Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” Roman said, sitting back. Wyatt reached out and rubbed a hand on his knee.
“Don’t worry, babe. I found us a decent substitute for a home base. And it’s close by.”
“What is it?” Roman asked, green eyes roaming down to Wyatt’s lips. The subtle curve in Roman’s smirk made Wyatt wonder if he was really concerned about the base right now or if his mind was taking him elsewhere.
“You’ll see,” Wyatt said, sitting back, trying not to think about how badly he wanted to sit in Roman’s lap right then.
Chapter 11
Roman Ashford
Roman didn’t care if their new hideout was inside a grimy truck-stop bathroom. He didn’t care if they were headed to a dumpster or a palace. None of it mattered. All he really cared about was having his Wyatt back. It was an indescribable feeling that made his laugh extra bubbly and his eyes extra bright. He felt reborn. Like a snake shedding its skin, having Wyatt next to him made him feel brand-fucking-new.
And he loved it.
It wasn’t just Roman, either. Everyone in the truck had their spirits lifted. Music was blasting, and people were singing and dancing in their seats. Bang Bang teased Phantom for his singing voice, and Phantom teased Bang Bang for his regular voice, making everyone laugh, making Roman feel as if he’d just gotten back home from a long trip.
He held Wyatt’s hand in his for nearly the entire drive, fingers interlocked. The skin-to-skin touch was enough for now, but Roman found his blood growing warmer, a primal reaction to Wyatt being back next to him. All that was separating them from each other’s naked bodies were a few pieces of flimsy fabric.
If they were on this ride alone, Roman knew he’d have to pull over. His cock wouldn’t go down, stiff as an iron rod for the entire drive. Thankfully, his prison jumpsuit was roomy enough to hide any obvious bulges, but he kept his forearm conveniently placed on his crotch just in case.
He was needy. Having been locked up for nearly a month with no human touch was enough to turn Roman into a sexual vampire. He was hungry, thirsty, needing to feed on Wyatt and his lithe body. He wondered if Wyatt was having the same reaction. Was he hiding an erection, too? His shirt was pulled down over his crotch, and he seemed to be focused on keeping it there.
Outside, the desert landscape didn’t change much, but the foliage did. The Joshua trees were replaced by tall, skinny palm trees and cacti that were nearly as tall. The hills grew larger, no longer made from loose boulders but instead resembling the hills all throughout California. It all appeared less alien-like the closer they drove into town, passing by a sign that said “Welcome to Palm Springs” as Mustang announced they had arrived.
“Not a bad spot for a new hideout,” Roman admitted as they drove down the main road of the picaresque desert town, shops and restaurants lining the streets, a massive Starbucks taking up an entire corner and making Roman crave a burst of caffeine. He’d been here a few times before and always felt an undeniable spark of magic whenever he’d visit. Not only was the city of Palm Springs extra gay, but it was also the perfect escape, surrounded by hills and palm trees and filled with homes that embraced the Art Deco decor that was so popular back in the early ’20s and ’30s. It was a little capsule of frozen, stylish time, and Roman loved it.
Mustang took them past the downtown area and into a residential community, everyone pointing out the different homes they liked. There were colorful ones with doors painted bright blue and landscaping full of succulents and rocks, and other homes that were all whites and blacks, their architecture calling back to the mid-century modern blueprint they followed but their colors modernized in a way that didn’t feel too sterile. Roman particularly enjoyed the ones that kept closest to their Art Deco roots, drawing his eyes in with the interesting angles and pops of bright colors.
“We’re here,” Wyatt said, leaning over Roman so he could get a good look at the home.
It was one of those time-capsule houses, with an angular roof and slanting windows above a bright yellow door, the walls painted a pastel pink to match the pink flamingo fountain that spit out a constant stream of water from its upturned beak.
“A famous drag queen used to live here,” Wyatt explained as they piled out of the car, Roman stretching his legs and lower back, feeling the pops of his spine as he cracked it. “I got Mimic to talk to her and tell her we were filming a reality show. She’s getting paid real nice for it, too.”
“No way,” Bang Bang said, looking at the home with a whole new reverence. “Who?”