3. Thomas

CHAPTER 3

Thomas

I'm used to traveling long hours and with unfamiliar hotel rooms. But every time, somehow there's still nothing quite like that first shower to wash the journey off your skin. I feel like a new man as the steaming hot water cascades down my tired muscles. My busted knee is especially appreciative after all that time sitting on the plane. Even with the extra legroom, the cabin pressure just plays havoc with it.

And this isn't some sterile motel bathroom, either. Oh no. This is an open-air rainfall shower. Well, almost. Presumably, they want to keep the creepy crawlies out. But there's a floor-to-ceiling window that looks onto a wall of tropical leaves and vines. There's a circular flagstone to stand on, but it's surrounded by big, gray pebbles that make me feel like I'm down on the beach. The walls are wooden slats. The showerhead itself is massive, making it seem like I'm under a real waterfall.

Paradise.

Or it's close, at least. What would make it truly perfect would be if I had a sweet boy getting clean by my side, preferably after some delicious lovemaking. I do my very best not to picture a certain hopeless young British man, especially since I somehow managed not to see him once on the flight or anytime between leaving the plane and getting out of the airport. He's long gone, so that's probably what allows me to imagine he's there with me without too much guilt. Maybe on his knees, blinking up at me with water droplets clinging to his gorgeous dark lashes as he sucks Daddy's cock until…

Fucking hell. I've barely been jerking off for a couple of minutes before I blow all over my hand. Well, that was most likely something else I needed after such a long flight.

Jet lag is a bitch, so I know my best bet is to stay awake now until a decent bedtime. As I towel off, I check the hotel information guide and see I've still got plenty of time to head back to the main resort restaurant for breakfast and a bucket load of coffee.

I don't have any activities planned for today other than the meet and greet this afternoon, so it's just going to be mingling by the pool and the restaurant for the next several hours. Perhaps I'll make friends with some of the other guests. It's so liberating knowing we're all here for the same kind of reason.

And I don't have a schedule to follow! It's been months—years—since I could wake up and just decide on a whim how my day is going to look. I feel like my lungs can expand fully for the first time in forever.

I'm still an athlete at heart, though. I miss running out in the wild, but that's too much pressure for my knee these days. However, the resort does have a gym, so a treadmill is an option, and something tells me it's going to have a good view as well. I can hit the weights and other equipment, too, not to mention swim lengths in the bigger pool.

After that glorious shower, I don't feel in a particular rush to build up a sweat just yet. Still, I drop my towel to the floor and open up my suitcase on the end of my bed, pondering what kind of outfit to wear. Shorts and a T-shirt seem safest with sneakers. That way I can go for a walk if I want and still be comfortable. I know modesty is important in Indonesia as well, even if we are in a private resort with a particularly liberal-minded set of clientele, so that sort of ensemble should cover all the important bits.

I like to unpack as soon as I arrive, so I start to arrange my clothes in the closet and dresser as I pull them out. The underwear appears to be crushed at the bottom, but that's okay, I'll get to it eventually. I'll just?—

My door handle jiggles.

I snap my head in its direction, my heart rate speeding up. Did I imagine it? No, there it goes again. And again. Someone sounds like they're getting mad on the other side.

Jesus H Christ. Has some reporter or fan already tracked me down? Do they think I'm not here and are hoping to break in to steal a souvenir? Or—worse—do they know why I'm here and are hoping to get salacious information on me for a media scoop or blackmail? All my dreams of a secret getaway are quickly going down the drain, and anger rises in my chest.

Is one vacation away from the rest of the world really too much to ask?

Logic flies from my brain as I savagely decide to let them know I am most definitely inside this room and there will be no going through my trash today. They want to see Thomas Julio Beltran? They're going to get more than they bargained for.

I march over to the door, hearing whoever it is cursing as I reach for the handle. As naked as the day I was born and still damp from my blissful shower and jerk-off session, I yank the door open, ready to raise all hell.

"What?" I bark.

Then I freeze.

As does the person in front of me.

Arlington Hythe-Wandsworth.

My brain can't comprehend what's happening, so for a second I just stare at him as he stares back at me. Then he shakes himself and staggers back a step. "What are you doing in my room?" he squeaks, his pale skin blossoming pink.

