Cocktails make a one-night stand seem like a good idea, but Daniel and Ty discover one night is harder to walk away from than they think.
Daniel Rawlings is happy with his nine-to-five life in Chicago. He has an office job, a mortgage and he’s about to turn thirty. He’s happy—or so he thinks. During the last night of a sun-filled vacation in Miami, he meets wild-haired, free-spirited Ty. With the help of some summery cocktails, Daniel and Ty embark on a passionate one-night stand, though neither man really wants it to be just one night.
The thousand miles between cities may make their relationship harder than either man could have imagined. When Ty visits Daniel in Chicago, they grow closer, and Daniel realizes the two of them could be so much more than just the sex and cocktails of Miami. As their time together draws to a close once again, Daniel and Ty have a decision to make. Is what they have when they're together worth the heartache of saying goodbye over and over again?
Note: this book was previously published elsewhere, but has been re-edited and additional content added
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"Christ." Daniel Rawlings closed the book he had been reading and sat forward on the bed. He gave up. There was no way he could concentrate with the noise coming from the bedroom next door.
Muffled laughter accompanied the sound of the creaking bed. Did Rick and Steve realize how much he could actually hear? He massaged his brow as the couple fell silent. Were they done?
He winced as what he assumed was the headboard hit the shared wall, and cursed as his mind went to places he had no intention of going. Shifting, he pulled at the front of his board shorts as heat grew in the pit of his stomach.
Words muffled by sex echoed around him as the bang of the headboard hit a continuous rhythm. "Fuck, yeah. Oh fuck, hell yeah."
Daniel wished he had taken Neil up on the offer of a walk down to the beach. But some quiet time with a good book had seemed like the perfect way to spend a couple of hours before the inevitable evening of loud music, gallons of alcohol and his friends trying to set him up with any man they could who still had his own teeth. They were in Miami as a last hurrah before Daniel’s thirtieth birthday. As the eldest of the group, he wasn’t sure what the others thought would happen once he hit thirty—maybe that his balls would shrivel up and his cock would fall off.
"Oh, oh, oh."
"Oh, for fuck’s sake." Daniel squeezed his legs together. They were his best friends. Imagining them together just felt wrong.
Throwing the book to one side, he got off the bed. He stood in the middle of the room. The bang-bang rhythm stalled, but only for a moment. There was a muted cry from the other room. The bed creaked as the men moved around, then a new rhythm started—slow and forceful.
Idly, he ran his hand over his stomach then lower. He blinked as he caught his erection. Damn. The pace quickened again next door, and he had no intention of picturing their come faces. Grabbing his towel, he headed for the shower. The pitter-patter of water on his head would hopefully drown out the sex sounds.
He locked the door then quickly undressed. He turned on the faucets and stepped in when the cool water had run off. Closing his eyes, he dipped his head under the warm spray. Blowing the water from his lips, he leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. He ran a hand back over his hair and wiped the wet trails from his face. All he could hear was the drumming of the water as it hit his chest and the plastic base. Taking the shower gel, he lathered his palms. He glided his hands over his body, first his chest and shoulders, then his stomach. He reached lower, his fingers sliding between soapy curls. It only took a touch and he was hard again, his thoughts filled with hot male bodies entwined and fucking.
He closed his eyes and worked his hand along the length of his dick. He needed this. His friends had tried setting him up throughout the week, pushing him toward men as they danced, cheering him on as he had drunkenly locked lips with men who were most definitely only after one thing. But even when drunk, he was too damn sensible. He didn’t care about sex. Well, okay, he did care, because yeah, he loved sex, but it had to mean something. If he had sex with someone, it was because there was a connection there. It wasn’t because some stranger had grinded against him to a Justin Timberlake song and they had sucked face.
Sex. Fuck, he hadn’t gotten any in what felt like forever, since his ex had walked out of his life. Biting his lip, he spread his legs a little and leaned his hand against the tiles.