Unwanted Wedding

“Isn’t she beautiful? Such sleek lines.”

“Yes. But for how much longer?” Paul Pettit answered his brother, Philip. They’d gone on shore in Naples for a morning away from the chaos of the quickly whipped-up double marriage ceremony and were returning to the yacht in a motor launch. The boat was anchored near the Isle of Capri, across Naples Bay.

“I was talking about Gabrielle,” Philip said, with a laugh.

“So was I,” Paul answered, his voice a bit morose. He was trying to think he wasn’t being railroaded into this double marriage with his brother as the other groom, but there it was. He was having cold feet.

“Gabrielle, the ship, not Gabrielle—your blushing bride Gabby. I was talking about the yacht. Biggest and baddest one in the bay today.”

The confusion was understandable. Watching their motor launch approach and waving from the rails of the top deck of the yacht Gabriella was Gabriella, the woman, the Countess Gabriella Fabbri, known as Gabby to her friends and past and prospective husbands. From this distance she looked no older than a very-well-preserved forty, rather than her actual sixty-two, which didn’t take a large edge off the fact that Paul Pettit, her intended in two days’ time, was twenty-eight.

“She’s hardly blushing—the bride,” Paul said. “Every time I turn around she acknowledges another husband she’s had. And she’s obviously had more than her share of someone else’s husband.”

“And the husbands have all had money,” Phillip came back with. “And they all wanted her because she was a beautiful and vivacious woman. She didn’t build and isn’t maintaining this yacht herself. You’re the lucky next husband. You will be receiving money, not giving it.”

They both stood there in the motor launch, admiring the sleek lines of the sixty-five meter, five-deck, Codecasa-designed yacht, with its nine-bedroom cabin capacity. It indeed was a far more comfortable world Paul would be entering than he currently lived in—than either of the brothers inhabited. Philip, at thirty-one, also was moving up in class in marrying the French-national Rome fashion designer, Nita Pelletier, who, at forty-eight, was still model trim and attractive, and who now joined Gabriella at the fifth-deck rail and waved to the young men. But Philip wasn’t making the sacrifice that Paul was, and he knew it—and Paul didn’t stint from reminding him who was taking on the most work and sacrifice in their grab for a better life.

Both men had a good life already and were blessed with good genes, handsome faces and bodies, and Ivy League educations. Philip was the more public of the two, a middle-of-the-pack professional tennis player, who still, at what was elder statesman status on the pro tennis circuit, was making it to the second round in Grand Slam tournaments. Paul was the mid-listed novelist who knew he could write that breakout novel if only he didn’t have to worry about money. Seeing the end of his tennis career looming and not sure where to go next, Philip also felt the pinch of not enough money, something he’d always had before, and it had been his idea for the two men to go on the prowl together and attract rich wives. The plan had worked. They both had done that—or were within two days of doing that. For now, though, the two were scared shitless at the changes to come.

The one thing they’d agreed to before they embarked on this was that they weren’t going to be total gigolos about it. They were determined to marry fascinating women they would work on loving. The only added proviso was that the women had to be filthy rich. They didn’t set out to match up with older women—much older, in Paul’s case—but the two best friends, Gabby and Nita, had been the best they could find. Both women were smart as whips, sex on wheels in bed, witty, and great conversationalists. At one point Paul had complained about Gabby’s age and when Philip called him on it, said, “Then why don’t you marry Gabby and I’ll take Nita?” He almost swallowed his words, though, as his brother knew him too well.

“I will if you like,” Philip said. “It won’t be easy, because I think Gabby genuinely loves you. She certainly likes you more than she does me. But if you want to give it a try—”

“No, sorry,” Paul answered. “I know Gabby is the best for me . . . it’s just too bad we are from two different generations in age.”

“Sometimes I think she’s younger than you are,” Philip said.

“That’s because she can be carefree. She has all the money she possibly could need.”

Then they had both laughed, having come full circle again to why they both had gone on the international social circle to attract rich wives.

“I think we have company,” Paul said, pointing to extra motor launches pulled up to the pontoon dock attached to the Gabriella as they putted in. Then he looked up, exclaimed a “Shit” under his breath, and said, “How did he get here?”

