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Loose Id LLC

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San Francisco CA 94102-2907

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About this Title

Genre: LGBT Erotic Contemporary

When Troy Hastings' plans for the vacation of his dreams literally goes up in smoke, he's left homeless, alone, and wearing only a hospital gown. Jason Cooper, the firefighter who rescues him, can only think of what he'd like to do to Troy. Troy's lost everything and Jason wants to help him get his life back. With each passing day, Jason wants that life to include him. But he only has seven days until Troy's friends return from the trip to make Troy see that Jason is the man he's been looking for all along.

Jason spends that time giving Troy the best vacation he's ever had, and in the process, wooing the man who has nothing to lose and everything to gain. Troy's having the time of his life, enjoying stepping out of his comfort zone, trying new things: like a little bondage, the hottest sex he's ever had, and parasailing, and he's game for more.

When the week is up, Troy will find himself a new apartment ... unless Jason can convince him to stay.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual practices.

Chapter One

"I don't care what you say; this trip is going to be just what my relationship with Douglas needs to push it to the next level." Troy held the cell phone to his ear with his shoulder as he crammed the last of his toiletries into his shaving kit.

"That's just it, Troy. You don't have a relationship with Douglas. All you have are a couple of fucks." Troy could always depend on his best friend Carlton to speak frankly, but frankly, this was not what he wanted to hear.

"Great fucks." Troy's body tingled just thinking about the three times he and Douglas had done the dirty deed.

"But only fucks. The best you can say is that you're friends with benefits."

"But that's going to change. This cruise is perfect. The romantic nights, the ocean, the exotic ports of call."

"If you can keep that alley cat Douglas in your room. Good luck with that." Carlton snorted. "You'll have to tie him to the bed."

"That sounds like fun. Maybe he could tie me up. I should pack a few ties." Troy dashed to the closet, pulled two silk neckties out, folded them, and put them into one of his bags and zipped it up.

Carlton sighed. "Look. I just don't want you hurt, you know. You've been in lust with Douglas since you met him a year ago, and nothing's come of it."

"Of course something's come of it. There's something special between us, Carl. I can feel it." Troy lugged the suitcase to the living room and placed it next to the other one and headed back to the bedroom.

"If there was, don't you think Douglas would do something about it? I'm going to tell you this because you're my best friend and I love you." Carlton paused, and Troy braced for the blow he knew was coming. "He's just not that into you."

Troy sank onto the bed and took a deep breath. "That's why this trip is so important. It's my chance to have him all to myself. To make him fall in love with me."

There was silence, then a chuckle. "Well, if anyone could make a man fall for him, it's you, Troy. You're incredible. Smart. Witty. A gorgeous guy with a heart of gold. Shit, Douglas isn't good enough for you, in my opinion."

Rolling his eyes, Troy said, "Yes, Dad. No one's good enough for your little boy."

Carlton laughed. "Damn straight."

"Well, here's a news flash. Your little boy wants Douglas, and he's going to get him. This week. Trust me; Douglas isn't going to know what hit him. When I get off that boat in seven days, it's going to be on Douglas's arm, and he's going to be so in love with me he'll be making reservations for a honeymoon suite in New Hampshire."

"For your sake, I hope so." Carlton sighed.

"Wish you were coming with us. It won't be the same without you." That was the one thing that sucked about the cruise; all his friends, except Carlton, were going.

"No can do. My flight leaves in"--a pause, then the swearing started--"forty-five minutes! Shit, the fucking cab is stuck in fucking traffic, and I can see the sign for the fucking airport just ahead."

"Hey, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Troy laughed. "Say hello to your mom for me." If Troy hadn't booked the cruise, he'd also be on the plane to Seattle to hang out with Carlton's family for the holidays, but the chance for a once-in-a-lifetime dream vacation with Douglas was too much to resist.

"She's going to miss you, but she'll understand. Driver! Can't we get out of this mess?" Carlton shouted into the phone.

Troy winced, then laughed. "Don't worry, you'll make it."

"Mom'll kill me if I miss the flight. She's sending a car to pick me up. Look, I'm going to get off the phone so I can yell at the traffic, the driver, and anyone else foolish enough to get in my way. It won't be pretty."

