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Words were just nonsense for a few minutes. He kissed me gently several times, murmuring things that my brain could not comprehend. Then he moved down to rub his face on my still hard cock. I pushed up to my elbows to watch him begin licking the spend from my belly, then moving down to lap at my sodden panties. His eyes were like sapphires lit from within as he tongued at my dick through the lace. I’d never seen a man so enraptured with frilly bits. I honestly wondered if I had died and gone to my version of heaven.
“My dear God,” I finally managed to croak out as he eased himself from my flaccid dick, his lips and beard sodden as he covered my mouth with his. I sighed into the kiss, licking deep into his mouth to gather up our essences like a man starved. It was he who eased back from the kiss, smiling, and then fell beside me on the bed, using the back of his hand to swipe at his mouth.
“That was incredible,” he said in a tone heavy with passion still. He lay next to me, on his side, his left hand roaming over my chest, fingertips plucking at my panties or the strap of my bralette. “You are incredible. My exposure to men in women’s clothing was limited to drag shows, and while I found those to be entertaining and somewhat erotic, having you here in my bed wearing these is just…” He snickered as he floundered. “Imagine me at a loss for words.”
“Would your former students be surprised?” I moved to my side to trace the shell of his ear.
“Shocked. Utterly shocked,” he admitted with no shame. “I love the sound of my own voice. I’m very intelligent, you know.”
A short laugh erupted out of me. “So you keep telling me.”
That made him snort with amusement. “You are a joy, Elias. Please, stay the night. We have wine and sweets left. We have songs to fill the silent night. Linger here in my arms.”
“Hmm.” I toyed with him for a second or two, pretending to ponder. “I’ll stay, but it was the promise of more sweets that swayed my decision.”
He buried his face in my neck, nibbling along my thumping jugular. “If cakes and tarts will keep you here, then I shall buy out the bakery on the morrow.”
A shiver ran through me. This man could charm Satan out of his pitchfork.
I didn’t leave that cabin until the sun rose. We feasted on cake and each other for breakfast. And when I left, I didn’t skulk or hide. We kissed at the front door and I pedaled off with my head held high, keeping a good distance between myself and Oregano.
True, only the waking gulls, a paperboy, and an old man in a windbreaker walking a Pug dog saw me leaving Gibson’s cabin, but that was fine. They saw a proud and out gay man with cake icing in his hair passing by, and that was the important thing.
Chapter Ten
Thenextfewdayswere spent working on trying to find local skill to renovate the playhouse, talking to my agent as we tried to douse fires back in Tinsel Town, and helping my father at the inn as the holiday guests were arriving by the carload and Kimmy had come down with a migraine. Poor woman. Gibson and I texted or snuck in quick kisses when I could sneak to town on the premise of renovations. In truth, the only local craftsman who could come right away was Minnie’s son, Greg Conklin. He was licensed as a plumber and had some handyman references, so I hired him on the spot to start on the plumbing. The roof was worrisome but finding a roofer who wasn’t booked out a year in advance was proving impossible. Then there was the need for electricians and carpenters.
“…personally, they’re going to come out with a statement soon,” Elle was saying in my ear as I smiled at a new guest while trying to get the credit card reader to scan their AmEx. “There are whispers coming my way and they’re not promising, Elias.”
“Try scanning it again,” I said to the elderly gent. “No, flip it over. There you go.” I smiled widely as the machine beeped happily. “Elle, let me call you back.” I glanced at the couple waiting to get to their room and one sour-looking blonde woman who had been here for an hour but had the look of a complainer about her. “Things here are a little crazy.”
“Okay, sure. You got any spare rooms? I could use a break from this stinking town.”
I brightened a bit when an idea sparked to life. “You could have my room. I could stay with a friend over the long weekend.”
“I adore you. Let me put one last call into the studio, then I am packing a bag. Can I bring Katy? She misses you.”
“No, she doesn’t. She’s working that football player into shape. I saw her IG posts,” I replied as I passed over the room key to the old twosome from Manhattan. They tottered off chatting about crab cakes, then the uptight blonde woman from the Puffin Suite strode up to the desk with a slip of paper in her hand. “Feel free to bring a guest.”
“Honey, I spend all my time on my clients. When the hell do I have time to find a man to share a bed with?”
“Bring your vibrator then,” I joked and got a glower from my waiting guest. “Okay, duty calls. Let me know when you’re on the plane.”
“Will do. See you this evening.” Elle hung up, and I ended the call on my cell and slid the phone into my back pocket. “Hello.” I grinned at the woman in the white sundress. “How can I help you…” Shit. Her name had fled my mind. My eyes darted to the computer screen to see the list of guests and rooms. “Mrs. Michelson.”
“I was checking my credit card purchases after I unpacked and I found a discrepancy in the price that I was told I would be charged and what I was actually charged.”
“Oh, well, let me see what could have happened.” I brought up her credit card information. “Hmm, all looks good here. What were you told you would be charged when you made the reservation over the phone?”
“I was told that my room would be four hundred a night. Which would work out to two thousand dollars for the Puffin Suite for five days, but here on the receipt it says that my card would be charged two thousand dollars and eighty-nine cents.”
I looked from the screen to the printout and then to the woman. Really? She was kicking up a bitch over eighty-nine cents.
“Oh, well, that’s a small fee that the credit card company added. If you read the fine print that particular card—”
She huffed in disgust. “Please, don’t try to pin this on the credit card. I’m well aware of how small businesses try to nickel and dime customers to death. I insist on getting my eighty-nine cents refunded.”
Having had just about enough of this harpy, I tugged out my wallet, extracted a one-dollar bill, and placed it on the sturdy wooden countertop.
