Brazil, Lee Mark's Opening Gambit(1)

Mark’s Opening Gambit

Lee Brazil

Breathless Press

Calgary, Alberta

www.breathlesspress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are

used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any

resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Mark’s Opening Gambit

ISBN: 978-1-77101-054-2

Cover Artist: Victoria Miller

Editor: Olivia Ventura

or reproduced electronically or in print without written

permission, except in the case of brief quotations

embodied in reviews.

Breathless Press

www.breathlesspress.com

Dedication:

This story is dedicated to the chess master of our family,

He knows who he is.

Chapter One

Mason surreptitiously glanced around the neat interior of

Mark’s Opening Gambit. The café-slash-chess parlor wasn’t his

first choice of places to spend a Saturday, but when his brother

begged a ride to the tournament, he’d caved immediately, despite

the exhaustion and body aches he’d earned the night before. Un-

loading trucks and stocking shelves at the grocery store wasn’t a

mentally challenging job, but the night shift paid a dollar an hour

more and the extra money came in handy. Times were tough, and

a guy without a high school diploma didn’t stand a whole lot of a

chance of doing something better. It also left his mom free to take

the day shift at the hospital where she worked, and he was avail-

able during the days to ferry his brothers around to their high

school events and activities.

Such as chess tournaments hosted by button-down dress-

shirt-wearing, hot as hell, snooty men. He might have been a bit

more eager to play chauffeur if he’d realized the Mark his broth-

Mark’s Opening Gambit

er had spoken of glowingly was such an eyeful. He’d stepped

through the shop door behind Johnny to find his gaze locked with

a pair of eyes so deep and golden it was like he’d stepped into

honey. He couldn’t glance away for the longest time, and it took

the other man’s slow flush to make him realize he was being rude.

That first sight of the tournament host had sent a warm awareness

through him. He really wished that the sight of Mark Addison—

Jesus, even his fucking name was holier than thou—wasn’t so ap-

pealing. Mark was perfect. Fucking perfect, or perfect for fucking,

with his neatly trimmed brown hair, touched with golden high-

lights, his slim, wiry body, not the product of a gym but of a man

who led an active life. His lips enticed Mason, and he wanted to

pull the puffy lower one between his teeth and bite down, to suck

it into his mouth and devour the man with kisses. He wanted to

touch the pale skin and see if it was as soft as it appeared, as cold

as it seemed, to stroke away the distance in those eyes and make

the other man notice him.

The golden-brown gaze didn’t warm in the slightest under

his own admiring regard, but scanned his faded Levi’s and tight

T-shirt with disapproval. Mason half expected to be informed

he didn’t meet the dress code for the elegant little shop. Instead,

Mark Addison looked him over and dismissed him as though he

were beneath notice.

Shrugging off the snobbery, Mason slapped his brother on the

back. “Go get ‘em, kid. Or whatever you guys call it.” He hoped

to sleep in his car while his brother played and turned to leave

immediately.

He met Addison’s eyes again, tried for a smile, but the arro-

gant host stared right through him. “Students participating in the

tournament are to be supervised by adults at all times.”

The inflectionless voice grated on his nerves as much as

the pronouncement. It wasn’t like these were two-year-olds, for

God’s sake. It was Chess Club. By virtue of their very geekiness,

they were mature, well-behaved teens.

Too bad such a sexy voice and face belonged to such a prick.

Unfortunately for Mason, he couldn’t focus on Johnny’s progress

through the tournament. All he seemed able to focus on was that

slim figure moving between the tables, the unconscious grace of

the small man’s movements, the seductive draw of tightening

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khaki across his backside as he bent to survey a board or pick up

something from the floor.

He scowled as Mark glared at him again, turning and facing

resolutely out the window into the parking lot. In the reflection

the glass provided, he watched Mark excuse himself from Ainslie,

the kids’ coach, and head in his direction, a determined expres-

sion on his face.

Good. The self-righteous prick had noticed him. Mark stopped

right next to him, and they stood staring out into the parking lot

together.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

Mason snorted, turned to look down at the shorter man. “Like

what?”

The older man twitched and licked his lips. Mason stifled the

groan that wanted to escape. He shifted restlessly.

“You know. Like...that.”

“Like I want to throw you over my shoulder and take you

out of here and fuck you? Sorry. Can’t do that.” Fascinated, he

noted the flush on Mark’s cheekbones deepen, heard the hitch in

his breathing, and knew that he’d been right. Chemistry burned

between them.

“You...” Mark glanced cautiously around the shop at the kids

concentrating so fiercely on their chess games, the proud parents

and coaches peering anxiously at their little darlings. Mark stut-

tered to a stop before starting again. “Not here. We need to talk

privately. Meet me behind the shop in ten minutes.”

Whoa. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe Mark’s buttoned-

down appearance was deceptive. Mason looked forward to crack-

ing that calm reserve and proving to the man that the clothes they

wore didn’t define their roles. He nodded in acknowledgment,

and Mark wandered away to check on the progress of the tourna-

ment. Mason headed straight to the front door, aware all the while

of Mark’s furtive glances. He exited the shop and headed to his

beat-up old Jetta, so at odds with the shiny BMWs and SUVs that

surrounded it in the parking lot.

A brief stop at the car to pick up some things he’d need, and

he strolled casually around the corner of the building, thankful

that the chess café was at the end of the strip mall and not in the

middle. Behind the shop was a Dumpster, and strangely enough,

a wrought-iron table and two chairs on the cemented area that

Mark’s Opening Gambit

should have been an unloading bay. Mason noted with interest

the ashtray and coasters on the table. A few potted palms provid-

ed a bit of shade and some privacy, but not enough for anything

too intimate. Mark had created a little garden back here. Mason’s

absorption in the details of the environment convinced him that

he’d overestimated Mark’s intentions. More private than the store

itself, yes, but hardly secluded enough for any real interaction of

a physical sort.

He spied Mark peering through the back door of the shop. At

the grocery store where Mason worked, the back doors were bat-

tered and grimy. Not so at Mark’s Opening Gambit. The door to

the back room of the shop was a shiny, pure white, fresh scrubbed,

or painted or whatever. Not so much as a fingerprint marred its

pristine surface, much like not so much as a hair on Mark’s head

dared stray out of place. It made Mason want to grab a crayon and

write on the walls, muss up the environment just like he wanted

to muss up those locks of brown hair. Mark’s sweet lips pressed

tightly together, and his cheeks flushed, from anger or arousal

maybe, as he caught sight of Mason.

Mason found his gaze drawn to those lips, wanting to pry

them apart and soothe the tension from them with caresses of his

mouth and tongue. He licked his suddenly dry lips in anticipation

as Mark approached.

Honey-colored eyes sparkled with emotion as Mark came

within touching distance. Mason fought the urge to yank him

even closer as Mark halted, gazing up. He felt again the strange

drowning sensation as he stared down into those eyes, unable to

glance away. Thank God Mark seemed to experience it, too, be-

cause whatever angry words he’d been about to spout died on his

lips as Mason ran a big, calloused palm along the smooth-shaven

curve of Mark’s jaw, feeling his indrawn breath as much as he

heard it. The softness of Mark’s jaw on his own work-roughened

skin was thrilling, and Mason bent down, tilting his head to the

side before smoothly bringing their lips together. With the merest

brush of contact, he paused to allow Mark the chance to refuse the

kiss, to pull away, to slap his face, to ream him out for having the

gall to touch.

When no protest came, he sighed with relief. His eyelids drift-

ed shut, and he pressed his parted lips more firmly on the soft,

sweet lips below his own. Carefully, ignoring the throbbing de-

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mands of his body, he tasted the plump curves that had held his

gaze. Not wanting to startle Mark, Mason ran his tongue lightly

over those sensual lips, sliding his hand from the taut line of jaw

around to the nape of Mark’s neck, burying his fingers in the fine,

silky strands of hair there.

Mark’s unresisting acquiescence was far from the response he

wanted. He guided the man’s head to a better angle and slipped

his tongue into the waiting cavern. Mark trembled in response.

Mason wanted Mark to burn as he did, to feel the same urgent de-

sire to throw caution to the wind and make love here in the open

behind the shop. He wouldn’t go that far in this public setting, of

course, but he wanted to strip away the distance in Mark’s eyes

and make him a part of the present, force him to respond, to reach

for Mason with the same urgency that Mason yearned for him.

He’d nearly given up when Mark shoved him abruptly away,

glaring at him with angry golden eyes. Instead of the passion he’d

hoped to inspire, the other man appeared scared, panicky even.

Mason stepped forward, guilt urging him to offer comfort.

Mark scowled at Mason and pushed backward, dropped into

one of the wrought-iron chairs, and reached into a pocket to pull

out a packet of cigarettes. His gaze darted left and right as though

searching for someone. “No. What the hell do you think you’re

doing?”

Guilt at causing Mark’s near panic, anger at being pushed

aside, and, to some degree, sheer exhaustion had words spilling

from Mason’s mouth before he could evaluate them. “Hey, I get

it. No means no. Yeah. Like I’d want to kiss a wax doll again any-

way.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away from the little oasis in

back of the strip mall, ignoring Mark’s harshly indrawn breath be-

hind him. He shoved a hand into his pocket and curled his fingers

tightly around the condom and lube he’d shoved there. Thinking

with his dick. Fucking lucky he hadn’t gotten knocked on his ass

literally instead of figuratively.

Chapter Two

Mark inhaled the smoke of his cigarette, striving to get his

heart rate back under control. He glanced cautiously around

the back area of the shop. Foolish to be so paranoid, but he re-

ally couldn’t take the chance that any of his father’s other ten-

ants would see and mention the kiss. Shrugging off his unease, he

stubbed the cigarette out in the little ashtray and returned to the

shop. He closed the door carefully behind him. It was regrettable

that Mason Grant had misunderstood his comment. He’d have

liked to explain that it wasn’t the kiss he objected to. Dear God,

what a kiss that had been! No, it was the location of the kiss.

He couldn’t do PDAs. He’d meant to flirt a little, maybe ex-

change phone numbers, but the passion in those brown eyes had

rendered him speechless, and before he could do anything, he’d

been wrapped up in a kiss that hit all his buttons. He was fortu-

nate he’d managed to break away before they’d ended up engaged

in sexual relations right there on the patio behind the store.

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Maybe inviting Mason Grant to the back patio had been the

wrong thing to do. He stood in the tight confines of the hallway,

bracing himself to enter the fray once more. Sally, his mother’s

bridge partner’s youngest daughter, stood serving coffee behind

the counter. He couldn’t be sure that she would report anything

she saw to his mother, but there was always the possibility.

Ainslie, the kids’ chess team coach, was a bit safer. He was

gay as well, but his family had accepted his preferences. How-

ever, Ainslie was his father’s partner’s son and could easily let

something slip in casual conversation that would send Mark’s

father on a rampage and his mother into a cold silence. Ainslie

wandered between the tables studying his players’ moves, put-

ting a comforting hand on a shoulder here and there. They’d been

friends since birth, but he couldn’t ask Ainslie to keep his secrets

any more than he could share with Ainslie the bitter traumas of

his youth. If you hadn’t lived it, it was unimaginable.

The shop was his life, his dream, his most treasured accom-

plishment. His parents had reluctantly agreed to allow him to

open the shop as a sort of consolation prize, for giving up what

they termed his “foolish preferences.” It might be his intellectual

haven, but it wasn’t a safe place to be attracted to someone. His

parents could and would cancel his lease and shut down his busi-

ness if he didn’t follow their life plan, which included vetting the

type of people he dated. Mason Grant was too blue collar, too

brash, too male for his parents. Someone male definitely would

not make their list of approved partners for their only son.

Through the shop window, he tracked Mason to a faded red

Jetta. Strolling casually among the tables, he kept one eye on the

handsome younger man. He was reluctant to let Mason go but

couldn’t see how he could make arrangements to see him again

without behaving suspiciously.

Mason got into the car and leaned his head back, stretching

his arms over his head. Mark stifled a groan as he visualized that

broad chest bare. Mason slumped forward to rest his head on the

steering wheel of the little car, the picture of defeat. He rested that

way a moment before sitting upright and fumbling a pair of dark

sunglasses on. The seat reclined completely, taking Mason out of

Mark’s view.

The tournament was entering its final three rounds. Several

tiers of participants had been eliminated already, though most

Mark’s Opening Gambit

stayed to observe the remaining games. Each participant received

a gift certificate for a free beverage, which Mark donated. Encour-

aging kids to learn and play the Game of Kings was his only in-

centive to host these tournaments. From here on out the winners

would receive a variety of prizes from books and equipment to

private lessons.

Mark kept a close eye on the kid who’d come in with Mason

earlier. Johnny Grant was a player who showed great promise. He

hadn’t been to a tournament here before, so Mark was sure he was

a novice, but he had a great deal of potential. Unfortunately, his

raw skills weren’t balanced by knowledge, and he didn’t seem to

plan his moves very far ahead. The kid would probably do very

well with a few private lessons.

Mind made up, Mark approached Ainslie for a whispered

consultation. Ainslie agreed with him, beaming in approval.

Mark hastily shuffled back to the office to print the gift certifi-

cate he wanted before the round ended. Four players would be

eliminated this round, and each of them would need to receive the

same certificate for six private lessons.

As predicted, Johnny was eliminated in the round. As the

youth got up from the table, struggling to hide his disappoint-

ment, Ainslie approached him and the three other students who’d

failed to advance. He gathered the boys at the back of the shop

while Mark rearranged the tables and materials for the next

round. Sally came from behind the counter to help fold and put

away the extra chairs while the boys walked around stretching

their legs. Mark tried not to cringe as young hands curiously

touched leather-bound books and priceless statuary.

The ding of the clock announced that the semifinal round was

beginning, and the four players took their seats at the tables. Mark

waited just a moment to see that the opening rules were followed

and then scurried back to the youths waiting near his door. He

presented each one with his certificate of participation and rank-

ing, and the prize he and Ainslie had decided upon. Johnny Grant

lit up with excitement when he saw the certificate for free lessons,

but then his expression dimmed as he thanked Mark politely.