Reality comes crashing back to me. The fact that I don't have a stitch of clothing on suddenly becomes horribly apparent.

"Your room?" I cry as I spin around, scoop up my towel, and rescue what's left of my dignity by throwing it around my waist. "Also, hello again."

I rest my hand on the doorframe and grin at him. Holy shit, my little cutie pie is here on this retreat! What are the chances of that? I decide not to even attempt to calculate them and instead just thank my lucky stars.

Arlington blinks several times, his mouth hanging open. "Hello again," he says faintly. "Am I dreaming?"

That does my ego the world of good. He looks just as flustered and excited to see me as I am him. Fucking hell. If he's here, then there's a chance he's exactly what I pegged him to be the moment I laid eyes on him.

A sweet boy in need of a Daddy.

My luck couldn't really be that good, could it? Well, after my torn and dislocated knee cut short my career in the blink of an eye, perhaps the universe owes me one?

"You're not dreaming," I assure him. "But I think you are lost. What room number were you looking for?"

"Fifty-six," he says immediately, patting down his pockets, presumably searching for the flimsy wallet his key came in. The card itself won't have the number on it, but the disposable casing will.

I frown. "Well, this is fifty-six. You got that right."

He finds what he was looking for…and his face instantly drops. If possible, his creamy skin gets even blotchier. "Oh…" he utters softly. "I'm not fifty-six. I'm sixty-five. I'm terribly sorry. How mortifying. Please forget this ever happened. I'll just…"

He turns to leave, but I wave my hands to make him stop, only just catching my towel in time before it falls. "I'm not sorry!" I blurt out. He turns around, and I'm probably giving him the goofiest grin, but I can't help it. "Now we both know we're staying here." I don't need to mention that implies that we also both have shared interests. Not just the kink. There's no way he's not interested in men by the way he keeps blushing.

"Yes, that is rather extraordinary," he says in that delightfully posh accent of his. He offers me a tiny smile that I lap up.

"I'm Thomas," I say, completely forgetting that I was going to introduce myself to everyone here as Tom. Ah, well. This kid doesn't strike me as a sports fan. He's certainly given no indication that he knows who I am. Besides, I kind of want him to know me by my actual name.

I stick out my hand. He looks at it skeptically for a second before slipping his against it for a shake. Such baby soft skin that it makes my heart flutter.

"Arlo," he says, finally looking back into my eyes. Then he smiles, like he's relieved. "I'm Arlo. It's a pleasure to meet you, Thomas."

I hold on to him for just a second longer than I probably should. Then I release him with a chuckle. Arlo, not Arlington. For all I know, he's been ‘Arlo' his whole life. But I still get a little thrill, glad I know his preferred name and not just the very long one from his passport.

"Hi, Arlo," I say happily. "Hey, why don't you gimme a sec to throw some clothes on and I'll help you find your actual villa, hmm?"

"Oh, no," he splutters. "I've already inconvenienced you tremendously. I couldn't?—"

I lift my hand to stop him. "You ain't inconveniencing a thing. Please, let me do this for you."

I'm a Daddy, I'm trying to tell him. Are you a boy? Would you enjoy being taken care of?

He hesitates long enough that my resolve wavers. But then he lets out a little puff of air and gives me the sweetest, shy smile. "Thank you. That would be so very kind."

Score!

Doing my best not to wiggle in excitement, I give him a nod, then turn back to my case. Glancing over my shoulder, I can see he's also turned away to give me some privacy through the open door. I'm almost disappointed, but then I'm glad that this boy has good manners.

Without really caring for aesthetics, I pull on whatever my hands land on first. In less than a minute, I'm dressed in shorts and a tee like I'd planned with sneakers and socks. I even remembered briefs, which is quite impressive, since my mind was a hundred percent still on that young man hovering on my porch.

Part of me just wants to hurtle myself at him. I feel like I've been waiting my whole life for him. I know that's ridiculous. I'm just excited to maybe try proper Daddying for the first time ever. But it seems like too crazy a coincidence that our paths have crossed so many times already like they have.

Could it be Kismet?

Slow down, I tell myself sternly as I find my own key card and slip it into the back pocket of my shorts. I'm not going to fall for the first man I meet. I don't even know what he's looking for. Except his villa. Right now, I know he needs some help and reassurance, so that's what I'm going to give him.

