A Taste of Paradise (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove)

A Taste of Paradise

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

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

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

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove

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

978-1-61926-904-0

First E-book Publication: August 2012

Cover design by Harris Channing
All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren
Publishing, Inc.

This literary work

may  not  be  reproduced  or  transmitted  in  any  form
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without express written permission.

All  characters  and  events  in  this  book  are
fictitious.  Any  resemblance  to  actual  persons
living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Letter to Readers

Dear Readers,

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Paradise by Sage Marlowe from BookStrand.com
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you for not sharing your copy of this book.

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Chapter 1

Riordan Maguire’s arrival at the airport was not

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

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

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

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

Just as he tapped the screen to dial her private

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

network

reception? Was that

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

The big, friendly clock on the wall opposite him

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

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

Now it appeared he had

somehow lost three

hours during the flight,

which meant he could stay

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

There hadn’t been any announcements about a

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

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

that,

his

experience,

was

characteristic of an airport. Hell,

there weren’t

even any people around anymore,

and now that he

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

He hadn’t paid much attention to any of them

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

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

There was a small information desk in sight,

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

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

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

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

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

grumbled. “Where the hell are we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am supposed to be in fucking

Mumbai,”

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

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

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

that meant having to touch her.

“And where the fuck is this fucking

Mumbayana?” he asked tetchily.

Apparently deciding she was not going to get

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

“The

Philippines?

I’m

the

fucking

Philippines?”

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

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

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

one you just arrived with and—”

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

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

week

coming here. The one you arrived

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

Riordan couldn’t have been any more

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

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

protested vehemently, but the girl just shook her
head.

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

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

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

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

“There are very few telephones on Mumbayana

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

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

Riordan shook his head in wonder. “How can

you people

live

like this?”

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

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

Letting

out a sigh, he slung his laptop case over

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

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

Tropical heat hit him like a very real, very solid

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

Already Riordan felt moisture seep from his

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

him

of all people finally

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

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

Fuck. Riordan took a deep breath. Took another.

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

Automatically, Riordan followed the legs

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

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

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

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

flesh as it slid in and out and...

“Do you actually

hear

me talking to you?”

The amused voice interrupted Riordan’s fantasy,

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

Down,

boy.

Riordan looked up and met the blue gaze with

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

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

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

Indeed, the man had approached him and

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

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

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

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

“Keep it.” Remembering the gigabytes of highly

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

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

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

“Huh?” Riordan stared at him blankly for a

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

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

roared, feeling slightly silly when the pretty blond

merely smiled in return.

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

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

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

The. Fucking phone!”

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

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

Riordan needed two deep breaths to get his

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

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

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

Thrown off track by this sudden change of

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

unimpressed

Riordan’s

hostile

demeanour so far.

The people Riordan usually dealt with fell into

two categories—those beneath him and those

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

partners—knew

that

was

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

So, feared and respected, he had never come

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

The empathy in those two

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

was

wrong and, even

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

He was still struggling for an answer when

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

Tucking his battered phone into his pocket,

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

Nodding his agreement, Riordan walked

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

gentle, white-headed waves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why

don’t

you

choose?”

opted

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

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

“Okay.” Marc smiled and signalled for the

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

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

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

He listened to Marc order something with a

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

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

“Sure.”

“Ever sucked a guy off?”

Marc’s eyes widened in surprise, but other than

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

“Is that your problem?” Marc asked, finally

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

Riordan allowed himself a faint smile. “Not as

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

He watched Marc closely. A straight guy would

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

cocktails,

of all things. Really, how queer

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

Marc took the straw between his lips and

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

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

“Does that answer your question?” Marc asked

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

“Three things,” Riordan said with as much calm

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

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

deals?”

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

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

Marc stared at him blankly for several long

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

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

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

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

“Riordan,” Riordan answered automatically, too

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

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

damn smile still plastered on his face.

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

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

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

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

too far?”

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

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

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

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

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

even have the time for that.”

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

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

you’re interested in.”

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

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

Chapter 2

Marc was smiling—of course he was—when

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

Marc was a gorgeous little thing, and there was

nothing Riordan wanted more in that moment than

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

“Wanna go back to my room?” Marc asked

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

More...horny.

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

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

He covered Marc’s mouth with his own the

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

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

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

So Marc was not much one for kissing, which

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

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

Maybe there was something wrong with Marc’s

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

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

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

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

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

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

He felt Marc’s fingertips brush his balls in a

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

Tilting his hips forwards, he eventually

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

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

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

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

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

raised his hands to Marc’s head.

Curling his fingers in Marc’s blond, tousled

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

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

Marc was sucking for real now, and between

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

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

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

“Like what?” Riordan grunted halfheartedly. He

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

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

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

It sounded fantastic. Especially the part about

sleeping it off.