“What’s wrong, Johnny?” Ainslie asked.

“I’m not going to be able to take these lessons.” The boy’s

disappointment was clear. “My brother... He works at night, and

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driving over here after school, then getting back in time for his

shift at the grocery store, it would be hard for him.”

Mark forced his face into calm disinterest. “Would it be better

if I came to your house?”

The youth perked up again. “Could you?”

“Sure. Let me talk to your brother about it, okay? I’ll walk

out with you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide his

own trembling excitement at approaching Mason again. Private

lessons in the boy’s home would give him the opportunity to get

to know Mason better as well.

He walked out to the car with Johnny, explaining that each

lesson would last an hour and require homework on Johnny’s

part. As they approached the car, Mason sat up and rolled down

the window but didn’t remove the dark glasses. Mark wished he

would. He wanted to see those brown eyes again, to see if the

pure passion he’d seen before was still there. The remembered

lust in Mason’s gaze gave him courage that he normally didn’t

have.

He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed

it through the window. “Johnny has won private lessons. He tells

me transportation is an issue, so I offered to give the lessons at his

home. Please call me at this number to make arrangements.”

Mason Grant nodded, cleared his throat, and then spoke in

a husky, sleep-worn voice. “We’ll call.” The window rose before

Mark could add anything to the conversation, and he turned back

to his shop and the tournament, discouraged. It seemed unlikely

from the animated conversation the two brothers held in the car

behind him that he would be getting that phone call.

Chapter Three

For the third time, Mason flipped open his cell phone to call

the fussy little man at the chess café. Johnny’s begging and plead-

ing had finally worn him down, and he was determined to face

his own humiliating rejection. He could be humble for his broth-

er’s sake. It might be embarrassing to see those honey-gold eyes

stare blankly at him again, but he would face it and apologize

for misinterpreting the signals the last time they met. The phone

rang for the fourth time on the other end, and Mason prepared to

leave a message, grateful for the reprieve, when a breathless voice

spoke. He straightened abruptly on the faded sofa where he slept.

His body recognized that voice, though he’d heard it precious lit-

tle. “Mark? It’s Mason Grant. I’m calling about Johnny’s lessons.”

He swallowed his pride and continued. “Johnny said he told you

about my job, and that the lessons need to be here in Costa Mesa

because I go to work? Are you sure that’s okay with you?”

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“It’s fine. Actually, it’s on my way home to stop at your place

after I close the shop. So no worries.” Mark sounded sure and

confident, not at all put out to be traveling to the slums to give his

lesson. Mason wasn’t sure where exactly Mark lived that passed

through Costa Mesa—not many of the nicer neighborhoods did,

but he’d pretend to believe it.

“Well, if you’re sure, then. He’s very excited about starting.

When would you like to do the first lesson?” He wanted to sug-

gest Wednesday, because it was his next night off, but didn’t want

to be pushy.

“Wednesday? Is that too soon?”

Was that a hopeful overtone? Deciding to risk it, Mason add-

ed, “Mark, I want to apologize for the other day. I shouldn’t have

kissed you like that. Can we start over?”

Silence. Maybe bringing it up hadn’t been the smartest thing

to do, but he needed the air clear if he was going to be seeing this

man regularly. Though he was sure the six lessons would be the

end of it. No way could he or his mom afford to continue the les-

sons after the free ones were up.

“I would prefer not to accept your apology.” Mark’s soft voice

interrupted his reverie.

Oh. That hurt. With a sigh, he leaned back on the couch and

pulled his faded blue blanket back up over his chest. Having

dropped the boys at the high school, he needed to sleep until it

was time to pick them up. Calling Mark had been a necessary

chore. “Okay, if you feel that strongly about it. I am sorry, though.

I have more respect for people than I showed you that day.”

“No. I’m not a people person, Mason. I express myself badly.

I meant, don’t apologize for the kiss because I enjoyed it. I would

be lying if I said I didn’t.”

Mason snorted. “You sure as hell didn’t seem to enjoy it very

much.”

Now it was Mark’s turn to sigh. “I know. You left before I

could explain. My parents own the shopping center where my

café is located. They don’t approve of my lifestyle. If I were seen

kissing you on the premises, I’m sure that news would get back to

them, and I’d lose my lease on the shop.”

“Really? Your parents would do that to you?”

“In a heartbeat. I want to see you, Mason, just discreetly.”

Mark’s Opening Gambit

Discreetly? “What exactly does that mean?” Running around

to sleazy motels and sneaking to meetings with a lover? Furtive

and nasty arrangements didn’t appeal to him.

“Just that we not go out to places where my parents will hear

about it.”

“Then, do you want to see a movie after the chess lesson?”

Dating in his neighborhood should be safe enough for a blue

blood like Mark. He wasn’t bloody likely to run into anyone he

knew in the local movie theaters. Added bonus, Mason knew all

the local makeout spots.

“Can I just bring a few movies and meet you at your place?”

Mark sounded hopeful.

“No. I live with my mother and brothers.” Mason squashed

that idea flat. No way was he going to have a “date” in the living

room of his mother’s apartment. It was freaky enough to have

Mark working with Johnny; he wasn’t introducing a potential lov-

er to his mother until he knew they could have more than sexual

attraction between them.

“No, you’re right. That won’t do at all.” Mark immediately

agreed. “How about we go see whatever has explosions and car

chases and starts right after the lesson, then?”

“Sounds good.” Movie and time settled, they hung up. Mason

fell asleep dreaming of honey-gold eyes and a slim, sexy body

writhing against his own.

***

Wednesday arrived at last, and Mason found himself avidly

watching as Mark showed Johnny how to play against the books

he’d provided. Not that he was interested in learning to play chess;

he just liked seeing the earnest expression on Mark’s face and the

shy smiles he cast in Mason’s direction whenever he looked up.

Eventually the lesson ended, and his mother sent Johnny off to

wash up for dinner.

Mason stepped over to take Mark’s arm, and Mark looked at

him in surprise. Interesting. Mason clasped his hand and bid his

mother farewell. “Mom, we’re going to the movies. Be back late,

okay?”

He guided Mark down to his car, torn when he took in the

white BMW Mark had parked in the space next to his Jetta. He’d

love to ride in the luxury car, but...better to leave it safely parked

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in the gated parking area than in the neighborhoods where they

were likely to be.

To give Mark credit, he didn’t protest at the idea of riding

in the passenger seat of the beat-up Jetta and calmly accepted

Mason’s reasoning. They elected to view an action flick, and he

noticed Mark seemed quite comfortable holding hands in the

darkness of the theater. Wondering how far Mark’s comfort in the

dark went, he slid his hand up Mark’s thigh, leaning over to steal

a kiss as he did so.

Their lips met, and the tingle of awareness that had buzzed

inside since he’d first seen Mark flared into a conflagration.

Mark’s lips were so soft, his taste so sweet, Mason found that once

again he couldn’t stop. He cupped Mark’s head in his hands and

aligned their mouths. Mark met his lips with a hot, open-mouthed

response. Tongues tangling, Mason stroked deeper, brushing

against soft, wet, heated places with a new sense of ownership.

Mine. The possessive thought bothered him not a whit.

His wandering hand slid into the crease of Mark’s thigh, rub-

bing and stroking tiny circles on the fabric of his jeans. The denim

was rough and thick, but the heat of Mark’s body seeped through

it. His ran his questing hand up to press firmly against Mark’s

urgent erection, sighing into the kiss as Mark responded with an

eager moan. Mason gently squeezed the hard shaft through the

denim, wishing he could slide down the zip and feel. He pulled

his mouth away and rubbed their noses together. This close, even

in the darkness of the theater, he could look deep into Mark’s hon-

ey-brown eyes. Mark shuddered under his touch, then struggled

for a few moments to remove his sweater. He draped the sweater

over his lap, providing adequate camouflage.

“Do it,” he whispered. It was Mason’s turn to shudder. The

buttoned-down, fussy shopkeeper hid the exhibitionist very well.

The thrill of knowing that they might be caught spurred him on.

“Watch the screen,” he ordered. He turned back to the screen

himself, unseeing, and used touch alone to find the zip and draw

it slowly down. Mark breathed deeply beside him. Mason bit

back a groan as he reached into the opening he’d made and dis-

covered silky smooth flesh, stiff and hot, and unencumbered by

underwear. Slowly he explored the length and thickness, listen-

ing to Mark’s gentle sighs and gasps as he found sensitive places

and learned what pleased him best. Satisfied, he settled into a

Mark’s Opening Gambit

slow rhythm, swiping his thumb over the dampening head be-

fore stroking back down. Mark’s sudden stiffening and a choked

moan signaled the end. Mason brought their mouths together

again for a slow, leisurely kiss. He shushed Mark’s offer to return

the favor, despite the clamoring of his dick for release, and settled

back to watch the movie, one eye on Mark’s efforts to straighten

his clothing and clean up.

Chapter Four

“You’re kidding, right?” Mark didn’t know what he’d expect-

ed from Mason’s offer to find them someplace where they could

be alone, but this wasn’t it. Mark had dumped his cum-stained

sweater in the men’s room of the theater, ignoring Mason’s cu-

rious glance. After his orgasm, instead of being lazily sated, he

wanted Mason more than ever. He wanted to taste his lips, to run

his fingers and his mouth over his firm skin, to see how he felt,

how he tasted, as his passion grew. Not, however, in the parking

lot of a public park.

Mason was laughing at him. He could see the warmth of it in

his brown eyes, and instead of embarrassing him or making him

feel inadequate as his parents’ and their friends’ laughter did, it

made him feel comfortable and at ease. Amazing. This young man

with his faded jeans and tight-fitting T-shirts, despite his poverty

and apparent lack of education, made him feel things no one else

Mark’s Opening Gambit

ever had, and not just the willingness to engage in sex in public

places.

He shrugged the feeling off. He’d just been too cautious,

too long. A hot fling with Mason would do him good, and the

man certainly knew his way around! Ignoring his slight unease

at the public venue—after all ,there weren’t any nearby cars, or

even lights—he leaned forward boldly to bring their lips togeth-

er again. He stared into the darkening brown eyes and parted

his lips slightly in an invitation that Mason instantly accepted,

sweeping his tongue in broad strokes into Mark’s mouth, leaving

him gasping for breath and wanting more.

Mindful that Mason had tended him so selflessly at the the-

ater, he brought his hand to Mason’s strong thigh and marveled

at the heat through the soft denim. Mason’s firm grip closing over

his hand sent a shiver of delight through him. His hand was shift-

ed, pressed tightly to the bulge of Mason’s cock, and he willingly

slipped the buttons from their holes, pleased to discover that Ma-

son, too, had gone commando.

Mason groaned his approval of Mark’s touch, drawing back

to press hot, moist kisses to Mark’s jawline, guiding Mark’s ex-

ploring fingers to a firmer touch, a faster stroke. Though it was too

dark to see much, Mark pulled back to look down and see what

his hands were doing, eyes widening in pleasure as he took in the

sight of Mason’s generous cock gliding through his fist. He licked

his lips. Could he?

Mason’s hand curled around the back of his neck, urging him

down, and he went willingly. His tongue flickered lightly over the

dripping tip, and he shivered again at the salty flavor that washed

over his taste buds. Eagerly he opened his mouth over the tip and

surged down, reveling in Mason’s husky moans as Mark sucked

and tongued his cock. He might not have had a ton of experi-

ence, but he did have some skills, and he was determined that

Mason would enjoy this blowjob. He slid a hand down to play

lightly with Mason’s full balls, squeezing and rolling them gently

between his fingers.

Mason’s grunted warning came quickly, and Mark pulled

away as Mason’s hand grasped his spit-slicked cock and stroked

it rapidly. Avidly Mark watched, fascinated by the twisting mo-

tion of Mason’s hand as he worked his cock. Clear liquid flowed

from the tip, and Mark’s mouth watered, wanting more of the

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taste, but if Mason had pushed him away, he must have a reason.

Next time, he’d duplicate that motion...

Mason’s moaned, “I’m coming” barely preceded the spurt

of thick, creamy liquid from his cock. Mark shuddered as the

warmth hit his face, just below his lips. He resisted the urge to

lick the evidence of his lover’s pleasure, instead moaning in ap-

proval. The scent of semen, the heat of their bodies, made him

wild for more. He wanted to be fucked, to share the most inti-

mate of sexual activities with this man, though he didn’t indulge

in anal sex in general.

Mason’s big hand came up. He swiped his finger through the

cum on Mark’s chin and brought it to his own lips. He licked the

finger clean, then pulled Mark up, keeping their eyes locked and

licking his chin clean of the cum. Mark squirmed and moaned,

trying to crawl over the gear shift into Mason’s lap.

A brisk tap on the car window startled them apart, and Mark

jerked back into his seat with a gasp. Panicked, his heart stopped

and then burst into an accelerated rhythm. Busted making out in a

public park. He should count himself fortunate the cop hadn’t ar-

rived a moment earlier but couldn’t find it in himself to be grate-

ful. He turned his gaze to stare fiercely out the passenger win-

dow. Fuck. Unbelievable.

Mason placed a calming hand on his knee, but Mark shoved

it away. He didn’t want to be soothed.

“Mark, it’s okay. It’s likely just a cop who’ll tell us to move

on.”

Shit. He pressed his lips together and ignored Mason’s words,

staring resolutely out the window. He couldn’t do this like this.

Mason’s deep voice assuring the cop that they were leaving faded

into an indistinct murmur in the background as he pictured his

father’s livid rage at having to bail his son out of jail for public

indecency. “Worthless” would be the least of the insults the man

hurled at his head.

The car purred to a start and jolted his attention back to the

present day. “I know...”

“Take me back to my car.” His words sounded curt as they

cut across Mason’s. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t risk getting

caught out with Mason. His parents would cancel his lease, and

he’d be deprived of any income and forced to move back home,

where every minute of every day would be unendurable hell.

