Wedding Heat: Hole In One (MMM) Read online

  “No,” Joey said. It came out as sort of a groan. “I don’t know, Ness. Don’t make me think about it, okay?” He shovelled forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth. They were cold by now, but that didn’t matter.

  Suddenly there was a hand on his back, rubbing in circles. He knew who it had to be and he hoped it wasn’t… and he hoped it was.

  “Ready for golf, Joey?” That pitchy, lisping whine was Greg’s voice, unmistakeable.

  Joey didn’t turn around. He watched his sister read him like a book, and hung his head in defeat. So she knew. So what? Vanessa was the world’s biggest lesbian. Who was she to judge?

  Still, his heart clamped so hard he pressed his palm to his chest, urging the damn thing to beat. He wanted to glare at Greg, snap at him, tell him to go away, but the pull was too strong. What was it about that boy?

  “Nice duds,” Vanessa said, gazing over Joey’s shoulder. That got Joey curious enough to look.

  Greg was standing behind him wearing golf gear so retro Joey wondered where the guy had bought it: salmon-coloured pants that came down just below his knee, a custard-yellow golf shirt overlaid with an argyle vest and complemented by matching knee socks.

  “Thank you!” Greg replied enthusiastically. He stuck out his hand, leaning across the table to shake Vanessa’s. “You must be Joey’s beard. I’m the guy he fucked last night.”

  Even Vanessa, who always had a comeback on her demon tongue, sat silently slack-jawed.

  “She’s my sister,” Joey said. His heart was thumping so loudly now he could hardly hear his own voice. “Vanessa.”

  How could Greg have done that? Joey’d only lost his virginity last night, and already he was forced out of the closet like this? It made him want to be angry. Want to be angry. But Greg’s snarky smirk, the way he tossed his dark hair about like a starlet of the silver screen… fuck… Joey felt all gushy and gooey just looking at the guy.

  “Lovely to meet you, Vanessa.” Greg seemed entirely calm, despite their hush. “Nice tats, but honey you don’t need your T-shirt telling the world you’re a big dyke—your hair does a good enough job. What’d you cut it with, hedge trimmers?”

  In stunned silence, Vanessa gazed down at her “You say DYKE like it’s a bad thing” top. Slowly, she reached up and touched her short spires of blond hair, like she wanted to affirm they were still there. “I… it…”

  For a moment, Joey wondered if this might be the start of an all-out queen-versus-dyke food-fight smack-down, but Greg turned quickly away from Vanessa and told him, “Ditch the witch or we’ll miss our tee time.”

  “I don’t know how to play golf,” Joey said. He’d told Greg that fact earlier this morning, while basking in the bliss of orgasm, but he got the sense that Greg didn’t always listen. Though they’d only met yesterday, Joey could already tell Greg lived in his own little world—a world where he was the queen and everyone else lived to serve him.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Greg chided, pulling Joey to his feet.

  Joey hunched over, trying to pull his shirt out of his pants so it would cover his erection. There was no subtlety in the male body. And it had a mind of its own.

  They left Vanessa speechless and alone, but didn’t make it past the hallway’s first alcove before Joey was clawing at Greg’s over-the-top outfit. Pinning the guy against the wall, Joey pressed his hard dick into the cave of Greg’s emaciated belly.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Greg squealed, and Joey hunched down, kissing his pink lips to shut him the fuck up.

  Writhing against that slim body, Joey growled, sucking Greg’s tongue like a dick. What had gotten into him? Yesterday he was a virgin and today he had so much raw sexual energy he couldn’t contain it.

  “God, I want you to blow me.” Joey didn’t wait for an answer before crushing his lips against Greg’s and kissing him hard.

  “Where?” Greg asked, breathless.

  “Here!” Joey grabbed Greg’s shoulders and forced him to his knees just as the same elderly couple who’d given Vanessa the stink-eye walked past.

  Greg must have been in this situation before, because he leaned over nonchalantly and pretended to tie his shoe. Joey would never have thought of that. As it stood, his heart hammered against his ribcage just as hard as his dick pounded his pants.

  When the couple moved out of earshot, Greg stood up and said, “Not here. I’m all for exhibitionism, but it’s gotta be for the right voyeur. My family isn’t exactly the audience I’m after.”

  Joey’s dick felt too huge for his pants, like it might blow out the fly. He needed Greg’s mouth wrapped around his cock. God, he’d do anything for that sucking, worshipful warmth.

  “Where can we go?” His voice was rougher than he’d intended. He didn’t want Greg to think he was yelling or anything. “Sorry, just… fuck, I need it, man.”

  Slipping from the alcove, Greg plastered on a sneaky smirk. “I think someone’s taking someone for granted.” And with that, he strutted down the hall.

