Fall Apart (17 page)

“Shit,” Damon laughed, steadying him by the shoulder with one hand and massaging his own jaw with the other. “Are you okay? God!”

“Did you do this to me?” Alarik winced and tried to laugh as he gingerly touched his forehead. “Was that your way of telling me to slow down or speed up?”

Damon rummaged alongside the seat, looking for the handle, and when he found it, they were launched back to the upright position, almost bumping noses this time. “I see you got a top of the line rental, here. It comes complete with car sex sensor for instant recline capability.”

“Nothing but the best for you, my darling,” Alarik winked, then touched his forehead again. “Your jaw packs a punch!”

“So does your skull…”

They watched each other with horny amusement until Alarik sighed and took a glance out the windows. At least it seemed as though no one had been witness to their amorous curbside makeout.

“As lovely as this compact car is, it’s not how I envisioned taking you to bed,” he murmured, chagrined. “Not that it isn’t delightful to kiss you with my knee lodged in a cup holder.”

Damon was grinning again, but the color in his cheeks wasn’t from merriment alone. “So you admit you’ve thought of taking me to bed?”

Alarik gave him a sideways glance, enticed by the blatant angling for details. How bold…

“Well, I
am
a man. Sometimes I think about sex before I can even say hello or good morning to you,” he waited a beat to see if Damon would be disappointed with such a “correct” answer, but the other man gave nothing away. Alarik leaned in close, careful of being dumped into the back seat again, and made certain Damon was looking into his eyes. “I’ve fantasized about you in ways that make my skin boil with heat from wanting you. The thought of being with you has brought such great pleasure that I’m hard-pressed to believe I could actually survive making love to you. I’ve thought of it so often and in such detail, that I know exactly how I’ll touch you and where—I intend to see your face as you come and take every single sound, expression, and movement of your body for my own.”

Damon stared at him, his breaths shallow and uneven.

“Do you understand me, Damon? Do you need more details?” he whispered against his ear. “Or would you like me to show you tonight?”

Alarik pulled back, feeling every inch the rock star as Damon shuddered beneath him.

“You see what you’re doing to me. You know the answer,” Damon practically panted, running a restless hand over his stomach to the brink of his crotch before remembering himself and curling his hand into a fist. The act was incredibly erotic and Alarik wanted to roar like a sex-infused god.

“Tonight, then,” he said simply.

“Tonight.”

Zane was partially hidden behind the grill, but from where he was standing he had a perfect view of Mark as he led Jenny to a seat on the patio near Max. He had to stifle a laugh because he knew exactly what his husband was up to. Jenny was well known for her killer rack and even though she always looked classy, men and women never failed to notice what she had going on in the front of her blouse. This was probably one of many tests Mark was going to conduct during the evening in order to decipher Max’s sexual orientation.

The whole production was adorable. He didn’t even know what Mark was going to do once he reached a conclusion, because gay or straight, it didn’t necessarily mean anything had happened between their friends.

Personally, Zane figured Max was straight. There’d been so many opportunities to mention otherwise if he’d wanted to, and there hadn’t been a single clue about it at all. No wandering eyes, no innuendo. Max was fine sharing about other aspects of his life—growing up in Japan, college in the U.S., his parents and younger brother—but he didn’t mention romance. He didn’t allude to his past or current relationships. No girlfriends, no secret crushes revealed. Max didn’t even comment on other’s love lives unless they interfered with work he was trying to accomplish, and then, all he’d say was, “Breakup or makeup, but do
not
bring your love life into work.”

It looked like the Jenny Boob Test was inconclusive. Mark shot a frown of discouragement at Zane who saluted back with a set of meat tongs and managed not to crack a smile.

Closing the lid on the grill, he ambled over to drop a kiss on Jenny’s cheek and offer Max another drink. They were discussing the relative merits of ales and lagers when his pocket buzzed.

Shortly after he and Mark had been married the year before, he’d installed a new gate and security system that he could control through his cell phone. Right now, it was set up to call his phone whenever anyone buzzed in. Tossing the phone to Mark, he called out, “Can you answer this for me? I need to get Max a real beer.”

