St. Nacho's 4: The Book of Daniel Read online

  I’d never even approached a dog without a treat in my hand.

  “I don’t know what I have to give.”

  Infinitely optimistic, Cam said, “There’s bound to be something though, right?”

  “Right.” I dropped several bills into the leather folder left for us by the waiter. Cam let me. He probably knew there was no stopping me. The conversation we were having didn’t warrant an intervention at that point. I worried that he considered the price of dinner a small skirmish when there were much larger wars in our near future.

  Cam got up from the table. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  I rose and picked up my jacket, shaking it out and pushing my arms through the sleeves. “Like what? How am I looking at you?”

  His face softened. “I’m not trying to blow down your house of cards, Daniel.”

  I nodded, but whether he was trying or not, he had, and we both knew it.

  * * *

  That night we walked hand in hand along the beach. More than one person reacted to that. Some were positive, some not. I had to admit I wasn’t anxious to wear my sexuality on my sleeve, but it felt all wrong to treat Cam like less, to hide what I felt for him away in the hotel room when I could have showered a woman with affection in public.

  I sensed disapproval from strangers like waves of energy, whether I was looking at them or not. At one point, a couple of teenage boys spit on the ground in front of Cam’s shoe and called us faggots.

  I must have seemed pretty stricken, because Cam dropped my hand without rancor and kept walking, still close, brushing shoulders, but not overtly indicating that we were a couple. I knew it wasn’t like him to hide who he was. In my surprise, I’d slowed. When he turned back to wait for me, his eyes held nothing but affection. I took his hand firmly in mine again, and we kept going.

  “You sure about this?” he asked carefully.

  My heart was so full of all the new things I was thinking and feeling that I almost couldn’t answer. Mostly I’d never been sure, really sure, about anything. Well. Except one thing.

  “Cameron Rooney, I feel lucky to be here with you. I don’t care who knows it.”

  I heard him let out the breath he was holding. “All right.”

  We went back to our hotel, and I’m ashamed to say I fell asleep in his arms, listening to the susurration of waves through the open slider—even though he might have had other ideas.

  * * *

  I blinked when the sun slatted through the gaps in the blinds. Cam had obviously just woken up himself. He looked around disoriented, as if he was trying to put together a memory of the night before. I noticed when his gaze landed on me, he didn’t seem disappointed.

  “You should look away before you turn to stone. I need to shower and my breath probably smells like ass.”

  Cam ignored my advice. Instead, he laughed and rolled toward me, giving me a good long, not unpleasant kiss. “Come on then.”

  I grimaced when I rose to my feet. I was definitely not twenty-five anymore and here it was. The shower scene. The full monty: vertical, naked, in the bright light of morning, without the heat of passion to gild us and blunt any imperfections. Cam was safe. He didn’t have any imperfections.

  I didn’t think the harsh light of day was going to hurt me much, but I thought I looked better between the sheets in the moonlight. Most people do.

  I let him lead me, clad only in our boxers, to the bathroom. I must have let on that I was feeling shy, because he joked around about it.

  “You’ve been watching me wash the rig for months. Let’s see how you like me soapy and wet without clothes on.”

  I rubbed my face and grinned, unwilling to break my truth-only vow so soon over trivialities that could be easily verified. “Watching you guys work is like free porn.”

  “It’s a public service.” Cam rippled the muscles in his immense shoulders. He was a big enough ham to give me a little show. “That’s why we have the cleanest rig in the state.”

  “Because we have the dirtiest firefighters.”

  “This”—he indicated his ripped torso with a sweep of his hand—“isn’t something you hide.”

  “Oh, no.” I could not agree more. I could scarcely catch my breath. “That would be a crime.”

  He flicked the elastic waistband of his boxes down, all the while pumping his slim hips so his crotch shot up at me like a 3D cartoon. His moves were practiced, easygoing, and flirtatious. He smiled that sweet-as-candy smile, but it was impossible not to lose a little of my confidence. I don’t think he noticed, because he hooked thick fingers in his shorts and pulled them down and off, kicking them to the side.