Philip looked up, his eyes working down the line of men surrounding the two women. There were four young and one older, but distinguished-looking, men lounging on the rail around the women. This wasn’t unusual. Gabby and Nita surrounded themselves with men and avoided the presence of women. Both Paul and Philip had just been members of the entourage until they had moved up to a regular presence in the women’s beds and, eventually, central roles in their lives. It didn’t take him long to figure out which of the men had elicited the “Shit” from his brother’s lips. Paul wasn’t given to easy profanity.

“You mean Steve?”

“Yes, I fuckin’ mean Steve Talbot. How did he find out? . . . It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I’ll admit it. Steve had been pestering me to come to the weddings. The women decided it wasn’t enough for you and me to serve as each other’s best men. They wanted a groomsman too. And on short notice. Steve wanted to come. They both know and like him. Gabby actually told me to call him and invite him. I did and here he is. I thought it was over between you two.”

“It is, of course,” Paul said. “Still, I don’t need any more worries or distractions than are needed for the next couple days.”

“Besides, it never went too far with you two, did it?” Philip asked, as they started climbing the ladder from the pontoon dock to the salon deck of the Gabriella.

It sure as hell did, Paul, thought, as he grimly set the welcoming smile he knew would be expected of him and pulled himself up onto the yacht.

* * * *

Gabby had been the one to propose to Paul. Philip had been playing in a tennis tournament in Monaco and had messaged that he would be proposing to Nita at dinner on the waterfront after the championship match—which he wasn’t involved in; he’d lost out two rounds before the final. He’d stuck around at the tournament because the partying that went on on the sidelines of these events had become as important to him as playing tennis matches before a crowd was. Gabby and Paul had flown in from her Tuscan villa near Lucca to be there. The proposal had gone swimmingly. Later, Paul and Gabby had sunk into romantic and sentimental sex in her Fairmont Monte Carlo suite, during which each had conveyed to the other how much they enjoyed each other’s bodies and minds—neither mentioning love.

“Marry me,” Gabby had said, simply.

Paul had groaned, sat up in bed, and reached over to the nightstand for a cigarette to light up. “We’re doing so well as we are,” he said. “Just because Philip and Nita—”

He felt like a dog. Philip had been pressing him to propose to Gabby for two weeks, knowing that he was going to make the plunge and that this had been their plan. He did like Gabby . . . a lot . . . perhaps, now, too much to marry her on false pretenses.

“I know it can’t be more than companionship—and occasional incredible sex, at least for me,” she said. “You’re a real stud. But we do so well even as friends, and I don’t want to continue into what’s left of my life alone. I know it’s no more than an arrangement, but that would be more than enough for me.”

“You don’t know everything about me, Gabby,” Paul had said. “I respect you too much to—” Again, he felt like a letch. Taking advantage of her loneliness had, in fact, been the plan. But that had been before he’d become intimately connected with her—not just her aging body, but her mind and the fun of being with her. At her expense, of course.

“I know about Steve—about you and Steve Talbot,” she said. “I’m not proposing that we don’t pursue our own particular sexual interests. I’m proposing I have an heir closely enough attached to me that I can face the next years—for however long they are—with the knowledge that I have the support of a handsome and congenial young man. I don’t care if Steve Talbot takes care of you as long as you take care of me.”

What could Paul say after that? He said “yes” to her proposal. But he felt honor bound to do more than that. He cut it off with Steve Talbot.

And now Steve was on the yacht with him, two days before his marriage.

Paul took Gabby aside as they were all gathering for lunch at a long table on the fantail of the Gabriella and assured her that he hadn’t invited Steve.

“I had Philip invite him,” Gabby said. “I want to make sure you know that I was serious when I said the marriage could be completely open. That’s also why I had Nita bring Francois with her. You can fuck Steve if you want—just not during the wedding ceremony, please.”

What the hell does that mean—that you had Nita bring Francois? Paul wondered as they moved toward the stern of the yacht for lunch. Francois was one of Nita’s men’s wear designers. He modeled the clothes as well, and he modeled them deliciously. What did Gabby mean about Steve and Francois having been invited to make the same point?

