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Hidden in the shadows of the doorway, Johan stood silently, watching. The scene in the square in front of him reminded him of one of those fifties noir movies he tried very hard to miss. Tall, sultry blonde woman, spiked heels clattering on the rain slick pavement and her long legs looking at least twice as long as they had any right to be, sashaying back and forth along that one little stretch of sidewalk. Her little black skirt was short and when she walked, her pink panties played peek-a-boo.

Cars slowed, some stopped, but not as many as her looks suggested should linger. Her tits alone were worth a second, even a third look, if you were into tits - which Johan was when he wanted woman flesh. That didn't happen often, but she caught his eye, made his cock twitch. The little white blouse she almost wore covered about a quarter of what it needed to. Her sleek, white belly gleamed in the streetlights, or headlights, when a car cruised by.

Maybe it was her lips that grabbed him. Plump and red, with a bee-stung look. That's what they used to call those kind of lips, he recalled. Even from the distance, he could see that her eyes were pale blue and the lashes couldn't be real. No one had lashes that thick. Her scent was thick, rich, filled with blood and the luxurious smell of a woman in heat. Perhaps it was that smell that attracted him.

Johan leaned back against the wall, sliding his full length leather coat back and exposed the growing bulge in the tight matching slacks. The only colour he'd worn that evening was the deep purple silk shirt. Petre loved it on him and had asked him to wear it.

Petre, his lover, his mate, how he adored the slender, golden man. Thinking about him brought a smile, and another stirring in his crotch. My, but he was horny.

Movement. A car - one of those low, expensive jobs with the tinted windows and too much horsepower - pulled up to the curb and stopped a few feet from his girl.

Nose in the air, she insolently flipped that luscious long hair over her shoulder and turned away. He thought he caught a frown wrinkle her brow, but he wasn't sure. For a moment, she looked like she might walk away. But she must have thought better of it. Maybe rent was due or the fridge was empty - something made her turn herself around.

With a fake smile plastered on her face, she sidled on over to the passenger's side door and bent forward.

Johan would have given anything to be standing behind her at that moment. Bad planning, he chastised himself.

A few words exchanged and the would-be client pulled away with a chirp of his tires. Johns, he thought. The guy must have thought he could have her for the price of a ride in his big fancy - car.

Chuckling, Johan listened for prey, and heard nothing. Quiet nights were tough on the grocery list.

He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, licked the sharp incisors.

From the alley across the street and to his left stumbled the wretched remains of a woman he'd seen over the years, once vital, but age and hard wear had taken their toll. Her sunken eyes peered vacantly up and down the empty street. Threadbare clothing hung off emaciated shoulders, thankfully covering her from chin to toe. Turning to her left, the ancient relic plodded away, seeking refuge in whatever empty barrow she could find.

Johan had seen her before on his nightly excursions, often feeding on the refuse of someone else's trash. She'd live a while longer, her drug habit ensuring her own private pleasures. He couldn't imagine himself hungry enough to harvest her.

A squeal of tires from his lady's side of the street pulled his attention that way. Another car, less flashy, more nondescript, pulled to a stop beside her. Two men - one enormous and obese, soft looking, the other, a runt by comparison - leapt out of the back doors and were on her in a flash.

"No," she snarled when the two men grabbed her, one to an arm. She kicked and jerked her arms, writhing in their grasp. "Le' me go, you bastards!" "Cool it, babe. You ain't going anywhere but where we want," growled one of the goons. Using one hand to hold her, he moved the other over the woman freely, and his grin was horrible to see.

Johan took a step into the street, contemplating a rescue. It'd been years since he'd bowed to that temptation. Before he made up his mind, the girl was tossed into the back seat and both men had joined her. Her shriek was the last thing he heard before the car sped away.

Too late, he raced for the vehicle.

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Silken softness wrapped around his cock, sucking gently, exquisitely.

Robert shifted. Rolling onto his back, he stretched his legs out, barely conscious of being in bed, not really awake.

Wet suction pulled at his shaft. A tongue slid over the crown of his cock, the tip delving into the slit. His thighs eased open.