  “Holy fuck,” I whispered.

  Cam stood before me naked except for his socks. The cut of muscles on his torso looked positively succulent. He had to know how fine he looked, and he definitely enjoyed showing it off. His cock lurched lazily—half-erect. All proud. He smiled at me, but there was something more in his eyes, a flash of uncertainty, the tiniest hint that it mattered to him what I thought.

  “You’re gorgeous. You know you’re gorgeous.”

  “Yeah?” He flexed and preened a little. “You like?”

  “Of course I do. How can you ask that after yesterday?”

  “What do you like best?” He posed—the classic Mr. Universe—and, while he wasn’t so serious about bodybuilding that he appeared veiny and bulbous, it was obvious he worked hard to maintain his physique. I knew for a fact he didn’t juice. It took backbreaking work to look that good. Jordan had given me the heads-up on how much time Cam spent in the gym, and the result was just spec-fucking-tacular.

  He stood before me: a magnificent, impossible specimen of manhood.

  “What I like best”—I went to him and slipped my good arm around his neck—“is the way you say my name.”

  Long seconds passed where I thought I had totally fucked up.

  “Like… Daniel?”

  I nodded. “Just like that.”

  “How come?”

  “When you say my name like that, I’m special.” I said. “Or unique maybe. Jeez. Now I sound as batshit crazy as everyone else in St. Nacho’s.”

  Cam shook his head and pulled me in for a tender kiss, and I could feel that caring, that instinct to protect that came from somewhere so deep inside him he didn’t know it was there. When he slipped his tongue into my mouth, I welcomed him enthusiastically.

  We stayed like that, locked together, warming up—breaths mingling and hearts pounding. His fingers traced lightly over my skin, glancing off my angles, stopping at interesting landmarks. He brushed his thumb over my nipple, and I arched.

  “Come with me.” He took my healthy hand to lead me toward the bathroom. Pulled nearly off my feet, I went.

  He turned on the shower and moist air filled the bathroom. I watched the silken shower curtain flutter while I brushed my teeth. It was too bad the shower surround wasn’t clear glass or something. I would have loved to see Cam’s body under the showerhead, dripping wet, soapy, and nude.

  His head poked between the fabric and the tiles. “Coming in anytime soon?”

  I nodded. Was I stalling? The new, honest Dan Livingston had to admit it.

  Yes.

  I dropped my boxers on the floor. Maybe I tried to give them a devil-may-care kick with my toe. Cam watched me hungrily, and as far as I could tell, he didn’t do one of those noisy cartoon double takes or in any other way indicate he found me wanting. In fact, he grinned at me like he liked what he saw and dragged me in with him.

  “C’mere you.” He dunked me under the spray and laughed when I realized he’d turned the heat way down, so it could barely be considered tepid.

  “Aw come on. Heat it up, please.”

  He got right behind me and rubbed my ass. “I’ll heat it up. Hot as you can stand it.” He turned the dials, and the water grew warm again, but by then we were both wet and breathless, and he pressed my back up against the cold tiles. I grabbed the tiny squeeze bottle of
body wash, and when he offered his hand, I squirted some out.

  Our lips met as he slicked up my chest and shoulders, his hands soaping me in a haphazard way as I returned the favor, until we were sliding against one another and rivers of foam ran between our bodies. He tongued my lips and clutched me to him. Our bobbing cocks meeting sloppily, we glanced off one another in a tangle of limbs and self-conscious laughter. Cam nipped my shoulder hard.

  “You taste good,” Cam whispered. He rubbed his nose against mine and seemed to like that, because it made him smile sweetly again, his lips curving up against mine. Our cheeks scrubbed together, and he trailed kisses down my jaw to find the pulse at the base of my neck.