Riordan nodded his head, which seemed to

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

Those legs would feel so fucking great if

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

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

No Network

icons

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

* * * *

Riordan woke with a peach in his mouth. No.

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

The thought made his dried-out brain creak

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

there. It’s what you look like, too.”

“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”

Marc’s

expression

softened.

“Seriously now. How bad is it?”

Focussing on his body, Riordan took stock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gingerly sitting up, Riordan gave a disinterested

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

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

“Just coffee. Strong, black.” Skipping breakfast

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

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

you want to eat something? Breakfast is—”

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

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

“Fine.” Marc was beginning to show the first

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

Shooting him a dark look, Riordan shuffled off

to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Chapter 3

By the time dark and handsome returned from

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

That didn’t mean Marc didn’t still invariably

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

Riordan might be insensitive as a brick, but he

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

The memory of how the perfectly tailored fabric

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

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

Forcing himself to ignore just how tempting

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

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

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

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

Visibly startled by the unexpected touch,

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

No, Riordan was definitely not relationship

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

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

In the meantime Riordan had obviously managed

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

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

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

The idea of peeling him out of it was also rather

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

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

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

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

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

The expression on Riordan’s face made Marc

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

“Shorts?” Riordan repeated in a tone that

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

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

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

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

vaguely.

It didn’t sound as though he could even

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

Still frowning contemptuously, Riordan ogled

his clothes.

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

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

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

by inward combustion if you wear your clothes

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

The ghost of a smile fluttered across Riordan’s

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

“Forget that.” Lunging forward, Marc grabbed

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

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

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

Riordan made a noise that actually sounded

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

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

Riordan joined him only a little later, looking

annoyed but, at the same time, relieved.

“Did you talk to your boss?” Marc enquired

politely.

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

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

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

week to kill now, huh?”

For the first time since they’d met, Riordan

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

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

trying to remember where the shop was that had

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

there

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

again,” he groaned, and wiped his sweaty

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

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

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

teased.

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

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

The smile looked undeniably good on Riordan.

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

Riordan clearly wasn’t an expert on that either,

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

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

Riordan gasped a little in surprise. He was

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

silent as Riordan impatiently shook his head.

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

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

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

are

into that

stuff, right?”

“If by

that stuff

you mean kissing or exchanging

caresses in general, then yes, I

into it,” Marc

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

To his surprise though, Riordan took a breath

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

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

“Someone like me? That makes me sound like

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

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

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

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

at least you have no trouble expressing your
wishes.”

Riordan gave him a lopsided, wolfish grin.

“Meet the professional me.”

“Is the professional you the one who meets

professionals?” Marc enquired acidly.

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

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

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

“They’re probably the only people who are still

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

A muscle twitched in Riordan’s cheek as he

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

“Well, something along those lines,” Marc

answered grudgingly.

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

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

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

Riordan sounded perfectly calm and composed.

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

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

Chapter 4

By the time Riordan got to put his money where

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

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

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

What happened after that however was not how

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

was

a guy, so it

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

handle

it. He wanted to

enjoy

it.

“Anything wrong?” Riordan panted somewhere

between

the

hundred-and-seventy-sixth

and

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

Looking up into the sweaty face above him,

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

Instead, he gritted his teeth and shook his head,

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

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

Riordan crashed on top of him, panting and

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

Curious, Marc wrapped his other arm around

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

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

brains out?” Marc whispered suggestively into his
ear.

“Figure of speech,” Riordan grumbled, and

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turning round to face him, Riordan stared at him

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

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

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

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

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

Riordan stared at him wordlessly. It was

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

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

his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

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

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

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

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

“I beg your pardon?” Of any reaction Marc

might have expected, this was not one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

me.”

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

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

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

it’s time I did.”

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

just stick it in, you know?”

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

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

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

asked softly.

Still mute, Riordan gave a weak shake of his

head.

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

best comforting voice.

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

asked bitterly.

“No.”

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

“Which part wasn’t?”
“Uh...”
“No,

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

was dripping with irony “I had no idea.”

“Sorry,” Marc whispered, but Riordan just

shrugged.

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

me.”

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

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

Marc smiled. He’d long since begun to feel

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

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

Riordan shook his head. “I did fool around all

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

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

said softly.

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

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

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

pleasure in it though, don’t you?”

“Sure, but I wonder sometimes what it would be

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

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

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

but

for Riordan, this was obviously a big issue to

get off his chest.

He might regret talking about

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

Riordan shook his head in answer to the

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

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

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

Smiling sadly, Riordan nodded. “I tried having a

relationship once. That was almost ten years ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

told anyone about that before.”

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

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

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

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

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

Riordan deadpanned.

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

it out?”

