Authors: Morgan Ashbury
These thoughts swirled through her mind in mere seconds.
Chastity got to her feet, slowly.
“I’m sorry, Grandmother. I’m sorry that I arrived unannounced and then complicated that faux pas by burdening you with my petty complaint. Thank you for the tea. It was lovely.”
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She turned, took one step, and then another. And then she executed a graceful turn. Her ballet instructor would have been proud.
“By the way, I won’t be marrying Blake Clayton. If this is a deep disappointment to you because our two families will not therefore be joined, why then, I suggest you marry the little fucker yourself.” No one could utter an indignant gasp quite like her grandmother could. Chastity would have appreciated the moment more, if her heart hadn’t been tearing in two.
* * * *
Jordan Fitzpatrick looked up at the luxury apartment building, his smile wide, his usual reaction when he saw the name of the complex, gold letters shining in the sun. In fact, he’d chosen his apartment based on the name of the building, alone: Sixty-nine West.
Sixty-nine. His favorite number.
“Glad to be home, are you?”
The taxi driver’s question pulled his attention away from admiring the tall sleek building.
“Always glad to come home.” He forked over the hefty fifty-dollar fare and included a generous tip. He
was
glad to be home. The trip to Los Angeles had been long, boring and stressful, but necessary.
Home now, he looked forward to getting back into his usual routine.
Hell, thirty-five and already a creature of habit. Pitiful. Simply
pitiful.
The driver got out, rushing to the trunk to unload his single suitcase. Slinging the strap of his travel bag over his shoulder and pulling the wheeled suitcase, Jordan walked the few feet to the front door.
The doorman on duty hurried to open it for him.
“Welcome home, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Pleasant trip?”
“Hey, Doug, how’s it going? Yes, a good trip, thanks. Don’t suppose you know whether my better half is at home or not?”
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“No, sir, I don’t. Sorry.”
“No problem. Have a good evening.”
A minute later he figured that a combination of wondering whether he would be alone when he got in the door or not and jet lag was the reason he’d not heard her come in, be greeted by Doug, and join him waiting for the elevator.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
“Ms. Sawyer.”
Jordan had to guess that in the two years they had been neighbors, the number of times they’d actually come face to face and spoken equaled only a handful.
Lack of contact didn’t stop him from judging the lovely Ms.
Sawyer as a snooty, high-society snob who believed herself above mere mortals like himself.
Of course, it didn’t stop him from picturing her naked and on her knees in submissiveness at his feet, either.
Considering that between them they occupied the only two penthouse suites in the building, they probably should have encountered each other more often than they did. Their respective professions and resulting schedules probably had a lot to do with that.
She spent her days filing her nails and sitting behind a big desk at the Sawyer Trust pretending to be productive while he worked mostly nights, managing his club.
The elevator arrived and he moved to hold the door, gentlemanly courtesy ready to come into play despite his personal feelings for the woman.
She beat him to it.
“Please, allow me. You’ve got your hands full.”
“Thanks.”
Well, hell. Maybe she wasn’t so snooty after all. He flashed a grin. Her smile seemed so small it needed life support.
“You’re welcome.”
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A trace of pink in her cheeks and the way she looked down made him wonder about her. Perhaps he’d mistaken shyness for snobbery.
The car began its thirty-floor trek, and Jordan searched for something to say. He rarely suffered from a still tongue. He wasn’t particularly happy that this would prove to be such an occasion.
Before he was ready, the doors of the elevator opened. She held them again, allowing him to exit with his luggage in tow.
“Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good evening.” She turned to the left toward Penthouse A. She must have had her key ready, for she entered almost immediately, closing the door quietly behind her.
Shaking his head, he turned to the right, and Penthouse B.
The moment he stepped inside his suite, the scent of tomato sauce and garlic flooded his senses, triggering
all
of his appetites.
His mouth watered and his cock hardened.
Not alone
.
His lover should have been at work still, but remembered,
always
remembered, how much Jordan hated coming home after a trip to an empty apartment.