Mark’s Opening Gambit

Mason’s patient sigh beside him pissed him off. “All right. I’ll

take you back to the apartment complex. But, Mark, I still want to

see you again.”

Again? Images of the last few hours flicked rapidly through

his mind. He’d enjoyed himself. Every bit of the evening, from

playing chess with Johnny to watching Mason orgasm in the front

seat of the car, had been incredible. “Mason, I just can’t. I can’t tell

you how bad it would be for me if my parents found out about

this.”

As he pulled the Jetta into the parking space next to Mark’s

BMW, Mason spoke again. “I swear, they won’t find out. Hon-

estly, Mark, I think this could really be something special between

us. Give me a second chance?”

It was the temptation of that husky voice calling his name

during orgasm, the sensual mastery of the kiss Mason pressed

upon him, that caused him to agree. His capitulation was most

emphatically not due to any emotional need to be with Mason.

“No more sex in public places?”

“No more public sex,” Mason assented readily.

Mark regretted Mason’s agreement as much as he regretted

making the demand.

Chapter Five

Mason shifted, tapping his foot restlessly and clicking aim-

lessly through the channels on the television. They had basic ca-

ble, but there still wasn’t a whole lot of choice. He took in a few

minutes of the football game, long enough to see the Raiders fum-

bling disgracefully, then flipped the television off and checked

his watch. A quick glance at the dining table showed Mark and

Johnny still intently studying their chessboard. Looked about the

same as when he’d awoken a while ago to discover that his lover

had arrived early for their date.

He’d been thrilled to wake up to the murmur of Mark’s voice,

not so much when he realized that Mark had arrived so early so

he could play a few games of chess with Johnny before they went

out. Mason stretched and stood, walking quietly in his sock feet

across the worn carpet into the kitchen. His mom would have left

dinner for him in the microwave. He checked the plate and set the

timer for one minute. Meat loaf and mashed potatoes with gravy,

Mark’s Opening Gambit

a bit heavy, but it would be his only meal till he got off work at

eight in the morning. He got a glass of milk from the fridge and

leaned back against the cluttered countertop, watching Mark and

Johnny. Each of them was focused entirely on the pieces on the

board in front of them. It was a little upsetting to find that neither

had noticed he was awake and observing them, but in a way the

level of intensity they exhibited was stimulating. Nothing outside

of sex, had ever absorbed Mason to that degree. The beep of the

microwave signaled his meal had heated enough to eat, and after

grabbing a fork from the dishwasher, he began to eat quickly, one

eye on the clock over the television. He had an hour before he had

to be at work. Going back to Mark’s place for some hot sex was out

of the question, cuddling on the couch and talking was a distinct

possibility if this game ended soon, but a few minutes to make out

in the car before he had to go would suffice if it continued.

He rinsed his empty plate in the sink and set it aside before

beginning to unload the dishwasher. It was really Johnny’s job,

but Mason had nothing better to do at the moment. Putting away

the dishes as quietly as he could, he waited for the game to end.

From the looks of the board, Johnny was just a few minutes away

from losing, and he and Mark could have some alone time.

He straightened from placing a heavy pot on the bottom shelf

of the cabinet to find Mark and Johnny setting up the board to

play again. Disbelief swept through him. He cleared his throat

loudly, and man and boy jumped, turning to stare at him. Mark’s

startled expression faded to a smile of welcome as he studied Ma-

son.

“You’re awake,” he said simply.

Mason snorted in amusement. “Dude, I’ve been awake for an

hour and a half. Y’all were just really intensely involved there.”

Mark rose and came to him in the kitchen. Mason pulled him

closer when he would have stopped and kissed him thoroughly,

sliding his tongue over slick teeth and stroking velvety warm

places as their breaths mingled. His cock stirred, and knowing

his time was too short, he allowed Mark to push him away re-

luctantly. Mark’s honey-brown eyes darted left and right furtive-

ly. Mason sighed. Mark seemed unable to fathom that his fam-

ily didn’t care if they were openly affectionate with one another

in the apartment. He seemed especially wary of Mason’s mom,

though she’d done her best to be warm and welcoming.

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“Are you ready to head out?” Mark asked, brown eyes glow-

ing with the heat of his own arousal.

Mason shook his head. “Sorry, Mark. I have to be at work

in forty-five minutes. We don’t really have time to go anywhere.

Let’s sit over here and watch some football until I have to leave.”

Mark frowned up at him. “I don’t care for football, you know

that. How about I teach you how to play chess?”

Mason hid his impatience. Ooh boy. He ducked his head, run-

ning a hand through the blond hair his mother always nagged

him to cut. “Uhmmm... I’m not sure I can learn how to play chess,

Mark. It’s awfully complicated, and I don’t really have time to-

night.”

“I thought we had plans tonight?”

“We did.” Mason fought to hide his frustration. “But you just

spent hours playing chess with Johnny. Now we have less than an

hour before I have to leave.”

Mark’s tapping foot and tightening expression showed his

own irritation. “I came all the way over here to see you, and all I

get is half an hour of your time?”

“You could have had two hours of my time, but you were

playing with Johnny. Now let’s not spend the time we have left

arguing! Please.” He softened his voice as he saw the tremor of

unease his near-shout caused. Mark just backed away from him,

and when Mason reached a hand out to lead Mark to the sofa,

Mark’s cringe and abrupt sidestep stunned him. What the fuck?

“Mark,” he started.

“You know, it’s really hard to do this,” Mark said. “Your work

schedule makes seeing you very difficult. Isn’t there any way you

can get a day job?”

What? That came out of the fucking blue. “I can’t. The night

shift pays more, and it means my mom can work during the day.

One of us needs to be home for the boys during the day, and she’s

worked too hard to keep working graveyards. I’m young, and I

can handle it. Besides, a guy with a tenth-grade education can’t do

much better than the job I have.”

“You could go to school, get your GED, and go on to college.”

That was new, too. Clearly Mark had been thinking about

these things in the last months, whereas Mason had been content

to spend as much time as possible with the man he was becoming

certain he loved. It seemed that Mark had spent the time trying to

Mark’s Opening Gambit

think of ways he could change Mason. The excitement in Mark’s

voice was lost on Mason as he realized that. “If you worked days,

we could see each other more often.”

That was pretty sweet, actually. Hearing the reason for Mark’s

ideas soothed the hurt that Mason felt. Knowing Mark wanted to

spend more time with him felt good. Hard as it was to believe,

Mason was certain after the last three months that he wanted to

spend the rest of his life with Mark. He was cute, sexy, intelligent,

and made Mason feel things he’d never felt before. Mark, howev-

er, still seemed pretty skittish about being seen in public together,

though he had finally conceded that going to his house was better

than public parks after their first date.

Things would work out. They had to. Shrugging, he pulled

Mark down onto the sofa beside him and left the television off.

No football, no chess, a few minutes of cuddling until he had to

go to work.

Mark’s contented sigh next to him told him this plan met

with his lover’s approval, and he wrapped an arm around Mark’s

shoulder and pulled him close.

“Mason?” Mark’s whisper at his ear sent more tremors of

arousal through him. He tightened his grip and used a hand to tilt

Mark’s face up to his for a light kiss.

“Yeah, babe?” He could get lost in those eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m being unreasonable. It’s just that I have to can-

cel for Wednesday. I have to do something for my parents, and I

don’t want to.”

He really didn’t want to do whatever it was. Mason could see

that in his eyes.

“It’s okay. I’ll miss you, but family comes first.” He pressed a

soft kiss to Mark’s furrowed brow. “Hey, I’ll be thinking of you.

I can meet you at your place when you’re done, if you want.”

Wednesday was his night off from the grocery store. Usually they

spent his nights off in Mark’s bed, indulging themselves in sexual

excess, storing up the memories and the touches to last till the

next whole night they had together.

Mark’s refusal was an indistinct murmur, but Mason set him-

self to cheering Mark up before he had to leave for work, distract-

ing them both from the disappointment ahead.

Chapter Six

Mark straightened the collar of his shirt and adjusted the tie

his mom had insisted he wear. A final inspection of his reflec-

tion in the mirror and he snagged a tissue from the dresser to rub

his shoe. He’d prepared carefully for this evening in his parents’

company, even got a haircut this morning. He didn’t look great,

he supposed, but there was no way his father or mother could

criticize his appearance. He wore a charcoal-gray designer suit,

three hundred dollar shirt, and an Italian silk tie his mother had

selected for him. He wasn’t handsome, but he was presentable. It

was the best he could hope for.

He pasted a tiny little smile on his face and wondered what

Mason had found to do this evening. He almost wished that he

had accepted Mason’s offer to come by his house after the event.

He couldn’t take the chance though. Maybe if it wasn’t too late

when he got home, he could call Mason and go pick him up. His

hand reached for his cell phone in the jacket pocket, but he pulled

Mark’s Opening Gambit

it back. Couldn’t talk to Mason here. He’d sneak away during the

evening sometime and call.

He brushed his hand over the suit front again and turned re-

luctantly to the door. He knew what was coming would be tor-

ture, but it would be worth it if it got his parents off his back for a

while and he could relax with Mason and his family some more.

He shook his head. What a difference in families! Mason and his

mom were warm, open, and loving people; the younger brothers

were happy and confident. When Mark was at their house, if no

one was playing chess, then the whole apartment, shabby and an-

cient as it was, rang with laughter and excitement.

People at Mason’s house hugged, kissed, talked, and even

listened to each other. They even used the L word with alarm-

ing frequency. Love. What an astonishing concept. That families

could share love and talk about it... What would that feel like? To

be able to say to someone, I love you? He might be able to love

Mason and his family. He couldn’t be sure. Mason and his family

were the first examples of love he’d ever seen. His parents cer-

tainly didn’t seem to love each other, and they sure as hell barely

tolerated him!

He stepped off the bottom stair and checked his appearance

in the mirror in the hall, mocking himself silently as he did so.

Fool. You haven’t grown more handsome since you left your room.

Sighing, he turned to enter the parlor, coming to an abrupt stop

as he took in his parents. Father stood by the bar, pouring drinks.

His mother sat primly on a chair by the sofa, and next to her sat a

young woman, of twenty-something years, dressed in an elegant

black dress and heels. The latest in a long line of candidates for the

role of Mrs. Mark Addison. The older couple sitting nearby had

to be his prospective in-laws. All of them gazed at him, assessing

him.

A flush heated his cheeks, and he stepped into the room. His

father scowled at him now, and his mother cast him a censorious

look. “You’re a bit late, dear. The Joneses have been here for ages.”

Dear. Darling. Always the endearments in the hollow, cold

tone. Made him wonder if she’d forgotten his fucking name. Just

like she conveniently forgot he was gay and paraded “acceptable”

women in front of him at every chance.

“At least he’s presentable this evening, dear. I meant to ask

you to go buy him a new suit this morning.” His father’s snort of

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disgust rang from the other side of the room, and Mark couldn’t

help but cringe.

“Dear, this is Izzy Jones and her parents, James and Kate

Jones. They’re new members at the club.” A warning was couched

in his mother’s cultured tones that he knew he’d better heed.

“Why don’t you sit here next to Izzy while we finish our drinks?”

Reluctantly, Mark seated himself between the young woman

and her mother. Apparently Mother was determined to make this

evening as awkward as possible.

Izzy seemed sweet enough, if more than a little dim, and he

tried to make quiet conversation with her while his father bel-

lowed at her parents in a jovial tone. His mother’s eagle eye was

on him, and he could feel the ice of her gaze.

“What do you do?” He started when the soft voice came to

him.

“I—”

“We’d better be going now. Don’t want to miss our reserva-

tions. Fashionably late should never be confused with rudely late!

Oh, and Mark’s just finished law school, Izzy. We’re so proud of

him.” His mother interrupted smoothly.

He rose and meticulously offered his arm to the girl, think-

ing he would drive her to the restaurant while his parents and

hers drove separately. His father’s hand on his arm in a harsh

grip stopped him outside the door. “Where are you going?” the

brusque voice demanded.

Flinching, he gestured toward his car, but once again his

mother wouldn’t let him answer. “Dear, we’re all going together

in the Cadillac. Izzy doesn’t want to drive over to the event with a

strange boy in a tiny car like yours.” Her superior tone grated on

his nerves. His car wasn’t all that small. It was the first thing he’d

purchased with his own money, and he loved it.

“Of course, Mother.” How would it feel to call her mom? To

address her with open affection as Mason and his brothers did

their parent. He’d never been encouraged to call his mother any-

thing in the least bit affectionate. To his surprise, his mother got

into the backseat with Izzy’s mother, and he and Izzy were rel-

egated to the third seat. He fussed anxiously with his trousers,

worried that the tight confines would wrinkle them. Kid looks like

a bum! He heard the echo of his dad’s voice from long ago.

Mark’s Opening Gambit

After a brief, tense silence, during which Mark met his fa-

ther’s scowl in the mirror before his gaze skittered away out the

window, his mother turned her neck awkwardly to urge him si-

lently to converse politely.

“So, you’re an attorney?” Izzy asked, sounding indifferent.

She obviously wanted to be here as little as he did.

“I’m just so excited about this new restaurant. The Michelin

Guide gives it a superior rating. The chef is from France. I’m just

thrilled that we got reservations.” Again his mother cut him off

before he could answer.

Fury simmered under the surface, but Mark made sure that

none of what he felt showed on his face. He didn’t want to argue

with his parents. They obviously didn’t want the Jones family to

know what he did, not that he was ashamed of his shop. With the

exception of the lease being in his father’s strip mall, he’d worked

hard for his shop and was damned proud of what he’d achieved.

He’d endured law school at their insistence, but damned if he was

going to practice law to make them happy. They’d probably be

unhappy with that too.

Maybe he didn’t use the law degree he’d earned, and maybe

it was a waste of time and money, but he’d told them both when

he went to college that he didn’t want it. He’d wanted a degree

in ancient history and had been forced into something practical.

Still, he’d managed to turn his love of chess and a few business

classes into a profitable means of supporting himself, and he en-

joyed what he did for a living.

