple question.
What’s wrong?

The empathy in those two

syllables, the unspoken reassurance that Marc
knew that, in fact, something

was

wrong and, even

more, seemed to honestly care about it, puzzled
Riordan.

He was still struggling for an answer when

Marc let out a soft little chuckle and handed
Riordan his phone. “Why don’t we go to the pretty
little bar just down the road and you can tell me
what’s bugging you over one of those indecently
delicious cocktails they serve on this beautiful
island?”

Tucking his battered phone into his pocket,

Riordan sighed. Indeed, why not? Maybe a drink
would ease some of the anger that was still burning
inside him. Although that might just be hunger. He
hadn’t had a meal since he’d left his house almost
fifteen hours earlier and his stomach’s tolerance
was worn thin already as it was. Too much
travelling, bad food at irregular times, and constant
readaptations to different time zones had left it
oversensitised and as nervous as a two-year-old
thoroughbred racehorse.

Nodding his agreement, Riordan walked

alongside Marc down the dusty stretch of road, if
you could call the stripe of hard-pressed soil a
road. The bar was located right at the beach, just a
few yards away from the absurdly blue sea that
licked at the powdery sand in an endless series of

gentle, white-headed waves.

At Marc’s insistence, they picked a table right at

the waterfront. Riordan couldn’t have cared less
where they sat. He had given up such trivial
preferences years ago.

“What would you like?” Marc asked, blue eyes

gleaming just like the sky next to his head.
Remarkable how Marc’s eyes appeared to be the
same colour as the sky, Riordan noticed. It was
impossible of course—just a trick of the light—but
the thought was intriguing nonetheless.

“I don’t know,” Riordan admitted. He wasn’t

one for cocktails. Handed a wine list, he could
easily pick out the best or at least the most
appropriate choice for any occasion, but when it
came to mixed drinks, he was rather clueless.
Somehow though he didn’t feel like drinking a
well-chilled, fruity Chardonnay or perhaps a Pinot
Blanc, even if either was available at all, which he
doubted.

“Why

don’t

you

choose?”

he

opted

diplomatically, or, more truthfully, disinterestedly.
He could have happily skipped the cocktails and

the chat altogether and proceeded straight to the
part where he got to do what had been playing on
his mind ever since he’d bumped into Marc.

“Okay.” Marc smiled and signalled for the

waitress, a well-rounded, dark-skinned beauty
with a sunny smile and apparently an equally sunny
personality.

“Hey, boys, what can I get you?” she asked in

good English but with a definite accent. An accent
Riordan couldn’t remember having heard before
and he’d heard a lot of different accents over the
years. It made him realise he was somewhere he’d
never been before, which was strange. He’d really
come to believe he had been everywhere and seen
it all.

He listened to Marc order something with a

fancy name that sounded like loads of sugar and
fruit juice blended with the unavoidable rum or gin
and waited for the waitress to shuffle off.

“Can I ask you something?”
Marc turned his head and smiled. Waited.

“Sure.”

“Ever sucked a guy off?”

Marc’s eyes widened in surprise, but other than

that, he didn’t show any reaction while he toyed
with the colourful drinks menu in front of him. The
waitress brought their cocktails, put the glasses on
the table, glanced from one to the other, and left
them to it without another word.

“Is that your problem?” Marc asked, finally

looking up after another minute or two. “Blue
balls?”

Riordan allowed himself a faint smile. “Not as

such, no. But I’ve had a hell of a day, and I just
thought it might be a lot better if I got to fuck that
pretty mouth of yours.”

He watched Marc closely. A straight guy would

have taken him outside to give him a piece of his
mind already, if he’d taken him to a bar at all. To
have

cocktails,

of all things. Really, how queer

could you get? In all probability Marc was a rent
boy looking for business.

Marc took the straw between his lips and

opened them a fraction so Riordan caught a
glimpse of the pink tongue that flicked the end of
the thin, plastic tube. He lowered his head a little.

Raised it, lowered it again. His cheeks hollowed
as he sucked up some liquid. Riordan was more
than relieved to be seated with a table in front of
him. Watching Marc perform a very neat fellatio
on an innocent straw had him hard as a rock and
aching in seconds.

“Does that answer your question?” Marc asked

quietly after he’d released the plastic tube. It did
answer more than just one question.

“Three things,” Riordan said with as much calm

as he could muster. “I expect absolute
confidentiality, condoms, and all deals are to be
made beforehand. No renegotiations afterwards.”

This time, Marc did look ruffled. “Deals? What

deals?”

“Payment.” Gosh, how he hated it when they

played dumb. It was a waste of time. He wanted
the goods they had to offer. He knew it, they knew
it, and he could afford it, which was something
they all were good at spotting.

Marc stared at him blankly for several long

seconds. Then, to Riordan’s bewilderment, he
simply started laughing. It sounded cute, although it

wasn’t exactly the reaction Riordan had expected.
Still, he watched Marc laugh it out and wipe the
tears from his cheeks as the last ripples of laughter
ebbed away. “You think I’m a hooker, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” Riordan shrugged.
Chuckling, Marc shook his head. “I’m not,

sunbeam, sorry. I’d still suck your dick though, and
I’ll even do it for free, but only if you tell me your
name first and at least try that drink before we go.”

“Riordan,” Riordan answered automatically, too

confused by the whole situation to bother keeping
his name a secret. So what if Marc knew his first
name? They’d never meet again after this. Far
more worrying was the question why he had failed
to realise that Marc was not a pro. He’d certainly
sucked that bloody straw like one, and usually,
Riordan identified the truly talented boys pretty
easily.

“Nice name. Irish, right?” Marc asked with that

damn smile still plastered on his face.

“Uh-huh.” Riordan picked up his glass and

plucked the silly little pink-umbrella-and-fruit-
thingy from it, along with the straw, and put them

aside irritably. He wasn’t much for doing the
sucking himself. He took a sip. It wasn’t bad. If
you happened to like sugar, fruit juice, and gin.

“Do you have a last name, too, or is that taking it

too far?”

“That is taking it too far.”
“Do you do that often?”
“What?”
“Go somewhere no one knows you and have sex

with a prostitute?” Marc’s voice was perfectly
calm as he asked the question, just as if he was
asking about Riordan’s latest recommendations for
a good restaurant.

“I happen to travel a lot and work even more,”

Riordan heard himself answer. “Which means I
often find myself with an hour or two to kill, and
it’s the best way to relax after a long day.”

“Why not find someone steady?”
“I’m not interested in a relationship. I wouldn’t

even have the time for that.”

“I see. So what brings you to Mumbayana? If

you have a few more hours to kill, there may be
better places to find the kind of, um, company,

you’re interested in.”

“I know.” Riordan nodded unhappily. “I never

even meant to come here in the first place.” He
took another gulp from his drink. It didn’t taste all
that bad to be honest, and it even soothed his angry
stomach a little. He took another sip. No, it was
quite nice really. Just not much in the glass if you
were thirsty, which all of a sudden he was.
Ignoring Marc’s raised eyebrows, he ordered
another round then launched into giving Marc an
overview over what had brought about his current
situation, absently noticing at some point that the
glass he’d just drained was suddenly full of that
tasty, cool liquid again.

Chapter 2

Marc was smiling—of course he was—when

Riordan finished his account of how he’d ended up
on Mumbayana. One more round of glasses had
appeared and disappeared miraculously, and
Riordan was beginning to feel the effect of all that
juice and gin more than just a little. He felt
strangely elated, and the prospect of having to
spend an involuntary holiday on Mumbayana
wasn’t so unwelcome anymore. A holiday?
Possibly an entire week? In a place that looked
more like paradise than anything he’d seen so far,
with a very handsome Adam sitting just across the
table? A very handsome Adam who had promised
him a blow job a little while ago, he recalled. No,
that thought was absolutely not unwelcome
anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact. Riordan
returned the smile. Above all, he was feeling
immensely horny.

Marc was a gorgeous little thing, and there was

nothing Riordan wanted more in that moment than

to push his cock as deep into this sinful, smiling
mouth as he could. His own hot juice made his
balls ache and feel as if they were about to burst.
He wanted to release it into Marc’s mouth and
send it down his throat following all the other
juice he’d already had. And once he’d done that,
he wanted to go again and bury his cock in that
perfect, round arse. Marc had a distinctly cute
arse. He’d noticed that when Marc had gone to use
the restroom a few minutes ago. He’d been so
worked up he had considered following him and
taking him right there and then but had decided
against it. Not just because getting caught might
raise enough of a scandal for someone outside of
Mumbayana to get wind of it, but also, and that
might just be the main reason, he wanted to take his
time with that pretty little thing. If he played it
right, maybe Marc would be up for a few more
shags before leaving.

“Wanna go back to my room?” Marc asked

unexpectedly, his voice rough with that nice, tight
tinge all of a sudden. The grin was still there, but
his expression had become more passionate.

More...horny.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Riordan got up,

astonished when the world needed a moment to
catch up with his movement. A multitude of boozy
business lunches had left him with a very thorough
knowledge of how much he could handle without it
having a detectable effect on him. This time he’d
apparently miscalculated.

He covered Marc’s mouth with his own the

moment they were through the door. Stumbling and
groping each other for support, they made it to the
side of the building where a large, gnarled tree
protected them from view. Riordan pushed his
tongue down Marc’s throat, preparing him for what
he intended to push down there as soon as he
could, but Marc stiffened in his hold and turned his
head away.

“Gee, mate, easy!” He laughed. “In case you

wondered, my tonsils are still in there and quite all
right.”

So Marc was not much one for kissing, which

made him all the more desirable in Riordan’s
opinion. He’d never gotten the hang of snogging

and was quite happy that the guys he usually had
intercourse with didn’t require it either. In fact,
he’d only meant it as a favour to Marc in the first
place anyway. That, and with it foreplay in general
out of the way, he gave Marc’s shirt an
encouraging downwards tug, but Marc didn’t seem
to understand, so he added a perhaps more easily
understandable, “Get on your knees.”

Maybe there was something wrong with Marc’s

hearing, or maybe he’d changed his mind, because
he remained standing, the omnipresent smile
dancing on his face. “Baby, I said I was gonna
suck you off. I did not say I’d—”

“Get on your knees and suck my dick!” Riordan

repeated in the tone of voice that had so far gotten
every employee with attitude problems back on
track. There was a spark of something unreadable
in Marc’s eyes as he at last dropped to his knees
and delved for Riordan’s fly.

The first brush of humid, warm air on Riordan’s

at-last-freed cock felt blissful. It wasn’t the touch
he longed for, but at least he could hope for that to
come soon now. Marc’s fingers stroked down his

almost entirely erect length, and Riordan could
virtually feel yet more blood rush south to get him
to his full, rather impressive size.

He felt Marc’s fingertips brush his balls in a

cautious caress. So the boy wanted to take his
time. Explore, play a little. Riordan could have
happily come within about thirty seconds, but he
was willing to indulge the cute thing that was
brightening his day so skilfully, so he let Marc
stroke, caress, and fumble away for a while. It
wasn’t all that bad. Not exactly what he was used
to, but Marc had talented fingers, and his touch on
the parts of Riordan that usually were neglected
was more arousing than Riordan would have
expected. Nice though it was, that wasn’t really
what he was here for.

Tilting his hips forwards, he eventually

reminded Marc of what he was supposed to do
down there, immensely relieved when Marc at last
obeyed and opened his mouth. Fucking tease!
Riordan heard his own groan deep in his throat as
the tip of Marc’s tongue flicked over the, by now,
almost painfully throbbing head of his cock. He

would have loved to simply push in, but again,
Marc denied him his wish and held him back with
both hands against his hips. At least he took in the
whole head now, bobbing his head and sucking
with increasing pressure. Riordan gave a shallow
thrust. Marc pulled back a little and loosened that
wonderful tightness. Riordan whined in frustration.
He was too fucking close for that kind of games.

“Let me fuck your mouth,” he gasped roughly,

and looked down just as Marc smiled up at him.
Well, his summer-sky blue eyes did, anyway. His
mouth couldn’t. It was shaped into a perfect O
around the fat, moisture-glistening head of
Riordan’s cock.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so hot.” Riordan sighed and

raised his hands to Marc’s head.

Curling his fingers in Marc’s blond, tousled

hair, he brought him in the right position and
pushed in, deeper than Marc had taken him yet.
Marc grunted in surprise but didn’t struggle against
the hold, so Riordan went on with it. Even in his
close to desperate state, he’d realised that Marc
was far from being able to take all Riordan had to

offer, so he kept his thrusts shallow, delighted
when Marc wrapped his fingers around the base of
Riordan’s erection, squeezing tightly to better
make him imagine those last few inches.

Marc was sucking for real now, and between

that delicious hot and moist suction at the tip and
the rougher, tighter friction at the base, Riordan at
last felt that well-known shudder burn down his
spine. His balls tightened. As always, that was
when he lost track of his body’s reactions and his
surroundings and the first spurt of hot liquid shot
out of him. He was faintly aware of pumping what
felt like gallons down Marc’s throat. Marc seemed
to have some trouble swallowing it all, but he still
didn’t try to break Riordan’s hold. Riordan let him
go anyway when he relaxed in the aftermath of his
climax, catching his breath and waiting for his
heart rate to slow down.

