Thrall: A Grumpy Sunshine Gay Romance (Tennyson Bend Book 3) by PT Ambler

Author:PT Ambler [Ambler, PT]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-06-10T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Malone

Malone startled awake with a jerk, immediately regretting sitting up when his gut turned over and the sharp rays of the morning sun slammed like a steel tent peg through the bridge of his nose. “Fuck!”

An amused hum alerted Malone to the fact that somebody was nearby. Since the only other somebody on Tallon was Jethro Crane—baker of cakes, painter of cocks, handler (also) of cocks—Malone didn’t bother opening his eyes again. “Go away,” he said.

Pitiful, Archer.

“Nice thing to say to the guy who got up at the pre-arse-crack of pre-dawn to—”

“Shit.” No point even looking at his watch. The blinding sun said it was way past dawn. The oh-four-hundred measures were his responsibility, and he’d missed them. Hell, he’d slept through his watch. Unforgivable. “What time is it?”

“Half six.”

“Shit.” Malone slumped back down and dropped an arm across his eyes. The last thing he could remember was watching Jet's rear gradually disappear into the night. “I slept that long?”

“Like a baby. I thought about waking you earlier. I know how particular you are about the schedule. But you looked too damn cute. A big guy like you, curled up like that. Couldn’t do it.”

Cute?

Since when was he cute?

Malone lifted the shade from his eyes and braved a look around. Gone were the coolers, the faux-fire, the camp chairs, and the ridiculous cuc-scape painting. All that remained from the birthday party was the sandy purple sarong, and him.

“Here.” Jet shook a water bottle in front of his nose.

Blessed water. “Thank you.” His throat was parched and his tongue felt like the hind end of a wombat. Malone unscrewed the top and slogged half of it in one go. “The four o’clocks?”

“Done.”

Oh, thank God. He dug through his memory for a quick check of the schedule. “I’ll do your sixteen-hundreds.”

“Nah. Consider it a final birthday present.”

“No. I’ll do them.” It was the least he could do to make up for his lapse.

“Malone, I won’t think any less of you if you accept a helping hand. Or, you know, another one.” Jet snickered. “Besides, I can think of a thousand other favours I’d rather receive.”

“Yeah? Like what?” He knew he shouldn’t’ve asked the second the question left his mouth.

“Well,” Jet tapped his chin. “I wouldn’t say no to a morning blowjob. Just as a for instance.”

“A…?” Even through the fuzz of his hangover, Malone didn’t have to dig far to encounter that memory. His body knew what they’d done.

Jet’s lithe weight on him. The delicious friction of his hand. Floating together, cradled by the sea. If Jet’s alarm hadn’t rung, he could’ve happily stayed out there all night. Hell, he could’ve stayed out there all summer.

And that was the realisation that gave Malone pause.

He didn’t have time for midnight picnics and cosy floats and strolls on the beach hand in hand. He wasn’t on Tallon to play. He had a job to do. No, not just one job. Two jobs to do. And in the previous twelve hours, he’d failed at both.

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