It was the one time he’d stood up to his father, and he trea-

sured the shop all the more because it represented his sole victory

in their ongoing civilized battle.

Valet parking outside the restaurant was a benefit, and he as-

sisted Izzy from the car with muttered apologies as she struggled

from the cramped backseat. Flash bulbs and cameras went off all

around them, but he ignored them. Go inside, eat the decorative

cardboard food, more vacant conversation, dance a few times with

the docile girl at his side, and he would be free. Of course, now

he had to go back to his parents’ house for his car. Please God, let

the Joneses not be interested in a nightcap! He could get through

this. Especially if he could break away and talk to Mason for a bit.

Inside, a tuxedoed maître d’ led them to a table, and he as-

sisted the reluctant Izzy into a seat. Instead of sitting next to her,

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as his mother’s adamant stare indicated he should, he quietly ex-

cused himself. “I’ll be right back, Miss Jones. I need to make a

call.”

Mark forced himself to move normally across the room to the

maître d’, who directed him to the restrooms. He stood inside,

wondering if even this offered enough privacy to call Mason and

beg him to meet him at his house after this hell ended. He shook

his head. Had to use the time he had, because he wouldn’t put it

past his father to come in here looking for him if he thought he

was gone too long.

“Mason?” He felt his mood lighten as soon as the other man

answered his phone. In the background there was laughter and

some other strange noises Mark couldn’t identify.

“Yeah, baby. What’s up? Are you finished with your parents

already? Want some company?”

“No. I mean I’m not finished with them, but yes...I want com-

pany.”

Startled silence met his statement. “You want me to meet your

parents?”

“No. God, no. Of course not. I want you to come by my place

later. When I’m done here, I’ll meet you there.” Say yes. Please.

“I can do that. I need a few hours here with the boys though.”

“Where are you? What is that God-awful noise?”

“Skate park, old man. You don’t recognize the sound of

wheels on pavement?”

Mark paused. Skate park. This was who Mason was. The

bathroom door swinging open got his attention. “I have to go.

You know where the spare key is. Let yourself in if I’m not there

when you get there, okay?”

Assured of Mason’s company when he got through with the

ordeal, Mark forced himself to be quietly pleasant for the rest of

the tedious meal, unable to stop making comparisons between the

restaurant meal and the last meal he’d eaten at Mason’s house.

The food hadn’t been fancy, meat loaf with macaroni and

cheese, steamed veggies, and apple pie, but the atmosphere had

been far superior to any Michelin three-star restaurant he’d ever

eaten in. Mason and his brothers had laughed and teased one an-

other. They ate their whole meal with one fork, poured milk into

plastic glasses straight from the jug, and doused their plates with

Mark’s Opening Gambit

ketchup and brown gravy. Over it all, Mrs. Grant had presided

with a smile, urging each one to eat more, to tell some new story.

Mark remembered that meal and plastered a smile on his

face. This dinner would buy him a month of dinners with Ma-

son’s family. He wouldn’t need to do this again until next month

at the earliest.

Chapter Seven

Mason parked his car on the curb in front of Mark’s house,

locking it automatically, even thought the gated community was

safer than the area where he lived and worked. He breathed in

the clean, crisp air of the oceanfront subdivision. His own apart-

ment was closer to the water, but you couldn’t smell it because of

the traffic and sheer volume of humanity. He loved Mark’s place,

though. It had a big yard, neatly landscaped and green. The apart-

ment had rock gardens and asphalt. His mother kept a petunia

and a banana palm on the balcony. Mark had an entire garden of

exotic flowers.

Mark. Just the thought of his boyfriend fired Mason’s blood.

He’d had a moment of unexpected pleasure when he thought that

Mark wanted him to meet his parents. A moment that had made

him think. What would it be like to make that all-important step

in their relationship? Of course, he’d been mistaken in what Mark

Mark’s Opening Gambit

wanted, but really... They’d only been dating a few months. Mark

wouldn’t have met his mother if it hadn’t been necessary.

He slipped the key from behind the mailbox and let himself

in, taking off his skate shoes at the door. Probably should have

changed before coming over, but he’d just dropped the kids off

and rushed over here, hoping to see Mark sooner.

Not wanting to drag his skate park dirt into the living area

with its white rugs, he headed down the hall to the master bed-

room. He’d take a shower and wait for Mark where he’d be easy to

find. Right on the fucking bed. Maybe catch a nap too.

***

“You are so beautiful, lying here naked, waiting for me. I

could get used to that sight.” Mark’s whispered confession lured

Mason from his dreams. Mason peeled his eyes open to see Mark,

handsome as sin and looking untouchable in a charcoal-gray suit,

leaning against the maple wood of the door frame.

Smiling, Mason reached down to his now throbbing erection,

stroking it slowly, enjoying the way Mark’s honey gaze melted

and followed the movements of his hand. “This wasn’t what you

had in mind when you called me?” he teased.

Mark took a step forward, loosening the tie he wore, making

to toss it aside.

“Whoa. Slow down there. You had a nice long look at me while

I lay here, sleeping. Now it’s my turn to enjoy the view. Strip for

me?” Would he? Mark had surprised him with what he was will-

ing to do in the past, but something about that suit, some aura of

otherness that wasn’t really Mark, made him doubt whether his

lover would be willing to indulge his desire for a striptease.

To Mason’s surprise, the other faded from Mark’s demeanor.

His back straightened a bit farther; his movements slowed and

relaxed. He left the strip of silk hanging about his neck and licked

his plump lower lip. Oh, he knew that drove Mason wild. Ma-

son inched higher up on the bed until he sat leaning against the

headboard. He gripped his cock firmly, squeezing, eyes locked

on Mark.

Mark shrugged off his jacket, pausing with it poised over his

shoulder, posing like a magazine model, a flirty gleam in his eye.

He tossed the jacket in the general direction of the armchair by the

window but didn’t bother to pick it up from the floor when it fell

short. Instead, he took a step closer to Mason. His elegant, long

Lee Brazil

fingers worked button by button down the creamy shirtfront, as

he continued moving forward. At the foot of the bed, he reached

the last button and let the shirt fall to the floor. He toyed with

his leather belt, sliding it through the loops inch by inch. Mason

raised a brow as Mark laid the black leather carefully on the bed

instead of letting it fall.

Mark noted his interest, and his hands fumbled a bit as they

worked the button of his fly.

“Need some help, baby?” Mason leaned forward, eager to

get his hands on that firm, lithe body. Mark was eager, too, if his

rapid breathing and flushed cheeks were anything to go by.

A quick shake of Mark’s head and Mason settled back against

the headboard again. The trousers opened to reveal a glimmer of

scarlet silk straining to contain Mark’s erection. Mason drew in a

sharp breath and let out a chuckle. “Feeling a little wild tonight?”

Scarlet silk boxers were so unlike Mark, Mason was shocked that

he actually owned them.

Mark laughed a little in response, ducking his head slightly

in embarrassment as he shoved the trousers down, stripping his

socks off at the same time. “A little act of rebellion. I had to wear

the monkey suit for my parents. They couldn’t control what I

wore under it, though.”

Naked except for the red boxers, Mark crawled up onto the

bed. Mason spread his thighs in encouragement. Mark paused to

grab the belt and made his way up the bed until he knelt between

Mason’s thighs. Slowly, he lowered himself.

Mason hissed as the heated red silk became the only barrier

between their rampant erections. Mark lay against his chest, dot-

ting little kisses across the broad expanse. Mason arched his neck

and tilted his head to the side to allow Mark better access as he

worked his way up to Mason’s neck and chin, finally settling with

a sigh against his lips.

Mark’s kiss was nothing like the first one they shared. Mason

no longer had to coax any sort of response from his lover. Mark

opened to him, sucked in his tongue, and they writhed together

until both breathed heavily, poised on the brink. “May I ask you

for something?” Mark’s voice was hesitant.

Mason stilled. Mark never asked for anything. He was happy

enough to follow Mason’s lead in bed, as long as Mason followed

his rules out of it. He thought of the belt, what it could be used

Mark’s Opening Gambit

for, and swallowed hard. “You aren’t going to ask me to hurt you,

are you?”

“God, no! Nothing like that. Just...can I bind your wrists

above your head?”

Shit. Shouldn’t have said anything, Mason. He’d embarrassed

Mark with his foolish statement, made him feel uneasy. Only one

way to fix the situation. “Like this?” He raised both arms over

his head, crossing them at the wrist against the headboard. Right

answer. Mark’s eyes lit with inner fire, and his embarrassed flush

faded.

“Yes, exactly like that.” Mark deftly used the belt to fix Ma-

son’s arms in place. Mason tested the binding with a few brief

tugs before meeting Mark’s eyes again.

“Okay, baby. What’s next?” A little uncertain with this role,

unused to feeling helpless or vulnerable, Mason felt his brow

crease a bit in worry. Mark’s tender lips brushed over the creases,

smoothing them away. No one ever said making your lover hap-

py would always be easy; he could put up with a bit of emotional

insecurity if it meant making Mark happy.

“I’m going to make love to you.”

Mason couldn’t help the flinch that racked his body. He didn’t

bottom, ever. It wasn’t exciting to him, not painful...just not fun.

He met Mark’s eyes bravely, tried to smile. “Okay. If that’s what

you want.”

Mark’s head tipped to the side; he stared thoughtfully at Ma-

son. His honey-colored eyes widened in surprised comprehen-

sion. “No, not like that. I... uhm... Damn it, Mason. I’m going to

ride you, okay? I just want you to lay there and let me do the

work.”

That, he could fully support with enthusiasm. He moved to

gesture with his hands, momentarily forgetting they were inca-

pacitated. “Go ahead. I’m dying here.”

Smiling again, Mark leaned over to pick up the bottle of lube

and a condom packet from the nightstand. Mason swallowed a

protest. He’d tentatively broached the subject of going without

the condoms a week or so earlier, but Mark had been genuinely

shocked by the idea.

He’d thought he was ready to explode earlier, but now, Mark

seemed to relax even more. He spilled lube onto his fingers and

reached around behind himself, arching his back and slowly

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stretching himself with his fingers. Mason watched avidly, impa-

tient to feel that velvet grip close around his cock instead. “Baby,

you’re killing me.” His hands twisted against the belt, and he

briefly regretted indulging Mark’s whim. If not for that belt, he

could easily flip the smaller man on his back and take control of

the situation in a way that would leave them both sated and Mark

begging for more.

Mark stared at him, molten eyes gleaming in the semidark-

ness. “I need this tonight.” He shuddered slightly. “They make

me feel so out of control, like my life is not my own. You give that

back to me, that sense of self.”

Okay. Maybe he was glad the belt kept him from disrupting

Mark’s fantasy. His heart liked those words, a lot. They gave him

hope that eventually Mark could come to love him. “Please. Mark,

I need, baby...I need you.”

Those must have been the right words, because Mark gasped,

drew his fingers from his hole, and poised over Mason’s aching

cock. He guided it to the stretched opening of his body, and Ma-

son fought to lie still, to allow his lover to take as much of him as

he wanted, at his own pace. To his pleasure, Mark slid straight

down in one long, smooth glide.

Mason groaned. Beautiful. Fucking beautiful. The sights, sen-

sations, of making love with Mark were overwhelming. He thrust

tentatively upward, groaning again as Mark lifted and lowered

himself, stroking his own cock as he rode Mason.

“Yes,” Mark hissed. Closing his eyes, he raked the nails of one

hand down Mason’s chest, digging into his belly. Mason shud-

dered and arched, urging Mark to move harder, faster, to bring

about the end of the torment he inflicted upon them both.

Mason stared up into Mark’s eyes, clear amber pools of emo-

tion and desire. A single tear slipped from the corner of one eye,

trailed down one perfect cheekbone, pooled in the corner of that

gorgeous mouth.

“So close,” Mark whispered, clutching tightly at Mason’s

body, stroking wherever he could reach while frantically jerking

himself with the other hand.

“Yes, come for me,” Mason murmured through panted

breaths. With a cry, Mark threw his head back, spurting thick

streams of creamy liquid across Mason’s chest. Mason gasped

when the flood of wet heat spilled on their bellies, and the clench-

Mark’s Opening Gambit

ing of muscles around his invading cock signaled Mark’s release.

Mason’s back arched, the spasms of orgasm overwhelming him as

he, too, experienced the ultimate moment.

Mark threaded shaking fingers through Mason’s short brown

hair and rested his forehead against Mason’s. He pressed tiny

kisses to Mason’s jaw and throat, moaning lightly again as Ma-

son shifted beneath him. Releasing the belt from the bed post, he

curled into Mason’s side and sighed contentedly.

Chapter Eight

Whistling lightly between his teeth, Mason hopped up onto

the curb and headed for the automatic doors. It was payday, and

he had the rest of the afternoon off to spend as he liked. Relaxed

and happy, remembering Mark’s call and the fantastic night he’d

spent in the other man’s bed, he knew just what he was going to

do with that day too. He’d cash his check, pick up some much-

needed groceries and a little something for Mark. Then he’d head

over to Mark’s Opening Gambit and give his lover a little surprise.

The cool of the store felt good after the heat of the California

sun, and Mason slowed down to enjoy it. He called out greetings

here and there as he passed other employees, stopping complete-

ly in the door of the HR office when he heard the store manager’s

voice behind him.

“Mason Grant, how is the night shift, son?”

Mason turned and smiled politely. “Great, Mr. Hughes.”

Hughes had taken a chance, hiring him at fourteen to bag grocer-

Mark’s Opening Gambit

ies when his sleazeball father had ditched his family, leaving his

mom to work the night shift as a CNA in a nursing home to try to

support her three boys.

“Tired of stocking shelves yet?” the man asked jovially.

“No, sir.” It was tedious as hell, and there were nights when

he truly hated it. Unloading the trucks, stocking the bays, and

re-stocking the shelves were mind-numbingly dull. He’d been of-

fered positions in other departments, some that even paid more,

but all required that he be available to work the day shift in rota-

tion. He couldn’t do that, so he politely refused each advance-

ment, calmly accepted his meager pay increases at evaluation

times, and told himself it was worth it to see his mom rested from

sleeping at night.

