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And now that all the drama was over, Paul was going to go to Taylor’s party, get plastered, and hopefully find a hot man and off the scale hot sex. Anything to purge from his mind the image of a naked Adam, or the recollection of a threatened spanking that still made his dick hard as iron.

* * * * * *

The bedroom window was open and through it came the ever constant sound of the sea. Normally it would have been enough to lull Adam into the arms of sleep, but not tonight. He’d gone to bed early, but his brain refused to shut down. The cause of his insomnia was off somewhere enjoying himself, while Adam lay with the sheets flung off him, the heat of the August night verging on oppressive. His mind was a whirling cascade of thoughts that collided, sparking off each other and sending yet more thoughts to torment him.

He could still smell Paul. How could a scent torment him, long after it had vanished? And yet he could recall how the musky aroma had filled his nostrils. The sounds, still so vivid: the metallic sound of Paul’s belt buckle; the rasp of his zipper; that sensual sound of his jeans or shorts or whatever, sliding down over his hips.

But what tortured him most were the thoughts of what might have been, if he’d had the courage to act.

What would I have felt if I’d reached out? Would I have encountered smooth, bare skin? Or perhaps there’d be a downy covering of hair. Would my fingertips have grazed the head of an erect dick? Would there have been pre-come already beading at his slit? Would his balls have been covered in fuzz, or shaved, the skin soft and delicate? How would his belly have felt? Firm? Soft? Would there be a treasure trail to follow?

Adam groaned and reached down to palm his cock, his shaft already hard, his balls heavy. Damn it, he missed sex. He missed the intimacy of it all. The smell of another man. The feeling of skin on skin. The sheer heaven of having another body pinned beneath him, of thrusting into a tight arse. The vaulting, exquisite bliss of orgasm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked someone.

Fuck. He hated this, hated the fact he was alone, and yet the last thing he wanted was the company of others. He couldn’t have it both ways, for God’s sake. Christ, it was enough to drive a man to drink.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Fuck lying in bed, tormented by memories. What he really needed was a good stiff drink. Or three.

Fuck it. Where was the bottle?

* * * * * *

Paul helped himself to another bottle of beer and walked out of Taylor and David’s kitchen to check out how the party was progressing. He had a nice buzz going from the three bottles he’d already downed, and the world was starting to look a damn sight more mellow than when he’d first walked through the front door. It was good to see faces he knew: Eric, Shane, Mark and Jason, Taylor’s best friends from school, had arrived
en masse
, and the volume in the house went up considerably. Paul liked them. He’d spent many a pleasant afternoon with Taylor and the gang on board the yacht that belonged to Eric’s family. They’d been times filled with laughter, food and a lot of horsing around with water.

The large front room was filled to bursting with men of all shapes and sizes, along with a handful of women who were girlfriends or wives. Paul didn’t like to guess how many of the guests were gay, but he imagined the figure would be quite high.
I didn’t think there were that many gay guys on the island.
The thought that followed had him grinning. Yeah, there were. They were all lurking on Grindr or Scruff.

Outside, David had set up a grill in the postage stamp-sized front garden and the smell of grilling burgers, sausages and chicken made Paul’s belly growl. The party had spilled out of the house and down the boat ramp, with people sitting on the low sea wall, drinking and talking. Taylor had strung up Chinese lanterns in rainbow colors all along the eaves of the house and down the side wall. Music played in the background, piano music that didn’t jar the senses but added to the ambiance.

Mark and Sam were at the party, drinking with Shane and laughing at something Jason had said. Paul had been chatting with them earlier, but when Mark had started up with questions about Adam, Paul had made the excuse of wanting a drink and slipped away to the kitchen where the table was groaning under the weight of all the alcohol. It seemed everyone had brought a bottle.

“How’s your new job going?”

The voice came from the corner of the front room. Eric was nursing a large glass of Taylor’s punch and grazing through a bowl of crisps, nuts and other nibbles while he gazed across the room at the party-goers.

Paul joined him and snuck a handful of crisps from the bowl, receiving a whack on the arm for his trouble. “Hey! Be nice! I’m hungry but there’s a horde of locusts out there, devouring everything in sight.”

