Chapter Twenty-Four

DURANGO WALTERS

My breath catches in my throat as I follow Max around the corner of the resort's spa area. It's a massive place, full of magnificent sights. A massive pool steams invitingly, cleansing my lungs with a mineral-rich scent of the hot springs. This place, renowned for its natural geothermal waters, is a hidden oasis tucked away in the deep wilderness of Western Canada.

"This place is gorgeous, Max," I whisper, my jaw practically hitting the floor as I take in the scenery beyond floor-to-ceiling windows spanning about fifty feet wide.

Max agrees. "The pictures definitely didn't do it justice," he says, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

I shake my head with a furrowed brow. "No, they didn't," I say, chuckling. "Maybe you should be in charge of their website imagery," I add, pulling him closer while I wrap my arms around his waist. "I told you I'm old friends with Shane, the manager, right?"

He nods, leaning in for a kiss. "I think you mentioned that, yeah," he replies.

"College buddies," I reminisce. "Back when the first Macintosh computer hit the market."

Max giggles, playfully tugging on my swim trunks. "Yeah, yeah, you're such an old fart."

It takes everything within me to keep from laughing; the sound reverberating throughout the cavernous space. This weekend is already off to an amazing start, and I can't wait to see where it leads. Even if I'm planning on the big revelation that my heart was once Brogan Baxter's.

"Ooohh," I murmur, a playful smirk plastering my face. "Foreplay and we're not even in the water yet?" I tease him, tossing our towels onto a pair of sun-drenched loungers.

He pulls me closer while his brawny arms envelop me in a warm embrace. "Just you wait, mister," he whispers mischievously.

Our chests press together as the steady rhythm of my heartbeat pounds amidst the silence. The smell of sulfur and steam ushers a reminder of the powerful forces at play beneath our feet. But at this moment, all I feel is total peace. A deep, abiding sense of contentment that I haven't experienced in a long time. I know I should tell him. Sharing the secret that has been weighing me down since that phone call back in October. But the words won't come. Not yet. Not in this idyllic setting, with the sun kissing our skin and the gentle purr of the hot springs lulling us into a blissful trance. I trust Jake and Melanie to take care of Gage. This weekend is about us, a chance to escape the demands of everyday life and simply be present with each other.

The silence deepens between us, comfortable yet reassuring. But as much as I want to savor this moment, I can't shake the feeling that I'm holding a part of myself back. The truth, the profound connection that binds us, remains unspoken.

Max breaks the tensions with a playful curiosity. "You're awfully quiet," he says, pulling away to meet my stare. "You usually talk more than I do."

Glancing into his eyes, I take in the splendor of those warm, hazel pools that have captivated me from the first moment we met. For a moment, I hesitate at the edge of the pool while my fingers trace the raised line of my scar. Do I take my shirt off? I haven't even showered with him yet, let alone exposed this part of myself to him in broad daylight. The thought of his reaction plays through my mind. Whether it would be pity, or the disgust I might see in his stare, sends a shiver down my spine.

"Yeah, sorry," I mumble, masking my hesitation with a half-hearted excuse. "Just thought I forgot something at home."

He smiles warmly, reaching out his hand for mine. "Come on," he encourages with a gentle coax that could seduce a rock. "Let's get in."

Hand in hand, we cautiously lower ourselves into the steaming water. The heat is intense enough that a searing sensation causes my breath to hitch. My anxiety spikes as I feel Max's body brush against mine. It's comforting, it is. Also incredibly nerve-wracking. Until I tell him the truth, I know I'll never be fully at ease.

"Shirts off?" Max suggests, already peeling his navy blue shirt over his head.

I hesitate again with a shallow grimace, my fingers tightening around the hem of my shirt. "You're perfect, whatever you decide," I murmur at the decibel of a whisper. "Come here, I'm not done with you yet," I finish, pulling him close.

The fact of the matter is that I've never seen him without a shirt before. This is a new level of intimacy, a vulnerability that warrants the same from me. As he lowers himself into the waters, our eyes meet, and I'm lost in the depths of his gaze. He reciprocates my embrace with muscular arms encircling me, holding me close and tenderly. This isn't the first time my cock has grown exponentially, at least the weightless element of zero gravity being under water. Everything feels larger than it really is.

Max shudders zealously. "Oh, oh, what have I done?" he asks, his eyes narrowing. "Have I been naughty?"