Mark caught the phone and the moment the words, “Yes, hello—hey, Alarik!” exited his mouth, Max went very still. Zane wasn’t usually so tuned in that he would notice, but Mark had him caught up in the intrigue.

“You alright, Max?” Zane held out a beer to him…and kept holding it…and holding it…

Max’s golden brown eyes blinked several times and he shook off whatever had come over him in one jerky movement. “Of course. Yes.” He accepted the drink with a nod and looked toward the back doors where Alarik and his date would no doubt soon appear, mumbling something in Japanese. It didn’t sound positive, but Zane had no way of knowing.

Mark hadn’t noticed what happened and Zane practically chased him into the house so he could pass along the intel.

“You missed it!” Zane whispered at him. “He totally froze again when you said Alarik’s name.”

Mark gave him superior look. “Ohhh, I thought you didn’t care one way or another. I remember you saying something about how it didn’t matter…?”

Zane threw his arms around Mark, trapping him in a hold, and marched him into the kitchen. In one brisk move, he lifted his husband until he was resting precariously on the edge of the kitchen island, squirming against Zane’s hold and trying to keep from laughing so loud that their guests would hear.

“What are you doing?” Mark choked, still wiggling around in Zane’s grip.

“I’m giving you an attitude adjustment,” he whispered against Mark’s neck, chuckling evilly. “Come on… Tell me you’re sorry.”

Mark opened his mouth to either laugh or speak and Zane nibbled at his bottom lip. “We have people coming to the door!”

“The sooner you tell me you’re sorry, the sooner you’re free, baby.”

Mark wouldn’t stop his playful struggling, and when the doorbell sounded, Zane very reluctantly
released him
. “I’ll take it out of your hide later.”

“Maybe you will and maybe you won’t.”

Zane swatted Mark’s ass as he trotted off to answer the door, following at a slower pace. This was such a good,
normal
way to feel. He had a home with someone he loved—they were playful, they cared deeply for each other, sometimes they fought, but it was
their
life together. It was happy. How did anyone think this could be wrong?

***

Damon’s eyes were everywhere, constantly moving and trying to figure out how a simple barbecue at a friend’s home had become a trip into Sherman Oaks. He’d already seen a home with a mailbox that was bigger than a vending machine and another place with identical sculptures of lions guarding a gated entrance. He had no idea what he was doing here.

Alarik was driving silently, occasionally offering an encouraging look that Damon pretended he couldn’t see. He must look as out of place as he felt.

“You said you’d been friends with these folks for a while?” he asked hesitantly, gaping at a Maybach 57 driving past them in the opposite direction.

“Oh, well, I’ve known one of them since my last few months at university. He’s a really genuine fellow. Not at all what one might expect, actually.”

Damon forced himself not to shift uncomfortably. He’d figured that growing up with friends who’d always been so well off compared to his own family had given him an excellent opportunity to become unaffected by wealth—hell, he was seeing Alarik who had to be pretty damn rich—but this get-together was different. He didn’t have a close relationship with whomever he was about to meet and it was going to be awkward sitting on a stranger’s moneybags all night.

I swear to God, he thought, if this turns into a swinging kink fest with some rich, unknown asshole trying to suck my junk, I’m fucking walking back to Ventura. He was on high alert for a room full of too-handsome men with their legs extra crossed—a gay swinger’s club. It didn’t matter that Alarik didn’t seem the type to go for that sort of thing, because Damon’s mind had been wandering in an alternate universe lately and he didn’t want to trust anything. It was like he didn’t know how to act anymore.

“We’re almost there,” Alarik assured him.

Damon nodded like
whatever
and waited, trying to remember to blink and breathe. Their earlier flirtation with car sex seemed like a distant memory and he wished he wasn’t such a wide-eyed freak about this shit. So what if this was outside his usual circle of friends? Shouldn’t he
want
to expand his horizons?

They pulled into a manicured drive with a simple white gate. The pavement beyond curved to the right so he couldn’t see what kind of home this oil tycoon/member of the royal family/drug runner actually owned.

Alarik stared at the keypad within arms reach of his opened window, and then glanced at Damon. “What’d you reckon? I hit the ‘call’ button, or the asterisk?”

Damon looked past him and nodded. “Call. Yeah.”