Again, Riordan watched him thoughtfully for a

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

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

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

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

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

“Suggestion?” Riordan repeated doubtfully.

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

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

they hear the word

psychology. Most people can’t,

in fact.”

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

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

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

“Grass doesn’t stop being green just because

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

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

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

Riordan looked surprised. “A social worker?

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

“I mostly work with families who have

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

“I suppose you get to hear a lot of emotional

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

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

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

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

gently.

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

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

Disbelieving at first, Marc resisted the

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

He wondered whether anyone had ever been

Chapter 5

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

straight into a pair of smiling blue-grey eyes.

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

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

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

conk out like this. You must—”

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

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

looking

self-conscious,

added,

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

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

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

baby. I don’t mind holding you.”

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

It feels quite nice in fact.”

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

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

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

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

Neither of them was picky about which place

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

He loved the sea. Always had. It soothed him

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

“I heard they have the best seafood around

here,” Marc said as he studied the menu.

“That’s great,” Riordan answered without

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

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

Looking at the colourful, mouthwatering

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

Riordan pulled a face. “You don’t wanna

know.”

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

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

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

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

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

that affect you?”

Smiling suggestively, Riordan dropped his gaze

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

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

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

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

keen on taking a risk.”

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

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

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

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

The conversation during dinner was delightful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rolling his eyes, Riordan chuckled. “In that

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

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

barely even paying attention to the conversation
anymore.

The amazing view made him forget about the

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

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

“Thank you,” Marc whispered when the last

strip of gleaming red had disappeared on the
horizon.

“What for?” Riordan enquired in an equally low

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

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

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

“I guess that’s saying something, considering

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

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

be surprised.”

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

of one hand.”

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

answered, “You.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

hand around the back of Riordan’s head and pulled

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

Marc explored him gently, wandering over the

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

The kiss deepened and went from a lesson in

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

needed

more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.” Marc bent over him for another

one of those, by now, quite pleasurable kisses.

Riordan sounded charmingly out of his depth as

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

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

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

“You like having your nipples fondled?”

Riordan asked, sounding disbelieving.

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

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

“Oh dear.” Marc laughed and reached down to

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

He hummed playfully and lowered his head. He

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

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

“Like that, do you?” Marc whispered playfully

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

Riordan sucked in a sharp breath and arched his

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

“Your turn, sweetheart,” Marc whispered, and

rolled on his back, pulling Riordan with him.

Riordan looked surprised but overcame it

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

Mimicking Marc’s earlier actions, Riordan

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

Marc

was

doomed. He let out a little cry, half in

surprise, half in delight as Riordan took his cock

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

Marc struggled to keep from simply thrusting

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

He stopped focussing on the motivation behind

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t among the best orgasms Marc had ever

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

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you pissed off?”

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

know.”

“Make me swallow?” Riordan smirked, and

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mood anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

tentative fingers with Riordan’s.

There was a smile in Riordan’s voice as he

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

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

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

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

actually enjoy it this way.”

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

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

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

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

When they reached their room, Marc was most

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

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

* * * *

Marc woke to the almost-as-familiar sound of

Riordan’s

voice

giving

harsh

instructions.

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

“Well then, tell them to sort out the fucking

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

tell

him. And get the fucking plane to pick me

up here at one.”

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

glaring at the phone, pressed the off-button.

“Wow,” Marc muttered quietly. “You really

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

“I finally got the fucking hotel manager to let me

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

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

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

“Yeah, just that it involves chartering a plane

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

having any extra flights to this fucking island.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Letting out a humourless chuckle, Riordan

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

“But I thought you were going to spend the week

here.”

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

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

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

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

His psychological training made it easy for him

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

yet, he couldn’t accept it.

What he had to accept however was that

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

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

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

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

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

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

is there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marc stood staring at the door for a while,

Chapter 6

Riordan tried to pay attention. Really, he did.

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

His stomach gave a painful twinge, reminding

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

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

Sure, sometimes he went home with someone

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

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

He knew he was fooling himself. It had nothing

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

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

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

No, not forgotten, he realised with a trace of

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

Uncomfortably aware of the sudden attention of

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

Uh-oh.

“Riordan, would you care to give us a brief

overview of the current situation in the Mumbai
office?”

This time, Riordan didn’t bother stifling his

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

“Riordan?” Smith asked again, impatiently. He

wasn’t used to being kept waiting.

Riordan got up, stretched his back. “Right.

Mumbai. The current situation in the office.” He

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

currently

since

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

He turned around, feeling his stomach tingle

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

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

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

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

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

He left the room, hearing only the rush of blood

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

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

Acting on autopilot, he left the building. There

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

did without Riordan around. He might

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

As he stepped out on the street, Riordan took off

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

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

It required stretching his imagination a little, but

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

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

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

Marc, who had astonished him, intrigued him,

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

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

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

Standing there in the bright April sunlight,

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

Chapter 7

Tracking down a social worker turned out to be

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

that

employed

social

workers.