Eric laughed. “Yeah, but David’s only got the first wave of burgers and hot dogs ready, so of course there’s a queue. Give it five minutes or so, and it’ll be calmer out there.” He stared pointedly at Paul. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve ignored my question.”

Paul groaned. “Look, I don’t wanna talk about work, not tonight.” It had only been a week and already he was a mess. From live-in companion to day companion, to pretend live-in companion, to personal assistant… Add to that his boss had gone from gorgeous straight guy to gorgeous gay guy… Paul couldn’t keep up with it all.

“Okay, but you’ve got to tell me, what’s Adam Kent like? I mean, I’ve seen his pics on Google, but he hasn’t been seen on the island since he moved here. Bit of a recluse, is he?” Eric helped himself to a handful of peanuts, eating them in one mouthful.

Actually, that was the one thing about Adam Paul totally got.

“He’s going through a rough time,” he told Eric. “I think of how much he’s lost and it makes my head spin.” It could be why Paul was prepared to push aside the spanking threat incident: part of him knew Adam was suffering. “You know, he used to skipper boats? He’d bring them over the Atlantic from the States.”

“Really?” Eric’s eyes widened. “Wow. I bet it would be really interesting to talk to him.”

Paul stared. “Hey, you’ve given me an idea.” Bloody hell, forget the Nobel prize—if this came off, he’d score
major
Brownie points with his boss.

“Did it hurt?” Eric guffawed.

“No, I’m serious.” Paul took a swig of beer and thought quickly about the feasibility of his plan. If Eric was up for it… “Okay, I need to think about this, and we can’t really discuss it here. How about I give you a call tomorrow?”

Eric shrugged. “Sure. Don’t make it too early. I’ve no idea what time this shindig will wrap up, but knowing Taylor… ” He arched his eyebrows. “You
have
made me curious, though.” Eric froze, his gaze somewhere off over Paul’s right shoulder. “What
is
it with him?”

“Who?” Paul began to turn around but Eric grabbed his arm.

“Don’t turn around and look at him!” Eric said through gritted teeth. “That way, he’ll
know
we’re talking about him.” His gaze kept flickering to that same spot, however.

Paul chuckled. “Talking about who? I swear, you’ve lost the plot.”

Eric took a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but instead his eyes grew large and round. “He winked at me! He fucking
winked
at me!”

This time Paul let loose with a full-bellied laugh. “Pretend I don’t have a clue what you’re on about and start at the beginning.” He placed his hand on Eric’s shoulder. “But breathe first, all right?”

Eric nodded, drawing in long deep breaths and pushing out a steady stream of air. “There’s this bloke behind you,” he began, enunciating his words carefully. “He’s been watching me all night. I don’t think he’s taken his eyes off me once.”

“Ooh, you got yourself an admirer.” Paul waggled his eyebrows. “It’s the new hair colour, I betcha.” Eric had always had hair so blond, it was almost white, but this year he’d opted to dye it dark brown. Paul had to admit, it made his friend appear very striking.

“Shush, you.” Eric whacked him again on the arm, only not so hard this time.

Paul grumbled and moved out of his reach. “I mean it. You’re obviously looking hot.” He grinned. “Don’t let Teresa hear about this. She’ll scratch his eyes out.” Eric’s present girlfriend was well known for her temper.

Eric flushed. “Yeah, well, you’ve obviously not been keeping up with the goss. We broke up, couple of weeks ago.” He groaned. “There he goes again!”

Paul tried not to laugh, but something about the whole situation tickled him. When Eric’s words had a chance to sink in, he sighed. “Oh, mate, I’m sorry. What happened?”

Another shrug, but Paul didn’t miss Eric’s pained expression. “She said I… wasn’t enough. Let’s leave it at that, okay? Anyway, right now I’m more concerned about this guy who keeps perving on me. What’s odd is he’s here with someone else.”

“Does the someone else look at all concerned his boyfriend is flirting with you?” Paul wanted to know, dying to turn around and get a good look at this guy, but Eric held his arm in a firm grip.

“Now that you mention it, no, not real—flirting? What do you mean, flirting?” Eric’s breathing quickened and he swallowed hard. “He’s not flirting with me!”

Yeah, right
. “Does he at least look nice?”

Eric gaped at him. “What kind of a question is that?” His eyes had a wild look in them.