* * * *

There were nine—two women and seven men—spread around the table on Gabriella’s fantail. Stealing a march on the day after this one, the Countess Gabrielle Fabbri sat at one end—an end that she would have identified as the head of the table and none present would argue—and Paul Pettit sat at the other end. Count Paulo Umberto Fabbri, Gabrielle’s last husband, had been seated at Paul’s right and Nita Pelletier at his left. Gabby had positioned the newly anointed man of interest, Nita’s fashion model and designer, Francois, at the countess’s right, where she could lavish him with attention during the meal and he could expertly reciprocate. Gabby seated Steve Talbot to her left and she gave him some attention, always seeming to be asking him some intimate question when Paul caught her eye.

Paul’s brother, Philip, was sitting between his intended, Nita, and Francois. On the other side of the count from Paul was located the count’s young (extremely young looking), somewhat effeminate, and beautifully handsome personal assistant, a young Italian man named Roberto. Between Roberto and Steve sat the highly competent, hunky and athletic Kurt Hulbein, a German, who was managing all of the wedding arrangements and doing so with Germanic precision. When Paul had first appeared on the periphery of Gabby’s entourage during a weeklong party at Wimbledon, Kurt had laid Paul and done so with precision. But as soon as Gabby had shown her own interest in Paul, Kurt had immediately backed off. There remained, however, sexual tension between the two men. Kurt was a dominant disciplinarian and Paul had discovered that this new world was one that expanded his arousal.

When everyone had gathered at the table, it was quite apparent that Gabby and Nita had managed to gather a magnificent collection of man flesh—most of the men significantly younger than they were—around them and had done so while omitting female competition. Even all of the staff on the yacht was composed of magnificently built young men. That there were currents of young men at the table being primarily interested in the other young men at the table didn’t seem to threaten the two women at all. Bisexuality didn’t seem to disturb the two cougars—not if the men also gave them a good fuck. Half of the men at the table had done both women, and the two were looking forward to fucking the rest—even the alabaster-skin, delicate, limp-wristed Roberto who Count Fabbri so obviously was fucking.

Nita’s attention during the meal went almost entirely to her intended groom, Philip, to her left, that Paul was left mostly to converse with the count, Paulo, and that they had the same name became a starting point for their conversation.

“It will be awkward to have two Paul’s in Gabriella’s life,” the count said, turning gray eyes on the American. That was the overall impression of him—gray. But it was a vibrant, silvery gray. If Paul had to cast a late-middle-age Italian count of old family, refinement, and wealth in a movie, he would look exactly like this man, who was both elegantly dressed, trim, and aristocracy personified. Paul was still bowled over that the man was here, one of only a handful of people invited to his former wife’s next marriage—if, of course, he had been invited. “Do you have a middle name?”

“Yes,” Paul asked, a bit off balance. “My middle name is Parker. It’s a family name.”

“Then you shall be known as Parker.”

And that was that. No discussion on who would change, or that either would change. No discussion about the necessity to change. Paul—now Parker—had been put squarely in his place in this world. Parker didn’t fight it, though, as there was no reason for the count to be in the picture at all after the marriage ceremony two days hence.

“Ah, I can see that you wonder why it matters. Why I would be involved in Gabriella’s life after this at all.” The count laughed. It was a friendly, amused laugh, though, and he patted Paul—henceforth Parker—on the knee under the table. “Gabriella isn’t like other women. And I’m not like other men. We will remain in the same orbit. We only will add another character to our story—you. I’m sure I will enjoy you as much as Gabriella does.”

“Well, I—” Parker started to say without knowing what he would say. He didn’t have to say anything. The count was in full control. Parker was aware that the count was still largely paying for Gabriella’s—and therefore, by extension, Parker’s future—upkeep, including the maintenance on this yacht.

“Parker is an interesting name. It will suit you as I understand you are a very interesting young man. Gabriella tells me you are a fascinating companion and that you satisfy her in every way. That is quite a feat, as I well know that Gabriella is very demanding in bed. As am I, incidentally. I am very dominating. That is, of course, why you are the one who we need to find a name for. You are not the one to make the decisions. You are, I understand, perfectly matched to Gabriella’s domination in bed. Also Steven Talbot’s, I understand. They both fuck you; you don’t dominate them.”