“Oh my.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his

hand, Marc pushed to his feet shakily. “You know
what you want, that’s for sure. Are you always like
this?”

“Like what?” Riordan grunted halfheartedly. He

was tired. Relaxed, but very, very tired all of a
sudden.

“Dominant. Trying to... Oh, gosh, I think we

ought to get you into a bed before you fall asleep
on your feet. Wanna go back to my place? You can
sleep it off, take a shower, and then we’ll sort out
the rest of the mess you’re in. How does that
sound?”

It sounded fantastic. Especially the part about

sleeping it off.

Riordan nodded his head, which seemed to

weigh at least half a ton, and followed Marc on
wobbly legs, struggling to keep his queasy stomach
from making its annoyance known. He barely
noticed where they were going or what was
happening around them. All he could focus on was
the rhythmic movement of Marc’s tight buttocks in
front of him and the slender, brown legs that
peeked out from underneath the frayed hem of
those indecently sexy cutoffs.

Those legs would feel so fucking great if

wrapped around his waist while he pounded into
that firm, peach-like arse, Riordan mused. It was

the last thought he could remember. After that,
smiling giant peaches rolled around him, frolicking
on an over-brightly lit beach that ended in an ocean
of fruit juice and gin. Little pink umbrellas were
bobbing on the waves while all across the blue,
blue sky about a thousand

No Network

icons

twinkled like deranged stars. He must be
dreaming. He seriously hoped he was dreaming.

* * * *

Riordan woke with a peach in his mouth. No.

Not a peach. Just a furry, dried out tongue. He
raised his head, which turned out to be a huge
mistake as it promptly started pounding. He tried
burying his head in the pillow, which wasn’t much
better, but at least the sharp pain dulled to a
throbbing. Groaning, he reluctantly opened an eye
and quickly squeezed it shut again. More of that
bloody bright sunlight. So apparently he hadn’t
dreamt that. At least there hadn’t been a peach in
sight. What was it with those fucking peaches?

The thought made his dried-out brain creak

ominously, so he abandoned it and instead tried to
concentrate on more important questions. Where
was he? And what the hell had happened
last...night? An hour ago? A day ago? A week? In
fact he didn’t have a clue how long he had
been...wherever he was. Mumbai. He had been
supposed to go to Mumbai for... No, not Mumbai.
Fucking Mumbayana in the fucking Philippines.
The memory of his involuntary holiday floated
back to the surface. Fuck. He had completely
failed to find a hotel and, what was far worse,
hadn’t called his boss. The girl at the airport had
said the only way he’d gain access to a phone was
in one of the hotels. Riordan was determined to
find one straightaway. Well, straightaway would
have to wait until he managed to open his eyes in
this annoying floodlight and sit upright without the
world threatening to tumble off its axis.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a gentle voice said right

next to his ear. “Good. I kept wondering whether
you’d transitioned into a coma. You certainly slept
like you had. Drink this.” A cool glass was pushed
into Riordan’s hand. Too sick to resist, he curled

his fingers around it obediently, pushed up on his
elbow, and brought the glass to his lips for a
cautious sip. It was plain water, but he couldn’t
remember water ever having tasted as good as this.
Cold and clean, it flooded his dried-out mouth
with its wonderful, cool wetness. Riordan could
feel it run down his throat and pass his chest to
gather in his stomach. It was delicious.
Unfortunately it made his stomach twinge
painfully, which reminded him that he hadn’t eaten
since...

“What time is it?”
“Just past seven. How do you feel?”
At last Riordan was able to open his eyelids

now and stare up into the summer sky. No, just a
pair of amazing blue eyes. Marc’s eyes. Twinkling
merrily.

“Like death warmed over,” Riordan grunted.
Marc smiled. Of course he did. “No surprise

there. It’s what you look like, too.”

“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”

Marc’s

expression

softened.

“Seriously now. How bad is it?”

Focussing on his body, Riordan took stock.

Head, aching. Check. Back, also aching. Check.
Too many hours sleeping in a half-upright position
in the confined spaces of airline seats was
accountable for that. Stomach, queasy. Check. The
rest seemed to be more or less in working order.
Especially...

“Nuh-uh, I wouldn’t recommend that in the state

you’re currently in.” Marc grinned, obviously
having spotted Riordan’s morning glory.

“Not? What would you recommend?”
“To you? A shower and fresh clothes. After that,

coffee and a light breakfast with lots of fruit, and
maybe some milk or yoghurt to fill you up on
vitamins and minerals.”

“Yes, Mum,” Riordan grumbled.
“No reason to get grumpy, baby. Get up, go have

a shower, and I’ll order us coffee and breakfast up
here, okay? What would you like?”

Gingerly sitting up, Riordan gave a disinterested

shrug. Breakfast was really not on top of the list
right now. Finding a phone to call his boss
wouldn’t be bad. The thought disappeared

somewhere in the still-fuzzy depth of his
consciousness before he got a chance to grasp the
full meaning of it.

“Just coffee. Strong, black.” Skipping breakfast

had become a habit that made it easier to keep trim
without having to spend too much time burning off
calories by working out. Skipping it after he’d
skipped all the meals the day before was even
better. His stomach would just have to deal with it.

A frown darkened Marc’s pretty face. “Don’t

you want to eat something? Breakfast is—”

“The most important meal of the day. Yeah, I

know,” Riordan cut across him wearily.
“However, since my body never really knows
what meal it should be getting anyway, I don’t
think it matters too much.”

“Fine.” Marc was beginning to show the first

signs of mild weariness. He sighed. “Go take a
shower. I’ll get the coffee. Oh, and you might want
to consider using a toothbrush.”

Shooting him a dark look, Riordan shuffled off

to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Chapter 3

By the time dark and handsome returned from

the bathroom, his mood seemed to have improved
marginally, but Marc knew better than to expect a
miracle. With guys like Riordan, a slightly relaxed
expression didn’t necessarily mean anything. They
usually remained unpredictable, snapping back
into that frosty and unapproachable demeanour
before you even had a chance to see the clouds
approaching.

That didn’t mean Marc didn’t still invariably

fall for the worst kind of them, even though he must
have sworn to himself to only get involved with
the nice ones about a hundred times. Or at least
every time his heart had been bruised by an
inconsiderate, selfish egomaniac like the one
standing in front of him. He sighed. It would be so
much easier to stick to that resolution if
egomaniacs didn’t tend to come in such irresistible
packages. This one was a classic example.

Riordan might be insensitive as a brick, but he

was stunningly handsome in his aloof yet
sophisticated way. His clear, blue-grey eyes might
have appeared cold. Against the background of his
jet-black hair, which was laced with the first fine
threads of silver, they enhanced his look of a
classic, old-fashioned aristocrat. The firm, slightly
square jaw, prominent cheekbones, and straight
nose only added to this, and he wore a suit like he
was born in it. Well, at least the shirt with the
trousers.

The memory of how the perfectly tailored fabric

had clung to those broad shoulders and narrowed
to caress Riordan’s lean hips had Marc close to
drooling. He would have loved to see Riordan
wear the full outfit. He was a sucker for a well-
built guy in a suit, and the fact that Riordan seemed
to be the perfect age—midthirties and promising to
mature well if he managed to put on the brakes and
stop abusing his body soon enough—made him
only more appealing. And yet, getting involved
with him was in all likelihood going to turn out a
big mistake. But did one more bad experience
really matter? Maybe if this time he kept telling

himself it wasn’t going to end well, that he’d have
no more than a few days and maybe not even that
much with Riordan, maybe then it wouldn’t hurt
quite so much when yet another castle in the air
dissolved and was blown away across the ocean.

Forcing himself to ignore just how tempting

Riordan looked now, naked with nothing but a
towel wrapped around those narrow hips, his pale
skin still moist from the shower, Marc held out a
cup to him invitingly. “Coffee?” He’d asked the
hotel to make it extra strong, hoping that Riordan
would appreciate it, but the man just gulped it
down and set the empty cup aside.

“Do you have any idea where my suitcase is?”
“Yep. Right where you left it last afternoon.”
The scowl that this answer brought to Riordan’s

forehead was just like he’d expected it.
Perversely, even though he knew he’d provoked it,
now that it was there, Marc wanted nothing more
than to make it go away. Kiss that soft, now-
pouting mouth that was so accustomed to being set
in a thin, stubborn line. Stroke the creases from
Riordan’s forehead with gentle fingertips. He

reached out indeed, but all he stroked from
Riordan’s forehead was a strand of ink-black hair
that had somehow managed to resist the neat cut
that tamed the rest.

Visibly startled by the unexpected touch,

Riordan looked strangely vulnerable, but at least
he didn’t avoid it altogether. He didn’t exactly lean
into it and beg for more either, but it was a start.
Riordan was clearly not big with the touchy-feely
stuff. His disastrous attempt at kissing yesterday
was proof enough of that, and the nearly uncaring
detachedness he’d displayed while Marc had
sucked him off had effectively wiped out all traces
of doubt that might have still existed.

No, Riordan was definitely not relationship

material. He was by far the most attractive man on
the entire island though, and while his bedroom
manners probably offered much room for
improvement, Marc had little doubt that Riordan
was well capable of fucking him right into next
week—both figuratively and literally. Well, it
would be nice to have a fuck buddy for the
holidays who had the added benefits of both beauty

and a brain, but Marc was determined not to lose
any sleep if their encounter didn’t make it until the
end of his stay. Anything beyond that was out of the
question anyway. In a funny way this realisation
was actually good as it offered him the luxury of
not having to worry about pleasing Riordan. If it
worked, fine, if it didn’t, so what? Getting laid
was always good, but it wasn’t all that mattered.

In the meantime Riordan had obviously managed

to recall the whereabouts of his suitcase. If you
could call the tiny case that had seemed glued to
him the day before a suitcase. He had slipped into
the trousers of a fresh suit—dark grey and
excellent fabric, just as the first one—and was
inspecting the creases in his classic plain white
shirt with a frown.

“You’re not honestly going to wear a suit today,

are you?” Marc grinned. He wouldn’t mind seeing
Riordan in one now that he’d caught a glimpse of
how snugly the waistband of those trousers
enveloped Riordan’s hips, but it really was
ridiculous in this climate.

The idea of peeling him out of it was also rather

appealing, however, and probably more advisable,
as Riordan was likely to faint from overheating
before it was even noon.

“It’s all I have with me,” Riordan answered

matter-of-factly, although he didn’t look too happy
with the notion of putting on his jacket either.

Marc shrugged. “Why don’t you buy some new

things? There are some shops here that sell
beachwear and shorts and stuff.”

The expression on Riordan’s face made Marc

wish for a camera. If ever he’d seen anything that
could only be described as an indignant glare, it
was the look Riordan currently gave him.

“Shorts?” Riordan repeated in a tone that

sounded as if Marc had suggested he wear a
glittering pink thong. “Beachwear?”

“Well, yeah. This is an island. Almost half of its

ground area consists of beaches so what do you
think people wear around here? Surely you’ve
been swimming before, haven’t you? Or worn
shorts?” he added with a wink.

“Uh, probably. At some point,” Riordan said

vaguely.

It didn’t sound as though he could even

remember that time, which was a pity, really.
Riordan definitely had the legs for short trousers.
Marc had checked that out earlier. Hell, the man
had a body for pretty much anything. Even a long
night of snuggling up to it tightly. Marc was fairly
certain Riordan wouldn’t have allowed for that to
happen if he’d known, but the poor thing really had
been close to comatose.

Still frowning contemptuously, Riordan ogled

his clothes.

“Come on, don’t be such a big baby.” Marc

chuckled. “It’s what everybody wears. A lot of
people look silly in it, which you won’t, and
besides, nobody here knows you anyway,” he
continued, pushing Riordan. “In fact, here’s what
we’re going to do. Put on your shirt, leave the top
four or five buttons undone, and roll up the sleeves
like you did yesterday, then I’ll take you
shopping.”

“Marc, I—”
“You’re going to die a slow and horrible death

by inward combustion if you wear your clothes

outside. It might be a little faster if you put on the
jacket, but it will be horrible nonetheless. I
swear.”

The ghost of a smile fluttered across Riordan’s

face. “Maybe I should just stay inside then,” he
said sensibly.

“Forget that.” Lunging forward, Marc grabbed

his hand, surprising both himself and Riordan.
“We’re going shopping now.” He spun around and
pulled a reluctant Riordan with him.

“Wait, my shirt!”
“If you want to wear it, you’ll have to put it on

while we’re walking. I’m not wasting another
minute on arguing with you while you are getting
closer to the end.”

Riordan made a noise that actually sounded

almost like an amused snort as he grabbed his shirt
and followed Marc out of the room. He dressed
while they walked down the corridor, sticking to
the styling Marc had suggested. When they walked
across the small entrance area, Riordan stopped
and went up to the reception desk. “I have an
important call to make,” he explained. “You go

ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a moment.” Marc
sighed and went outside. He remembered Riordan
saying he wanted to contact his boss and explain
about the mess he was in.