“Are you sure? I’ve got an opening coming up in the manage-

ment training program. You’d be a great fit.”

Mason shook his head. “I can’t, sir. I don’t have my high

school diploma.” And he’d never been ashamed of that, either.

He’d done what he had to at sixteen, dropping out of school to

work full time and take some of the burden from his mother’s

shoulders.

The man clasped a strong hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Son,

you’ve worked here a long time. I’d like to see you taking advan-

tage of some of the opportunities that we can offer. Did you know

we have a tuition assistance program? In case you want to get that

diploma? Maybe take some college classes as well.”

“I’ll think about it, sir.” He would too. He’d talk to Mark about

it. Mark would be pleased for him to go back to school. Maybe he

could swing it. Maybe there was one of those online programs

that he could do.

“Excellent. Marge!” Hughes called to the HR secretary. “Get

Mason the brochure on the tuition assistance program. I’ll see you

around, son.”

Mason blushed slightly and accepted his paycheck and the

brochure from the smiling secretary.

“He means well, Mason,” Marge assured him.

“I know. It’s just...my mom counts on me. But I promise, I’ll

look into this.”

After picking up the food and other necessities, Mason waited

in line at the customer service counter to pay for his groceries.

Lee Brazil

The line was always longer, but it was the only way to get his

employee discount.

Bored, he picked up a newspaper that someone had left open

in the rack. He flipped idly through it to pass the time, pausing in

shock as a photograph caught his eye.

The picture was of the opening of some new restaurant down-

town. In the crowd outside was Mark. He was bent solicitously

over a petite, dark-haired girl in a stylish black dress that even in

the grainy newspaper photo screamed money. Some of the other

people must be Mark’s parents, but he was too shocked by the

apparent intimacy of the couple to try to figure out which ones

might resemble Mark.

Avidly, he scanned the gossipy column attached to the photo.

His eyes widened in disbelief, and he let the paper fall, pushing

his cart forward automatically. Fiancée? Sources close to the cou-

ple say an interesting announcement is due? What the hell was

Mark playing at?

Quickly, he reviewed his acquaintance with Mark. The man’s

obsessive insistence on secrecy and discretion. His refusal to be

seen in public. It all made a hell of a lot more sense now. Mason

had stupidly believed Mark’s story about his parents holding the

lease of his shop hostage to good behavior. More like he wanted

to hide his bit on the side from a fiancée.

Jealous, yes. He resented the woman who was apparently the

right type of person to be seen with Mark in public. But more than

that, he was hurt that Mark had broken their date to see the other

woman. After all, Mark had never said he wasn’t seeing anyone

else. Mason had just assumed that they were exclusive. Big fuck-

ing mistake that was.

Determined to get to the bottom of things, he paid for his

groceries and decided not to go to the bank. Instead, he headed

straight into the Harbor to Mark’s shop. Traffic was light and the

trip was quick, but he’d managed to calm down enough to con-

vince himself that Mark would have a perfectly good explana-

tion for the photo. Reporters got shit wrong all the time. He just

needed to see Mark’s face, to hear him say that it was all a fuckup.

They could laugh about it together, and he could lure Mark to the

back patio where they’d had their first kiss.

Instead of parking in front of the shop this time, he decided

to pull around to the back. Mark wouldn’t go for any more public

Mark’s Opening Gambit

sex acts, but he might be convinced to crawl into the backseat to

celebrate their anniversary.

Mason pulled the Jetta around the corner of the building and

swung into the first empty parking space. In the rearview mirror,

he caught sight of that white door, pristine and crisp like Mark

himself, swinging open. Mark stepped out, followed by a big,

older man.

The two were talking fiercely, arguing it seemed. Mason hesi-

tated. Invading Mark’s privacy during a moment like this seemed

wrong. He would wait until the other man left, then talk to Mark.

He eyed the men in the mirror. The bigger man was getting more

agitated, his face flushed an unbecoming purple, and his hands

moved wildly. Mason twisted the dial on the radio and waited.

His gaze kept straying to Mark, and as time passed and the argu-

ment apparently became more strident, he grew concerned.

What made up Mason’s mind to intervene, though, was when

the bigger man raised a hand and smacked Mark right in the face.

What the fuck? Mark just stepped back, placing a chair between

the two of them, cradling his hand to the livid mark on his cheek

but making no move to defend himself.

Mason threw the door of the Jetta open and charged across

the parking lot with a roar.

The closer he got, the more words he could decipher.

“You’ll do as I tell you! That girl is perfectly acceptable; her

family is wealthy and respectable. It’s long past time you gave up

this foolish independence and settled down. Use that damn law

degree and quit mucking about playing games.”

“Dad. I don’t want to marry Izzy. We only just met!”

Mason had heard enough. He grabbed the older man’s shoul-

der, swinging him around roughly. “Hey. Why don’t you leave

Mark alone?”

“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded belligerently,

shrugging off Mason’s grip and glaring at him.

“I’m his boyfriend, that’s who.” The words slipped out,

couldn’t be taken back. He straightened his shoulders proudly.

He wasn’t ashamed to be with Mark.

“Oh my God.” Mark apparently couldn’t say the same. “Ma-

son...just go, please. You’re not helping.”

Lee Brazil

Mason moved around the livid older man, reaching to take

Mark into his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere, but he

hit you. Are you okay?”

To his surprise, Mark backed away, refusing his touch. “I’m

fine. It’s no big deal. Why are you even here?”

“I saw the paper. I wanted to ask you about your sudden

engagement. I guess now I don’t have to.” He stepped forward

again. Mark retreated again.

“Boyfriend? Not this gay shit again!” the bully bellowed. The

asshole who had to be Mark’s dad had recovered his voice and

was roaring again.

Startled, Mason turned back to the man. “Yes. Your son is gay.

I’m gay. He’s with me. You have a problem with that?”

“My son is not gay. Addisons are not gay,” he sputtered, eyes

bulging.

Mark shook his head. “Please, Mason. You’re just making

things worse. Leave.”

Mason started in stunned bemusement at his boyfriend. “You

want me to leave? He just hit you. He’s clearly violent.”

“He’s my father, and I can handle my own affairs. I don’t

need you, or anyone else, stepping in and taking over.”

Hurt, Mason growled, stalking forward to stop nose to nose

with the elder Mr. Addison. “You lay one more Goddamned hand

on him and I’ll punch your lights out. Whether he wants me to or

not, understand?”

Chapter Nine

Appalled, Mark watched his father’s fists clench and wor-

ried that he’d truly lose control and strike Mason. Hastily he left

his safe position behind the table and urged Mason on his way.

“Please, I can deal with this.”

Mason was reluctant to go; he could tell by the searching

gaze. A determined look came over his rugged face, and Mason

pulled Mark close.

Mark opened his mouth to protest, but Mason wasn’t into lis-

tening. Instead, he brought his mouth crashing down on Mark’s

in a gesture of rampant possession and demand. Mark’s instinc-

tive response seemed to assuage the need Mason felt to dominate,

and he gentled slowly. The pressure reduced, Mark found himself

swept away into a realm of passion he’d only ever felt in Mason’s

arms. Oh, he’d wanted before, but never like this. He’d miss Ma-

son more than any lover he’d ever had, but more than just Mason,

Lee Brazil

he’d miss the sense of belonging, of rightness that he’d found at

Mason’s home, with his family.

A harsh expletive seeped through the fog of lust, and Mark

reluctantly pushed Mason away. “Go. I told you when we met,

I can’t be gay. He has too much power over me, over the shop.”

“All right. It looks like you’ve made your choice, and it isn’t

me.”

Mark stood stock-still and watched Mason depart. He didn’t

look back, didn’t give Mark a chance to indicate he’d only said

that because his father was standing there listening.

“You’re damn right you can’t be gay. Fucking A, Mark! This

isn’t how we raised you. What would your mother say?”

“I don’t know. You can leave now.”

“You need to be at our house at seven thirty tonight for din-

ner with the Joneses.” The alarming purple was fading from his

father’s face now that he thought he’d gotten his way.

Mark nodded absently. “Seven thirty. Yes. I’ll be there.”

His father strutted proudly off, preening at having made his

point. Mark sat heavily in one of the wrought-iron chairs. He

tapped the pack of cigarettes on the table a couple of times, then

drew one out. He considered it thoughtfully. What had just hap-

pened here?

Mason had come riding to his rescue like a white knight, a

cowboy in an old western, a hero. Mark’s heart had stopped when

he’d seen his father clench his fists as though to go for Mason. He

shook his head, lighting the smoke with trembling hands. Unbe-

lievable. Mason had stood nose to nose with his father and hadn’t

backed down.

Sure, he’d blurted out their relationship, which wasn’t exactly

in keeping with the discretion Mark had asked for, but he could

forgive that under the circumstances. Mason had stood up for

him. He’d interfered, upsetting the delicate balance of power be-

tween Mark and his parents, sure, but...he’d done it with the best

of intentions.

Mark inhaled deeply, held the smoke in and exhaled slowly.

Had they just broken up? Reviewing events, carefully, he deter-

mined that they had indeed.

“Are you okay with that?” he asked the empty air.

No. No, I am not okay with that.

Mark’s Opening Gambit

“You’ve made your choice, and it isn’t me.” The words echoed.

Had he made a choice? Or had he just been reacting as he always

did, struggling to ward off his father’s fury? Should he call Mason

and explain that he hadn’t meant what he said? That it was all an

act for his father’s benefit?

No. Mason was worth more than that. An act wasn’t good

enough. It was time to take charge of his life, to man up and lay it

on the line for his parents. He was a man, not a child, and he’d be

making his own decisions. And he knew just where to start too.

Mark nodded and continued to smoke, plotting out his course

of action. There would be a lot to do, and some of it would take a

while. He’d just have to trust that Mason would be there when it

was done. It was tempting to pick up his cell phone and call Ma-

son, to beg him to come back and help Mark get through the dif-

ficult period that was coming. He didn’t. Mason was strong, kind-

hearted, and loving. He might not have a college degree, but he

had integrity. He deserved a man who was as open and forthright

with the world as he was. He deserved to be shown off, not hid-

den, to be loved, not fucked. If Mark got his act together quickly

enough, he could be the man who loved Mason.

And he could start doing some of that right here and now.

Crushing the cigarette out in the ashtray, he rose decisively

to his feet and dusted his hands on the legs of his Dockers. Right

now. Begin as you mean to go on. He pulled the door open and

entered the shop with a purposeful stride.

Sally was perched on the back counter of the coffee bar,

watching the scattered chess players with bleary eyes.

He walked right up to her, waited for her to realize he was

there. She looked at him blankly. “You’re fired.”

Her jaw dropped, and she slithered off the counter to land on

the floor, leaning back against it for support. “You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m not. This is my shop, and I won’t have anyone work-

ing here who feels it necessary to report back to my mother on my

movements.”

The girl blushed furiously. “It’s not like that. She asked. What

was I supposed to say? I’ve known her since I was two!”

Mark raised a brow. “Really? You want to work here?”

Defiantly, Sally shrugged. “It’s okay. I understand if you can’t

trust me. But I like working here. It’s peaceful and I can get a lot

of studying done.”

Lee Brazil

Thoughtfully, Mark considered. “Okay, well... I’m closing the

shop up soon, anyway. I’m not sure when or if I’ll be reopening. If

you want to come back to work for me then, I’ll rehire you, on the

condition that there is no further reporting to my mother.”

Sally nodded furiously. “Absolutely not. Um...what if she

asks?”

“Tell her it’s called company loyalty.”

Sally’s broad grin let him know he’d hit the right note, and he

decided that next time he saw Ainslie he’d be just as honest with

the other man. Maybe Ainslie was trustworthy. Mark hoped he

was. Meanwhile, he hastily retrieved his shop phone and called

his attorney. He had a lease to break and a mortgage to find,

preferably before seven thirty this evening, when he torched the

bridges behind him.

He’d accomplished several items on his list by the time he

stood outside his parents’ home at seven thirty that evening.

Enough that he felt confident in what he planned for the night.

Instead of knocking, he let himself in. After all, it was technically

his home, too, according to his grandmother’s will.

His feet felt strange in the canvas skate shoes he’d purchased,

and he ran his hands down the soft denim of the new jeans. He’d

had his hair highlighted, and somehow the stylist had managed

to turn his conservative cut into something slightly flashy. For the

first time in his life, he felt like he looked good.

He stood in the doorway of the sitting room, taking in the

Joneses, arranged on the sofa and an armchair, a seat conspicu-

ously vacant beside the pale Izzy. More plotting. His mother sat

by the vacant seat, ready to gag her errant son if he spoke out

of turn. His father blustered in the corner as usual, passing out

drinks and pompous pronouncements at will.

Finally, they all seemed to realize he’d arrived. A few femi-

nine gasps were followed by his father’s bellow of rage.

“Damn it, boy! That is no way to attend dinner! Go change

immediately!”

“No. I’m not staying for dinner. I just came by to make things

clear, for the last time. I’m sorry, Izzy. I don’t know what they’ve

been telling you, but I’m not in the market for a wife. I’m gay.”

Shocked gasps and a moan of despair from his mother met

his declaration.

Outraged, the Joneses huffed. Izzy flushed and stammered.

Mark’s Opening Gambit

“How dare you!” his mother shrieked. “This is not the place

for this type of conversation.”

The Joneses were gathering themselves up, and Mark politely

stepped to the side to allow them to sidle past. To his surprise,

Izzy paused in front of him.

He looked inquiringly into her clear green eyes behind the

wire frames of her glasses. “Yes?”

“Good for you,” she whispered, before scuttling off after her

raging father and mother.

Interesting. Perhaps Izzy Jones had some secrets she was hid-

ing as well. “I wouldn’t have brought it up here, Mother, except

that when I’ve brought it up in the past, you’ve just brushed it

aside. I’m not accepting that anymore. You can keep dragging

women over to meet me. I’ll happily announce to each one of

them that I am not only gay but involved with a wonderful man

who loves me.”