  Sunlight blazed from outside, gleaming through the door and painting one wall in searing streaks. Greg stepped over the threshold without even glancing back to make sure Joey was following.

  But of course Joey was following. Greg’s mouth was the source of all the world’s pleasures. He’d follow that guy to the ends of the earth.

  “Wait up, dude.” Joey raced after Greg, struggling to think where they could be alone. Not in his family’s room because…

  Gross!

  The recollection of walking in on his parents streaked through his mind and he winced. It hurt, actually hurt, to think about his mom and dad doing the nasty. Joey stopped in his tracks, realizing his erection had gone into hiding. “Thank god,” he sighed, following Greg all the way to the golf pro shop.

  They’d missed the boat, which pleased Joey, but he wasn’t off the hook just yet.

  “You said you don’t know how to play,” Greg said, making eye contact with Remi, the dude wearing a resort uniform. “So how ‘bout I teach you?”

  “Oh, I can give you boys a lesson,” the resort guy said, selecting a few golf clubs and leading them out of the cabin. “That’s my job. I’m the resident golf instructor here at Windhamwood Resort.”

  Remi smiled proudly, but Greg glowered. That reaction embarrassed Joey because he knew what was coming.

  “Well, Remi,” Greg sniped. “Thanks, but the last thing I need is some buff Tiger Woods honing in on my territory.”

  Poor Remi furrowed his brow, looking confused as hell. It must have then dawned on him that Greg was jealous, because he smiled kindly and nodded his head. “No problem. I read you loud and clear.” Remi glanced out at the driving range and shrugged. “But, hey, do you mind if I hit a few balls with you boys? I’ve got a bit of down time right now.”

  “Yeah, of course!” Joey said a little too enthusiastically, trying to compensate for Greg’s bitchiness.

  Bad idea.

  Snapping a club out of Remi’s grip, Greg shoved it into Joey’s hands and jostled him over to a patch of fake grass. Joey didn’t object, even though he thought Greg was being really rude to the instructor. How could he possibly object to being manhandled by the guy whose mouth he craved like a drug?

  Joey looked out across a patch of clearing as Greg grabbed a bucket of balls and set one of those little white spheres in front of him. In no time, Greg was cradling him from behind, even though Joey’s body was larger. Size didn’t matter. His legs started shaking when he felt Greg’s hard dick pelting his ass. He almost lost his balance, and had to press his club into the fake grass to keep steady.

  “Actually, your grip… it’s not… here, let me show you.” Remi came close, trapping Joey between himself and Greg. When his large hands met Joey’s, the spark was undeniable. “Left above right. Hook your index finger around your pinky. That’s it—firm but tender.”

  Joey swallowed hard, but his words came out in girlish squeals. “Firm but tender.”

  “Firm,�
� Greg growled, lodging his erection between Joey’s ass cheeks and the gliding it slowly in the crevice. “But tender.”

  When Remi adjusted his grip, Joey whimpered like a puppy. This was too much! Greg had his boyish charm, but Remi was a man, a full-grown, hairy-armed, muscular man. Now he had one hard dick trying to slice open his khakis while Macho-Macho Man wrapped both hands around his relatively scrawny wrists.

  “Good, that’s perfect.” Remi’s face was so close Joey could smell the cool mint of his breath with every word. Oh god, now Remi’s hands were on Joey’s hips, patting him down while Greg wriggled peevishly. “Now align your feet with your shoulders. That’s good. Keep steady.”

  Steady? Joey’s knees had turned to Jell-o the moment Greg’s erection pummelled his ass. Still, he mumbled, “Okay,” and tried not to keel over.

  “Get outta the way, Remi!” Greg tightened his grip on Joey’s arms. “I’m gonna teach this boy a thing or two. Joey, keep your left arm straight and your right arm slightly bent as you start your swing.”

  Remi had barely jumped out of the club’s path before Greg was forcing Joey to swing.

  “Left arm straight,” Remi instructed, watching intently.

  “Yeah, I already said that!” Greg hollered. He was too short to see over Joey’s shoulder, and when he spoke Joey felt the resonance against his back.

  “Just a reminder,” Remi said. He seemed much calmer than Greg, who was hugging Joey so tight it was nearly impossible to breathe. “No, you’re still bending your left arm. Keep it straight.”

  “Keep it straight!” Greg hollered, maybe to mock Remi and maybe just to be louder.

  “But it feels weird,” Joey said, straining not to bend his arm. “Guys, damn, this feels really unnatural! I didn’t think it would hurt so much.”

  “Just go with it,” Remi encouraged. “It’ll get easier with practice.”

  “Plant your right foot into the ground,” Greg said, like he was competing with Remi. “Balance on it while you take the club back as far as you can.”