Riordan joined him only a little later, looking

annoyed but, at the same time, relieved.

“Did you talk to your boss?” Marc enquired

politely.

“Yep.”
“What did he say?”
“He was livid. What else did you expect? He’s

gonna wait for my return, though, so I’ll have the
pleasure of sacking that stupid bitch myself.”

“Oh, okay. I guess this means that you have a

week to kill now, huh?”

For the first time since they’d met, Riordan

looked like he was about to relax. The corner of
his mouth was raised a little as if he was close to a
smile. “I guess it does. So, where are we going
today? I’m fairly certain I heard you talk about
taking me shopping.”

“Uh, okay, let’s see...” Marc looked around,

trying to remember where the shop was that had

those funny T-shirts in the window. “Yep, this
way.”

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

Riordan asked sceptically. His good mood had
disappeared again already.

Half-turning back to him, Marc rolled his eyes.

“It’s an island, Rhee, and it’s not exactly big. Even
if we walked into the exact opposite direction,
we’d get there eventually.” He’d expected Riordan
to complain about the use of a nickname, but either
Riordan hadn’t noticed or couldn’t be bothered to
argue.

He did scowl a bit, though, as he said, “Maybe.

It’s just that I’d prefer to get to wherever

there

is

sooner rather than later. Remember the thing about
me wearing all those clothes? And it’s so fucking
hot

again,” he groaned, and wiped his sweaty

forehead. “It’s only eight o’clock. Shouldn’t it be
at least a bit cooler in the morning?”

“Hey, you’ve got nothing to complain about,

mister. You wanted to wear those clothes all day
long, and you were seriously considering wearing
the jacket—and probably even the tie,” Marc

teased.

Riordan huffed a little. “I was not.”
“Yes you were.”
“Was not.”
The tone in Riordan’s voice had Marc turn

around and look at him. Yes, he’d heard right. The
man was actually smiling, and what was more, it
was a real, honestly humorous smile, not just the
superficial baring of teeth Marc had seen on so
many men of Riordan’s kind, including him.

The smile looked undeniably good on Riordan.

It made his eyes gleam and set off his full lips. It
also revealed a little chip in his left upper front
tooth. Just a tiny imperfection, but on a man like
Riordan, it added a charming touch of humanity.
Marc wondered why he hadn’t had it corrected but
didn’t dare ask for fear of disturbing this new,
lighter mood between them. It wasn’t just light. It
was almost...flirtatious.

Riordan clearly wasn’t an expert on that either,

but he looked distinctly cute with that slightly
crooked smile of his. Marc felt a spark of
attraction ignite. The just-got-out-of-the-office

look Riordan sported had been giving him wobbly
knees ever since Riordan’s broad chest had
disappeared under the impeccably white shirt he
wore. For the fraction of a moment, Marc
wondered how Riordan would react if he crossed
the distance between them and planted a kiss on
those invitingly curled lips. He was likely to not
appreciate the gesture. Marc did it anyway.

Riordan gasped a little in surprise. He was

clearly too startled to resist, and Marc managed to
dip the tip of his tongue between his lips and brush
the chipped front tooth. As expected, Riordan did
not appreciate the gesture. Raising his head, he
pulled out of the kiss. His height of almost six foot
two gave him a clear advantage over Marc’s five-
ten.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Riordan snapped, and even went as far as wiping
his mouth and casting a look around. A distinctly
guilty look. A look Marc had seen before.

Fuck.

Riordan wasn’t just detached and egocentric—he
was also in the closet. The question was, was he
worth yet more trouble?

“No one here knows you, or me for that matter.

And they’re gay friendly, so there’s nothing to
worry about, okay?” Marc answered, carefully
keeping his tone light and free from reproach.
Riordan’s frown had by now become a familiar
sight.

“What are you on about?”
“Well, you’re apparently not out, so...” He fell

silent as Riordan impatiently shook his head.

“Where on earth did you get that idea from? I try

not to rub it into people’s faces, but I’m not exactly
hiding either. What I meant is just why are you
trying to kiss me all of a sudden?”

“Oh.” Not quite so bad then. “I just felt like it.”
“Fuck,” Riordan groaned. “So you

are

into that

stuff, right?”

“If by

that stuff

you mean kissing or exchanging

caresses in general, then yes, I

am

into it,” Marc

retorted. If that thought was so hard to bear for
Riordan, then maybe he was indeed wasting his
time.

To his surprise though, Riordan took a breath

and met his gaze thoughtfully. “Look, Marc, you’re

obviously a nice guy, but I’m not used to being
with...someone like you, okay?”

“Someone like me? That makes me sound like

some kind of slimy lowlife that—” In spite of his
rising anger, he fell silent when Riordan held up
his hand.

“I didn’t say that. All I’m saying is that I prefer

to keep things simple, so don’t expect too much of
the lovey-dovey stuff from me. I’d be happy to
spend some of the hellish week I’m stuck here with
you, but I’m not looking for anything beyond that,
okay? And by spending time with you, I mean
screwing each other’s brains out, not having
candlelit dinners at sunset.”

Marc needed a moment to find his voice. “Well,

at least you have no trouble expressing your
wishes.”

Riordan gave him a lopsided, wolfish grin.

“Meet the professional me.”

“Is the professional you the one who meets

professionals?” Marc enquired acidly.

Riordan’s grin froze. “If you have a problem

with me fucking hookers, you’d better get over it

quickly ’cause that’s nothing I’m going to
apologise for.”

“They’re probably the only people who are still

willing to put up with that attitude of yours,” Marc
shot back before he could stop himself. That was a
line that had better not be crossed. Even he knew
that.

A muscle twitched in Riordan’s cheek as he

stared at Marc with an unreadable expression.
“That’s what you think of me?” he asked at last.

“Well, something along those lines,” Marc

answered grudgingly.

“Hmm. I see.” Riordan took a breath and let it

out in a long sigh. “Well, I guess you’ve got every
reason to. Still wanna go shopping?”

“Huh?”
“We were going clothes shopping, remember?”

Riordan sounded perfectly calm and composed.

“Yes, of course, but I thought—”
“Well then, let’s go ’cause it’s really

smouldering hot out here and I want the shopping
part over with so we can grab a bite to eat. Oh, are
you interested in the part where we screw each

other’s brains out or not?” Riordan added casually
when they were walking again.

Marc couldn’t help laughing at the sheer cheek

of him. “Yes. I think I am. But you better make sure
I won’t regret it.”

“You won’t.”

Chapter 4

By the time Riordan got to put his money where

his mouth was—or rather a certain part of his
anatomy to another certain part of Marc’s anatomy
—Marc wasn’t quite so sure about the truth in that
statement. For all his handsome physique and clear
statements, Riordan wasn’t exactly a skilful lover.
He had the equipment and the stamina all right but
somehow...Marc twisted this way and that, but he
couldn’t seem to get into it.

When they’d gotten back to the hotel room, he’d

been quivering with anticipation, but even though
he already knew better than to expect much in
terms of foreplay, he was a bit miffed at Riordan’s
curt, “Take off your clothes.” He’d obeyed, of
course, deriving a little pleasure from watching
Riordan lose the light, short-sleeved shirt and the
thin cotton slacks he’d bought, imagining what it
would feel like to be the one who got to peel the
clothes off that beautiful body.

What happened after that however was not how

Marc had imagined it. Going straight down to
business was one thing, and he

was

a guy, so it

didn’t require much to get him in the right mood,
but Riordan’s idea of preparing his lover was
putting a condom on—himself. Marc knew he
could handle it, or he would have stopped it right
there and then, but...well, he didn’t want to

handle

it. He wanted to

enjoy

it.

“Anything wrong?” Riordan panted somewhere

between

the

hundred-and-seventy-sixth

and

hundred-and-seventy-seventh time he pounded into
Marc’s increasingly unenthusiastic body.

Looking up into the sweaty face above him,

Marc had a brief vision of shouting “Everything!”
and shoving Riordan right off the bed before
getting out a dildo. Maybe he could use it to show
Riordan how to at least get the motions right, never
mind hitting the hot spot.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and shook his head,

shifting for the hundred-and-seventy-eighth time to
get Riordan’s cock to stimulate him even remotely
where he wanted it to. Talking of stimulation...the
only thing Riordan seemed to know what to use his

hands for was holding himself up, so at least Marc
didn’t get crushed underneath a hundred and ninety
pounds of man. A hundred and ninety pounds of
man about to lose the ability to hold himself up. It
was easy to tell that Riordan was close, so Marc
didn’t waste any more time hoping for the magic
spark to ignite but wrapped his hand tightly around
his own much-neglected cock. He knew how to
handle himself, just like any healthy male in his
early thirties did, so he caught up with Riordan
quickly and came in a close second, not that
anyone was keeping track of trivialities like that.

Riordan crashed on top of him, panting and

sweat-covered from the exertion in spite of the
perfectly air-conditioned room. Strangely, it was
the first and probably only moment Marc felt even
a little close to him. He ran a tentative fingertip
down the pebbled trail of Riordan’s spine,
expecting to be told off but delighted when
Riordan shuddered delicately underneath the
caress and let out a soft, barely audible sigh. So he
did appreciate a touch.

Curious, Marc wrapped his other arm around

Riordan’s body and stroked his back with both
hands. It felt nice, all that smooth, moist skin under
his hands. He traced the ridges of Riordan’s
shoulder blades, followed the outlines of
Riordan’s muscles, and trailed his fingers down to
those nice, firm buttocks. Predictably, Riordan let
out a grunt and twitched unwillingly as Marc’s
hands cupped his arse, gently kneading the flesh.

“Didn’t you talk about screwing each other’s

brains out?” Marc whispered suggestively into his
ear.

“Figure of speech,” Riordan grumbled, and

jerked again, an unmistakable attempt to shake
Marc’s hands off.

“Do you ever?”
“Huh?”
“Let yourself get screwed,” Marc clarified.
“No.”
“Have you ever?”
“No.” A hint of suspicion had crept into

Riordan’s voice. Maybe something in Marc’s own
voice had given him away.

“I was just thinking. Maybe you should try it.”

“Why should I? I’ve no desire to have another

guy’s cock up my arse,” Riordan pointed out,
already getting out of bed, which struck Marc as
funny somehow seeing as he had nowhere to go
anyway.

“Well, at least it would give you an idea of what

it feels like,” Marc replied lightly before he could
stop himself.

Turning round to face him, Riordan stared at him

with narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to
mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just me thinking. Isn’t that what

they say? That everyone ought to try to walk in
someone else’s shoes some time?”

“Who says that?”
“I don’t know. I thought it’s a saying or

something,” Marc replied evasively. Frustrated
though he was, he didn’t really want another
confrontation with Riordan.

Riordan stared at him wordlessly. It was

impossible to say what was going on behind those
blue-grey eyes, but Marc had the distinct feeling
that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it.

“You didn’t enjoy it,” Riordan said eventually,

his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

Marc felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Uh, well...”

he started vaguely, but fell silent when Riordan
nodded softly.

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t.” Riordan finished

doing up his fly and came back to the bed. He sat
down on the side, right next to Marc, and looked at
him with quiet earnest. “What was wrong?”

“I beg your pardon?” Of any reaction Marc

might have expected, this was not one of them.

“You didn’t like sex with me, and I would like

to know why,” Riordan said, still unruffled. He
sounded as cool and composed as if he was trying
to figure out if his company might save a few quid
if they picked a different supplier for office
material.

“I...just...uh…” Marc felt trapped in the blue-

grey stare. He squirmed. Poor Riordan, this was
going to hurt. “I’m not sure where to start,” he said
miserably.

“Fine. Don’t start at any definite point, just tell

me.”

“It...well, first of all, you might wanna do

something to get your partner in the mood. It
doesn’t have to be sunset and a bunch of flowers,
but something more than just undressing does go a
long way to creating a certain atmosphere, even if
you’re not much for canoodling. Second…” Marc
took a breath. “It doesn’t hurt to focus on your
partner and touch him, uh, throughout the act either.
It’s nice to at least be noticed by the guy you’re in
bed with. Sorry.”

Riordan winced but nodded. “Go on.”
“Sure you wanna hear this?”
“No.” Riordan’s face was stony. “But maybe

it’s time I did.”

“Okay. When a guy bottoms for you...you don’t

just stick it in, you know?”

Riordan’s eyebrows shot up, but other than that,

he didn’t respond. A faint blush crept into his
cheeks, but he looked far from angry, as Marc had
feared he would. More...hurt. Sad. Ashamed, even.
Reacting on instinct, Marc reached out and took
Riordan’s fine-boned hand in his.

“You really don’t know any better, do you?” he

asked softly.

Still mute, Riordan gave a weak shake of his

head.

“It wasn’t all bad, you know,” Marc said in his

best comforting voice.

At last Riordan spoke again. “Wasn’t it?” he

asked bitterly.

