Stephanie Vaughan

Excerpt: "Crossing the Line"

Tears of Christ, he was thinking about that mouth again.

Instead of seeing the inventory sheet on the clipboard he held in his
hands, Jamie kept seeing the figures dissolve into a face. Blond hair,
blue eyes, a classically straight nose -- all leading to a sinfully
voluptuous mouth. Medium-full with a pouty lower lip that turned a
face that could otherwise have graced the cover of a surfing
magazine into something else entirely. Poker-straight hair slid down
over a high forehead and created a fan for those laser-blue eyes to
hide behind. Each individual beautiful part contributed to one
gorgeous whole and Jamie wanted it bad.

It was that erotic mouth that kept interrupting his sleep last night,
though. Dreams of those lush lips being wet by an expert tongue
and smiling up at him. Then the eyes would go sensually sleepy --
before closing in rapture as that hungry mouth closed over his
aching cock.

God!

Jamie groaned and shook his head, willing the vision away.

It was Sunday, the only day MacPherson's was closed to the public,
and Jamie needed to get the inventory completed or the four hours
he'd already put in would be wasted and he'd have to give up and
start all over again next Sunday.

Squatting to relieve the ache in his back, Jamie reached down and
brushed a hand over his burgeoning hard-on. Brushing back harder
this time over his cock, the pleasure raced through his body. It
wasn't as though he needed reminding that he and his hand were
the most intimacy he'd shared lately. There hadn't been anyone
serious since Ben and lately even the casual encounters weren't
doing it for him.

The wistful thought of what it would be like to be part of a couple
came into Jamie's head. More than just a one-nighter or
week-ender; somebody who cared about him. Who knew what he
liked and thought enough about him to make it happen.

An involuntary snort of derision followed, like it always seemed to.

The idea of him and a long-term relationship just didn't seem to go
together. What was it about him that didn't seem to mesh with even
semi-permanent? At thirty-six he wasn't getting any younger. He'd
never been one for the club scene and with every year that passed
it seemed harder and harder to meet people.

Except for the casual, just-looking-for-sex-type contact.

No, those were all too easy to come by. Any number of bars and
restaurants Jamie knew, he could walk in and have a warm body to
take home in under an hour. Fifteen minutes if he wasn't being
particular.

But quality people -- the kind of person he could have a decent
conversation with, go to a movie or the theatre with -- those were
getting harder to find than a 70's-era Triumph with working tail
lights and original paint. It wasn't like he had a biological clock that
was ticking down on him, but most of his friends were either married
or in committed relationships and Jamie couldn't help the twist of
envy that he felt whenever he saw any of them together. He
couldn't help wanting that, too.

Maybe that's why it hit him so hard when Ben had broken things off.
God, he'd been so crazy about Ben, it didn't seem possible that he
hadn't felt the same way. Jamie'd had more fun with Ben in five
months than he'd had with almost anyone else he could think of in
his whole life. Ben had introduced him to old school jazz, taken him
to nightclubs to hear the music live. They'd watched "Spinal Tap" so
many times they'd hurt themselves laughing. Jamie knew he'd
probably never be able to so much as see one of the actors from it
without thinking of Ben for the rest of his life.

His legs beginning to cramp up, Jamie realized he'd been crouched
on the floor in one long, self-pitying stream of reminiscence.
Standing, he twisted slowly from side to side, trying to loosen up
the stiffness in his lower back. He'd never be the reckless sixteen
year old who'd rolled his first car again.

Just a minor tweak at the time, it hadn't affected his abilities as far
as the Marines were concerned. A grunt and a machine-gunner, he'd
done his four years active and four years reserve without incident.
Still, the years were creeping up on him and lately he'd noticed the
increased number of times his back seized up on him. Just another
sign of his all-to-mortal self.

What goes around, comes around and thoughts of age and mortality
brought him back to the hot young thing who'd waited on his table
the other night during his interminable dinner with Doug, the owner
of the Porsche he'd just taken on.

Jesus, what a moron. Trying to impress him with his money and his
influence. The only interest Jamie had in his money was that there
was enough of it in the bank to cover the check Doug would be
writing to the business for his '71 Targa's new engine.

Another example of more money than sense, Doug wanted the
biggest possible engine he could put in the machine. Screw original,
the man wanted nothing to do with authentic. It was about showing
his buddies what a big dick he had by flashing his big engine at
them. Compensation. That's all it was.

But, what the hell. If he wanted to give someone a chunk of change
to replace a perfectly good engine with another perfectly good
bigger one, Jamie would happily take his money. Just spare him the
'look how much I know about cars' talk over dinner, please. It had
been all Jamie could do to feign interest and not go off in search of
the so-hot-it-hurt-to-look-
at-him Ryan.

Fine, fine ass. Not overpoweringly tall, but perfectly proportioned.
Nice chest and arms, for all they'd been covered with a long-sleeved
shirt and tie. Jamie'd had to fight the natural inclination to feast his
eyes, dwelling lingeringly on that body. That face.

Holy hell, if the kid was only here now … He had to be a kid with
that smooth face, brow unwrinkled by worry or doubt. If he was
here, Jamie would start by taking that face in his hands, sucking
that full lower lip into his mouth, drawing him in with slow, lingering
kisses.

He'd like to run his hands over the fine neck and shoulders he'd
detected under the shirt. Unbutton it slowly, one button at a time,
until it was completely undone, and shove it off. He'd grip Ryan's
shoulders, urge him downwards to his knees, where Ryan would
open that luscious mouth and suck on Jamie's cock until he
exploded. Lapping the salty come eagerly, not missing a drop.

Oh, yeah.

Jamie snorted at the fat lot of inventory he was getting counted
this way. It might be time to think about making a deal with himself:
finish up taking inventory and then reward himself with a late drink
at Le Louisienne. After all, whose subconscious didn't respond to a
little creative deal-making?

© 2008, Stephanie Vaughan

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