Yes, a dream. That's what it is. A wet dream, a fantasy - a disembodied mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, all there just for his pleasure.

The suction eased, the lips barely skimming over his shaft - up and down, up and down. His hips twitched, his buttocks clenched, his thighs tightened. He splayed his knees wider. A tongue moved wetly up his shaft again. The sensation faded.

Excitement waned. He fell into deeper sleep.

A face appeared - dark hair tousled, thick brows with one arched more then the other, sideburns longer than fashionable. The nose had a bump in the middle. Eyes - brown, wide open, framed with beautifully long lashes - watched him. Lips - thick, moist, kissable - opened.

Robert's hips moved, churned his ass into the bed. Soft sheets brushed against his shaft and its head wept and stuck to the material.

He reached for himself. A squeeze, a tug. He sighed and his slumber again deepened.

The beautiful, handsome face vanished, but the mouth remained. Lips, tongue, brushed the thick dome of his cock.

His balls shifted, moving up closer to his body. He clenched his ass. In sync, his hips rose, pushing his cock shaft further in.

Taking his hand off his cock, he reached lower and cupped the soft, nearly hairless sac below. Holding it, he pulled down on the two walnut-sized orbs.

He relaxed, his sleep deepened again. Time passed.

"You like that, don't you, my love?" a soft masculine voice whispered huskily.

"Yes," he hissed. Or I thought I did. Am I speaking? Am I dreaming? Does it matter?

The slickness of a mouth returned, nipping at the flesh along the length of his cock.

His shaft thickened instantly, if it ever actually had deflated at all. He was hard. He wanted to fuck.

He dreamed. The face was back. Thick lashes rose, revealing lust-filled, dark eyes looking up at him. The nose, a little too sharp at the tip, brushed his pubes as the mouth descended, taking him in to the hilt. Grunting, he basked in the feel of that lovely, soft, wet mouth engulfing his cock. The head touched, rubbed against the back of a throat.

"Yes," he hissed again. Or is it the first time?

He shuddered, reached for the face, connected with...nothing, air, sheets. His fingers slipped over the cool silk fabric, gripped, clenched and held tight while his cock was lavished with gulping pleasure.

A chin nudged his ball sac, pushing the magic orbs to and fro. He arched his back, his fingers and toes curled tight, he was aching for release - half-asleep, half-awake, breathless with lust.

The face vanished. The mouth abandoned him.

Robert sat up. One of his hands rested on the bed behind him, supporting him, the other moved to his stomach. His cock pulsed against his palm. Glancing around, he peered into the corners, along the walls, the window shades drawn tight. He was alone.

He was fucking hard, needed to come. He was exhausted.

Peering at the clock on the bedside table, he saw the arms pointing at the three and the ten. It wasn't ten fifteen.

Sagging, he fell back on the pillow. Too old for a wet dream, he told himself. Too tired to finish. Still he reached down and cupped himself, sighing. His thoughts wandered to the dream of the face, the mouth, those deep brown, smouldering eyes.

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Just then, the door to the car park opened, and in walked the stud who'd caught Ethan's attention earlier. The man was still wearing just the cut-offs and work boots, and Ethan had to grab control of himself before his mouth opened and he said something completely inappropriate. Sandy blond hair hung in a ponytail down his back. His chest glistened with sweat, the smattering of hair plastered to his flesh. Muscular thighs rippled as the guy walked closer, and Ethan couldn't help but wonder how they'd feel wrapped around him. He forced down a groan, but there wasn't a chance in Hell he could have looked away.

"Hey, Stan, I'm done for the day. That Wisteria was a mess, but it looks good, now." The hunk faced Ethan and nodded.

"Thanks, Cade. That thing should have been hacked back a couple of years ago." He nodded sideways. "Mr. Roberts, this is Cade Wyatt, our handyman and gardener. Cade, Mr. Roberts is here for the weekend, so you'll be seeing him around for a couple of days."

Ethan stretched out his arm, and the two men shook hands. Cade's grip was firm, his skin slightly rough from the physical labour. "Pleased to meet you." Ethan fought to keep his hand from trembling.

