Page 23 of The Moon & His Tides
So talented.
But God, it was more than his beauty and his talent.
He positively oozed passion.
On stage and off when I’d confronted him. How glorious he had been in the face of my sudden appearance. Not cowed by my reputation or accolades, not awed by my own good looks, nothing so reactive, so simple and shy.
Whatever game I had hoped to play––something sly and mean because he was handsome enough to tempt me, but I was irritated he had caught the eye of my wife, that she had pushed me to once again take on a lover in our already tense marriage––evaporated in the steam that rose between us.
He had been confused, furious, indignant, and undoubtedlyarousedby our repartee. It had taken nearly everything in me not to reach between our bodies––already too close for propriety––and cup the hardening length I’d glimpsed pressing against his inner left thigh through his trousers.
He was totally unlike the male lovers I had taken in my youth before meeting Savannah and then, again with her. We both seemed to prefer pretty men with slight frames, narrow faces, pouting mouths, wide eyes, and stylish hair. It was a risk to associate with such men, men who harnessed their sexuality and were not afraid of their own fluidity. I had built a career on being a man’s man of actors. I played Hamlet and Macbeth in the theatre, Jonathon Cross in the series of gritty spy thrillers that had first launched me to cinematic fame, and then LordByron, the ultimate womanizer, in a biopic that had secured my first Oscar.
No one would accept that Lord Adam Meyers was bisexual.
They wouldn’t understand that loving both men and women was notallI was, like a two-dimensional sketch stuffed into a labeled envelope, but merely a facet of who I was and what I enjoyed.
And how could I blame them when I had spent nearly my entire life struggling with my sexual identity and how it should or should not impact my personality?
Which made my attraction to the utterly masculine specimen of Sebastian Lombardi entirely nonsensical. He was too big, too wide in the shoulders, and quilted with dense muscle from wrists to ankles. His beauty wasn’t gentle or pretty. It was a slap in the face, a hand to the throat, a tight vise suddenly wrapped around my balls. I was as attracted to him as I was terrified by him, and the combination was heady.
Heady enough to make me forget my pledge to myself and my wife that we would not take any more lovers after Oscar Hampton, a local burgeoning set designer who left our bed rather acrimoniously last year. That we would focus on the failing love between the two of us, strengthen it and each other.
An open sexual predilection was all well and good when the main relationship was strong, an iron pole on which to hang all the rest, but somewhere in the last two years Savannah and I had grown tarnished and dull.
She bored me now, almost as much as the rest of the poor sods under my roof that night, and I knew she found me frustrating. Why didn’t I do as she wished the same way I had as a young twenty-five-year-old with a thirst for fame and success?
We were going through the motions of our life, two business associates living under the same roof.
But then… Sebastian.
I’d never been so in lust with my wife as I was watching her struggle to take the thick length of his cock in her snug little cunt. She was small and pale, prim and elegant. Against Sebastian’s glaring virility and rough, Italian-soaked curses, his big, tanned hands consuming her slight frame, his full mouth devouring her little cries, I’d been nearly torn apart with desire.
The contrast of them together was too much.
I hadn’t intended to involve myself in that first tryst.
I knew he had never had relations with a man before and I told myself it was foolish even as I unzipped my trousers, knelt on the seat beside him, and released my throbbing length into my hand to present to him like a gift.
My dick hardened dangerously in the middle of my drawing room as I remembered the way he’d gazed at me, like I was both the most dangerous creature he’d ever beheld and the most beguiling.
And then, when he’d tasted my cum, instinctively sucking it from my thumb, I knew.
No matter my pledge to Savannah, to myself, I had to have him.
“Adam, you look flushed,” Miranda Hildebrand cooed, running her lacquered red nails down my arm as she leaned close in a cloud of floral perfume. “Are you all right?”
“I think you could use some air, Adam.”
The voice came from over my shoulder, but I knew it was Sebastian immediately. There was only one other Italian man at the party, Gianni Valentino himself, and the older man’s voice didn’t have the same effect on my libido as Sebastian’s did.
I shifted to allow him into our loose semicircle. His scent assaulted me instantly, something with heat and spice that made my mouth water.
“Miranda, Bobbi, I’d like you to meet Sebastian Lombardi,” I introduced, pausing as Sebastian flashed them his wicked grinand bent over each lady’s hand to deliver a kiss to her knuckles. By the time he was done, both scarlets were beaming at him from under their curled lashes.
“How quaint,” Miranda purred in her signature breathy voice. She was a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe and she took every opportunity to showcase it. “How do you know our Adam?”
OurAdam.