  “Are you marking me?” I asked and got a nip and a heartier squeeze. I nudged him with my pelvis, and he nudged me back, turning with me until I was under the spray. I blinked water from my eyes because suddenly there was cold empty space where his body had been, but he came back again, and I realized he’d only been reaching for the shampoo.

  While he noogied it into my hair, I got a glimpse of unguarded Cam, blue eyes dominating that chiseled American face.

  “You’re so hot.” I breathed the words, and even though he must hear that twenty times a week, his cheeks colored faintly from the praise. I lifted my good hand to his jaw, unable to stop myself from thumbing his full lower lip again. “So kissable.”

  I traced it with my tongue and then sucked it in. He tilted his head and pressed his lips firmly to mine. When his tongue slashed out this time, it was with a definite purpose, intended to let me know what he wanted from me. I surrendered to him, opening my mouth and wrapping my arms around him as he pushed me back under the spray again.

  This time it was like drowning in soap and sex and Cam, and I didn’t bother to hide my willingness to go wherever he took me. He could hold me under that water forever, and as long as I could see the intense, hungry way he looked at me, as long as those keen eyes kept their promise to take whatever he wanted from me—I would let him suffocate me under the spray and die happily.

  He held me there and rocked me until my hair was free of soap, and then he lifted me and pressed my back against the wall again. This time I had no choice but to wrap my legs around him and cling.

  “You like this?” he asked.

  “Rhetorical que—”

  He stopped my lips with a passionate kiss.

  “I’m strong,” he whispered, and I had to agree. If I’d had any breath left, I surely would have said something out loud to concur. As it was, I wanted to feel every inch of him pressed against me; I wanted to squeeze our dicks between us and rub them on the coarse hair of our bellies, and I wasn’t thinking much beyond that.

  He stopped moving. “You want me to fuck you again?”

  I glanced at his face, and what I saw there wasn’t the bluff, stripteasing Cam I’d met earlier. “Huh?”

  “I…” He frowned. “I can fuck you just like this if you want. I’m strong enough to hold you here and do it just like this.”

  Oh… what a thought. It was a good one. I wanted Cam to do exactly that—to fuck me up against the tile of the shower, or over the back of a couch, or on a bed of nails if it came to that.

  Still, as my mind raced off in that direction, I couldn’t help the tiny tingle of something like caution, which I was unlikely to exercise at the best of times. I usually didn’t even understand the concept when my dick was up and sliding soapily on a hot guy’s slab o’ abs.

  Something in my brain shook loose and said… Wait.

  “Cam?”

  Lashes lowered over his eyes. “Mmmhmm?”

  “I want to do what you like best.” I said, feeling my way around something I sensed was a landmine. “I want to be the guy who gives you exactly what you want. Do you want to fuck me?”

  “Yes.”

  Those eyes still weren’t… I actually had to tilt my head to look Cam in the eye, and I have to believe that was the weirdest moment of my life, dangling there from Cam’s arms, legs crossed against his ass, asking what he wanted most from me. “What do you want?”

  “I like a guy’s mouth. On me,” he admitted with a fierce blush, “and in me.”

  A whoosh of breath left my chest when I visualized that.

  “Most guys see how big I am and they only want me to top. Or they want to get all subby and blow me on their knees. Assume some weird-ass position. It’s all good.”

  “I guess…”

  “But sometimes…”

  “Sometimes you want to let go and get done.”

  He nodded, almost as if he was ashamed to admit it.

  I shook my head no, and I felt him start to pull away. I clung to him and pressed my cheek tightly against his, brushing it with my lips like I’d kiss a particularly beloved child. I meant, not no but no, wait. Why wouldn’t anyone with half a brain spoil the fuck out of you?

  “Cam. Holy shit. Pick me… Pick. Me. I will tongue fuck you until you scream my name so loud they throw us out of this dump.”

  He laughed and shivered against me. “Yeah?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m your ass pirate. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I sent Cam into the bedroom without me while I toweled myself off. After that I made coffee in the minuscule pot on the sink and dug through my toiletries for supplies.