A thick baritone grunt plays at the back of my throat. Watching his pupils expand with ecstasy gets me hard, apparently. "Just you wait and see," I mutter low. "You'll find out soon enough, I suppose," I tease back, my nerves finally lowering. Sex is certainly in the immediate future.

I nudge his spine against the side of the springs, feeling a stinging pang underneath my tight clutch. My head leans into Max's, tilting slightly to dive for a warm kiss, all the while my aching dick thumps hungrily along his waist. The dim lights of the spa flutter each time I pull away from Max, gasping for air before diving back into his warm, inviting seduction. His lips. They taste like a fresh jar of orange marmalade spread generously on a piece of toast.

"Mmmmm," Max winces, likely from the extreme temperatures nipping his backside.

A brief pause follows as a slight cough rises from my lungs. "Damn, man. You gonna let a guy at least come up for air?" I joke playfully, my head wavering.

He grins. "Maybe I'm still waiting for my punishment, sir," he bites back.

Studying the circumference of the springs area, I make a mental note that not another living soul is even remotely within proximity. With finesse, I lift Max stealthily by the waist, planting his wet ass on the edge. Meanwhile, my fingers slowly trace up his thigh with fervor as a sultry grin forms on my relaxed visage.

He allows an excited moan to escape while a thick erection springs from over the waistband of his trunks. Lowering them to his feet is a splendor all on its own, ushering a certain arousal through my spine. A moment later, there's no time to spare before covering my pursed lips around the tip of Max's thudding dick, excitedly tickling his balls. He howls under the veil of pure unadulterated pleasure while tilting his head backward.

Meanwhile, my free hand hastily raises to cover his cries of pleasure just as the salty taste of his cock plunges back into my throat. It's not the first time I've had another man's dick in my mouth, surprisingly enough. There were some experiments gone wrong, of course. Skills aside, I'm confident in my ability to deliver Max into a heightened state of bliss all on my own.

I pull back slightly to catch my breath. "Shhhhh," I whisper. "You're gonna get us caught."

Public sex feels weird. I'm a little giddy. Almost as if I've been transported back in time to my teenage years, having thrown out my inhibitions. Is this illegal? At this rate, I almost don't even care. This is fucking hot. It takes all I can to avoid pulling down my trunks, to fuck the beautiful right out of this amazing man. Yet, I still have some scruples about me. Before I can wrap my lips back around Max's cock, he edges himself off the edge back into the enigmatic waters surrounding us.

"You've already had enough?" I ask, wiping the side of my mouth.

He shakes his head insistently. "No," he bites back, twisting my torso around into his embrace. "It's my turn, hot stuff."

Max's sporadic idea might turn me on too much. Which means I should probably try to find an opportunity for us to make our way back to our room upstairs so we can truly get it on. On that thought, it's also the first time I've had sex in years, and my pent-up testosterone may not outlast the full duration without spilling an ocean of cum. A moment later, after seriously deep thought, I feel my shorts being tugged down by his eager arms.

A playful glint sparkles at the corner of his left eye. "Round two?" He offers.

But this feels off. I don't think I'm secure enough to have a public orgasm. However, I don't get so much as a peep before Max finds himself beneath the water's surface, tenderly sucking my hardened dick all the way to the back of his throat.

"Ohhhh my fucking God," I spit out, feeling a wave of euphoria rising my spine.

For several minutes, I stand here completely surrendered to Max's forceful tongue circling my cock as if this is some underwater obstacle course and he's the sole participant. Underwater Olympics? There's one thing that's for certain, however, and it's the fact his trigger finger hasn't been lost on him. His grasp on my sac tugs ever so gently as I take another deep gasp for air, trying to balance the sensations of his tongue and tight grip. I may just taint these sulfuric waters with my cum, anyway.

Clutching Max's hand, I lead him back upstairs to our room. We kick off our shoes, delivering my memory back to the first night I met him. Also, in a hotel. He paces over towards the gigantic wall, crafted purely of windows and a glass door leading out to a quaint balcony. The view I reserved is worth noting, a breathtaking sight overlooking the waters of Horseshoe Bay. This differs from our daily ritual of admiring the Pacific Ocean in his new Seattle home. Some variation of magnificence here is worth a— what do they call it —a selfie before returning to the States.

A moment of scanning the room leaves me speechless. Finding a silver tray on the bench at the foot of the bed, equipped with various items underneath a brass dome. Shane signed the card at the top on behalf of everyone at the resort.