Eager for their reunion, Jordan left his suitcase and travel bag right by the door and went in search of his lover.
The kitchen was empty, the oven set on warm. Jordan smiled. The message came through, loud and clear. Dinner could wait until
after
.
His steps eager, he headed toward the master bedroom, then on into the spa room.
Drapes had been closed against the late afternoon sun. Candles flickered, sending soft light and a subtle perfume through the room.
Water churned by jets produced a gentle hum, a baseline sound to cradle the beat of the bluesy jazz that filled the air.
Jordan stepped into the room and met the dark brown passion-filled eyes of his lover.
“Welcome home, darling.”
“Marcus.”
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The look of pleasure and gratitude on Jordan’s face was well worth all the scurrying and juggling he’d had to do today so he could be here for him. They’d been lovers more than a year, and it had been the best year of Marcus’ life.
“Why don’t you take those clothes off and join me? The water is hot, and so am I.”
Jordan’s low chuckle never failed to warm him, the look of power and strength and purpose he wore never failed to excite him. And yet, in some ways, Jordan needed nurturing and coddling.
The sight of the man, naked, his cock hard, never failed to arouse him.
The water rippled as Jordan stepped into the tub. Marcus moved, coming forward, capturing the other man’s cock in his hand. Seconds later, it was in his mouth.
“
Marcus
.”
Marcus chuckled around the luscious rod and knew the added vibration drove Jordan’s arousal even higher. The sensation of Jordan’s hands in his hair, his fingers alternately combing and gripping, sent shivers of appreciation down his back.
He loved the taste of Jordan’s cock, but more, he loved knowing what he gave his lover. With lips and tongue he laved and caressed.
Keeping the suction to small, tiny spasms, he enticed him to enjoy the slow, steady climb of heat. Sliding his left hand around, he stroked the hard muscles of Jordan’s ass, petting him, loving him.
He moved his head up and down with languid grace. Inhaling deeply, he drew his lover’s scent inside himself, the aroma right there
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at the base of his cock headier, more uplifting for him than any other he’d ever smelled.
“God, Marcus. I love your mouth on my cock. It feels so damn
good
.”
Nothing fulfilled Marcus more than pleasing this man. He moved his left hand to trail his fingers up and down over Jordan’s anus. His right hand slid down from Jordan’s stiff shaft to cup and tease his balls. Then he began to suck, strong and deep.
“
God!
”
The change of rhythm left languid behind as Marcus used his skill to drive his lover over the edge. Jordan’s cry as he came, the way his hands clutched harder and his body convulsed, nearly made Marcus come. Swallowing, he drank every bit of Jordan’s release and considered it his own personal nectar of the gods.
He supported Jordan’s weight when the strength left his knees, and gently helped him to sit and immerse himself in the frothing water.
“Damn it, Marcus, I came too damn fast.” Despite the words, there wasn’t much heat in Jordan’s protest.
Marcus chuckled. Reaching to the other side of the tub, he pulled the bottle of white wine out of the ice bucket and poured Jordan a glass.
“Just a little welcome home gift to take the edge off. Here, drink this. Relax and tell me about your trip.”
“Thank you,” Jordan said, taking the glass and indulging in one long sip. “In case I forget to say it sometimes, I love you. You take very good care of me, and I appreciate that more than I can say.”
“You never forget to say it. I love you, too. And taking care of you is one of my purest pleasures in life.” Marcus refilled his own glass and sank back into the tub. Closing his eyes, he sipped and sighed. He’d come a long way from the frail, frightened child who’d hid every time his father had come home roaring drunk. He’d worked hard to educate himself, worked three
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jobs at a time to save his pennies. He’d achieved his career goal years before. His life was just about perfect. Just about. He had Jordan, a forever kind of man. He wondered if it wasn’t time for the two of them to take the next step in their mutual life plan. Maybe he’d bring the matter up after dinner.
* * * *
Jordan relaxed as he sank into the hot, jasmine-scented water.