  Whoa, had this day ever taken a turn I hadn’t expected. Yet if I really thought about it, the whole thing made perfect sense. I’d always known Cam Rooney was far more than what, as they say, “…it said on the tin.”

  In some ways Cam was the ultimate bad boy. He’d grab a likely fuck off the dance floor and do whatever, wherever. He gave off an uncomplicated vibe, but was far more intelligent than he let on. How many men took one look at those muscles of his and assumed he’d want to top. How many simply saw a guy who could pound them into the mattress and never bothered to ask him what he liked?

  Stupid fuckers. Their loss.

  I entered the bedroom carrying a cup of coffee for each of us and my toiletry kit. I wore only a towel, wrapped around my waist. I found him sprawled on the bed, arms and legs akimbo, taking up most of the figurative real estate in the room and breathing all the air.

  I shook my head.

  “No.” I told him. “This isn’t how it’s going to be.”

  Seriously, I would not let Cameron Rooney—or any man in the same circumstances—run my show.

  I gave his thigh a light tap to let him know he needed to leave a little room for me on the bed. He looked up at me with what I thought was a kind of cocky disbelief. “You just turn over and draw your knees up under your chest. Put your head down and wait for me while I get ready.”

  He digested this with a sweet frown on his face. Maybe the reason he simply sat there and waited was surprise. “Are you serious?”

  “How serious are you about liking a tongue in your ass?”

  After that he moved faster than I thought possible, curling up into a ball around a pillow, knees drawn up to his chest. His naked ass stuck up in the air like two pale, perfect boulders—his glutes so tight I could probably crack pecans between his butt cheeks.

  I swear to fuck there was a blush staining his entire body. He asked, “This okay?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I left the room wearing only a towel, to get ice.

  At that point I have to say I was probably laughing inside. There’s no telling what Cam was thinking. I didn’t take forever. I came back to the room as quickly as I could, carrying a bucket of ice. Coffee, check. Ice, check. Supplies, check, check.

  A lot of people like to just fall into bed with a lover; they want to be swept away by passion, carried off in the moment and out of control. I like that. We’d certainly had that the previous day, when we’d arrived at the hotel with only one thing on our minds. But this wasn’t about me, and when it’s about my lovers, I employ the opposite strategy. I give them exactly what they need without getting too carried away myself, and it g
enerally works out pretty well.

  And fuck, I enjoyed the rosy glow that anticipation left on Cam’s skin. I loved the way his breath hitched when I climbed onto the bed, and I caught my own breath when he peeked back at me from under his arm. He was apprehensive, and I liked that too. I wanted him hyperalert, off-balance, even a little afraid.

  “Are you into kinky shit?” he asked when I ran my hands over his ass. It felt just like I remembered, like velvet but crisp with hair, wrapped over rock. He couldn’t get any hotter without burning us both alive.

  “Define kinky for me.”

  “Are you going to hit me? Am I going to have to call you Sir, or—”

  “I don’t know. Do you want that? You tell me what you want and what you don’t want. That’s how this works. I like control.” I’d never lied about that. “I like control a lot. But I’m not going to do anything you don’t like.”

  He bit his lip.

  “This shouldn’t come as a surprise. Are you going to give me what I want? Are you going to relax and let me pleasure you?”

  “Yes.” He whispered the word.

  “Excellent.” I continued to massage his glutes. I missed the muscles in my right hand hand so much. I only had enough strength to smooth with my right while I could grip and squeeze with my left. I could penetrate him with my right thumb, maybe, but my other fingers still felt too tender. That was reality. It must have been a very uneven massage for him. “Do you like this?”

  “Yes,” came a muffled reply. A sigh escaped him. I pulled some massage oil from my kit and warmed it between my palms.

  “You should have people to do this for you every day,” I said, smoothing and polishing his skin. The oil made him glisten. “You need minions to anoint you like some South Sea island king or a Greek hero.”

  “Now you’re just making fun…”