God, how he hoped that was still true!

“Ray! Do something!” His mother sagged against the back of

the Queen Anne chair weakly.

“This is all about that lout from this afternoon, isn’t it?” his

father snarled menacingly.

“Mason? He’s not a lout. Yes, it is about him. But more than

that, it’s about me. I am who I am, Father, and you aren’t going to

force me into marriage with some woman I’m barely acquainted

with.”

“But we want grandchildren!” his mother wailed.

“Why? So you can ruin their lives as well?”

“Ahhh! We didn’t ruin your life! We’re trying to make sure

you have a good life! The best schools, the best of everything!”

“I’ll cancel the lease on your shop if you don’t do as I say!” his

father threatened.

Mark smiled, shaking his head. “Too late. I already canceled

the lease. It was up next month, anyway, or did you forget that?

Anyway, nice doing business with you.”

He spun on his heel and strode briskly to the front door. No

more secrets, no more hiding. Now he just had to get the shop

back up and running so he was in a position to support a family

without his family’s money.

Chapter Ten

The varnish was chipping on the old table where they ate

their meals. Mason chipped it further with his thumbnail. His

head hurt, and his eyes burned with unshed tears.

He felt like shit for so many reasons. He’d opened his big

mouth in front of Mark’s dad and spilled the beans about Mark’s

sexuality, something no one should do to another. Even worse

was Mark’s failure to validate his claim to being Mark’s boy-

friend. Maybe he hadn’t been Mark’s boyfriend, ever. Maybe

Mark hadn’t broken up with him, because there never was a them

to break up. He was just a bit of sex on the side, not, as he’d as-

sumed earlier today, because Mark was engaged to be married,

but because he wasn’t good enough for Mark’s asshole father.

He still couldn’t believe that Mark had broken up with him.

The brochure on the table taunted him. If you were more educated,

Mark and his family would find you more acceptable. He needed to

Mark’s Opening Gambit

realize Mark didn’t care about him and get on with his life. He’d

been drifting along way too long in this holding pattern.

The click of the key in the deadbolt signaled his mom’s return.

Mavis Grant was a warm and loving mother, but she’d put

in years of sacrifice for her sons already. Mason felt guilty about

asking her to give something more, but he knew that if he could

get the education angle squared away, he could take even more of

the burden off his mother’s shoulders with a management posi-

tion. The job would be salaried and include benefits. He’d end up

putting in more hours, but since he wasn’t going to have a social

life to try to fit in anymore, it really didn’t matter.

“Mason?” She hung up her worn denim jacket on a hook next

to his own. “Honey, what’s wrong? You look...upset?”

He thought he was going to talk about getting his GED and

taking classes at the local community college. Instead, when he

opened his mouth, what came out was, “Mark broke up with me.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I really liked Mark. He was such a

good man.”

“Not so much, I guess. You didn’t really know what he was

like, Mom.” He winced at the bitterness in his own voice, picking

up the brochure and flipping it anxiously between his fingers. He

couldn’t help it; the warm sympathy in his mom’s tired eyes in-

spired a flood of confidences. “He didn’t want to be seen in public

with me. He wanted to hide the fact that he was gay, so his par-

ents wouldn’t take his shop away from him.”

Mom settled into the chair nearest his and laid a comforting

hand over his. “I’m sorry to hear that, because I liked him. He was

patient with your brothers and pleasant company. But you don’t

deserve to be treated like a dirty secret either. I’ve always told you

to be proud of who you are, and I meant all of you. It’s a shame

that Mark felt he had to hide like that. Maybe his parents aren’t

very understanding, though.”

“That’s an understatement. His dad is an absolute bastard.

I met him today.” Mason scowled fiercely at the memory of that

encounter. “He hit Mark, right in front of me.”

That shocked her. She’d never raised a hand to her sons, not a

spanking or a smack, no matter how richly deserved it might have

been. “When was this?”

“Right before I threatened to punch his lights out if he ever

did it again. And right before I told him I was Mark’s boyfriend,”

Lee Brazil

he added in a shamed whisper. He waited for his mother to con-

demn his behavior, but she didn’t.

“What did Mark say to that?”

“He said I should leave.” His mom was staring at the bro-

chure now.

“So you did?”

“What else could I do? He made his choice, and it wasn’t me.

He preferred to deal with that bastard on his own.” Mason didn’t

know whether that pissed him off or hurt him. Mark should trust

him to stand up for him. He was much better equipped to deal

with physical threats than Mark.

“Maybe he didn’t mean it. Have you talked to him? Called?”

“No. It was pretty clear.” As crystal. Mark wanted no part of

a boyfriend, especially, in light of his comments from a few days

before, a boyfriend who didn’t have a college degree and a fancy

lifestyle.

“Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, people say things

they don’t mean, Mason. I did.”

“You did? What do you mean?” He couldn’t recall his mother

ever being angry or raising her voice, let alone telling anyone to

leave their home.

“It was your father. He hadn’t been working, he’d started

drinking, and I think he was dealing again. I told him to leave,

that we didn’t need that around here. I went to work. When I got

back, he was gone, and you kids were here alone. I thought he’d

be back. I waited. I should have called around and looked for him,

told him I didn’t mean it, that we’d work things out.” Now his

mom was looking teary-eyed and picking at the varnish on the

table. Mason was stunned. He’d never quite understood what had

happened to his father, but somehow he’d always thought it was

his fault that the man had left them.

Mason tried to absorb it all. “I thought it was me. I was in

trouble at school, that whole cherry bomb thing. I thought he

didn’t want to deal with me anymore.” He and a few friends had

made cherry bombs and set them off in all the school bathrooms.

They’d been caught, of course, and his father had had to come to

school and get him. Mason had been suspended, and his father

had been angry. Even angry though, the man had never raised a

hand to Mason, not like Mark’s father this afternoon. No, James

Grant had stared his son down, told him he was a disappoint-

Mark’s Opening Gambit

ment, and sent him to his room. The guilt from that as much as

anything else was what had sent him to find a job the weekend

after his father left. Mr. Hughes had hired him to bag groceries,

and his mother had cried.

Mom shook her head. “No, it was me, being impatient and

stubborn. I should have called him, asked him to come back. You

should think about calling Mark.”

She got up and bustled around the tiny kitchen, returning

with a gallon of milk, two glasses, and a package of Oreos. “What?

I hide them for occasions like this. You know, ice cold milk and an

Oreo cookie...makes everything better.”

Mason chuckled. “That’s not how it goes, Mom.” He accepted

the glass of milk and stack of cookies.

“Now. Tell me about this.” She tapped a blunt nail on the bro-

chure.

“Mr. Hughes offered me a place in the management training

program. I have to get my GED first, though.”

The brightening of his mom’s expression shamed him again.

She’d hated it when he dropped out of school at sixteen, but she

couldn’t make him go, and he’d insisted he wouldn’t miss any-

thing. She’d reluctantly accepted his decision to work full-time to

help out, but he knew she’d regretted the necessity over the years.

“I want to go back to the night shift at the nursing home, Ma-

son.”

“You can’t do that, Mom. We’ll find a way. I think I can take

these classes online, and I’m sure Mr. Hughes with work with me

on a schedule.”

“No. You don’t understand. I’m tired. I get more tired work-

ing a day shift, running my ass off around that place, than I ever

got working nights. And...” She paused thoughtfully, separating

an Oreo and peeling the crème filling off to set it aside. “I miss the

peace and quiet of the night shift.”

“You always said that more people die on the night shift,

Mom. That’s got to be tough.” He wanted to accept her offer. He

could go to days, have nights free, see Mark...or not.

“Yes, but at least on the night shift, I got to say good-bye. I got

to know the people I was caring for, to hold their hands, read their

letters, talk to them. Now, I run around all day, and some days I

come in and the bed is empty. I don’t like it. I want to go back to

nights, Mason. The boys don’t need me here at night anymore.

Lee Brazil

They don’t really need you here, either. When you were their age,

you worked a full-time job. They can handle being home alone.”

“Okay. I understand.” He did too. His mom liked people. Of

course she would miss the connection with her patients in the

bustle of the wards during the day.

“So, we sign you up for these classes, you tell your boss you’re

at his disposal, and I get to work nights again. We’re all happy.”

Not entirely, but classes and learning a new job would hope-

fully keep him too busy to moon over Mark and his lost love.

Chapter Eleven

Mark came awake as the sun burned through the sheer

drapes on his bedroom window. Under the lightweight sheet,

his cock throbbed in harmony with his heartbeat, and with a

groan, he wrapped a hand around it to squeeze tightly. He’d been

dreaming of Mason again, of kissing him, loving him, being with

him. His dreams combined the things they’d done together and

all the things he wanted to do with Mason. Lately, they had tak-

en a strange turn, and he envisioned himself doing things he’d

never even thought of doing with anyone before, things he was

ashamed to even ask Mason to do with him. As he worked his

cock, the visions from the night flickered through his head again,

a new source of stimulation.

His eyes drifted shut, and with a sigh, he conjured the image

of sparkling brown eyes and sun-streaked blond hair, strong, firm

muscles and demanding lips. In his mind, he knelt on the bed,

hands cuffed to the headboard. He saw it all as though he were

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watching a film. Mason knelt behind him, both of them hard and

ready. Instead of caressing him, stretching him, Mason spanked

him. The sharp, stinging slaps of his hard palm on the soft skin

of Mark’s buttocks sent prickles of fiery sensation rushing to his

cock, and he jerked and tugged at the cuffs, trying to reach around

and get a hand on himself, to bring himself to orgasm. Mason

refused to allow it though. His familiar voice echoed in Mark’s

memory, with some unheard tone of command. “You’ll come

from my cock, only.”

Mark didn’t know where this dream in particular came from.

Mason had certainly never laid a hand on him, but the idea was

sending him flying, and he knew it was something he definitely

wanted to test in reality.

His hand moved as though of its own accord, stroking, mas-

saging his aching cock. He licked his lips as he felt the tightness

in his balls, the tingle in his spine. When his orgasm came, he

shouted Mason’s name, his back arching from the bed. He lay

back gasping, panting.

“Mason,” he whispered. “God, I miss you.” More than sex, he

missed the sexy smile, the quiet indulgence in Mason’s eyes when

he listened to his brothers’ excited chatter. He missed the warm

heat in Mason’s gaze when it met his, the strength of those arms

wrapped around him.

He hated waking and leaving the dreams behind, but getting

up and staying active were the only ways to end the torment that

brought the dreams in the first place. At first, he’d found the night-

ly dreams of Mason comforting, but lately they’d become sheer

torture, leaving him hard, aching, and heavy of heart.

Mark’s hasty shower and scarfed breakfast of granola bars

and fruit took a few minutes, but before an hour had passed, he

stood proudly in front of his new shop, guiding workmen in the

hanging of a gaudy new sign. The pawn-shaped sign with its bril-

liant red letters on a white background would stand out to the

passing crowds. The whole thing was beautifully backlit so that

even in the darkest hours of the night, it would proudly announce

that this was Mark’s End Game. And it was. The original shop had

been an opening gambit—but he’d played it too safe. He’d never

have won the game with that strategy.

When the foreman and his crew left, he stood admiring his

handiwork.

Mark’s Opening Gambit

“Looks good.” Ainslie slapped him on the back.

“It does, doesn’t it?” At first he’d stressed over the sign not

being discreet. Then he’d decided that discretion was a thing of

the past. The old sign had been discreet, the old shop had been

discreet, the old Mark had been discreet. The new sign suited the

new shop and the new Mark. “Thanks for hooking me up with

this location, by the way.”

“It’s not as ritzy a neighborhood as your old place.” Ainslie

grimaced.

“Yeah, well...that’s probably a good thing. I couldn’t afford

the rent on a place like my old one. This is affordable, and it’s a

good neighborhood. Lots of schools, a tutoring center, a decent

client base. Closer to my house too.” And since he’d mortgaged

his house and sold his car, replacing it with a cheap used one, his

operating capital would last a lot longer, give him a better chance

to succeed, with lower rent.

Ainslie smiled again. “It’s going to be great. When your

schedule is overbooked, I’ll happily pick up some of those private

lesson hours.”

That would be a fine thing. Mark had plans for staffing and

expanding that included not just Ainslie, but Sally and the Grants,

as well.

Ainslie had become a good friend over the past month or two.

When Mark had given him the same spiel he’d given Sally, Ain-

slie had laughed outright. Turned out, he’d had his own problems

with disappointing his parents. It seemed the illustrious Scott

family hadn’t been all that eager to accept Ainslie’s teaching or

his sexuality. Teaching in an inner city school was beneath the

dignity of a son with a PhD. “They got used to it, once they real-

ized they couldn’t change it or control it.” Ainslie had shrugged

the strife off. Mark hoped his parents would come around as well,

but he wasn’t going to hold his breath waiting for it, either. He

had a whole new concept of family in mind, one that was very

much more to his liking.

It had been Ainslie who steered him in the direction of this

little strip mall next to a charter school that served the K-12 com-

munity. The school focused on mathematics and sciences and

would likely provide a steady stream of customers. Mark had met

with the school principal about starting a chess team, and the man

had seemed receptive to the idea. He’d invited Mark to attend a

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back-to-school-night activity in August where he could pitch the

value of chess to enrolling parents. Ainslie had promised all the

help he’d need to get it started.

Now, the long months of work were about to pay off. This

weekend, he’d be opening the doors on Mark’s End Game to host

an amateur tournament. This time, he really had done it all by

himself. The lease on the shop, the business loan, all of it was

owed by Mark Addison, not the Addison family. Nothing his par-

ents did or said could affect any of it.

He and Ainslie headed into the shop where Sally was bus-

ily sorting product behind the counter, which he’d expanded to

include a juice bar in deference to his new clientele. Kids didn’t

need caffeine.

It was awesome. He hadn’t had to purchase anything but

paint. All the old art, furniture, everything, had been spray-paint-

ed in vivid colors, the tables painted in checkerboards and var-

nished. The roll–up mats for tournament play would come out

when needed, but these tables were great for impromptu games,

easy to clean, and attractive.