“No.”

Please don’t ask me which part wasn’t.

“Which part wasn’t?”
“Uh...”
“No,

really, that good, huh?” Riordan’s voice

was dripping with irony “I had no idea.”

“Sorry,” Marc whispered, but Riordan just

shrugged.

“It’s okay. I guess it’s high time someone told

me.”

“What do you mean?”
“Well... It’s hard to know what you’re supposed

to do—or not supposed to do—when no one ever
tells you how to do it right.”

Marc smiled. He’d long since begun to feel

sorry for Riordan, who looked rather bedraggled.
“Didn’t you...um, I don’t know, fool around with

your first boyfriend? Just try out stuff, explore
what you like and all that?”

Riordan shook his head. “I did fool around all

right, and I know what I like, but I never really had
the chance to find out what it’s like for...the other
one.”

“I’m not just talking about bottoming,” Marc

said softly.

“I know. Neither am I. Sex for me has always

been something that...had to be done to satisfy a
need. I want it, I need it, so I find someone to do it
with.”

“Oh. That sounds pretty...cynical. You do take

pleasure in it though, don’t you?”

“Sure, but I wonder sometimes what it would be

like to not do it just to get off. What it would be
like to take the time to get to know your partner
before you get down to it.”

“Don’t get mad at me now, but...do you ever

have sex with a guy you don’t pay for it?” Marc
asked, feeling a little awkward in the face of
Riordan’s unexpectedly open confessions. He
wasn’t afraid of hearing someone spill their guts,

but

for Riordan, this was obviously a big issue to

get off his chest.

He might regret talking about

something that was so intimate and certainly
painful to a degree.

Riordan shook his head in answer to the

question. “Not really. Well, there’s you,
obviously, but apart from that, I don’t think I’ve
been with anyone who didn’t charge me in the last
five years.” He thought about it briefly and
sneered. “Ah no, that’s not quite right. I think the
last time I screwed a guy just because we both
wanted it was after the party for my thirtieth
birthday, so that would be six and a half years ago
now.”

“Is it worth it?”
“Is what worth it?”
“Your career. If what I read between the lines is

correct, the reason you’re so...um, emotionally
distanced from other people is your job. You
simply don’t have the time to get involved with
anyone, do you?”

Smiling sadly, Riordan nodded. “I tried having a

relationship once. That was almost ten years ago.

He was the first man I seriously cared about, but it
was right around the time my career really started
kicking off, and I was working eighteen-hour days
six days a week. On the seventh day, I wasn’t much
use to anyone, let alone a lover who wanted to get
his share of the package, so in the end, I did the
decent thing and broke it off with him.”

“Do you regret it?”
Riordan shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t get me

wrong, I’m not complaining about the life I have.
It’s the choice I’ve made. I just wonder sometimes
what it would be like if I had chosen him over the
job.”

“Did you love him?”
A muscle in Riordan’s jaw flexed, and it took a

moment for him to find his words. “The truth is, I
have no idea. I don’t know what it’s like to be in
love. It was nice being around him, but in the end,
we spent so little time together anyway I can
barely even remember what it was like.” He fell
silent and stared into space for a while,
melancholic and quite possibly pursuing thoughts
too painful to share. When he eventually focused

on Marc again, his expression was pensive. “How
do you do this?”

“Do what?”
“Get me to talk about stuff like this. I’ve never

told anyone about that before.”

Marc shrugged. It wasn’t the first time he’d

heard these words or something along those lines.
“It’s a kind of gift I suppose.”

Riordan looked at him sceptically. “A gift?”
“Uh-huh. I get into people’s heads and make

them tell me stuff. Secrets. Everything I want to
know.”

“Oh. I hope you don’t mind the mess up there,”

Riordan deadpanned.

“Not at all. Want me to give you a hand sorting

it out?”

Again, Riordan watched him thoughtfully for a

long moment before he spoke again. “No, seriously
now. You do have something about you that makes
it easy to talk to you. You’re...trust-inspiring.”

Marc chuckled. “Trust-inspiring? Really?”
“Yes. So, what is it?”
“I was serious. It is a kind of gift that I have. It’s

called listening. I think people instinctively feel
that I really listen to what they have to say so they
find it relatively easy to confide in me.”

“Hmm. Fair enough, but that’s not all, is it?”
Grinning, Marc shook his head. “No, that’s not

all. There’s also a bit of, let’s call it suggestion,
involved, that has them talk to me. It’s a matter of
how to phrase questions, and then there’s body
language of course.”

“Suggestion?” Riordan repeated doubtfully.

“You mean you’re using some kind of
psychological hocus-pocus, right?”

“Uh, yes.”
“Why don’t you just say that then?”
“Because most guys can’t get out fast enough if

they hear the word

psychology. Most people can’t,

in fact.”

“I’m not most people.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Marc admitted with a smile.

No, Riordan was definitely not most people, and
strangely, the more time Marc got to spend with
him, the more he discovered about Riordan that
was very different from what he’d expected. Peek

beyond the facade of hardworking, cynical, no-
nonsense businessman and you found a rather nice
and probably very sensitive soul hiding behind it.

“Grass doesn’t stop being green just because

you say it’s not,” Riordan said sensibly, but there
was an amused gleam in his eyes. “So come on,
spit it out. You’re a professional mind-bender, a
psychiatrist or something like that, aren’t you?”

“Ah, you’re clever. I’m not quite that highly

qualified though and in a lower income class, I’m
afraid. I’m a social worker.”

Riordan looked surprised. “A social worker?

Interesting. Before I out myself as mostly ignorant,
I think I ought to just ask. What exactly is it that
you do?”

“I mostly work with families who have

problems for some reason or other. Quite often
there’s some sort of trauma or abuse involved,
something no one wants to be known, so it’s a
necessary skill to get people to tell you things
they’re uncomfortable talking about. It also helps
to be able to read between the lines. Or the lies,
whichever way you want to look at it.”

“I suppose you get to hear a lot of emotional

crap in that job, don’t you?” Riordan asked, his
voice uncharacteristically soft and compassionate
all of a sudden. For the first time in a long time,
Marc found himself willing to confide in someone
who was not the psychological counsellor he had
to see every couple of weeks.

“I do,” he admitted. “And sometimes it’s...” He

had to swallow to keep the lump that was suddenly
forming in his throat from affecting his voice too
much. Damn, it was so much easier to cope when
his daily routine kept him busy. Days off work and
long weekends spent at home or with friends
always made him realise how lucky he was. His
own relatively happy life was so very different
from what he got to see almost every day.
Ironically, it was worst on holidays in the sunshine
and blissful atmosphere of a faraway country. The
immense discrepancy and injustice of life was
hard to bear as it was, but seeing people at their
happiest only made him recognise the dark sides
even more.

“It gets to you, doesn’t it?” Riordan prompted

gently.

“Yes,” Marc choked out.
Fuck, why did he have to turn into a big, sobbing

baby right now? With all his inability to cope with
people on a personal level at the best of times,
Riordan was hardly going to be pleased about
finding himself holding and comforting an armful
of temporary fuck buddy nursing an inappropriate
blues. And yet, the very fact that Riordan was
indeed holding and comforting Marc came as a
huge surprise. A through-and-through pleasant
surprise.

Disbelieving at first, Marc resisted the

temptation to let his head sink against that strong
shoulder, but when Riordan put a hand to his head
and gently pulled him close, he abandoned his
restraint. Deeply inhaling the scent of warm male
body, Marc closed his eyes and focused on the
rhythmic thudding of the heart just inches away
from his ear. It was a nice sound. Regular and
soothing. So full of life and yet so humble, rarely
ever heard by anyone.

He wondered whether anyone had ever been

with Riordan in this way, so close and at ease with
him that he could simply lie there and listen to the
music of his heartbeat and breathing. The music
turned out to be a lullaby and before he even
realised it, Marc fell into a deep and peaceful
slumber, snuggled up tightly into the tender
embrace of Riordan’s strong arms.

Chapter 5

“Hey, sleepy.”
“Fuck.” Jolting awake, Marc looked up and

straight into a pair of smiling blue-grey eyes.

“Don’t you want to wake up first?” Riordan

asked, teasing. He was still leaning against the
headboard in almost the same position he’d been
in when Marc had fallen asleep on him. He had
slid down a bit, though, and shoved one of the
small extra pillows behind his head, so apparently
he hadn’t been all uncomfortable.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Marc said. “I didn’t mean to

conk out like this. You must—”

“Oh, actually, I found it quite nice to watch you

sleep,” Riordan interrupted him in a gentle tone
then,

looking

self-conscious,

he

added,

“You’re...cute when you sleep. You make those
sweet little noises, like hums, only much softer.”

“Oh. Do I?”
“Yes.” Unexpectedly, Riordan leaned down and

brushed a kiss on Marc’s forehead. “Don’t frown,

baby. I don’t mind holding you.”

“Don’t you?”
Riordan shook his head, looking bemused. “No.

It feels quite nice in fact.”

“Hmm. You know what else feels quite nice?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yep. I’m starved. Aren’t you?”
Riordan gave a shrug, making Marc’s head bob

along with the movement. “Not so much, but if you
want, we can go out to eat something.”

“That would be great.”
Marc rolled out of bed quickly, took a shower in

record time, and got dressed even faster. Unlike
Riordan, who apparently never ate, he was
beginning to feel light-headed with hunger. That
was what lots of fresh air, sex—even if it wasn’t
particularly good—and an afternoon nap always
did to him. Seemingly amused by his sudden
eagerness, Riordan didn’t waste time getting ready
to go, too.

Neither of them was picky about which place

they went to, or maybe Marc’s audibly grumbling
stomach appealed to Riordan’s mercy. Either way,
they found a restaurant easily. Again, Marc went
straight for a table that offered the best view of the
beach and the sea.

He loved the sea. Always had. It soothed him

when he was upset, inspired him when he was
melancholic, aroused him when he was in a good
mood. Maybe Riordan was up for a little walk
after dinner. But first things first, and right now,
food was the most important matter on Marc’s
mind. He smirked as he realised that the sun was
already approaching the horizon and the waitress
was beginning to light the candles inside in
anticipation of a spectacular sunset. So much for
no candlelit dinners.

“I heard they have the best seafood around

here,” Marc said as he studied the menu.

“That’s great,” Riordan answered without

batting an eyelid. “Especially if you happen to be
allergic to seafood.”

“Oh shit. Are you?”
“Yep. Anything that’s ever lived in salt water.”

Looking at the colourful, mouthwatering

photographs that illustrated the dishes for those not
being able to read the descriptions, Marc tried to
imagine what it must be like to be forbidden all
those delicacies. “What happens when you eat it
anyway?”

Riordan pulled a face. “You don’t wanna

know.”

“No really,” Marc insisted.
“If it’s only a tiny dose, my throat swells up. If

it’s more, I have to pop some emergency meds so I
don’t suffocate before I spend the next few hours
talking to God on the big white phone.”

“Uh-oh. Poor you. Well, I think in that case we

ought to make sure you don’t get any...” Marc
wrinkled his nose as a thought came to his mind.
“How...sensitive are you?”

“What do you mean?”
“Well, if I had any, and we...got close, would

that affect you?”

Smiling suggestively, Riordan dropped his gaze

to Marc’s mouth and licked his own lips. “You
mean when we kiss after dinner?”

“Something like that,” Marc said, feeling a little

jolt of delight in his stomach as he took in
Riordan’s phrasing. When, not if.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never tried, but I’m not really

keen on taking a risk.”

“Well, in that case, I think the choice of what

we’re having has just become a lot easier.”
Grinning, Marc put his menu aside. “There is
exactly one option that is not fish or some other
seafood, and that’s the vegetarian dish.”

“Lovely. I’ve always wanted to try one of

those.” Riordan smiled back. He didn’t seem to
mind, and the look of appreciation in his eyes
made it relatively easy for Marc to settle for the
stewed mixed vegetables instead of the delicious
grilled fish he’d been looking forward to.

The conversation during dinner was delightful.

The food wasn’t. They wolfed it down anyway.
Marc was too starved to care what he ate and
Riordan seemed at least hungry enough to put up
with a plate full of chunks that supposedly were
vegetables but cooked to beyond recognition. What
the food lacked in consistency was not made up for

in taste. At least that way they didn’t waste much
time on eating.

“How about we extend the way back a bit?”

Marc suggested after they had paid. Riordan had
insisted on picking up the tab, saying that since he
had spoiled the dinner for Marc, the least he could
do was make it his treat.

“How do you want to do that? Walk in the

opposite direction and keep going ’til we come
round?” Riordan teased.

“Funny. No, I’d just like to go to the beach and

walk a bit. It’s said to help with digestion.”

Rolling his eyes, Riordan chuckled. “In that

case, maybe we should start out in the opposite
direction. Hell, if that stuff doesn’t leave us with
upset stomachs, I don’t think anything ever will.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Marc said forgivingly,

barely even paying attention to the conversation
anymore.