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

Riordan realised that it might have helped if

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

Picking up the long list of phone numbers he’d

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

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

end of the line. “Is Marc in?”

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

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

The woman sounded wary as she asked, “What

kind of problem are you talking about, sir?”

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

know.”

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

before I contact Marc,” she said carefully.

Riordan closed his eyes and took a breath. It felt

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

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

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

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

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

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

won’t open the door.”

He must have sounded convincingly desperate

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

Riordan gave her the street and house number

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

He gave the bottle a laconic grin and a wink.

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

was

the only one who

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

* * * *

It was the right Marc who came to the rescue.

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

Riordan forced himself to wait for a few

seconds and walk to the door with slow, measured

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

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

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

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

greeting.

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

him. “Wanna come in?”

Lingering on the doorstep, Marc glared up at

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what?”

Sighing, Marc entered and followed Riordan

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

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

“Why?”

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

Found anything else yet?”

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

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

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

facing unemployment.”

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

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

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

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

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

pissed, right?”

“Uh, yes,” Riordan admitted, wondering if

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riordan cut across him with growing despair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That day on Mumbayana...what we had

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

you.” Snatching a

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

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

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

Standing there, in the middle of the hallway,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riordan went to find a toothbrush for Marc, who

for some reason agreed to stay over, went to the

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

Marc had been right. Riordan was feeling sick,

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

Chapter 8

It didn’t remain enough. When Riordan woke up

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

Marc was still asleep when he returned to the

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

Careful not to wake him, Riordan climbed back

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

Kissing Marc felt in a wonderful way like

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

Riordan let himself drown in that kiss, blocking

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

had to say to that remained to be seen.

Right now, Marc left little doubt as to what he

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

delicate

touch

had

perk

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

Pulling back, he snatched a breath and looked up

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

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

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking up into those sincere, blue eyes,

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

fulfil that

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

get

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

“Okay,” he whispered before he had time to

change his mind.

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

about what’s gonna happen.”

Chuckling quietly, Marc lowered his head for

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

Electricity surged through Riordan’s body as

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

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

Holy fuck!

The touch of Marc’s finger

there

had him almost

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

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

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

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

gasped nervously.

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

his mind. Riordan knew that, but he

didn’t

want to

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that he was.

He had a finger inside him, but he was

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

He’d noticed that Marc had small hands with

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

Riordan tensed as he understood how Marc was

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

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

“Relax, baby,” Marc whispered softly and

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

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

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

Oh fuck!”

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

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

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

own very husky voice beg.

“My pleasure,” Marc answered, sounding

equally aroused.

Riordan barely noticed him put on the condom.

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

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

concern on his face as he looked down at Riordan.

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

Chapter 9

Looking at Riordan lying next to him in the

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

“Astonishingly good.” Riordan smiled.

“A little

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

“Does that mean you’ll consider doing it

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

bare

shoulder,

enjoying

the

unexpectedly intimate moment of postcoital bliss.

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

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

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

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

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

“Quit the grinning, you smug bastard.” Riordan

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

didn’t think I would.”

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

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

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

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

Marc chuckled playfully

and nodded. “It

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

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

sounding surprised.

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

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

“Absolutely.” Shooting him a wink, Marc

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

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

and your psychological bollocks again?”

“Easy, you. Subconsciously attempting to

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

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

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

“Our

pack?” Marc chuckled good-humouredly

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

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

Riordan glared at him mock-sternly. “Letting

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

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

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

After the huge effort Riordan had made to track

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

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

Foolish though it was, he still wanted Riordan

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

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

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

“Absolutely,” Riordan whispered at last in

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

That didn’t feel like someone wishing to keep

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

“What does it take, exactly?” Marc asked

curiously when they finally came up for breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

another day without you in my life.”

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

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

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

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

every single word, and I still do.”

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

like a lovesick puppy than an alpha caveman.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smiling, Marc cupped Riordan’s face and

kissed the frown lines on his forehead.

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

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

“Well, you have me.” Riordan smiled and

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

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

stuff.”

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

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

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

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

“That sounds fantastic. Oh, and is there any

chance of you bringing your club out to play?”

Riordan’s breath hitched once again in that

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

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

absentmindedly as he fondled Riordan’s rapidly
filling cock.

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

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

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

with hearts, what kind of game is that?”

Understanding dawned, and Riordan smiled

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

“Hell, yeah!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I've been dreaming about writing a book for,

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

Then—rather unexpectedly, I admit—a very

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

From that night on, writing took on a dynamic of

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

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

My characters often have a dramatic, sometimes

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

For all titles by Sage Marlowe, please visit

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