"Babe," I call out, stealing his attention from the windows nearby. "It looks like Shane's left us some treats for the weekend," I add, shuffling towards the sink to flip on some dim light.

Max's curiosity begs me to read the card as he sits on the edge of the bed with a warm grin. "Well, read it," he presses. "What does it say?"

"It says, ‘have fun you two, enjoy a night of pure bliss courtesy of my backyard— Shane,' " I read aloud, wondering what he meant.

All I can do in this moment is stand idly by while Max raises the dome, leaving even myself curious about what lies beneath. There's no doubt that nothing can compare to the intense sensation of him choking on my cock underwater. The euphoria from that, and the dinner we've just returned from, have kicked my secret heart into high gear. If I orgasm in the next five minutes, it might just break from pure exhaustion. Or not. It may very well be the homegrown marijuana Shane gifted us for tonight as a toke-n of his friendship.

"Ummm," Max murmurs while I approach from behind, tightening my embrace. "Is this pot?" He continues griping. "Oh my God, I haven't had any of this since I was like sixteen."

A chuckle plays at my lips. "You naughty boy, Maxwell," I affirm, patting his ass cheek. "You were way too young—were you punished for it?"

Did that really just come out of my mouth?

Feeling Max writhe under my grasp at the notion I would need to spank him for his transgressions from over a decade ago makes me harder than this afternoon. I love a young guy who I can assert a level of control over. Perhaps even somebody with ‘daddy issues,' no matter how much I don't consider myself a true ‘Daddy.'

He seems to be at the highest I've ever seen him, especially now that he retrieves one of the two joints from the silver tray. He places one end between my passion-hungry lips while his hand reaches for the lighter, presumably also courtesy of Shane. Within moments, an orange fiery blaze lights up the distance between us, amplified by a moon peeking out over the rippling waters outside. As he inhales, Max turns his head to cough up a plume of pungent smoke. Rasp after rasp, his gaze shifts towards the window.

I roll my eyes sarcastically. "Yeah? Been a while, hasn't it, Scooter?" I joke, retrieving the reefer from his pinched fingers.

Several questions inundate me with doubts about what I should or shouldn't be doing to my reclaimed sense of life. Dr. Casey hasn't specifically advised against smoking pot, per se, namely tobacco filled cigarettes with the laundry list of noxious additives. Does this hurt the gift his passed-on husband has given me? Will I go into cardiac arrest with just a few puffs?

Max glares straight at me while I gain my composure. With a simple shrug, I give into the temptation since he has taken the first puffs and for the simple reason I'm about to tackle him on the top of this lavish bedspread.

He takes my free hand, dipping my forefingers into his mouth as if he's sucking on the nip of a bottle. "I don't think I learned my lesson at sixteen, because I've been—" he pauses, flashing his fully dilated pupils in my direction. "So, so very bad—I need that punishment, Daddy."

Grrr. Inhaling a large gale of marijuana causes every muscle surrounding my ribcage to tighten instantly. Remnants of a caramel flavor tease my tastebuds on the exhale, leaving Max stood in place impressed that I could stomach a larger, deeper toke than him without choking. As for this inexperienced little smoker, my plans to elevate his high include the shot-gunning method.

I let out a huff. "Close your eyes and open your mouth," I instruct him, grinning with narrowed vision. "We'll try something a little milder—count to three and breathe in."

Another deep inhale of the sweet, pungent smoke finding its way down my windpipe as if butter were sliding against the fibers of my lungs. Max does as I say while the moon's ample glow bounces from both of his pupils, closing them with a gentle finesse. He seems to trust me. Wrapping both hands around his head, I lean in gently as I tilt mine. Our lips adjoin in a meeting of unspoken adulation, all the while groaning with arousal. If I don't nut all over him tonight, my riverbed may as well be deemed drier than Death Valley.

On the next exhale, the plume of smoke transfers from my lungs to his in perfect harmony, a symphony of buzzing sensations trickling down my spine as the THC finds itself through my bloodstream. I know that tonight is a special occasion and I can't overdo the act of indulgence. After all, I'm still uncertain what he'll think of me advocating for all this when I have his dead husband's very life-force pounding away, giving me a second chance at a life I never thought would be possible.