Alarik pressed the key and a mysterious beeping sounded. A couple moments later a man’s voice sounded from the speaker with perfect clarity. “Yes, hello?”

“Mark! It’s Alari—”

“Hey, Alarik! Lemme buzz you in, man.” There was a short pause before the gate swung open in one wide, sweeping arc. “I’ll be right out to meet you.”

Alarik drove forward and rounded the curve in the drive until an open area for parking appeared. The house was simpler than Damon expected, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t impressive. Someone had dumped some serious coin on the place. Most of the cars parked out front probably cost more than his own house. There was a restored Chevy truck, an Audi R8 Spyder, and a black Range Rover with windows tinted so black that there could be thirty clowns packed inside and no one would know it. The only car that was Damon’s style was an old Ford POS that probably erupted into flames when someone punched the gas.

Alarik parked behind the Range Rover and cut off the engine. “You’re fretting. I feel it, and I promise you there’s no need. I think you might even enjoy yourself.”

Enjoy myself how? Shooting gay porn? Lashed up in a sex swing with a ball gag?!

He’d read books where this kind of thing went down. God, what had he gotten himself into?

Alarik lifted his hand and dropped a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “Do me a favor?”

Startled, Damon swung his head around and waited for the worst. Here it comes, he thought:
Would you wear this g-string for me?

“Give us a kiss,” Alarik tugged on his hand, bringing him closer in spite of how stiff his body wanted to be.

Damon thawed a bit, unbending just enough to allow a chaste kiss that would only impress a grandmother. “I’m just curious about all this,” he apologized.

“I understand,” Alarik revealed a glimpse of his beautiful, white teeth. “Do try to keep something in the back of your mind.”

“Another favor?”

Alarik chuckled and the gentle huff of air grazed Damon’s cheek. “Think of tonight… Think of being alone with me.” He grazed his thumb over the back of Damon’s hand and squeezed. “Will you do that for me?”

Damon’s breath fled like it’d been sucked through a vacuum. He gave a stilted nod as Alarik’s golden lashes flicked over his gray eyes.

“Come. Meet my friends,” he kissed his knuckles one last time. “They’ll like you.”

Damon followed obediently, half a step behind Alarik, hoping nobody else liked him
too
much. Only a few moments after they rang the bell, the heavy wooden door opened and a preppy guy straight out of a Banana Republic catalog greeted them. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar.

“Mark,” Alarik said happily, giving him a quick hug. “You look well—where’s the daft bastard you married?”

“I’m right here,” a deep voice called out. “Get your filthy hands off of him.”

Damon looked over Mark’s shoulder and practically swallowed his tongue as
Zane Whitlow
appeared out of thin air to pull Alarik into a bone-crushing hug. They were ribbing each other and talking back and forth, but Damon only heard buzzing. The Mark guy was watching them with smiling eyes, and after a second seemed to realize Damon was turning into a statue in the entryway.

“Hey there,” a hand was thrust his direction. “I’m Mark Whitlow. How’s it goin’?”

Damon automatically shook hands and sternly told himself to get a grip, but he had a feeling his eyes were a little too wild to be convincing. “I’m Damon. Damon Wright,” he stuttered.

“Welcome to our home,” Mark said with a sympathetic expression. “Once we get these guys in the backyard, I’ll grab you a drink.”

“That’d be great.”
How about six drinks?

Alarik, through some sort of deeply ingrained polite streak, noticed he’d missed offering the introduction and stepped over to Damon’s side with a guilty look. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Gentlemen, this is Mr. Damon Wright from Ventura. He was the Best Man at Mandy and Luke’s wedding and I find him irresistible.”

Zane Whitlow—Damon was incapable of separating the man’s first and last names in his head—was smiling at him and once Alarik finished the intro, he gave a very kind, normal human hello. He was better looking in person, even though he was rocking a couple days growth of very dark facial hair.

Fortunately, the attention didn’t stay focused on the introductions too long, so he was able to sink into the background as they were led through the house to a spacious backyard. There was a customized patio that included a grill the size of his own kitchen and the patio furniture was better than what Damon had in his living room and bedroom combined. He was pretty sure that he could live a complete and happy life in their backyard.