"Okay. See you in seven days."

"Have fun, Troy. And for what it's worth, I hope you get the man you deserve." Carlton hung up.

Troy stared at the phone. What had Carlton meant by that? He shrugged, flipped his cell shut, and tossed it on the bed.

He glanced at the clock. Nearly nine p.m. and there was still so much to do before he left. He stood and looked over his checklist. He'd called for the cab to pick him up at five in the morning, an ungodly hour, but he needed to be at the dock in Galveston by eight to load his luggage and go through security.

He'd given his neighbor Mrs. Samms the spare key to his apartment so she could water his plants and collect his mail. His cruise tickets, passport, and itinerary were in his carry-on bag sitting on top of his two matching pieces of luggage.

He opened the door to his closet and pulled out the clothes he'd wear tomorrow. Light oatmeal-colored linen trousers, a loose cotton shirt, and a hemp belt, with a matching linen jacket. He'd gone with the lighter colors to set off his new tan.

He stared at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door, then shrugged off his white terry cloth robe. It pooled like a cloud around his feet on the floor. He'd paid good money over the last four months to build up that sun-kissed glow in a tanning salon, and now it was going to pay off.

He'd gone for an all-over tan. Not a single line marred his body. He turned and checked out his ass in the mirror. Perfect. Plump. Tanned.

If that didn't drive Douglas wild, he didn't know what would. He'd seen the way Douglas had looked at other men, especially men with darker skin. So in Troy's plan to get his man, getting a tan had been one of the first things he'd done.

He ran his hand over his abs and flat belly and turned to the side, stretching his back leg out like he'd seen so many cover models do.

"Fine as frog's hair," he whispered. His eyes dropped to his cock. "And hung like a horse." He flicked his dick with his finger, and the brief sting shot up its length and into his balls.

He chuckled and, naked, entered the bathroom to start his bath. Just an hour or so soaking in a hot tub of scented water would do him a world of good and take some of the tension out of his shoulders.

Really, there was no reason to be so tense. He had it all under control.

His dream vacation was just ten hours away.

The cigarette dangled from the old man's lips. The television blared. The bottle of whiskey he'd emptied lay on the floor next to his recliner.

He snorted in his sleep.

The cigarette fell, rolled down his belly, and came to rest on his thigh. The embers flared, burned a hole in his flannel pajama bottoms, and seared his skin.

"Fuck."

Half-awake, still drunk, he swatted at the pain, knocking the still-burning cigarette to the floor. It rolled across the bare linoleum and landed next to the rug under the couch.

The cheap cotton rug smoked, smoldered, then ignited.

"I'm not getting out of this tub until the hot water is gone and I look like a prune."

Troy closed his eyes, inhaled, and then exhaled, taking in the calming scents of the too-generous dose of aromatherapy salts he'd dumped into the bath. The water in the tub was the perfect temperature, the candles he'd lit gave off a soft glow, and he sank deeper in the water, letting go of the tightness in his body.

He could just imagine the look of lust on his face when Douglas first saw him, how he'd wonder if Troy's tan was all over. He couldn't wait until Douglas explored every inch of his body to discover if it was.

Carlton was all wrong. Troy wasn't fooling himself; he knew exactly the kind of man Douglas was. The kind who fucked around, but during this vacation, that was going to change.

No more alley cat.

Douglas would be eating out of Troy's hand and purring like a kitten.

The edge of the worn, floral-patterned couch caught fire; hungry red tongues of flame ate their way up the front, devouring the cushions, and then unsatisfied, leaped to the drapes behind them. As they ignited, black smoke in unrelenting hot billows rolled upward to meet the ceiling and then spread across it.

The temperature in the room skyrocketed as the fire attacked the far wall.

The old man's lungs filled with black smoke. He coughed and fell forward out of the chair, landing on the warmer-than-usual floor.

"Shit!" Coughing, gasping, near-blind, and desperate for air, he crawled on trembling hands and knees toward the door. Greedy, unmerciful, the fire took possession of the room, filling it with thick black smoke and lung-scorching heat.

The old man collapsed two feet from the door.

The entire room seemed to groan, held its breath, and then surrendered to the red and black hell of a flashover.

