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Julie Ramirez ran a theater near Marcus' gallery. He'd been her first patron, now one of many. He'd come to his gallery on a Saturday, dressed casually to pull some receipts, and seen the short, voluptuous brunette hauling out a load of dusty boxes too heavy for her to lift and too bulky for a hand truck. With the same powers of persuasion she'd apparently used to get the landlord to sign a five year, dollar-a-year tax write-off lease on the building she intended to turn into a community theater for the arts, she got Marcus to volunteer his whole afternoon to her.
It wasn't until a week later she learned he was the affluent gallery owner up the street. By then, he was impressed enough with her commitment, her background in a theater family and her willingness to stick her neck out that he was more than willing to hand over a check. Which she cheerfully and unabashedly hit him up for as soon as she learned that "he was mega-loaded".
At the end of that first day, however, he'd sat on the edge of her truck, covered in dirt and cobwebs, his hair yanked back and held by a rubber band they'd found in the debris. She'd leaned back on her elbows and given him a thorough look. "Jesus.
Someone who can be that filthy and look that pretty needs to be beaten with a stick. Can I buy you dinner for helping me? Offer you sex? Dinner and sex?" Marcus grinned, leaned back on his elbows next to her, his shoulder brushing hers companionably. He tried not to be a tease with women, but they were so easily, physically affectionate, sometimes it was hard to stay out of range. Just because he preferred a man for sex didn't mean he didn't like the touch of a woman's hand, their different texture and pressure, the rich emotional language they conveyed so easily.
And because they'd been bantering all day, he put a little stretch into the leaning back, drawing her attention to his upper torso, the strength of his arms, biting back a chuckle as she snuck a quick glance at his groin area.
"All right. " She punched his shoulder. "You're doing that on purpose. Don't be such a tramp. "
"I'll take you up on dinner, but I'm afraid I'm going to pass on the sex. I'd be a disappointment. "
"Oh. " She digested that. He was prepared to add more clarification if needed, something to salve the ego, but then she brightened. "Oh, for Christ's sake, you're a man. It's sex. Can't you close your eyes and pretend I'm a guy? We can turn off the lights and I'll talk deep, like this. " She mimicked what he thought sounded like a frog with a bad cold. "You can even do me from behind, but I'd kind of like you to get my preferred orifice, if you don't mind. "
It startled a laugh out of him, and he'd been delighted with her a hundred ways since. When he met Thomas soon after and introduced them, Thomas had been equally enamored of her in no time.
Marcus considered her a true friend, not only because she was honest and forthright in a brutal, New York way, but carried a heart of gold that came straight from her home state of Oregon.
Unfortunately, Marcus knew while she had a limitless heart for friends and her theater, she'd always fallen for the type of guy who would take advantage of her nature. As a result, at thirty-five, she'd never been married. She still dated, but not too seriously, telling Marcus she'd decided she preferred to be a pathetic hanger-on to the platonic physical affections of gay men and their enjoyable company than fucked over emotionally by a straight male.
"Besides," she'd told him later, after he'd met Thomas. "I keep hoping you'll come up to my place and just stand next to my bed naked and hold the vibrator. Now if you and Thomas did it. . . hmmm. . . like Thomas would hold me on his lap. . . he'd be naked too, of course, and you'd do the vibrator thing, and it would be like a real fantasy. I wouldn't have to worry about the stilted 'I'll call you' bullshit conversation. You guys would even fix me breakfast. Those pancakes you make are so good. " When Marcus mentioned Julie's birthday was coming up, it was Thomas who said,
"Let's go give her that fantasy she wants. If she chickens out, we'll buy her a pizza from the Greek place around the corner she loves. "
That was after they'd been together for a year, when Thomas had become more adventurous, always within the protective shadow of Marcus' sophistication. But Marcus still hadn't expected him to suggest it. It had been one of those remarkable confluence of events. The right mood, the right timing. . .
They'd shown up with a bottle of expensive wine, pancake fixings and a vibrator, giving her exactly the fantasy she'd requested, something even now she said she couldn't believe she'd been seduced into doing. Even though she simultaneously claimed it was one of the most intensely sexual experiences of her life.
While Marcus teased her ever after, claiming that was just a sad commentary on her love life, he had to admit it had been quite a charge for him and Thomas as well.
As she'd said, they were guys, and even though women were not their preferred bed partners, watching Thomas sit behind her on the bed shirtless, holding her arms, had made Marcus hard in no time. He'd let loose his full Master nature upon her, commanding her to spread her legs, taking the vibrator in deep as she undulated.
Thomas' arm muscles tightened to hold her as she pulled against him in response, his eyes fastened on Marcus' hand, his attention coursing down Julie's naked body to Marcus' equally bare one. . .
When she fell asleep at last, curled between two male bodies, another fantasy, they gazed at each other in the dim light, wanting each other fiercely, but not moving. At least until she mumbled, "Guys, guys - you're going to impale me". She'd clambered over Marcus like a cranky sister, but then placed her hand on his back in quiet wonder as he turned Thomas, took him from behind. Marcus had felt the pressure of her palm, her caressing fingers as his back flexed under her touch. Felt her stillness as Thomas groaned, as they both found their climax.
They'd had a fleeting worry that the night would somehow make things awkward, but the next day, Julie was Julie. She gave them both hugs, her eyes wet, told them it was the best present she'd ever been given, and asked, "Where are my damn pancakes?"
* * * * *
Thomas glanced over his shoulder as Marcus came onto the porch, phone still in hand. "You remember Julie Ramirez?"
Thomas slanted him a grin. "Uh, yeah. . . Let me see. Isn't that the woman who runs the theater across the street from your gallery?"
"The same. " Marcus gave him an equally droll look and spoke into the phone. "He thinks he remembers you. Vaguely. " He glanced back at Thomas. "She happens to be in the area visiting a friend and wants to know if we'd be willing to take them to a place where the men aren't interested in women. They want to dance. "
"Only if groping is allowed. "
"You got that?" Marcus paused, chuckled. "She says only if you're willing to follow through and make it worth her while. "
"Spoilsport. " Thomas grinned more broadly. When he did, the agonizing fist around Marcus' chest loosened, just like that, and things felt better. "Sure. " It told Marcus he wouldn't send Thomas away one moment sooner than he had to.
Every agonizing moment was worth it, just for that smile. He was lost. Fucking gone.
That was it. Just lost, taken over by the soulful brown eyes of a North Carolina farm boy who somehow knew how to reach inside people and read their hearts, while being as unworldly as a duck living in a pond. It was the genius of his art. He explored the universe of people's desires inside and out, while he'd never hardly been anywhere but home and New York City.