  Joey’s muscles twinged. He nearly jumped when Greg’s man-purse (or “European men’s satchel,” as Greg called it) slipped and whacked him in the thigh. The position felt weird and wrong, and he just wanted to escape these warring golfers and their militant advice.

  “Keep your eyes on the ball,” Remi said. His voice was still very calm, but it was louder now that he was competing with Greg.

  “You’re gonna take the swing now, Joey.” Greg hugged him hard, and all he could feel was that solid cock pummelling his ass while his left arm needled with strain. “Make sure to turn your hips on the follow-through, okay?”

  “And don’t lift your head until you feel your shoulder under your chin,” Remi added.

  “I was just gonna say that!” Greg shrieked.

  Tightening his grip on Joey’s arms, Greg brought them down into the swing. Of course, Joey was too afraid of whacking Greg to go at it with any force. When his club struck down, the ball just bounced away like a big white marble.

  Greg loosened his grip and stepped away from Joey. Remi stared at the ball and didn’t say anything. Joey just shook his head.

  “It’s okay,” Greg encouraged. “Try again. Practice makes perfect.”

  “I don’t want to try again,” Joey snapped. He knew why he’d made such a crappy shot, but the guys obviously thought he just sucked. That embarrassed him so much he didn’t even want to talk about it.

  Gripping his stupid golf club, Joey turned away from the guys and took off down a wooded path by the clearing. He marched at quite a clip, swinging his club at the tall grasses while he crushed small branches underfoot. His chest felt tight, like he was angry, but he didn’t know what he was angry about.

  Joey didn’t want to golf, he just wanted Greg to suck his goddamn dick. Was that really too much to ask?

  He stopped in his track, gazing at the club in his hand. That’s when he realized what an asshole he’d been. Greg wanted to share this hobby with him, and all Joey could think about was the next blowjob.

  Footsteps landed in the dry needles behind him, and he turned, knowing exactly who it would be.

  “Hey,” Joey said, looking at Greg’s eyes instead of his bulge. “Look, man, I’m really sorry. I’ve been acting like a total dick.”

  “Yeah!” Greg shot back in his super-bitchy voice. Then he shrugged and tilted his head. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

  Joey realized he hadn’t said what he was sorry for, and he wondered if Greg thought he was apologizing for being bad at golf.

  Whacking his club through the reedy grasses, Joey tried hard to read Greg’s expression. Should he head back to the tees and try again? He didn’t feel like it, but if that’s what Greg wanted…

  “Would you ever let me fuck you?” Greg asked casually, like Joey’s apology naturally bled into the topic.

  Joey’s ass tightened. His dick pulsed against his pants. “I… I don’t know. You mean with your… in my…?”

  Cackling like a crow, Greg closed in on him and let a confident hand cup Joey’s crotch. “You’ve gone all bashful on me, huh? Well, this guy down here certainly knows what he wants.”

  When Greg started rubbing Joey’s dick through his khakis, he let out an animal groan and then stifled himself. Sure they were shielded by trees, but they were still in a public place.

  “Dude, what if we get caught?”

  Greg leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem worried about getting caught last night when you fucked me by the lake or after breakfast when you pushed me to my knees.”

  Joey groaned as Greg unzipped his khakis, finding his hard-on and rubbing it skin-to-skin. Greg’s fist was small but powerful, and Joey’s hips started thrusting, wanting more. He watched his dick bursting through the ring of Greg’s fingers and something inside his chest shuddered.

  “Remember jerking each other off in the water?” Greg asked, in a whispered growl.

  “How could I forget?” It had only happened last night, when they were skinny dipping with the guys.

  “Remember you were scared to grab my dick?” Greg teased.

  “I wasn’t scared.” Joey rolled his eyes.

  “Yes you were.”

  “No I wasn’t!” Only, then it occurred to him that this was Greg’s backward way of asking him to reciprocate. Joey cupped Greg’s balls. “So, when are you going to take off those ugly-ass pants?”

  “Bitch!” Greg shot back. “These babies are vintage.”

  Joey just laughed. A surge of dark heat went through him. He clasped the zipper on Greg’s pants and tried to slide it down nonchalantly. God, why was he so nervous about this?

  Tsking his teeth, Greg said, “Ugh, you’re taking forever! It’s like you’ve never undressed a guy before.”

  “Well, I haven’t!” Joey said. There was something he really liked about the catty way Greg talked to him. Joey had never really thought of himself as gay, even if he was attracted to other guys. But Greg? Greg was super-gay. Unapologetically gay. And Joey admired that.

  While Greg undressed and meticulously folded that vintage outfit, Joey dropped his pants. They trapped his ankles together, since he couldn’t slide them past his shoes, but he leaned his golf club against his hip so he could tear out of his shirt.

  Greg yanked the club away, naked except for his ugly-ass argyle socks, his shoes and golf cap.