Slender orange fingers, searching for more oxygen to feed on, wound their way through the thin walls between apartments and found fresh fuel next door.

All the tension left Troy's body as he soaked.

He sighed.

This, and Douglas, was all he needed. Okay, not really all, but having Douglas would be a great start.

He'd fallen for the man the first time they'd met. Douglas had been a friend of a friend in Troy's little group of friends, five gay men in their thirties who enjoyed spending time together, eating, clubbing, and dissecting their love lives. They'd called themselves the Breakfast Club because they'd met one morning at a diner after a hard night of clubbing. Troy and Carlton, two queen-size sheets to the wind, had staggered into the diner, spotted Tom, Mark, and Mel sitting in a large booth looking equally wasted, and laughing, they'd joined them. The rest, as they say, is history.

It had been the five of them for three years. Then last year Mel had introduced Douglas to the group, and that was all she wrote for Troy.

Douglas had movie-star good looks and knew it. And he was a man-whore of the first caliber. And Troy should know one when he saw one, because he'd been a slut too.

But when Troy met Douglas, he'd given up his man-chasing ways. And gladly. Troy had found his man. Unfortunately, Douglas hadn't gotten the memo. He remained an alley cat, footloose, free of all entanglements, making the rounds to eat off the proverbial laps of different lovers.

After six months, Troy had finally maneuvered Douglas into showing up at his apartment, alone. It didn't take much more than Troy's opening a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses, and handing one to Douglas. Douglas took a sip as Troy leaned forward, trailed his finger down Douglas's ripped chest, and over one hard nipple.

"Let's fuck," Troy whispered.

Chapter Two

Unsatisfied, the fire ate the wall between the apartments and continued on. One arm of it attacked the ceiling, as the other one extended across the antique wool ten-by-twelve Turkish rug, gobbling up every strand of hand-knotted, hand-dyed yarn.

The designer leather love seat and the secondhand teak coffee table, including a collector's autographed edition of turn-of-the-century photographs of naked men, were devoured like appetizers at a cheap happy hour. The fire moved on and rapidly consumed the luggage that, like two soldiers, blocked the way to the bedroom and small bath.

Black superheated smoke flowed along the twelve-foot ceiling and banked. The thermal layer moved lower, filled the space, and touched the small round plastic device on the wall near the kitchen.

Troy opened his eyes to a loud, insistent, and very unfamiliar blaring. He sat up in the tub, sloshing water over the sides, and looked around.

Was that the smoke detector?

"Couldn't be." He hadn't left anything on in the apartment. Nothing cooking. No candles lit except in here. He looked at them, then decided they weren't the problem.

He sniffed the air like a dog.

"Shit! That's smoke!" He surged out of the tub and grabbed a towel. Dripping water across the tile floor, he rushed to the door.

Gray smoke, thin and hesitant, as if it had a secret, seeped under the bathroom door.

Troy grabbed the doorknob. "Fuck!"

Pain shot through him like he'd touched a hot pan's unprotected handle on the stove. He shook his hand, gave it a quick look, then went to the sink and turned on the taps. Holding his hand under the water, he grimaced as the pain subsided.

Smoke wound around his knees like a cat, and he coughed. The room had become a sauna, hot, moist heat baking him. He'd never liked saunas.

Somehow, unbelievably, his apartment was on fire.

Adrenaline exploded through his body like an orgasm.

Fight or flight?

No choice. He needed to get the hell out of there. Panic built like a coiled spring as Troy scanned the small bath. The window over the tub was his only exit.

Blinking back tears, he scooped up the towel he'd let drop to the floor and plunged it into the bathtub of water, then pulled it out. Slinging the sopping terry cloth around his waist, Troy's hands shook as he jerked another towel off the bar next to the sink and doused it in the tub.

Coughing, he wiped his face, then flung the soaking towel over his head. After climbing up on the tub, he balanced on the edge as he flipped open the locks and pushed the window up.

Wisps of gray escaped before he could get the window open wide enough to crawl out. His eyes watered, nose ran, and sweat dripped. He wiped his face again. The towel wasn't as wet as it had been just a moment ago.

The sauna had disappeared. He was trapped in a fucking oven.

And he was going to die. Burn to death.