My tongue dives deeper into Max's inviting mouth while the young fashion photographer welcomes it with anticipation, overwhelmed with a newfound thrill. He moans slightly while I grab his balls with a firm grip. Our hushed environment amplifies each sound of Canada's nocturnal wildlife, waking up and greeting us with a symphonic welcome.

"Ohhhhmmmm," Max mutters while I nip at his upper lip with force.

I can feel his cock twitching, thundering under the weight of my wrist. So, I waste no more time nudging him down to the top of the mattress. He falls backwards with a giggle, telling me he's loose and raring to go. Meanwhile, I drop my pants and underwear down around my ankles before removing Max's with one fell swoop. Yanking his legs, I pull him closer to the edge of the bed so my cock can feel his hungry, warm hole.

"Now you're going to feel that long awaited punishment, Maxwell," I click my tongue, pumping my cock with a small amount of spit. "You've been a very bad boy indeed."

All he can do is let out a small series of giggles while my dick finds its way through the deep caverns of his inviting asshole. His flesh offers short contractions as I plunge further inside. My head tilts back at the sensation of feeling his pulse in perfect cadence with mine.

"Holy shit, Durranggoooo," he winces loudly, crying with excitement.

"That was fantastic," Max giggles, descending to the floor from the bed. "I actua?—"

Pressing my forefinger against his lips, I hush him with insistence. "Shhhh."

The air crackles with anticipation as the mountainous twilight offers a canvas for the unspoken. This is the moment I've been circling, the truth I've held close like a talisman. It's lying it bare, allowing the words to carve an alternative path between us. But not with the usual fanfare or melodrama Max so adores. No, this calls for something else entirely. What he actually deserves from me. A confession whispered beneath the stars. A revelation as raw as the scar that marks my chest.

My heart hammers against each rib with a melody of fear and hope. Will he understand? Will he recoil from the truth, from the strange twist of fate that binds us? Or will he see it as I do, a cosmic joke with a tender punchline? There's only one way to find out. And as my finger lowers from his lips after silencing the chatter of the world, I know this is just the beginning. The start of a conversation that could break us apart or weld us together, infinitely marked by the reverberation of another man's love.

"See this, honey?" I twist, the moonlight catching the raised scar on my chest. "Not pretty, I know, but it's a map of the story you need to hear."

Max remains confused, appearing to stay with me thus far as he nods.

I continue. "Remember that call when you were hauling Melanie's life from Indiana to Washington?" I ask, studying his secondary nod. "I wasn't just checking in, Max," I shake my head with shame, closing my eyes for a single moment.

He swallows hard, as if our worlds are going to crash down around us. A tear wells in his eyes while my heart pounds faster, to the accordion of life's deafening trance. At this moment, I wonder if I should change the subject, go off course, scream ‘booga booga' just to avoid getting out of this pit I've set myself up to fall into. Yet, my conscience admonishes me already for the months it's taken for me to get to this point of clarity.

"Well," my confession endures. "I was at Mount Sinai—" I pause emphatically. "The night Brogan died."

Max glares at me with narrowed eyes. I can see the ripples of water outside casting shadows in the depths of his enlarged pupils. Yet he doesn't utter a word. This feels weird and I don't like it, but I've stalled enough time as it is since October.

"Don't look at me like that, Max," I insist. "This isn't some ghost story," I add, swallowing a hard gulp of air. "It's a transplant—his heart—beating right here in my chest."

He tilts his head. "And I'm Prince Harry," he scoffs, throwing his hands up in disbelief. "Only had to dye my hair to cover it up. You caught me!"

Yet there's a certain silence that follows his response, making me feel a tinge, like the aftermath of an explosion. My heart—Brogan Baxter's heart—thunders in my ears. It's deep in there, drowning out the crickets and distant howl of a coyote. I study Max's face, searching for a flicker of understanding, or perhaps a spark of connection. But all I see is shock, confusion, and maybe even a hint of fear. Did I go too far? Did I shatter the delicate illusion we'd built around us?

But as I meet his gaze, something shifts slightly. A warmth spreads through me, a sense of release that I haven't felt in months. The truth is out there now, raw and exposed. And for the first time since Brogan's death, I feel a sliver of hope. Maybe this won't be the end of us. This could just be the beginning of something deeper, forged in the fires of honesty and the unexpected turns of fate. Only time will tell. But for now, I can breathe a little easier knowing that my heart, in all its complexity—is no longer a secret.