The time was coming closer. This weekend, after he opened

his doors for the first time, he’d be ready to do what he’d been dy-

ing to do since he watched Mason get into that little red Jetta and

drive off without looking back. He’d be ready to call Mason and

get their lives back on track.

He’d even considered that Johnny Grant might be one of the

players in the tournament, but the young man hadn’t registered

and hadn’t shown up to enter at the door, either. He was disap-

pointed that Johnny didn’t arrive, because he hadn’t just missed

Mason over the last two months; he’d missed the whole family.

Johnny and Jake, Mavis, the laughter, the warm companionship,

the loud meals at the tiny, scratched table, had haunted his mind

almost as much as the more intimate aspects of his relationship

with Mason.

The idea that Mason might stroll through that door with his

brother as he had all those months ago kept Mark on edge and

nervous. Watching the kids play reminded Mark too much of

meeting Mason for the first time. The desire to be with Mason,

to hear his voice and feel his touch finally became too much. As

it turned out, he couldn’t wait till the tournament was over. But

Mark’s Opening Gambit

it had never occurred to him that Mason wouldn’t pick up the

phone.

He didn’t pick up that night when the tournament ended, ei-

ther. Or the next day, when neighborhood people wandered in

to check out the shop and several ambitious parents signed their

offspring up for private lessons.

When Monday came around and Mason had neither an-

swered his phone nor responded to any of Mark’s increasingly

desperate messages, he nearly gave up. He conceived a plan in

desperation that he would have cringed to consider in the past.

Dignity be damned. He didn’t need it, any more than he needed

discretion. He fucking needed Mason.

Chapter Twelve

Day shift was great. Working on salary instead of hourly wag-

es, not so much. Mason found himself at the store for hours after

each shift was supposed to have ended, but he didn’t really care.

He had nothing better to do with his time, and being absorbed in

learning new things kept his mind off Mark.

Mason pulled the last box of sugary cereal off the end cap and

tossed it into a nearby cart. Tasks like this were a lot easier to ac-

complish during the night hours, but the guys from the regional

office had ordered it done ASAP, so here he was, doing the same

old thing he’d done for the last ten years, only in the bright light of

day this time. The familiar activity was so mindless that he found

himself drifting, thinking about Mark again.

He’d actually gotten pretty good at not thinking about the

man for all of an hour or so, but then, out of the blue, Mark had

started calling over the weekend. After two months of silence,

he’d called six times over the course of three days. As soon as he

Mark’s Opening Gambit

heard his phone go off with the lyrics to “Lady Stardust,” he’d

freeze and listen until the ringing stopped. Mark left messages

too. He knew it. He just didn’t listen to them. He wasn’t ready.

He wheeled the cart around the corner to the cereal aisle and

swiftly filled in the missing boxes. Mom was right. He wanted

Mark still, loved him still. He accepted that Mark’s absence from

his life was as much his own doing as Mark’s. He could have

called Mark that night or any night since then. He hadn’t, because

he wasn’t ready for Mark. He wanted to make himself worthy of

Mark. Though he knew he really wasn’t a bad person, it was true

that he hadn’t done all he could with what he’d been given.

He wheeled the cart to the back of the store, parking it in a

bay where he could put the stock back on the shelves later. An-

other cart of new merchandise awaited. He laughed when he saw

the strange new varieties of Pop-Tarts he was expected to put on

display.

Mr. Hughes had accepted his application to the management

program based on his enrollment in the GED program, and he’d

worked his ass off to get to the point where he thought he could

pass the test. He’d registered last week and would be taking the

test next week at the community college. Then, when he had his

diploma in hand, and a path to success ahead of him, then he’d

call Mark and apologize for being a jerk.

Stupid, yeah—but somehow...he wanted to show Mark that

he was a worthy partner for life. He had ambition; he could con-

tribute to a relationship.

The Pop-Tarts were smaller, so he had to adjust the shelv-

ing, and he was in the middle of that project, swearing under

his breath as the tabs refused to enter the slots, when a prickle

of awareness slid over his skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

He turned his head slowly, expecting to find himself looking at

Mark’s shiny Florsheim leather shoes. Instead, a pair of black

checkerboard Vans with knights’ heads painted on the tops filled

in his vision. Cool shoes. Still, his heart and his body told him it

was Mark, even though logic said that it couldn’t be.

He wanted to look up, to verify it, but at the same time, he

wanted to crawl away and never be seen again. This wasn’t how

he wanted to meet Mark again, grubby and sweaty and on his

fucking knees in the middle of the cereal department surrounded

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by boxes of weird-ass Pop-Tart flavors like banana split and cin-

namon roll.

“Mason, I’m sorry to come here, but you didn’t answer my

calls.” Mark was tense, too, he could hear it in the man’s voice.

Sighing, Mason started shoving boxes onto the shelf that had

finally shifted into place. “I didn’t want to talk to you yet, Mark.

I wasn’t ready.”

“Are you ready now?” Mark dropped to his knees next to Ma-

son, and for the first time, he noticed the soft, faded denim Mark

wore. Damn. He couldn’t resist any longer. His eyes swept up

the jeans to the flat belly, covered in a tight green tee with the

slogan “End Game” in white lettering. As tees went it was simple,

elegant. Mark’s skin had taken on a hint of color, his hair... Je-

sus Christ, what the hell had happened to Mark in the last two

months?

He reached out to run his hands through the soft hair, shorter

now than it had been, yeah, but also highlighted and glowing

with vitality in the fluorescent light of the store. When he caught

sight of a smudge of dirt on his hand, he let it drop.

“Next week. I’ll be ready to talk to you next week,” he mum-

bled, staring into honey-colored eyes and realizing that Mark had

forgone his glasses.

“But, I’m here now. I just want to say...I’m sorry.”

“Is there a problem here?”

Mason gritted his teeth. Awesome. Now they had Mr. Hughes

and the men from the regional office for an audience. “No, sir, no

problem.” He looked at Mark. “I can’t talk to you here.”

Mark rose slowly, keeping Mason pinned with the warm af-

fection of his gaze. “Sir, I’m Mark Addison, Mason’s boyfriend. I

just stopped by to tell him something important.”

Oh my God. He didn’t. Blood rushed in his ears, and Mason

rose jerkily to his feet. “What...”

He was vaguely aware of mutters from the regional guys, but

Mr. Hughes was ever cheerful. “Are you now? Stopping in to visit

on your break, then? Well, let’s not keep Mason from getting his

tasks done, all right?” With a wink at Mason, Mr. Hughes urged

the corporate guys on their way to the next department.

Mark was standing, hand out, waiting, it seemed, for Mason

to take it.

“You just...”

Mark’s Opening Gambit

“I did. I hope it’s still true. I can see you’re busy, so... I wanted

to invite you out to dinner tomorrow night at Le Cygne D’Argent.

I have reservations for seven, so I can pick you up by six thirty.”

The words came out in such a rush that Mason almost couldn’t

understand them. He caught enough to understand though that

Mark was asking him out to a very public place—in fact, the very

same restaurant he’d been photographed at with his parents the

day before Mason saw him last.

The impact of the invitation hit him then. Mark was asking

him to a very public place, as his boyfriend.

“Yes, of course. Meet me at home later.” What else could he

say? He’d have to buy a suit. He’d have to learn how to tie a tie.

Fuck. Did he own dress shoes?

The wardrobe questions flitted about in his head as Mark

smiled broadly, beautifully. Mason felt everything inside him

come to a crashing halt at the sight of that smile. He was still ab-

sorbing the feelings, the warm ache it created when Mark edged

closer to him, wrapped his hands around his neck, and pulled

him down a few inches to press their lips together.

Instantly, his cock leaped to life in his pants, surging against

the zipper, and his hands closed around the denim-clad hips. He

pushed into Mark, feeling the man’s erection rub against his own

through their pants. He swept his tongue into Mark’s waiting

mouth, hungry for the taste of Mark.

“Well, I never!” The shocked voice brought him out of the

passionate haze, and he pushed Mark gently away, bracing him-

self to apologize, only to see that the white-haired old lady was

glaring at a box of the banana split Pop-Tarts. “What is this stuff?

Plain old strawberry Pop-Tarts were good enough for my kids,

and they’re good enough for the grandkids too!”

Chuckling, he gave Mark a gentle nudge on his way and nod-

ded at the lady. “Yes, ma’am. Me too. You know, I stocked nine

flavors of Oreos this morning.”

“Nine flavors of Oreos? What is this world coming to? That

your boyfriend?” She nodded after Mark who was strolling slow-

ly away, glancing back over his shoulder to smile at Mason every

now and then.

Mason smiled again. He’d smiled more since he’d heard Mark

claim him aloud in front of the whole store than he had in the last

two months. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Chapter Thirteen

For probably the first time in his life, Mark was pleased with

his appearance. He’d given all his mother’s suits and shirts to the

Goodwill and picked up a neat vintage suit that reminded him of

the one Clark Gable wore in It Happened One Night. The brown

tweed made him feel elegant, and he’d carefully chosen a brown

fedora to match. Crisp white cotton shirt and a skinny tie, and he

felt like Mason would be proud to claim him.

Not so much the car. He knew Mason had admired his old

BMW. The car had spoken of wealth and good taste. Unfortunate-

ly, it hadn’t suited his new budget, and he had sold it, selecting

a car that did. Mark felt a bit worried about what Mason would

make of the little Ford Fiesta he’d ended up getting.

He parked on the street without worrying about damage or

theft, something he couldn’t have done with the Beemer. The

trip up to Mason’s door had him feeling like he did back in high

school, when he regularly dated girls his parents set him up with

Mark’s Opening Gambit

because he didn’t think he could get out of it. He didn’t know if he

could face Mason’s mother, his brothers. What if they hated him

for ducking out of their lives for so long?

That question was answered when the door swung open be-

fore his knuckles contacted the wood and he was crushed in an

embrace. Johnny chattered excitedly, squeezing him anxiously,

while Mavis and Jake watched, all indulgent smiles. He felt his

own return grin, and something tight inside loosened as Mavis

gently nudged Johnny away and wrapped him in her own thin

arms.

“It’s good to see you again, Mark. Come in. Mason is getting

dressed, but he should be out in a minute.” She waved him to the

dining table where he’d eaten more than one family-style meal in

the months he and Mason dated. A chessboard was set up at one

end and a book was open.

“Are you playing against the book?” he asked Johnny, step-

ping over to the table to assess the game in progress.

Johnny shook his head. “Just trying to learn some new open-

ings. I keep getting trounced, and I want to enter a tournament

that’s coming up next month.” The young man’s eyes sparkled.

“Mr. Scott is taking us to this new place to play.”

Mark nodded. “Yeah? I think I know something about that

place. I just opened a new place. Ainslie is hosting a tournament

there. I hope I’ll see you there before then, though. The new place

is more for the younger crowd.”

“Really? I’d love to see it. Mom?”

“We’ll see. I can’t make any promises. The boys were disap-

pointed that you closed the old shop, Mark. We went by there last

month to see you, but of course, it was closed.”

He could tell from the sympathy in her gaze that she knew the

story behind that move and was relieved that he didn’t have to tell

her himself. It also felt good that, knowing how he’d acted, how

he’d treated Mason, she still welcomed him back with open arms.

A hushed silence fell, and he spun around, sensing Mason’s

presence. His heart tripped and sped up; his body surged in re-

sponse. Mason was always attractive with his golden skin and

firmly muscled body, but tonight he was fucking beautiful in a

way Mark had never seen him. He wore a suit like a second skin,

like he’d been born in a three-piece.

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Mark stepped forward, pulled Mason into an embrace, and

gently pressed their lips together. “You’re beautiful.”

“This suitable for the occasion?” Mason’s voice betrayed the

unease his posture denied.

“You look fabulous. I’m proud to call you mine. But”— he

turned to Mason’s watching family—”I’ve made reservations for

seven, and it will take us a good deal of time to get to Le Cygnet

D’Argent. So, I’m afraid we have to leave now.”

Mrs. Grant hugged and kissed her son and pulled Mark into

another light embrace. “Break my boy’s heart again, Mark, and

your welcome won’t be quite so warm.” Her whisper was meant

for his ears alone, but he knew by Mason’s widening eyes that he,

too, had heard her warning.

The drive to the restaurant was filled with idle conversation,

catching up on the boys’ activities, and nothing important passed

Mason’s lips or his own. He wanted to talk, to tell Mason why

he’d stayed away, but he wanted to do it at the restaurant, felt the

setting itself would lend credence to his words.

He allowed the valet to park the car, which Mason had ad-

mired for its great gas mileage and practicality, and took Mason’s

hand in his. The maître d’ seated them without raising a brow,

even when Mark impulsively pressed a kiss to Mason’s cheek be-

fore sliding into his own seat across the table.

He picked up the menu and caught Mason’s panicked gaze.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know what any of this stuff is. I work in a grocery

store...how can I not know what this stuff is?”

Mark laughed, taking Mason’s hand in his again. “Want me

to choose?”

Relieved, Mason brought his hand to his lips and brushed

them across the knuckles. “Would you? You know what I like.”

He did, and when the waiter returned with their wine and

a plate of crusty rolls, he swiftly ordered an appetizer of shrimp

with sun dried tomatoes, onion soup, and filet mignon in a mush-

room brandy sauce. As the waiter came and went, he and Mason

talked, finally about themselves.

His gaze wandered about the room, and as he’d expected,

there were his parents, seated nearby with Ainslie’s parents. His

father’s face was flushed a deep red, and he was clearly struggling

to keep his temper in check. Must have spotted us. Mark smiled

Mark’s Opening Gambit

again. “You’ll be taking the test next week? Would you like me to

go with you, or to pick you up afterward?” Inside, he was thrilled

that Mason had taken this step. He knew Mason was intelligent,

but he also knew doing something because someone else wanted

you to wasn’t the way to find happiness.