Cade looked at him, his brown eyes going from his face down to his mid-section and then back up - as if the man were judging him or evaluating him. Ethan felt his cock stir and prayed he wouldn't get an erection.

"Likewise." Cade released his hand and smiled. "You here on business or pleasure?"

"It started out as just a weekend away. But, I just heard that Mr. Felton here is thinking of selling the inn, so it might be business, too."

"Really?" Stan and Cade said together.

Ethan chuckled and nodded. "Yeah. I've been thinking a lot about getting out of the rat race I'm in. Something like this inn would be perfect."

"Well, that would be spectacular." Stan beamed.

"Sounds like you two might have some business to talk over," Cade remarked and turned towards the door. "I'll see you in the morning, Stan."

"I didn't mean to rush you off, Cade," Ethan said quickly. "It's a little late to be discussing business, anyway."

"No problem. It's been a long day, and I've got some relaxing to do." Cade opened the door and, over his shoulder, said, "I'll see you tomorrow, maybe."

Ethan watched the man's ass twitch back and forth as he strode away. Cade headed around the building and was quickly out of sight. But, not out of mind. Ethan would be thinking about him for a while, that was for sure.

"He's a good man, that Cade Wyatt. He's been a godsend to Margaret and me. We'd never have been able to handle the upkeep on this place."

"Yeah, he seems nice." Ethan wondered about the man. He was attracted, no doubt there. But what about Cade? Was the sexy stud straight or gay?

"Mr. Roberts, were you serious about the inn? I mean buying it?" A note of enthusiasm sounded in Stan's voice. "We haven't even got it on the market."

"I think I'm serious. Of course, I'd want to check the place out before I say anything else."

"Sure, and really, Margaret and I haven't actually made the decision, yet."

Ethan nodded and, with his coffee packets in hand, headed for the exit. "We'll talk about it, Stan. There's no rush. Right now, I think I'll check out my room a little more."

"Good night, Mr. Roberts." Stan walked him to the door leading outside. "Don't forget, breakfast between eight and ten. Margaret really does a nice spread, considering the few guests we have."

"Oh? How many are there?" Ethan asked.

"Just one other guest at the moment. An older lady. She's at the far end from you, upstairs."

"That's it?"

"Yep. Unusual, even for this time of year, or so I was told by the previous owner."

Ethan nodded. "I'll see you in the morning. Thanks for the coffee packets." He headed along the walkway for his room but noticed a pathway leading towards the surrounding trees and the ocean beyond.

A stroll on the beach sounds like a fantastic way to unwind. He wandered down the path.

When he reached the stunted fir trees, the trail became much more evident and easier to follow, even in the gathering darkness. A dozen paces further along, the trees opened onto the sand.

Someone was walking towards the ocean - a man. He was too far away to tell a great deal more, except he had wide shoulders and seemed to be muscular. And he had long hair.

Could it be Cade?

Ethan stepped closer to the base of a tree and peered across the sand, trying to make out more detail. The figure reached the water and, with a sudden spurt of energy, raced ahead eight or ten paces and dived in.

Ethan watched and waited for the man to surface, certain it was Cade. It had to be. Who else would have that long, sexy hair and be on this beach at exactly the right time?

The moon hovered on the distant horizon, its curved brilliance sending a long trail across the ocean, reaching for the very beach he was observing. A cooling breeze wafted across his face, and he sighed with pleasure. The figure, Cade, surfaced and swam out for what seemed like a mile but couldn't have been more than a few dozen metres. When he began the journey back to shore, Ethan wondered if he should leave the man alone. The voyeur in him decided to stay.

A few moments later, he was glad he had.

The man walked out of the water and headed straight for where Ethan stood. Luckily, Ethan was in shadows and close to the tree so he knew he wouldn't be seen easily. He was sure he'd never be able to explain why he was lurking in the woods if he was noticed.

It was indeed Cade, and as he got even nearer, Ethan's heart raced. The man was naked. His midsection was paler than the rest of his skin, but not much, and the thatch of dark hair around his cock and balls stood out starkly.