The amazing view made him forget about the

dreadful dinner. The sun was just about to set,
casting a corridor of strangely orange and purple
light onto a sea that looked like a pool of molten

silver. He stared until his eyes watered, trying to
take everything in and imprint it on his memory.
He’d watched every sunset since he’d arrived a
week ago, but this must be the most beautiful yet.
Or maybe it was sharing it with someone else that
made it special. At some point, Riordan’s elegant
hand had crept into his, a warm, wordless
companion on the walk his mind unavoidably took.
Absorbed, he watched the glowing, red ball on its
way to meet and fuse with the increasingly dark
and now perfectly smooth ocean.

“Thank you,” Marc whispered when the last

strip of gleaming red had disappeared on the
horizon.

“What for?” Riordan enquired in an equally low

voice. There was a distinct roughness in it. As if
he’d felt the same magic Marc experienced at this
display of nature’s beauty.

“Sharing this with me.”
“No need to thank me. This must have been the

most spectacular sunset I’ve seen in my entire
life,” Riordan admitted.

“I guess that’s saying something, considering

how much you travel. You must have seen some of
the most amazing sunsets in the places you’ve been
to.”

Riordan let out a sarcastic little snort. “You’d

be surprised.”

“Not?”
“No. I could probably count them on the fingers

of one hand.”

“Oh. What made you watch now?”
A soft smile appeared on Riordan’s face as he

answered, “You.”

“Oh,” Marc said again, trying to figure out the

exact meaning of that. “I’m sorry if-”

“Don’t be,” Riordan interrupted him softly. “It

was a pleasure to watch. The sunset and you
watching it, by the way.”

“Do you know what else is a pleasure?” Marc

asked, tightening the grip of his fingers around
Riordan’s hand.

“No, what?”
“This.”
Reaching up, Marc curled the fingers of his free

hand around the back of Riordan’s head and pulled

him down, straight into a tender kiss. Riordan was
hesitant, which wasn’t really a surprise after the
lecture Marc had given him earlier on what an
appalling lover he was, but he opened his mouth to
let Marc’s tongue slip inside.

Marc explored him gently, wandering over the

sharp ridges of teeth and dipping into the hollow at
the roof of Riordan’s mouth, a caress at which
Riordan gasped and cringed a little. Maybe he was
just ticklish or perhaps Marc had just stumbled
across a hidden hotspot. Tucking the discovery
away for future reference, Marc made to meet
Riordan’s tongue and found that once invited to
play, it wasn’t all that untalented. Sure, there was
room for improvement, but Riordan seemed to be a
fast learner and gained confidence quickly.

The kiss deepened and went from a lesson in

anatomy to a study of respective preferences, and
Marc found himself yearning for more surprisingly
soon. In the end, it was him who broke the kiss but
not because he couldn’t endure it any longer. Hell,
no. He could have happily spent an hour just
snogging away with Riordan, but he wanted,

needed

more.

“Fuck me,” he panted, horny beyond the point of

caring how desperate he sounded. The fact that
they were standing on the beach, which, although
miraculously deserted at this time of day, still put
them in plain view of anyone who cared to look.

“Sure?” Riordan looked down at him doubtfully.
“Hell, yeah!”
“Here?”
“Uh...” Marc cast a cautious look around.

“Maybe not right here,” he said. “But how about
over there?” He’d spotted a place that was
suitably protected from view at a little distance. A
small, natural rise in the sand met with one of the
little huts the locals used to store sun beds over
night, creating a little inviting niche. Excited by his
discovery and the idea of sex alfresco, he simply
pulled Riordan with him, not giving him a chance
to object. Strangely, Riordan didn’t seem all that
hesitant as he followed Marc and let himself be
pulled into the shadows and down on the smooth,
warm sand.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked at last,

sceptical after all when Marc pushed him down
and straddled his hips.

“Absolutely.” Marc bent over him for another

one of those, by now, quite pleasurable kisses.

Riordan sounded charmingly out of his depth as

he said, “But I thought you didn’t enjoy it and—”

“How about I’ll show you what I like?” Marc

cut across him and pulled Riordan’s free hand up
to his chest, rubbing the tip of Riordan’s index
finger over the nipple that perked up very eagerly
underneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

“You like having your nipples fondled?”

Riordan asked, sounding disbelieving.

“Oh yeah. Don’t you?”
Frowning, Riordan gave Marc’s nipple a light,

absentminded squeeze. “I don’t know,” he
admitted. “I’ve never tried it.”

“Oh dear.” Marc laughed and reached down to

undo some more buttons on Riordan’s shirt and
expose his broad, well-shaped chest. “Let’s see...”

He hummed playfully and lowered his head. He

flicked the little patch of pink delicately, raised his
head, and blew on it. It pebbled instantly, perking

up as if begging for more. Marc repeated the action
then bent down again and, taking the small bud
between his teeth, gently worried it until Riordan
let out a soft moan.

“Like that, do you?” Marc whispered playfully

into Riordan’s chest, and bit down just a little
harder.

Riordan sucked in a sharp breath and arched his

back. Both reactions were so very obviously
entirely instinctive that Marc knew exactly what
he’d wanted to know. Shifting to gain more space
to move, he subjected the other nipple to the same
treatment. When he looked up after a while of
leisurely playing with Riordan like this, the
expression on Riordan’s face sent a shock wave of
pleasure to his own groin. Barely visible in the
rapidly falling dark and narrowed, his eyes
gleamed with lust. Riordan had gripped his bottom
lip between his teeth and watched Marc having his
wicked way with him. Time for the next step of the
lesson.

“Your turn, sweetheart,” Marc whispered, and

rolled on his back, pulling Riordan with him.

Riordan looked surprised but overcame it

quickly and followed Marc’s lead, settling on his
side next to him with one arm for support and the
other resting on Marc’s hip. He seemed uncertain
of how to continue but apparently decided to
simply give it a try. His warm lips closed around
Marc’s highly sensitive flesh, sending another
delicious jolt of pleasure straight down that
special connection to Marc’s groin.

Mimicking Marc’s earlier actions, Riordan

alternately nibbled, licked, and sucked Marc’s
very delighted nipples, thoroughly over sensitising
the little buds. Marc loved every second of it. It
was his special kink—he couldn’t help it—and
when Riordan eventually started leaving a trail of
soft kisses across his stomach, he was close to
begging. For what he wasn’t quite sure, but there
was no denying Riordan’s foreplay technique was
improving rapidly. If the man kept going at that
rate, what was left of Marc’s self-discipline was
doomed.

Marc

was

doomed. He let out a little cry, half in

surprise, half in delight as Riordan took his cock

into his mouth without warning, and boy, Riordan
could take an astonishing lot.

Marc struggled to keep from simply thrusting

into that hot, moist mouth. This was Riordan’s
show. His turn to play and explore. Riordan
bobbed his head, keeping the friction nicely tight,
and the effect wasn’t wasted on Marc, even though
he could tell Riordan didn’t really know what he
was doing. But what the hell? Riordan was a guy.
He must have been on the receiving end of a blow
job often enough to know what felt good, so he
was probably copying what he liked himself. Marc
found that he liked that, too. A lot.

He stopped focussing on the motivation behind

Riordan’s actions and instead focussed on the
actions as such. Using his arm for leverage, he
raised his head and looked down at Riordan,
watching his own cock slide in and out of that
sinful mouth, watched Riordan’s full lips glisten
with moisture in the faint, pale light of the moon,
took in the dishevelled state of him, and found that
the sight easily counted among the sexiest he’d
ever seen. Riordan’s lust-darkened eyes met his

from underneath a veil of thick, black lashes, and
suddenly, Marc was right there.

“Close,” he groaned, but it was too late already.

Torn between sheer pleasure and embarrassment,
Marc toppled over the edge. He felt the
contractions as his cock happily shot its load right
into a very surprised Riordan’s mouth, and to his
horror, Riordan gasped, promptly choked, and
started coughing.

It wasn’t among the best orgasms Marc had ever

achieved, but somehow the experience turned out
to be not quite as bad as it could have been.
Riordan wiped his mouth when he’d stopped
coughing, then wiped the tears from his eyes. He
was smiling though, so he couldn’t be that angry.

“Sorry,” Marc whispered, feeling dreadful. “I

meant to warn you, but somehow I just didn’t get
round to do that.”

“It’s okay,” Riordan said lightly and wriggled

up to kiss Marc’s cheek. It seemed he was deeming
it inappropriate to kiss the lips of the man whose
cock he’d just had in his mouth.

“Aren’t you pissed off?”

“Not at all. Why should I be?”
“Because it’s not exactly good manners to...you

know.”

“Make me swallow?” Riordan smirked, and

cupped Marc’s face with his free hand. “You did it
too when you sucked me off.”

“I know. But that was different.”
“Was it? Why?”
“You...I...I expected it. I didn’t mind and—”
Riordan silenced him with a finger to his lips.

“Shush. I had very serious doubts if I could make
you come at all. So it’s actually a very big
compliment that you got so excited you couldn’t
hold back long enough to warn me.”

“But—”
“Don’t spoil it by overanalysing please.”
“Fine. I won’t.” Shrugging off the last of his

mortification, Marc gave Riordan an inviting
smile. “Want me to return the favour?”

“Nuh-uh.”
“Oh.” Was Riordan angry after all? Or just not

in the mood anymore? That was unlikely seeing as
he was the one who didn’t care much about the

mood anyway.

“Why not?” Marc asked tentatively.
Looking at him, Riordan smiled and made to

stand up. “For two reasons. Firstly, it’s getting
chilly out here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh.” It had cooled off indeed, Marc noticed as

he got up, too. He had been too wrapped up in the
comfortable cloak of Riordan’s presence and
attentions to pay much attention to their
surroundings. Now that it was brought to his
awareness, he shuddered and stepped closer to
Riordan, instinctively seeking the warmth of his
body.

“What’s the other?” he asked quietly, lacing

tentative fingers with Riordan’s.

There was a smile in Riordan’s voice as he

said, “Because I want to start taking my time. I
want to wait until you’re up for it again, and then,
I’d like to fuck you the way you enjoy it.”

“Fuck, Rhee!” Marc chuckled in surprise. “What

is the matter with you? Did you bump your head
somewhere?”

“No. No, I’m just beginning to realise that I

actually enjoy it this way.”

“This way meaning...?”
“Touching, kissing...hearing and feeling your

reactions to what I do to you,” Riordan explained,
sounding uncharacteristically affectionate. “It
makes me feel...oh I don’t know. Like there is
something special between us. Something only the
two of us have, and it’s nice to share this with you.
A lot nicer than getting off on my own while a
hooker plays a role.”

It didn’t happen often, but for once, there was

nothing Marc could say to this without making a
complete fool of himself, so he kept his mouth shut.
They didn’t take the long walk after all. Instead,
they took the fastest way back to the hotel.

When they reached their room, Marc was most

definitely up for it again, and this time, Riordan got
to keep his word. He fucked Marc exactly the way
he enjoyed it. They made slow, sensual love, Marc
straddling Riordan’s hips and clinging on to him as
he rode him, Riordan holding Marc in a tight
embrace as he covered Marc’s chest, collarbones,
shoulders, and neck with light kisses and licks

throughout. They climaxed almost simultaneously
and sank back onto the bed, exhausted, sweaty, and
satisfied, and at least Marc, for his part, was
feeling deliriously happy as he curled up in
Riordan’s arms. He pressed the curve of his spine
to the longer arch of Riordan’s body until they
touched in a long line from shoulders to feet. It felt
good, completely natural somehow to lie like this,
and once again, Marc found himself drifting off to
sleep to the sweet, already-familiar sound of
Riordan’s slow and deep breathing.

* * * *

Marc woke to the almost-as-familiar sound of

Riordan’s

voice

giving

harsh

instructions.

Confused and drowsy, he raised his head. Riordan
wasn’t talking to him. Cordless telephone in hand,
he was pacing the room with fast, almost frantic
strides while he had what appeared to be a minor
difference of opinion with whomever was on the
other end.

“Well then, tell them to sort out the fucking

papers and get a special permit. No, I don’t care
what it costs. I told you to get me off this fucking
island as soon as possible, and if that is the
soonest... No, I won’t wait. Holiday? Are you
insane? Well, ask Aaron. Or rather, don’t ask him.
Just

tell

him. And get the fucking plane to pick me

up here at one.”

He rang off without a word of good-bye and,

glaring at the phone, pressed the off-button.

“Wow,” Marc muttered quietly. “You really

don’t have a problem voicing your wishes, do
you? What’s going on?”

“I finally got the fucking hotel manager to let me

use his phone again, and what’s even better, my
boss’s secretary has found a way to get me out of
here.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good then,” Marc said

automatically as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
Riordan was already fully dressed and looked like
he’d been up a while.

“Yeah, just that it involves chartering a plane

and getting the pilot a special permit so he can
come here. Apparently they’re not so keen on

having any extra flights to this fucking island.”

“Oh. When’s that plane coming?” Getting out of

bed, Marc slipped into his trousers. He was
running on autopilot. He realised that much. This
situation was so very different from the one he’d
fallen asleep in that he was feeling dizzy from the
speed at which things had changed.