"Okay, ready when you are," I declare as I close my door behind me. He turns and smiles shyly again, making my heart flip. Unsure what to say in that moment, I simply grab his case.

"Oh, no, you really don't have to," he starts to protest.

But I wink at him and start rolling the thing. "Nonsense," I say. This is what Daddies do.

I see the way he shivers at my wink, and that fuels me and my bum knee down the stairs. We fall into step along the path. I know his villa can't be too far away, but suddenly, my mind has gone blank. I almost never get to flirt with guys, certainly not when we are both free to flirt and know the other is gay and kinky. I want to ask what he's into, specifically, but that's so not the vibe.

"So, uh," I try, not really sure where I'm going with it.

"So you're American?" he says at practically the same time. "Oh, I beg your pardon. You were saying?"

I laugh and shake my head, grateful that he was at least able to think of a normal human question to ask.

"Nah, it's cool. Yeah, I'm a New Yorker, born and bred."

"But you flew from London?" he clarifies, which is fair.

"Yeah," I say, suddenly unsure. "I had some work stuff going on." I glance at him, but he's just nodding and watching his step as he walks. I'm glad he doesn't ask what I do. I'm so incredibly lucky that I'm on a second career path that I love. But my fame really isn't how I want to define myself during this trip.

"So you live in New York?" he asks.

Ah.

Suddenly, it hits me what he's asking. "Yeah," I admit.

And he lives in England.

It's not like the twinkly light in my eyes and butterflies in my stomach all vanish, but he's reminded me of a very important fact.

We live in different countries with none other than the Atlantic Ocean between us.

I already knew I needed to chill with all that Kismet stuff. I'm just hyped from being at a kink resort with the potential of a sweet boy dangling in front of my nose. But that's fine. A reality check was what I needed anyway. Actually, this changes nothing. We can still get together and have some fun, if that's something he's interested in. In fact, only having a week or so to do that with no expectations or strings attached will be perfect. No pressure. That was always the plan.

"Here we go," I declare as we reach his villa, and I bound up the stairs. Screw you, bum knee! It also pleases me that he's going to be staying barely a two-minute walk away. "Get that card out, and let's test this door."

He rolls his eyes as he retrieves it from his pocket. "I'm going to cringe about that until the day I die," he laments.

"Nah," I say playfully. "You'll forget all about it in a decade or two."

He winces, but he's still smiling as he taps the card to the sensor. When it goes green, he gasps and immediately looks at me. "It worked!"

It's like having my own special sunbeam. My heart melts a little more in my chest. "Hell yeah, it did," I assure him.

He rushes into the main living area of the villa, turning around slowly as he takes in the space before settling his gaze on the huge French doors that lead out to the back patio. "Thomas!" he cries, running over and sliding the door open. "There really is a hot tub! And look at that view!"

He's practically vibrating with joy, and it's hard to tear my eyes away to study the view he actually means. "Yeah," I agree. "It sure is something."

We look at each other for a moment before I come back to my senses and place his bag down in the middle of the room by the foot of his bed. "I'll let you get settled," I say. But then it's like I can't stop my mouth from talking even though my brain hasn't okayed the words that come out. "I was thinking. Did you wanna swap numbers? Then if you were feeling a bit unsure about doing anything by yourself to start with, you could drop me a message. Like for the meet and greet later. I'd happily be your buddy."

Buddy, yeah. That's the five-letter word I meant.

His eyes go wide. "Really? That's extremely kind of you. Are you sure it's not an imposition? I've already caused you so much trouble."

Not nearly enough, I think to myself. I manage to stop myself from grinning too much. Instead, I shrug and wink at him again.

"You'd be doing me a favor, really. I don't know nobody either."

He beams and pulls out his phone. "Well, in that case, I shall be chivalrous."

He winks back at me. I think my heart might stop altogether.

As we exchange digits, I think about how ten days is a pretty long time actually. Enough to get into some real trouble with the right kind of adorable boy. People have vacation flings all the time, after all. Why shouldn't I get a little slice of happiness for once?

Just because it'll all end soon doesn't mean it can't be special. And I can already tell that Arlington Hythe-Wandsworth—my little Arlo—is very special indeed.