“Yeah. That would be awesome. I’d love it if you picked me

up afterward. Johnny has his license now, and he’d love to drop

me off and have my car for the rest of the day.”

Mark chuckled low. “I can think of several ways to celebrate.”

He stopped laughing suddenly, clasping Mason’s hand in both of

his on the table. “I’m proud to be with you, you know. Whether

you do this test or not, I love you.”

Tears sparkled in Mason’s eyes. “I love you too. And I’m re-

ally happy that you’ve broken free of your parents’ control.”

A dark shadow fell over the table, and they turned together.

The waiter had already brought their salads, and Mark felt a bit

of concern that one of his parents had given up the semblance of

polite distance and approached them.

Instead, he saw Izzy Jones standing next to the table, dressed

in a demure emerald evening gown, small hands clasped in front

of her.

“Izzy.” He smiled again. She’d turned out to be a good friend

as well. “I’d like to introduce you to Mason Grant, my boyfriend.”

His face heated on the words but not from embarrassment. No, it

was pride and a surge of possessive lust that those words caused.

“I’m so pleased to meet you. Mark talks about you all the

time.” Izzy held a hand out to Mason, who shook it gently.

“Does he?” Mason quirked a brow at Mark, who grimaced

slightly. It was nice to have friends for a change, but did they have

to spill his secrets at the first meeting?

“What brings you here tonight, Izzy?” He changed the sub-

ject. Izzy flushed. Interesting. “Izzy?”

“I took a leaf from your book, Mark. I told my parents I

wouldn’t be marrying any nice boys and settling down, because I

am in love with someone else.” She turned slightly and waved at a

lovely brunette sitting a few tables over. The young lady blushed

slightly and waved back.

“You did? That’s wonderful!” He wanted to ask how they’d

taken the news but figured this wasn’t the place. “We’ll have to do

something together one night.”

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Izzy nodded and agreed before hurrying back to her own ta-

ble. The rest of the meal passed undisturbed. Mark even managed

to forget that his parents were in the same room, he became so ab-

sorbed in Mason, the food, and the prospect of what was to come.

Chapter Fourteen

“You’re serious.” Mason looked at the cuffs in his hands. They

were shiny and bright and lined with dark leather, and he’d never

used, or even seen, anything like them in his life.

Mark sat cross-legged on the bed next to him, nude and sated.

Or maybe not. He flushed slightly at Mason’s tone but persevered.

“Yes. I want you to cuff me to the bed.”

“I got that. I can even kind of understand that, because it was

freaking hot when you tied me up before. The part I don’t get is

that you want me to spank you before I fuck you.”

“Do you have to get it?” Mark seemed a bit frustrated.

“I think so, yes. My boyfriend asks me to spank him, I’m

thinking that’s going to hurt...and yeah. I need to know about this.

Where did this come from? It isn’t something we did before, so...”

His voice trailed off as he considered the possibility that Mark

had been with someone else during their time apart. He’d never

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thought of that before. He should have. His jaw tightened. He’d

almost like to hit someone now. Not Mark, though.

Mark flopped back on the sheets, stretching his legs out in

front of him. “Promise not to laugh at me?”

Laugh? He was so far from fucking laughing right now,

it was...laughable. He dropped the cuffs on the nightstand and

shifted until his face was next to Mark’s and he could look into

the man’s eyes. “I’m not going to laugh. But I don’t want to hurt

you either.”

“I dreamed about you, every night for the last two months.

I fell into bed exhausted, missing you more than I ever thought

possible, and you came to me in my dreams. At first, the dreams

just poured through memories of things we did together, of kisses

and movie theater hand jobs, and all those familiar things. Then

they changed. They became things we’d never done, things I

wanted to do with you.”

“And one of the things you dreamed was of me spanking

you?”

“Yeah.”

Okay, then. Far be it from him to deny his beloved a fantasy.

“All right. On your knees, hands on the headboard.” He tried to

sound authoritative, channeling those district managers in their

pristine suits and clipboards. The image made him smile and re-

lax a bit. He could do this.

“You’re going to do it?” Mark seemed dazed but hastily

scrambled into position. Mason studied the cuffs carefully.

“You’re sure these are safe?” He noted the position of the key,

not wanting to lose it. He worked the cuffs through his hands,

studying Mark on the bed. Acres of creamy flesh, for him and him

alone to touch, to please. His eyes took in the surge of interest in

Mark’s cock, and he felt that last bit of resistance melt away. Mark

was definitely turned on by this.

He snapped the cuff closed around one thin wrist, passed it

through a spindle on the headboard, and clasped the second on

the other wrist. “Pull on them.” The order came out easily, and

Mark liked that, too, if the sudden gooseflesh on his spine was

any indication. He obediently tugged at the cuffs. They were se-

cure.

Mason climbed onto the bed behind Mark and began work-

ing his way around his lover’s body with hands and mouth. He

Mark’s Opening Gambit

kissed, stroked, and massaged every place he could reach except

Mark’s butt and dick. Mark was squirming and moaning, and Ma-

son was tempted to bypass the spanking and go straight to the

fucking, but he wanted to give Mark a night to remember, a fan-

tasy born from the love he felt for the man. It certainly wasn’t for

him, though his own cock was proving eager for the experience.

“Please, Mason.” The whispered words made it through the

garbled moans, and Mason decided it was time. He straightened

up and molded Mark’s ass with his fingers, squeezing. Mark

gasped. Mason bent forward and bit gently into one cheek, then

turned his head slightly and nipped sharply at the other. Mark’s

cry was pure pleasure, and Mason smiled, licking the spot.

He flicked his tongue along the cleft, considered focusing

more attention there, but decided to get the hard part over and

done with. He drew back and slapped Mark. A whimper, and

Mark pushed back into him.

He watched flaming red handprint appear on the creamy

skin, then fade away. Mark’s hoarse, “More,” slithered over his

skin like a caress.

He felt for Mark’s cock. Cocks didn’t lie. If Mark was hurt, or

if it didn’t feel as good as he’d imagined, his cock would tell the

truth. Finding Mark fully erect and leaking, he shrugged and gave

in. Mark wanted it, he got it.

Mason settled into a steady rhythm of strokes and smacks,

felt a warm tingle in his hand as it contacted Mark’s flesh again

and again. How much was too much? What did Mark want? He

wanted to look into those eyes for clues that he was doing it right,

to see what to do next.

He didn’t have to look for cues. Mark told him. “I’m going to

come. Please.”

Instantly he loosed his hand from around Mark’s dick and

landed one last stinging slap to his ass. “No. You’ll come with

me.”

What there was in that to make Mark shudder and beg, he

didn’t know, but he made swift work of lubing up and stretching

Mark with his fingers. Mark groaned and writhed.

“Fuck. Mason! I can’t wait, I need you in me now!”

Mason withdrew his fingers, positioned the sheathed head of

his cock at the tender opening of Mark’s body and began to push

gently inward. Mark pushed back, and he was smoothly seated,

Lee Brazil

gasping for breath, trying to hold Mark’s impatient body still be-

neath him.

“Mark, love, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Silly, that. Hadn’t

he just spent the better part of twenty minutes hurting Mark? And

look where that got them. Balls deep and on the edge.

With a laugh, he administered another slap to Mark’s ass, and

they fell into the familiar rhythm of lovemaking. Mason drove

deep, withdrew, and pushed his way in again. The sensations,

the emotions were overwhelming. A month ago, he’d wondered

if he’d ever have this feeling again; now that he knew Mark was

his, that his love was returned, it made everything so much more

than it had been.

In moments they were both uttering mangled sentences that

came out as disjointed words. “Need.”

“Love.”

“Now.”

A tide of pleasure swelled and tightened within, as Mark’s

hot semen flooded over his stroking fingers, and his ass clenched

and rippled around Mason’s cock. Mark went rigid as Mason

felt his orgasm roll over him. He braced himself on his arms, not

wanting to let his weight fall on Mark.

When he could breathe again, he reached for the key to

the cuffs, unlatched one, and pulled them from the spindle. He

paused, shrugged, and clicked the bracelet shut around his own

wrist.

Mark looked at him, incredulous. “Why did you do that?”

“Because you’re mine. We belong together.” He actually felt a

bit proud of himself for the idea.

“It’s going not be easy to sleep like this.” Mark grumbled, but

Mason caught the tiny grin before he buried his head in the crook

of his arm.

“Who said anything about sleeping?” Mason retorted.

Epilogue

Mark perched on the beverage counter of Mark’s End Game.

Mason leaned next to him, an arm wrapped around his waist. He

tried not to pay any greater attention to Johnny Grant’s chess-

board than any of the other tournament players, but he felt proud

of the young man’s accomplishment as he made it into the third

round of play.

Mason’s gaze kept returning to his face. He could feel those

brown eyes on him, just as clearly as he did the warm weight of

the arm at his waist. He looked up, grinning. “Quit looking at me

like that.”

Mason chuckled and smiled brilliantly. “Like what?”

“You know. Like you want to take me out of here and fuck

me.” Wow. Mason’s golden skin flushed dark, and his lips parted.

Screw the tournament. Mark jumped from the counter, landing

neatly in front of Mason. He grasped Mason’s hand and tugged

gently. “Let me show you my office.”

Lee Brazil

“Baby, I’ve seen your office. I helped you put the desk togeth-

er last week, remember?” For all his protests, Mason followed do-

cilely along behind Mark.

“Then come out to my smoking lounge.” He hit the back exit

and dragged Mason onto the little patio. He still didn’t need a

loading bay, so the furniture from the old shop and his plants had

made their way here to create the cozy smoking patio. This patio,

however, had the added benefit of a brick dividing wall separat-

ing his area from the neighboring shop.

He guided Mason over into the secluded corner and leaned

back against the wall. “Kiss me.”

Mason obliged, bending forward to bring their lips together.

Mark briefly toyed with the idea of remaining pliant, trying to

recreate that first kiss they’d shared behind his old shop. Mason’s

tongue pressed hotly against his own, and he abandoned that no-

tion quickly. He lost himself in the heat of the moment, giving

himself up to Mason’s passion.

Their cocks rubbed together through the denim of their jeans,

and the torment of it was entirely too much. Mark wedged a hand

between them, and Mason arched into his touch with a groan.

Hungrily, he traced the thick length, squeezing and massaging

until Mason cursed and pushed his hand away.

Mark pouted. Mason’s eyes focused on his mouth again with

intent. Mark licked his lips, fumbled with the button fly of his

own Levi’s.

Mason’s eyes widened. He cast a swift look around. “But...

You said no more public sex.”

Mark widened the fly of his jeans, slid his hand over the soft

red silk as his cock pushed through the opening. “That was then.

This is now. I have nothing to hide anymore.”

“Nothing? So if someone comes walking around that corner,

you’re good with that?” Mason sounded challenging.

“I’d prefer that they didn’t, but... I want you.”

Mark tipped his head back and gazed up at the pure cloudless

blue of the sky. Nothing like Mason’s deep brown eyes, except

in the purity. “You never asked why I changed the name of the

shop.”

“I guess I didn’t. You know I don’t know much about chess.”

Voice husky with passion, Mason inched closer, his eyes locked

Mark’s Opening Gambit

on Mark’s hand as it slid over the red silk from tip to base of his

cock.

Mark returned his gaze to the sky. “The first shop, it was my

opening. My testing the waters. I tried to fulfill my dream without

really being myself. At the time, I considered it the beginning of a

life away from my parents.”

Mason’s firm grip closed over his hand, squeezing his cock

through the silk. Mark wiggled his own hand free and went to

work on Mason’s buttons.

“Uh-uh.”

“I changed the name because that’s changed. Because I’ve

changed.” Mark caught his breath as Mason gave up on restraint

and jerked the red silk down. His calloused palm wrapped tightly

around Mark’s cock and stroked it firmly from tip to root, swiping

over the leaking tip for lubrication.

Mark matched Mason’s move, tracing the length of Mason’s

cock, slicking it with precum. “This time around, it’s for real.

Opening gambit—those are the first moves you make, testing

your opponent’s ability. The end game strategy, that’s how you

win. And I have won this game.”

Mason crushed him a bit closer, rearranged their hands so he

gripped both cocks in his big hand, and stroked them both. Mark

gasped, bit his lip. The silky glide of cock on cock, the rough clasp

of Mason’s hand, drove him over the edge. He forgot the romantic

declaration he’d been in the process of making, forgot the tourna-

ment, the possibility of people wandering by. There was only this,

Mason’s eyes locking with his, Mason’s grip surrounding him,

Mason’s mouth coming down to take control of his.

The hot, sticky flood washed over their hands, and Mark fell

back, panting against the wall. Dazedly, he watched Mason lick

cum from his fingers before pulling off his tee and using it to wipe

them both down. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too. I get the name change too.” Mason balled the

shirt up and stuffed it in the Dumpster. “I feel like I’ve won as

well.”

“So, this is the end for me. This is it. Will you and your fam-

ily be mine?” He felt ridiculously uneasy. Mason loved him. He

knew that.

Mason smiled gently. “Baby, we are yours. My mom loves

you like a son. Jake and Johnny look up to you.”

Lee Brazil

Sighing, Mark tried to clarify. “I mean, will you move from

that apartment across town into my house? Make it official? The

boys can attend that charter school; it’s a great school. It won’t be

the lap of luxury. I kind of put all my money into the shop, but it

looks like it is going to be successful.”

“I can’t answer for the rest of them, Mark, but I’ll gladly move

in with you, share all our lives with you. I do love you, you know.”

Biography

I’m an avid reader and former teacher of grammar and com-

position who believes that falling in love is the grandest adven-

ture anyone can have. In a nutshell, that’s every story I have to

tell.

Relocating from the crazy pace of life in Southern California’s

Orange County to the beautiful and leisurely atmosphere of the

Illinois countryside has given me the time to indulge the desire to

write that I set aside when I started teaching fourteen years ago.

Readers can find out more about me and my writing by visiting

me at my blog, Lee’s Musings or finding me on Facebook. Feel

free to drop me a line at lee.brazil@ymail.com

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