He’d meant every word he’d just said to Marcus. Without opening his eyes, he sought his lover’s hand and linked fingers with him.
A little gesture, one he knew Marcus really cherished.
“Los Angeles was hell.”
“You can’t blame the entire city because it happens to be the place where your mother lives.”
“Sure I can.” Jordan puffed out a breath, the heat of the water, the kick of the alcohol and the power of the orgasm sending tiny little aftershocks through his system. All worked together to destroy the last of the tension in his body.
“She didn’t recognize me this time. She’s slipped further into Alzheimer’s. That made things better, in a way. Made it easier for me to deal with the situation.”
“I hope to God you mean that and you’re not harboring tiny tingles of guilt. Good God, Jordan. Considering the way that woman treated you all your life, you have been an exemplary son. Far better a son than I ever could have been to my father if he’d lived long enough to end up in an institution.”
Jordan felt the corners of his mouth turn up. No one had ever gotten him the way Marcus did. Sometimes, the man’s insight could be a little daunting. Mostly, it just felt
good
.
“You know those tiny tingles of guilt are there. I just have to live with them and do the best I can.” He took another slow sip of wine, enjoying the way the crisp Chablis tasted on his tongue. The silence
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that stretched between them felt comfortable. Still, he knew how much Marcus enjoyed conversation. “How are things at Novel Pursuits?” The bookstore had been a dream come true for Marcus, a goal he’d worked long and hard to achieve. Marcus loved books of every kind, but he especially had a fondness for the rare, the old, and the obscure.
“Everything is wonderful. That student I hired two weeks ago seems to be working out quite well. Sometimes I have to chase her out. She’d stay and work for nothing if I let her.”
“Another bibliophile?”
“Yes, and a geek as well. She kind of reminds me of myself at that age.”
Jordan opened his eyes and sent his lover a soft smile. A handsome man was Marcus Jones. He sported jet black hair that brushed his shoulders, emerald green eyes that sometimes saw too much and a smile Jordan thought looked sexy as hell. Marcus would blush if Jordan told him that whenever they went out together, many heads, male and female, turned to admire him.
They’d been lovers for a year and a bit, and had lived together for the past eleven months. This counted as Jordan’s third long-term relationship. He’d had a previous one with a woman, and one with another man before hooking up with Marcus.
The two of them had enough similar interests to be able to share common ground, and enough differences to keep things stimulating.
He thought of one area in which they agreed—an appreciation for women—and recalled his earlier encounter in the elevator.
“I ran into our neighbor on the way in today,” he said.
“Chastity? Coming or going?”
Marcus’s face had lit up and Jordan tilted his head. “You really like her.”
“I do. She’s got such warmth under all those layers of breeding.”
“Huh. I’ve always had the opposite impression, though I wouldn’t mind getting her naked.”
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Jordan grinned when Marcus’s eyes twinkled and he made a sound that could have been agreement. “Anyway, to answer your question, she was coming in.”
“Early for her to call it a day. Probably brought a ton of work home with her.”
“I don’t equate the image of Ms. Sawyer with the image of work.
Sorry. And now that I think about it, she wasn’t carrying anything but a small handbag.”
“I can sympathize with your attitude, love. It’s hard for a man to look charitably on someone born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth when he’s had to claw and scrape his way from nothing to lots.”
He felt the mild chastisement. Jordan knew himself to be a bit of a reverse snob, no question. And since Marcus seemed to like the woman, he figured the man was entitled to defend her when he thought she was being unfairly attacked.
The man wouldn’t be Marcus otherwise.
“What kind of a name is
Chastity
, anyway?” Jordan guessed he couldn’t let it go completely. He used his peripheral vision to see if he’d pissed his lover off, or not.
Marcus smiled. “She and I have had several conversations, and so I can tell you her full name is Chastity Prudence Brighton Sawyer.
Her paternal grandmother named her, then ended up raising her after the death of her parents just after her tenth birthday.”