Heart slamming in his chest, he and the smoke vied for the small space of the open window. He got his legs through and sat on the ledge. Twisting his body, he maneuvered his shoulders and head out, and at last he gulped down clean air.

He looked down. Eyes watering so badly he could barely see, he coughed and his body trembled. He didn't need to see to know he was three floors up.

Every muscle, every nerve, every fiber in his body, and every neuron fired in his mind, screaming at him to jump. To leap. To fly. To just get the fuck away from being burned alive.

Troy sat on the windowsill, refusing to obey.

Even as one part of his mind tried to kill him, another part kept him alive.

Behind him, a burst of heat seared the bare skin on his back. Too terrified to look, knowing the bathroom would soon be in flames, he shifted farther out onto the ledge.

Sirens in the distance.

Nearly blind, choking, he wept. He would be rescued. He just had to hold on.

Troy cleared away the mixture of sweat and tears dripping down his face with the now-dry towel and looked down. A small ledge ran along the bottom of the window, nothing more than a row of bricks standing out from the facade. Nothing more than a toehold.

He took a deep breath, twisted, and holding on to the sill, faced the building and stared through the window. Hell burned on the other side of his bathroom door, outlining the flimsy barrier in bright red.

He had to move. Now.

Fingers clinging onto what little purchase he could find, barefoot, he flattened his body against the bricks and stepped onto the thin ledge as if it were a tightrope and he were a fucking Wallenda.

Every time Jason rode the engine to a call, it was a wild rush. This was something he never wanted to get used to. Maybe when he was old and gray. Hell, maybe never. He'd done a lot of crazy shit in his life, but this? It didn't get any better.

He glanced from the backseat of the cabin of the pride of Engine Company Twenty-Five to his boss, Lieutenant Alan Morris, riding shotgun. Eyes closed and head nodding as he slept, the man looked like he could be on a Sunday drive with the family, instead of in a forty-foot-long ladder truck on his way to a two-alarm fire.

"Yeeehaaww!" Jason whooped, just to get the old man going.

"Shit, Cooper. I was taking a nap." Morris groaned and tipped his helmet over his face.

"Coming up now!" The driver's voice crackled over their headsets. "Get ready to rock and roll!" In the background, Jason heard the driver notifying command of their arrival and switching to the tactical channel for communications.

Jason snapped his chin strap to the helmet and grinned at the man sitting behind Morris, a new recruit named Tom. The twenty-one-year-old had that gleam in his eyes, as if he'd just been told he was going to be let loose in a candy store with a shopping cart, and it was all fucking free.

He reached out and slapped the guy's arm. "Take the controls this time." Morris opened his eyes and gave Jason a nod. Jason returned a wink.

"No shit? I get to launch the ladder?"

"If we need it, sure. No better experience than in the field." Jason knew you could practice this at the training facility until you had it down pat, but nothing beat having to perform in an actual fire.

The sirens of the other units, police, fire, with a couple of ambulances thrown in, filled the night air and made the only music he danced to. His heart beat faster as the adrenaline in his system ratcheted up a notch. Man, there was nothing better to climb the ladder with than colored lights strobing off the glass of the surrounding buildings. Hell, it was his personal dance club.

And he was here for the party.

The truck slowed, then came to a stop near the first available hydrant, the doors opened. Jason swung out of the cabin with Tom right behind him, and they ran to the back of the truck. After pulling out the hose, they slung it around the hydrant and motioned for the truck to continue up to its position near the building, deploying the rest of the hose. He and Tom worked like a two-man precision drill team to break the cap and attach to hose to the hydrant. That done, they trotted up to the back of their parked truck. They might not use the water, but they had to be connected just in case.

At the rear of the ladder truck, Tom joined him at the controls.

"What do we have?" he asked.

Jason surveyed the building. "Holy mother of God." He gave a low, soft whistle.

Flames erupted from windows along the entire third floor, and the fourth floor, the building's top floor, had at least two units burning. It wouldn't be long before that entire floor was engulfed too.

"They're going to have to roll to a four alarm." That would bring in the neighboring fire districts.