“A perfectly reasonable one.” Paul took another long drink of beer. “So? Does he?”

Eric scrunched up his forehead. “I don’t… he’s… well, he’s… I suppose he’s good looking. Tall, dark hair. A few tats.” He tilted his head to one side. “He’s got lovely eyes.” No sooner had he said the words, Eric flushed deep red and he stared at Paul. “I mean… ”

“Who’s got lovely eyes?” Taylor appeared next to Paul, grinning. “What have I missed here?”

“Nothing at all.” Eric flashed Paul a menacing glance that needed no translation. Paul bit back a smile.

Taylor scanned the room, craning his neck to peer through the front window.

“And who are you looking for?” Paul asked.

“Someone I invited, but he’s not here yet. He had to work tonight, but he promised he’d come straight from work.” He bit his bottom lip and blinked rapidly.

Paul regarded Taylor with suspicion. “What are you up to?”

“Me?” Taylor’s instant look of wide-eyed innocence didn’t fool Paul for a second. “I don’t know what you mean.” When Paul folded his arms across his chest and lifted his eyebrows, Taylor sighed. “Okay, I’ve sort of told this guy who was surfing here in the week that I’d introduce him to you. He thinks you sound hot.”

Paul was glad he wasn’t drinking at that moment. He’d have likely snorted beer out of his nose. “And exactly how would he have gotten that impression? Hmm?” It was all bluff, of course. He’d come to the party knowing there was a very good to extremely likely possibility of getting fucked by the end of it.

Taylor groaned. “Tell me you brought supplies, all right? Like I told you?”

Paul shook his head, laughing. “You’re incredible. But yes, as it happens, I came prepared.” He patted the pocket of his shorts. “That okay with you, Papa Pimp?” Beside him, Eric snorted loudly.

Taylor huffed. “I try to help a mate get laid and this is the thanks I get.”

Paul patted his arm. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. I’m sure my dick will appreciate it even more—that’s assuming A, he’s a bottom and B, I actually like the look of him.”

It was Taylor’s turn to snort. He put his hands on his hips and leveled a steady look at Paul. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said in a tone heavy with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize you were inundated with offers from men wanting to shag your arse off.
Mea culpa
.” And with that, he swirled around and headed for his husband.

“You know what?” Paul told Eric, waving his empty bottle in the air. “I need another drink.”

Eric’s eyes gleamed. “I have the cure for all your ills. It’s called Taylor’s Punch and it packs quite a wallop.” He winked. “It should do, after what I emptied into it.”

“Now you’re talking!” They left their corner and went in search of the heady nectar. Anything to prevent Paul’s mind from going down that one particular track: his sexy, gay boss had a kinky side. And if there was anyone he
really
wanted to shag him, it was Adam.

Chapter Nine

Paul fumbled with the front door, his fingers refusing to work properly. Of course, it would have been easier if he could see the damn keyhole.

God, I must be drunk. There’s a flashlight app on my fancy new-fangled phone.

He dug into the pocket of his shorts and pressed buttons, making the phone pulse as it came to life in his hands. Once the torch was at its brightest level, he aimed the key at the hole, squinting as he tried not to miss it. He pushed too hard and the door flung open, thankfully not hitting the wall but the rubber stopper set into it.

“Shh,” he whispered, his finger across his lips. “Don’t wanna wake up Adam.” The house was in darkness, and he figured Adam had long since gone to bed. The only light coming into the hallway was from the door behind him, and a chink of light through the drawn curtains in the library. He could almost taste the silence.

Silence that was shattered when his phone burst into life.

Paul’s fingers slipped as he tried to quell the ringtone. “Shh,” he whispered, the phone against his ear. “Too bloody loud.”

“Where did you get to?” Taylor’s voice nearly split his eardrum. He groaned when he realized the reason for this: he’d got the bloody thing on speaker phone.

He held it away from his head and spoke into the mic. “Taylor, you’re on speaker, stop yellin’. Lemme get outta the hall.” He stumbled into the library, feeling for the armchair closest to the door, and dropped himself into it. He didn’t bother with the lights: they’d only hurt his eyes. Not that he was
that
drunk, but he was definitely way past tipsy.

“There, that’s better, don’t wanna wake up the dinosaur, now, do we? ’Cause maybe this time he’ll
really
spank me.”