“If I’m lucky, which I think I will be seeing as I

just kick-started good old Mary-Jane’s motivation,
the plane should be here at around one.”

“One? As in today? In...” Marc checked his

watch. “In three hours?” Gosh, had he really slept
so long? He must have been more exhausted than
he’d thought he was.

Letting out a humourless chuckle, Riordan

nodded. The cold, indifferent expression on his
face sent a chill down Marc’s spine.

“But I thought you were going to spend the week

here.”

“For fuck’s sake, Marc!” Riordan snapped.

“You didn’t believe I’d stay on this fucking island
for even a second longer than I have to, did you?”

“Well, I thought...” Marc started feebly but

broke off. It was pointless. It didn’t matter what he
thought. He’d known right from the start how it
was going to end. The fact that they’d gotten a lot
closer than he’d ever expected didn’t change a
thing. Neither did the fact that he’d once again
allowed himself to give in to the foolish notion that
it might become more, that perhaps Riordan would
turn out to be... Turn out to be what exactly? The
way he’d been last night? Exactly what Marc
dreamed of? Not the man he really was? Marc
knew his own twisted subconscious well enough to
realise he’d probably not taken an interest in
Riordan if he wasn’t exactly the selfish, unfeeling
bastard he was. Talk about wanting what you
couldn’t have.

His psychological training made it easy for him

to detect the signs in himself, and he’d stopped
lying to himself a long time ago. Marc knew what
made him unfailingly seek out the one man in a
room full of people who would rip out his heart
and smash it on the floor. No matter what he did
and how many times he tried, Daddy was never
going to love his queer son. Marc knew this, and

yet, he couldn’t accept it.

What he had to accept however was that

Riordan was about to walk out of his life. Yet
another in a line of insensitive lovers, but Marc
sensed the imprint Riordan had left on his soul was
likely to stay with him for a long time to come.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, feeling dreadful and

needy yet unable to do anything to stop it. “I knew
you’d go all along.”

“Well, that’s good then,” Riordan answered

unemotionally. “At least it means you won’t lose
any sleep over this.”

“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind,

is there?”

Riordan took a breath, held it for a moment, and

let it out in a sigh. To his credit, he had the guts to
meet Marc’s gaze. “No. I’m sorry if that’s not what
you were hoping for, but...I’m just not that kind of
guy.”

“What kind of guy?”
“The one who takes walks on the beach, holds

hands in the sunset and...” He took another deep
breath. “Look, Marc… What we did was nice, but

this just isn’t reality. This island may look like a
piece of paradise, but it’s not real. It’s not my life,
and it’s not yours either. What we shared here
would never last back home, so we should take it
for what it was.”

“And what’s that?” Marc asked bitterly.
“A taste of paradise.”
Taking a step closer, Riordan pressed a quick

kiss to Marc’s astonished mouth but pulled away
before Marc had a chance to react. He turned
around to pick up his laptop case and the small
suitcase he’d arrived with. Taking both, he went to
the door where he hesitated once more.

“I’m sorry if this is abrupt, but I think it’s better

if I don’t hang out here waiting until it’s time to go
but... Listen, uh, if you happen to...” He broke off
with a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair,
then plucked an elegant, cream-coloured business
card from his pocket and thrust it at Marc. “Oh,
what the fuck. If you ever want to give me a call,
here’s my number. Gotta go now,” he added, and
left without another word.

Marc stood staring at the door for a while,

clutching the card with unfeeling fingers. He would
have liked to remain standing there until the sharp
ache in his chest numbed down, but chances were
the hotel owner would kick him out before that
happened anyway, so he picked up his wallet and
key card instead and left the room. Somewhere on
this bloody island would be someone who could
help him ease the pain. Maybe at least for a while.

Chapter 6

Riordan tried to pay attention. Really, he did.

Tried hard, but the truth was, he just didn’t find it
in him to care about whatever Aaron Smith was
lecturing about. Seriously, the old fart had been
waffling on for at least a quarter of an hour now,
which was only about half of the average time he
tended to speak on occasions like this. Already,
Riordan was fairly certain that if he had to sit
through another ten minutes of this not only his ears
were going to be bleeding.

His stomach gave a painful twinge, reminding

him that he had once again skipped breakfast. He’d
also skipped dinner the night before. It had seemed
meaningless, like so much these days. There
wasn’t much fun in going out to eat anymore, not
even in the company of any of the guys who
expressed an interest in him. There was always a
guy who gave him the eye or issued an open
invitation, but they all just bored him. Or maybe he
just didn’t care enough about any of them. To his

surprise—and confusion—he’d discovered that he
wasn’t even interested in the after-dinner
entertainment anymore.

Sure, sometimes he went home with someone

anyway. There were needs to be satisfied after all,
and since he had stopped using the services of
professional...entertainers, it was either that or his
hand, and sometimes his own touch just wasn’t
enough. Thinking of professionals brought that last
encounter back to his mind. He groaned, quickly
turning the sound into a cough when the woman
next to him, Linda Whatever-the-fuck-her-last-
name-was, cast him a reproachful glance. You
didn’t cough during Aaron Smith’s reports. Not
even if you had terminal lung cancer or, as in
Riordan’s case, remembered the first time in your
life you’d faced serious performance issues with
embarrassing clarity. Oh, Riordan had managed to
deliver, but it had been a tiresome and not
altogether pleasant task. The guy he’d met with had
been cute enough and knew exactly what to do, but
somehow Riordan’s body just hadn’t reacted the
way it usually did. Instead of leaping with joy, it

had dragged its heels unenthusiastically, and it had
taken a lot of concentration on Riordan’s part to
make it to the goal at all.

He knew he was fooling himself. It had nothing

to do with his body. His heart hadn’t been in it.
His heart, in fact, hadn’t only been not in this act
but not in any of the others either.

Not in anything, really, ever since he’d gotten

back from that dreadful involuntary holiday on
Mumbayana. Somehow it was as if he’d forgotten
it there.

No, not forgotten, he realised with a trace of

bitter regret. Lost. Lost to that cute blond with the
summer sky-blue eyes who, in spite of all the crap
he had to deal with in his life, stubbornly refused
to give up dreaming of romance and happy ever
after. The cute blond Riordan had left alone in a
sunny hotel room that smelled of tropical flowers,
suntan lotion, and sex to return to a bleak
conference room that reeked of money, coffee, and
the stale sweat of those who had to report bad
news. Oh, the fucking paradox of that.

Uncomfortably aware of the sudden attention of

the other members of the conference, Riordan
jerked up. Smith was staring at him.

Uh-oh.

“Riordan, would you care to give us a brief

overview of the current situation in the Mumbai
office?”

This time, Riordan didn’t bother stifling his

groan. Fucking Mumbai. He’d gone there after all,
but instead of the two hours he’d originally
intended to spend there, Smith had made him stay
for well over two weeks to sort out the employees’
working spirits. Riordan had sorted out spirits all
right, above all, the drink cabinet of the local CEO
who had been kindly asked to take a prolonged,
unpaid holiday afterwards. Back home in London,
he’d sat through what had felt like a hundred job
interviews in about as many days to find a suitable
replacement. Now he was just tired. Exhausted,
right down to the bones, and not just of Mumbai.
He was tired of everything.

“Riordan?” Smith asked again, impatiently. He

wasn’t used to being kept waiting.

Riordan got up, stretched his back. “Right.

Mumbai. The current situation in the office.” He

checked his watch. “Well, I guess it’s likely to be
very quiet and dark in the offices

currently

since

it’s three o’clock at night there, and I assume that
even the most ambitious of our employees has long
since gone home. Everything else is in the report
you and everybody else had on your desks
yesterday and would have read by now if you
cared about the situation in fucking Mumbai. Now
if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.”

He turned around, feeling his stomach tingle

with a curious mix of elation and horror at what
he’d just said. At what he was about to do.

“Riordan!” Smith shouted as soon as he’d found

his voice again. “What the fuck do you think you’re
doing?”

“Me?” Riordan turned back to him, doorknob in

hand. “I’m quitting. You’ll have my official letter
of resignation on your desk tomorrow. I suggest
you read it and try to actually remember the content
for once.”

He left the room, hearing only the rush of blood

in his ears and the pounding of his overexcited
heart. Shit. Had he really just quit his job at the

spur of a moment? He hadn’t even planned to do it,
hadn’t even thought about it until the moment Smith
had asked him about bloody Mumbai.

Acting on autopilot, he left the building. There

wasn’t much point in going into his office to pick
up his personal stuff. In all probability Smith was
going to offer him a fat pay rise to make him stay
after all. The lazy bastard knew exactly that he’d
built most of his company’s success on Riordan’s
shoulders, and in fact, he’d have enormous trouble
keeping things running as smoothly as they
currently

did without Riordan around. He might

ask Riordan for an official apology, or Riordan’s
behaviour might be blamed on stress and jetlag,
but the real question was, did Riordan even want
his job back? The answer, the more he thought
about it, was no. He didn’t. He’d fought a thousand
battles to get where he was, and now that he had
achieved virtually everything, he’d learned to
detest it.

As he stepped out on the street, Riordan took off

his jacket, undid his tie, opened the top four
buttons of his immaculate white shirt, and rolled

up the sleeves. The sun had just come out, kissing
the city awake from its winter slumber with an
unusually bright April day. Riordan closed his
eyes and tried to block out the typical sounds of
Central London around him.

It required stretching his imagination a little, but

he could almost make himself believe that the
omnipresent gushing noise was waves rolling on a
beach full of white, powdery sand. He kept
standing there for a while with the sun warming his
face, the sound of traffic waves filling his ears,
and dreamed himself back to a long abandoned
beach.

No, he didn’t want his job back. He wanted his

life back. And above all, he wanted Marc back.
Marc with his sky-blue eyes and sunny attitude.
Marc, who could ignore his grumpiness and bring
out the purring kitten in him. Marc, who could
make him disclose his darkest secrets while
bravely struggling with his own demons. Marc,
who had been the first lover whose pleasure had
meant more to Riordan than his own.

Marc, who had astonished him, intrigued him,

even, and shaken him to the core. He’d put his
cards on the table and shown Riordan all his
vulnerability, an act that humbled Riordan as he
wondered how much strength it must require to
give someone else the power to hurt you so much.
Marc had given him that power, and he had abused
it.

He’d known what Marc had wanted from him. It

had been so obvious to see that Marc had wanted
more than just a holiday fuck, but like so often in
his life, Riordan had chosen career over emotions.
Just that this time, he had found himself unable to
make the clean cut he usually made whenever
something—or someone—came too close. The
truth was, Marc had gotten to him, crawled under
his skin, built a cosy little space for himself, and
settled in for good.

Standing there in the bright April sunlight,

Riordan finally acknowledged what, deep down,
in his long-ignored heart he had known for weeks.
He’d fallen in love.

Chapter 7

Tracking down a social worker turned out to be

not much easier than finding a contract killer, even
if said social worker happened to live in the same
city. Then again, London wasn’t exactly a small
town, and there were more than enough different
facilities

that

employed

social

workers.

Apparently even hospitals nowadays had someone
to look into cases of suspected domestic violence,
drug abuse, and the like. Riordan didn’t even dare
contact them. It was bad enough that each and
every social department he called told him the
same. They were very sorry but could not give him
any information on the social workers in their
employ, were unable to confirm—or deny—
whether a certain person was in their employ at
all, and no, even if that person was in their
employ, they were unable to pass on a message. If
the person he was looking for were a close friend,
then surely he would find other means to contact
this Marc.

Riordan realised that it might have helped if

he’d known Marc’s last name. Claiming to be a
friend who’d somehow failed to stay in touch was
hardly convincing if the only personal information
you had were things not meant to be shared. The
solution finally came to him on an evening spent
vegging out in front of the box for lack of better
options. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
Maybe the three glasses of delicious cabernet he’d
had for dinner were fuelling his creativity. At least
they were going to give him a certain credibility.

Picking up the long list of phone numbers he’d

collected, he dialled the first. Then the second, the
third and quite a few after that. By the time he’d
reached the middle of the sheet, he was hoarse and
well into a second bottle of cabernet.

“Hi there,” he told the tired voice at the other

end of the line. “Is Marc in?”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Marc. He said he works for you guys so I

thought...” Riordan broke off on an exaggerated
sniff. “I thought he could help if there was a
problem.”

The woman sounded wary as she asked, “What

kind of problem are you talking about, sir?”

“Ah, well, just get me Marc on the phone. He’ll

know.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask what this is about

before I contact Marc,” she said carefully.

Riordan closed his eyes and took a breath. It felt

good and was surprisingly easy to slip back into
the old, familiar dialect, but he knew he had to
keep it to a minimum so the woman could still
understand him, especially with the cabernet
tinting his already colourful Irish accent yet more.
“Stop fucking with me, gal. I met Marc a while
ago, and he talked to me about all kinds of stuff. I
need to see him.”