Police held back the crowd as members of the other fire units' search teams entered the burning building. Cops and firemen evacuated the adjoining buildings, emptying men, women, and children onto the streets. The cops moved them to a safe location down the block but kept them herded together for a head count.

To the untrained eye, it might have looked like chaos, but to Jason, it was a well-choreographed ballet. Half a dozen vehicles disgorged massive long hoses from their back ends like giant insects giving birth, as his counterparts raced to nearby hydrants, broke the caps, hooked up the hoses, and opened the valves. As a rolling wave of water filled each hose, they came to life, powerful snakes being charmed by men and women trained to handle them.

Tom pointed. "Up there. Shit. Is that a man?"

Jason's gaze followed Tom's arm. He squinted through the haze of smoke and embers.

"Fuck."

Halfway between two windows spewing flames, a man clung like a fly to the side of the building.

"What the hell is he holding on to?" Tom shouted.

"I don't know, but we're going for him." Jason slapped Tom's helmet and jerked his thumb up. Like a precision drill team, Tom and he went into action, lowering the four hydraulic stabilizers in place to keep the rig from tipping over. Once that was done, he watched as Tom rotated the ladder into position.

Jason counted the seconds as the ladder unfolded, one section sliding out at a time. And taking way too long. He stared up at the man, assessing him.

Strong back muscles corded with effort, the skin covering them slick with sweat and black from smoke or maybe burns. Fuck. Head to the side, long arms outstretched, and fingers gripped brick to hold him in place.

He wore nothing but a towel wrapped around his narrow waist, covering an ass that Jason wanted to see naked. Oh shit. Some of the guys laughed about getting hard just being in the midst of the action at a fire; hell, he'd experienced it himself. But damn, he wasn't supposed to get hard looking at someone he was about to rescue.

Once the ladder extended far enough to reach their target, Jason began his climb. Halfway up, he called out to the man, "Fire department. I'm coming to get you. Hold on."

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" the guy yelled back, then coughed.

With an attitude like that, Jason knew the guy would be all right.

"Almost to you."

"Hurry. Please."

This time Jason heard the fear in the guy's voice. "I'm going to help you onto the ladder; then you're going to have to climb down. Do you think you can do that?" At the top of the ladder now, Jason reached up and touched the man's calf.

"Yes. I can do that." He nodded.

"I'm going to climb up over you, then back you down onto the ladder."

The man coughed and nodded again. Jason climbed higher on the ladder and put his gloved hands on the man's waist, but they slid off sweat-slicked skin.

"Shit." He wiped his gloves off on the towel, brushing the backs of the guy's thighs.

"Hey. Don't get fresh. We haven't been introduced." The man choked. He leaned his head against the heated bricks. "Just get me down." He shuddered.

"It's going to be okay, man. I got you." Jason took him by the waist and eased him back. "Step back. Put your foot on the rung of the ladder."

"Okay." He took his foot off the ledge, and his hands slid down the bricks. "Don't let me fall." His foot, still on the ledge, trembled, and Jason felt it through the man's straining body.

Jason pressed into his back to let him know he was right there. "I've got you. Feel me? I'm not going to let you fall."

Coughing, the man lowered himself, sliding down the front of Jason's jacket, his ass pressing against Jason's groin. Jesus he shouldn't be turned on, but he was. How twisted was that?

Jason wrapped one arm around the man's body and held him as he got both feet onto the ladder.

"Now, we go down."

"Okay."

Jason moved his hand over the man's sweat-drenched chest. He couldn't resist pressing against his well-defined pec and wishing he could feel that hard nipple with the bare palm of his hand.

The man reached up and covered Jason's larger, gloved hand with his. And pressed it into his body, keeping Jason right where he was.

Oh shit. He pulled his hand away to grab the handrails of the ladder.

Jason began his descent, one rung at a time, the guy following, his towel-covered bottom just above Jason's head. If Jason reached up, he could jerk the towel off and get a good look at that tight ass. The view of muscular thighs was killing him, keeping him hard.

"Cooper, what's going on up there?" Tom's voice interrupted Jason's randy thoughts, thank God.

"Taking it slow. He's pretty shaky. Want to make sure he gets down."

"Good man."

Jason groaned. He wasn't a good man; he was a horny man.

And he wanted the guy in the towel.