“What stuff?”
“Ever heard of fucking confidentiality?”
She sighed. “Can you give me his full name?”
“I don’t feckin’ care about his name,” Riordan

grumbled. “Marc Whatever. Listen, I just need to
talk to him. He’s the only one who can help me.”

“Help you with what?”
“Help me not to...just ask him. He’ll know. God,

I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen, but I think
it’s too late now and...” Just as he thought that he
was laying it on a bit thick, she cracked. She was
convinced, that much was obvious by her sudden
agitation and overly soothing voice. “Sir, give me
your name and address please, and I’ll send
someone out immediately.”

“I just want Marc. If anyone else turns up, I

won’t open the door.”

He must have sounded convincingly desperate

for she said, “I’ll get Marc to be with you in ten
minutes, okay? Now give me your name and
address,” she insisted.

Riordan gave her the street and house number

and said, “Tell him it’s Rhee.” Hopefully that
would keep Marc from arriving with the support of
the Metropolitan Police or whatever deity got
called in for support to handle nutcases like the
one he’d just pretended to be.

He gave the bottle a laconic grin and a wink.

Technically, he hadn’t lied. He’d been very
particular about that. He hadn’t meant to fall in
love with him, and Marc

was

the only one who

could help him with this condition. If she thought
he’d been talking about something else, well, that
was hardly his fault, was it? Now all he could
hope for was that the right Marc would be sent to
the rescue. If not, he was thoroughly fucked.

* * * *

It was the right Marc who came to the rescue.

Looking a bit tired and a lot suspicious, he slowly
walked up the driveway to Riordan’s house. He
must have twigged what was going on. Either that,
or it was standard procedure to send a social
worker into the home of a potential...well,
whatever that woman had believed Riordan to
have done that had caused her to send Marc on his
way. Riordan just hoped it was not standard
procedure. Marc ogled the house with an
expression of increasing alertness, but he didn’t
waver as he came up the front stairs and pressed
the button for the bell.

Riordan forced himself to wait for a few

seconds and walk to the door with slow, measured

steps. His heart was pounding away excitedly
nonetheless as he opened it.

“Hey,” he choked out. His throat had suddenly

gone so tight he could barely breathe, almost like
in the first minutes of his seafood allergy kicking
in. Close-up, Marc looked as gorgeous as he
remembered him, if maybe a little worn around the
edges. He didn’t shine quite as brightly as he had
on Mumbayana, too.

“So it is you,” Marc grumbled instead of a

greeting.

“Yes. It’s me.” Riordan held the door open for

him. “Wanna come in?”

Lingering on the doorstep, Marc glared up at

him and held up his hand, thumb and index fingers
half an inch apart. “You do realise that Tara was
this close to sending the police in, right? If I hadn’t
happened to walk in right the moment she put down
the phone after talking to you, she probably would
have done it.”

“I’m sorry,” Riordan said. All the wine in his

system was beginning to drag him down. Maybe
this idea hadn’t been such a brilliant one after all.

At least Marc didn’t look as though he thought it
was.

“You should be,” Marc said sternly, then, to

Riordan’s immense relief, he smiled and shrugged.
“Oh, what the hell. What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you. Are you coming in now or

what?”

Sighing, Marc entered and followed Riordan

through to the living room. “Nice place you have
here,” he commented as he sat down. “So?”

“I’ve been missing you.”
Marc’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh.”
“I quit my job.”
“Oh.” A frown crept onto Marc’s forehead.

“Why?”

“It didn’t make sense anymore.”
“Hmm. Well, that sounds like a good reason.

Found anything else yet?”

“Uh, no. Well, I have several offers from former

business partners who seem very interested in
taking me on. Right now, I’m taking a sabbatical
while I try to make up my mind where to go.”

“Oh, well. Good for you. So at least you’re not

facing unemployment.”

“No. No, I’m not,” Riordan replied, feeling a

little put out. This wasn’t the reaction he had been
hoping for. He didn’t even know what reaction he
had been hoping for, but a little more enthusiasm at
seeing him again would have been nice. He
couldn’t stand it and didn’t know how to handle
this at all. Getting a business partner to accept
whatever deal he wanted was so much easier than
talking to the man he’d spent the best hours of his
life with. In business, he didn’t stand to lose so
much.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, crashing down and

hitting rock-bottom rapidly. The idea wasn’t just
not a brilliant one—it had been downright stupid.
At least he should have made a plan first. This way
he was just going to make a fool of himself and
waste what was very likely to be his last chance at
seeing Marc. “I just...I had to see you. Ever since I
came back here, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
I shouldn’t have left. Not like that. It was the most
stupid thing I’ve ever done, and I honestly wish I
hadn’t.”

“Oh.” Marc stared at him blankly. “You’re

pissed, right?”

“Uh, yes,” Riordan admitted, wondering if

perhaps he should have at least put the first bottle
away.

Marc got up. “Go to bed, Rhee. Sleep it off. If

you still want to talk to me tomorrow, you can—”

“No!” Riordan protested, and took a step closer

to him. “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. Don’t
go. At least hear me out first, okay?”

“Riordan, you’re wasted,” Marc pointed out

with calm insistence. “You’re slurring your words,
and I don’t think that what’s going on inside your
head is any clearer. Let me go now, and if you
want, we can—”

Riordan cut across him with growing despair.

“But I don’t want you to go now! Fuck, I don’t
want you to go away ever again.” The thought
alone of letting Marc go had become unbearable.
All the time they had wasted already...

“But—”
“Stay. Please, stay here, okay? I’ll be good. I’ll

go to bed and sleep it off or whatever it is you

want me to do, just...please, stay. I couldn’t stand
to lose you again so soon.”

“Lose me again? What are you talking about?”

Marc frowned but his so far inapproachable
expression softened a little.

“That day on Mumbayana...what we had

together. I know I said I didn’t want it, but I do.
You’ve given me a taste of paradise, and I’ve
come to realise that I can’t seem to live without it.
I can’t seem to live without

you.” Snatching a

shuddery breath, Riordan pushed the last words
out and put his heart on the line before he lost the
nerve.

“I...I love you, Marc. I didn’t realise it. I didn’t

even want to, but...I’ve fallen in love with you, so
please, don’t go away now.”

Standing there, in the middle of the hallway,

hands in his pockets and shoulders squared
defiantly, Marc stared at Riordan. Stared at him
for a long, long time. The expression on his face
was impossible to place. He looked sad, happy,
confused, and melancholic, all at the same time.

“What is it?” Riordan asked. “What did I say?”

Marc took a moment to answer. “You,” he said

huskily, “just said the most beautiful things I’ve
ever heard in my entire life. I just hope you still
mean them when you wake up tomorrow. Or even
remember them, for that matter. Where’s your
bedroom?”

“Huh?” If telling a guy that he loved him always

had that effect, then maybe he should have tried it
before, Riordan thought bemusedly.

“I want you to be in bed and tucked in by the

time you start feeling sick,” Marc said levelly.
“I’ve really no intention of carrying you there if
you conk out or are too sick to stand on your own
legs.”

“I won’t,” Riordan protested, but realised that

maybe Marc did have a point. “This way.” He led
the way to the huge master bedroom on the top
floor of his house. If he’d planned this whole crazy
scenario, he might have remembered to change the
sheets, too. Or rather, have the cleaner do it. He
sighed. It couldn’t be helped.

Riordan went to find a toothbrush for Marc, who

for some reason agreed to stay over, went to the

bathroom, and managed to be near the bed when
his world suddenly started following him with
about a second’s delay.

Marc had been right. Riordan was feeling sick,

so he slipped into bed and snuggled into the sheets
gratefully. At least this way he didn’t notice the
world rocking and bobbing around him quite so
much. He was faintly aware of Marc sliding under
the duvet next to him and let out a contented sigh as
he felt Marc’s solid body curl up next to him. How
could he have lived without this for so long? Just
the sight, the feel, of Marc at his side made him
happier than anything he’d experienced in a very
long time. There wasn’t even any sexual tension
between them. Hell, no. Riordan couldn’t have,
even if he’d wanted to. No, just feeling Marc next
to him and knowing that they were together again at
last was enough for now.

Chapter 8

It didn’t remain enough. When Riordan woke up

the next morning, miraculously without a hangover,
he was horny as hell and feeling Marc’s tight little
arse pushing into his groin didn’t help with this
condition. He checked that Marc was still asleep
then slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom.
A quick shower helped restore him at least to the
point where he could answer the call of nature
without too much trouble. He cleaned his teeth
thoroughly. That comment about using a toothbrush
was nothing he cared to hear again.

Marc was still asleep when he returned to the

bedroom, and Riordan took a moment to watch
him, enjoying the quiet peacefulness of the early
morning. Marc’s sandy eyelashes flicked lightly as
his eyes moved in a dream. His cheek was pink
and decorated with pillow creases, and his lips
were curled in the cutest pout. He was among the
most beautiful sights Riordan had ever seen.

Careful not to wake him, Riordan climbed back

into the bed and lowered his head to breathe a kiss
on Marc’s forehead. Grumbling in his sleep, Marc
twitched and wrinkled his nose. Riordan brushed a
kiss on its tip. Marc pulled a face and tilted his
chin up. Grinning, Riordan kissed his chin, not at
all surprised when Marc intercepted him and
turned the peck into a real kiss.

Kissing Marc felt in a wonderful way like

coming home to Riordan. A long-forgotten home.
One that he hadn’t learned to appreciate until he’d
moved out, but he was back now, and he was
ready to do whatever it took to restore the easy
intimacy between them and make it work. He was
even willing to invest in all those decorations that
made a home worth living in.

Riordan let himself drown in that kiss, blocking

everything else from his mind but the delightful
feel of Marc’s mouth, the silky tongue sliding
against his own... It was pure pleasure, and he
couldn’t understand how he’d ever been able to
live without this. He promised himself to never
again spend a single day without kissing. Without
kissing Marc, more precisely, although what Marc

had to say to that remained to be seen.

Right now, Marc left little doubt as to what he

wanted. His hand, which so far had been leisurely
stroking Riordan’s stomach and hip, wandered to
his cock. It had calmed down since the shower, but
Marc’s

delicate

touch

had

it

perk

up

enthusiastically again. Riordan felt his blood rush
south so fast it left him dizzy, although maybe that
was just lack of oxygen. Not even that should have
been able to make him stop kissing Marc, but air
supply did become a serious matter.

Pulling back, he snatched a breath and looked up

at Marc. Up? Somehow during their kiss he’d
ended up half on his back with Marc towering over
him, pushed up on his elbow. It was an unusual
perspective for Riordan, but the needy arousal he
detected in Marc’s eyes was well worth the
change of positions. And yet, Marc’s next words
made him wince.

“Let me fuck you,” he whispered in a throaty,

tight voice that told Riordan exactly how desperate
Marc was for this wish to come true.

Oh fuck.

“Marc, I...,” Riordan protested reluctantly. In

thirty-six years, no one had had access to his body
that way, not even Riordan himself.

“Please, baby. Let me,” Marc begged, rubbing

Riordan’s fully erect cock with long, teasing
strokes. Riordan groaned. Hell, this felt so good,
and if Marc kept it up for just a bit longer, he’d
lose all ability to think. “You know I’ve never
done that.”

“I know. And I’ll be careful with you. I’ll do

everything it takes to make you enjoy it. I
promise,” Marc said earnestly.

Looking up into those sincere, blue eyes,

Riordan knew that Marc meant it. And what was
more, he knew he was going to give in. It was what
Marc yearned for, so why shouldn’t he

fulfil that

wish? Riordan knew exactly what made him see it
that way. He was willing to do anything Marc
wanted simply because he loved him. He groaned.
Yes, he was fucked. And in a few minutes he’d

get

fucked, too. Literally. For the first time ever.

“Okay,” he whispered before he had time to

change his mind.

Marc looked pleasantly surprised. “Really?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Just... Do it before I have the time to think

about what’s gonna happen.”

Chuckling quietly, Marc lowered his head for

another kiss. “I’ll make this good for you, baby,”
he whispered as he pulled back and started kissing
a trail down to Riordan’s left nipple.

Electricity surged through Riordan’s body as

Marc’s lips brushed this tiny but highly sensitive
spot on his body. Marc’s teeth closed on it and bit
down, just hard enough to send another jolt of
white-hot pleasure straight to Riordan’s cock. If
only he had known about that special magic
connection before, Riordan thought with a twinge
of regret. It felt so good, that mix of soothing, moist
warmth when Marc lapped at him with his tongue
and the sharp, bright, almost painful flashes when
he used his teeth. Marc had the timing down to an
art, keeping Riordan on his toes as he alternated
the sensations he inflicted upon him. Wandering
south, he used the same technique on Riordan’s

delighted cock, just with a little less employ of
teeth. Riordan was panting within minutes. Fuck,
this was so good, so—

Holy fuck!

The touch of Marc’s finger

there

had him almost

jumping off the bed, even though he should have
been expecting it.

“Shh,” Marc soothed him, and eased off a little.

His hand was cupping Riordan’s balls with one
finger extended to that sensitive patch of skin
behind them, right next to...

“Oh fuck, am I really going to do this?” Riordan

gasped nervously.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want it.”
And Marc wouldn’t bear a grudge if he changed

his mind. Riordan knew that, but he

didn’t

want to

change his mind. He’d wondered what it was like
before, of course he had. You didn’t do that to
another man without at least thinking about what it
must feel like to have a one-inch-wide, six-inch-
long rod shoved into your...

“Oh, fuck,” Riordan groaned, and buried his

face in the pillow. Maybe it would be easier if he
just didn’t pay attention. There was a click. A

familiar sound. The sound of the lid on the tube of
lube being clicked back into place. The light
pressure of Marc’s finger on his skin disappeared
briefly then returned, cool and wet. Riordan
flinched.

“Sorry,” Marc mumbled.
The finger slid easily, slick and unwavering on

the way to that well-hidden spot. Riordan felt its
touch against his opening, pushing lightly. He
could feel his flesh yield, but it was not enough to
breach him. Yet. Marc’s other hand stroked across
his stomach, distracting him as it climbed up to
pinch his nipple. Moaning, he bit his lip to keep
himself from screaming. The bright pleasure
sparking in his groin almost drowned out the dull
pressure against his hole and it wasn’t until Marc
eased off torturing his nipples that Riordan noticed
the change at the other end. It didn’t hurt. It was
just...a bit weird. He turned his head a little.

“Okay?” Marc inquired in a soft voice.
“Okay,” Riordan answered, astonished to find

that he was.

He had a finger inside him, but he was

doubtlessly okay. The finger pushed deeper,
wriggled a little, and Riordan suddenly wasn’t
quite so sure about the okay part anymore when it
occurred to him that this was just the beginning.
Preparing, as Marc had called it. Getting ready to
accommodate something decisively bigger than a
man’s relatively slim index finger.

He’d noticed that Marc had small hands with

slender, elegant fingers and wondered if that was
an advantage in this particular situation. Maybe
someone with chubby digits was better equipped
for this than Marc, especially since the other part
of his anatomy Marc intended to insert into
Riordan’s body was in direct inverse proportion to
his fingers.

Riordan tensed as he understood how Marc was

planning to make up for that shortcoming. The
pressure of another finger assaulted Riordan’s
muscles, and he realised that this time wouldn’t be
quite as easy. He wriggled, subconsciously trying
to create more space even though he knew it was
pointless. The intrusion stung as reluctant muscles
were stretched beyond what they were accustomed

to. Still, it didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t exactly
pleasurable either.

“Relax, baby,” Marc whispered softly and

brushed a kiss on Riordan’s stomach. “That was
the worst part.”

“Real— Oh. Mmm.” Riordan felt his ability to

form words slip away as Marc’s fingers entered
him deeper. The sensation was still weird, but it
was beginning to... “Oh.

Oh fuck!”

“Exactly, baby. Enjoy it.” Marc grinned.
It wasn’t like anything Riordan had felt before.

Marc’s fingers stroked him on the inside, rubbing
some magic spot that sent a blast of pure, perfect
pleasure through his entire body every time he
touched it. It was amazing, and much to his
surprise, Riordan felt the overwhelming desire to
have...more. He had two fingers inside him,
pushing, twisting and, from the feel of it,
scissoring, and he wanted more than that. He
wanted...

“Fuck me, Marc, please!” Riordan heard his

own very husky voice beg.

“My pleasure,” Marc answered, sounding

equally aroused.

Riordan barely noticed him put on the condom.

All he could think of was that delightful quiver
deep in his core. He grunted his protest when Marc
withdrew his fingers, desperate for that sweet
fulfilling pressure to return, then whimpered as it
did. Yes, Marc’s cock was a good deal bigger than
even two of his fingers, but apparently Riordan’s
body had become a lot more tolerant in the last
few minutes. The stretch of Marc’s first push in
burned, but Riordan gritted his teeth against it. If
that was what it took for that delightful feeling of
completeness and those magic sparks to return, he
was more than happy to put up with it.

“Are you okay?” Marc asked, a frown of

concern on his face as he looked down at Riordan.

“Uh-huh. Now stop asking and fuck me.”
Smirking, Marc hurried to comply.

Chapter 9

Looking at Riordan lying next to him in the

aftermath of some surprisingly very hot, early-
morning sex, Marc asked softly, “How do you
feel?”

“Astonishingly good.” Riordan smiled.

“A little

confused but extremely happy. And quite a bit
sore, but it was definitely worth it.”

“Does that mean you’ll consider doing it

again?” Marc was drawing random little circles on
Riordan’s

bare

shoulder,

enjoying

the

unexpectedly intimate moment of postcoital bliss.

“Hmm.” Riordan closed his eyes for a moment,

looking far more relaxed and peaceful than Marc
had ever seen him as he simply enjoyed the
caresses. When he opened his eyes again and met
Marc’s gaze, the expression on his face was a little
mystified but full of affection. He raised a hand
and, cupping Marc’s face, rubbed the stubble on
his chin with the pad of his thumb. “I’m fairly
certain that I could stand to do it again. Especially

if it brings this sweet, satisfied smile to your face.”

“Yay!” Punching the air in a little sign of

victory, Marc grinned. “See? I told you you’d
enjoy it.”

“Quit the grinning, you smug bastard.” Riordan

slapped Marc’s thigh playfully before he added,
“Seriously, you couldn’t have known that I’d enjoy
it. Hell,

I

didn’t think I would.”

“You’re right. I didn’t know,” Marc admitted,

still smiling. “I was quite sure you would though.
Most guys like it once they’ve gotten used to the
idea.”

“That’s the thing. I’ve never even thought I’d let

that happen. Let someone...have me that way.”

Marc chuckled playfully

and nodded. “It

is

a

curious thing with you alpha males. Most of you
abhor even the thought of bottoming, but once you
do it, you enjoy the sensations just as much as the
next guy.”

“You think I’m an alpha male?” Riordan asked,

sounding surprised.

“Through and through. Why, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about

things like that. I’m just...self-confident. I know
what I want, and I’m not afraid to take it. Does that
make me an alpha male?”

“Absolutely.” Shooting him a wink, Marc

added, “Recently you’re showing distinct beta
signs though.”

Riordan rolled his eyes. “Beta signs? Is that you

and your psychological bollocks again?”

“Easy, you. Subconsciously attempting to

establish a hierarchy is not bollocks, but a
scientifically researched element of human
behaviour that is about as old as mankind itself and
—”

“Shut up.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard. Shut up.”
“Excuse me? Are you ordering me around?”
Riordan grinned. “Too right I am. I’m an alpha.

You said so yourself. That makes you the beta and
me the leader of our little pack.”

“Our

pack?” Marc chuckled good-humouredly

while secretly enjoying himself a lot. Riordan
taking charge like that was quite sexy, and he

loved the easy way they could joke and tease. “Oh
my gosh, you really are more of a caveman than I
thought. And here I was believing we’d just
discovered your sensitive side.”

Riordan glared at him mock-sternly. “Letting

myself get fucked once doesn’t turn me into a
lovesick puppy, you know. It takes a little more
than that.”

“Oh, does it?” That sounded a lot like a

warning, and Marc cringed inwardly, hoping that
he wasn’t just seriously misreading the situation.

After the huge effort Riordan had made to track

him down, surely he wasn’t going to warn him off
now again, was he? Or make another offer of a
casual relationship based on nothing but sex? Was
that really all it had been for Riordan? He had
succeeded in hurting Marc once. And despite
Marc’s resolution to never again fall for such an
insensitive, egoistic bastard, the door to his heart
was apparently still wide open for Riordan. Or
rather, Riordan seemed to hold the key to it. The
words he had said last night had been exactly the
ones Marc had yearned to hear for all his life.

Riordan saying them had finally bridged the gap
that had kept tearing Marc apart.

Foolish though it was, he still wanted Riordan

and he still believed that the few hours they had
shared in their own little paradise had the power
to change their lives.

But what if Riordan didn’t feel the same? Would

just leave again after having had a second sample?
Marc was just about to let himself be dragged
down by those thoughts when he noticed the
strange gleam in Riordan’s eyes.

“Absolutely,” Riordan whispered at last in

answer to the almost forgotten question. He
slipped his fingers around the base of Marc’s neck
and pulled him into another of those long, indulgent
kisses he had become so indecently good at.

That didn’t feel like someone wishing to keep

his distance. Or someone being about to leave
again. More like...

“What does it take, exactly?” Marc asked

curiously when they finally came up for breath.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” Riordan answered in a

pensive tone, but Marc wasn’t deceived. He was

beginning to realise that behind this new mask of
lightheartedness, Riordan was shaking with
nerves. “You’re the expert. You ought to know.”

“Well, it’s hard to tell. Every case is different.”
“Maybe you should try to find out then.”
Marc’s breath caught. Could it be that he was

right about his assumption where Riordan was
headed with this seemingly uncomplicated
postcoital banter?

“But finding out takes time,” he said warily.
Riordan nodded. “I know. That shouldn’t be a

problem though. If you want, you can take all the
time you want to find out everything about me you
want to know.”

“Really?”
“Really.”
“Why?” Why the change of mind? That was the

ultimate question, and Riordan looked close to
scared as he answered it.

“Because I love you and don’t want to spend

another day without you in my life.”

“Oh.” Marc tried hard to keep his voice steady

in spite of the frenzied rock ‘n’ roll beat his heart

was pounding out suddenly. “So you did mean
what you said last night.”

“Yes, I did,” Riordan said earnestly. “I meant

every single word, and I still do.”

“Well, just so you know, that sounds a lot more

like a lovesick puppy than an alpha caveman.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter though. For you, I’ll

be anything. Lovesick puppy, alpha caveman, and
everything in between.”

“You sound very serious,” Marc mused. He still

didn’t quite dare believe that everything he’d ever
dreamed of could be well within his reach so
suddenly and so easily.

“I am. Is that so hard to believe?”
“No,” Marc answered, and when he looked into

Riordan’s eyes, it was easy to recognise the truth
in them. No, it wasn’t hard to believe at all. “You
really are serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. It’s what I keep telling you.”

Looking uneasy all of a sudden, Riordan gripped
his bottom lip with his teeth. “The question is, do
you even want all that?”

Smiling, Marc cupped Riordan’s face and

kissed the frown lines on his forehead.

“Is that really a question? Of course I do. I want

everything you’re willing to give me, but
essentially, all I want is you.”

“Well, you have me.” Riordan smiled and

leaned in for another kiss. “You’ve had me ever
since the moment I first saw you.”

“Rhee?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“You’re scaring me with all that love-dovey

stuff.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“Oh, I do.” Marc brought his leg up to wrap it

around Riordan’s hip and pressed his groin against
him, smirking when Riordan promptly snatched a
sharp breath. “It’s just that, right now, I think I’d
prefer a bit more of...the caveman.”

“The caveman? Fine. I’ll take you to my cave

and... Ah, no, I can’t. We’re already in it. Well,
that should make it easier. Let’s say I’ll just ravish
you then. How does that sound?”

“That sounds fantastic. Oh, and is there any

chance of you bringing your club out to play?”

Riordan’s breath hitched once again in that

enticing way as he said, “You can play with my
club all you want, baby, just as long as you don’t
play with my heart.”

“I wouldn’t. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do. And it’s the same for me.”
“That’s going to be a weird game,” Marc said

absentmindedly as he fondled Riordan’s rapidly
filling cock.

“Huh?” Riordan clearly didn’t get where Marc

was going, or maybe he just wasn’t really paying
attention to the conversation anymore.

“Well, if we’re just playing with clubs and not

with hearts, what kind of game is that?”

Understanding dawned, and Riordan smiled

affectionately as he rolled on top of Marc. “That,
my dear,” he said in a nicely tight voice and kissed
Marc passionately, “is the game of love. Wanna
play?”

“Hell, yeah!”

THE END

WWW.SAGE-MARLOWE.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I've been dreaming about writing a book for,

well, ever. But as it is so often with dreams,
reality got in the way in the shape of a mind-
numbing day job and an enormous lack of
inspiration.

Then—rather unexpectedly, I admit—a very

generous muse made an appearance in my life,
hand in hand with an incredibly persistent
character's appearance in my head. They just
wouldn't be ignored and, although it came as a bit
of a surprise that said character was gay, it
explains a lot.

From that night on, writing took on a dynamic of

its own. I've become the willing slave to all those
fascinating characters who want their stories told
and keep turning up sometimes faster than I can
take notes. This has resulted in several
manuscripts at various stages of completion, so I'm
always working on clearing some much-needed

headspace and giving all the gorgeous guys who
live in there the happy ever afters they deserve.

My characters often have a dramatic, sometimes

even traumatic, past and have to overcome some
mostly internal conflicts to be with the one they
love. The fact that they tend to get quite a bit of
naughty action along the way is, well, a very nice
side effect.

For all titles by Sage Marlowe, please visit

www.bookstrand.com/sage-marlowe

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

Table of Contents

Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Author