Parker did a double take at that, which made the count laugh. He squeezed Parker’s knee and moved his hand farther up the young American’s leg. “Yes, I have already discussed you with the young man brought in to be your groomsman. He says you are the perfect submissive in bed. Oh, don’t look so stunned. You are moving in rarified circles now. I’m sure Gabriella has told you what she expects in a marriage—and doesn’t expect. You are in a world of sex is sex is sex now. Gender makes no difference. Not with Gabriella, not with me, and, I have learned, not with you. No wonder Gabriella is smitten with you. You intrigue me. I, of course, will want to bed you too. You will let me bed you, won’t you? I will, of course, dominate you. I will fuck you.”

Gabriella broke in then, at the end of the main course serving, and taking advantage of a round of champagne before the dessert course for a few short speeches and toasts. While these were going on, the count moved his hand up Parker’s leg to his basket. The count gave Parker a piercing look, and the young man merely nodded his ascent. Parker opened his thighs wider and pushed his hips forward in the seat, giving the count greater access to his basket, which, given a low laugh, the count took advantage of. He traced the line of Parker’s cock through the material of his trousers and was rewarded with a hardening of the shaft.

The American hardly realized that when Gabrielle toasted him from across the table, she referred to him as Parker. Gabriella and Paulo had had a meeting of the minds before the meal. Parker found out what that entailed during the dessert course.

“You may wonder why I am attending Gabrielle’s wedding,” he murmured to Parker when everyone else was engaged in another conversation.

“That had occurred to me,” Parker said. Fabbri had taken his hand away from Parker’s crotch but he copped a good feel before retracting his hand and complimented Parker on his equipment. Parker hardened up for him, so any denial of interest would have been met with a horse laugh.

“Divorce settlement laws are nearly the same everywhere internationally,” the count said. “I was generous with Gabriella in her settlement—possibly overly generous—but the benefits are cut back considerably when she remarries, so you could think I am here to ensure the knot between you is well and legally made and then I leave with less of a financial burden and with such things as this yacht itself. Yes, this becomes my yacht again the day after tomorrow.”

“So, shall I go and start packing after lunch?” Parker asked. He was more upset than he would show. He hadn’t counted on Gabby’s financial status to be diminished by this marriage. How much diminished, he wondered. He would have to give that thought and to talk it over with her. Maybe this marriage wasn’t a good move.

“No,” Fabbri laughed. “I can think of better things to do after lunch. It could be that I won’t need the yacht for a few more months or that I need to be too quick about changing the stipend arrangements.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Parker asked. And then he moaned as the count’s hand was back on his crotch, unzipping him, and moving his hand inside.

“I think you can imagine why I’m telling you this. My generosity to Gabriella may very well hinge on your generosity to me. It’s just Gabriella’s and my way. She’s fucked me. I have my way of answering her in kind. She fucks me; I fuck you. That’s between me and her, but it interests you, as well. You want her to keep what she gets from me? If so, you can help earn it on your back with your legs open to me. As long as I want to fuck you and you lay under me in bed, arrangements for you and Gabriella will continue to be generous.I wouldn’t be interested in you if I didn’t find you very attractive. And hung too. Gabriella must be very pleased with that.”

He had Parker’s cock encased in his hand and was slow stroking him. Parker looked around the table, but no one was noticing. He felt his legs go to jelly and he widened his stance further. The count gave a low laugh, moved his grip down to the base of Parker’s cock and laced the young man’s balls in his finger. His index finger pushed farther down along Parker’s taint. Almost involuntarily Parker rolled his tail up, giving Fabbri greater access. The young man looked up and down the table. Gabby was watching him now, giving him an intense look although Francois was talking to her and flirting with her. She had a slight smile on her face. She slit her eyes and licked her lips. She knew the count was possessing Parker. She wasn’t objecting. The impression Parker got was that she’d happily include herself in a threesome.

“I am going to fuck you, am I not?” the count whispered.

“Yes, as you wish,” Parker answered.

“Anytime, anywhere I want.”

“Yes.”

“The launches are taking anyone who wants to go into Naples for shopping this afternoon. The women are going. I’m sure most of the men will go as well,” Fabbri continued, as he extracted his hand, zipped Parker up, stood from the table and dabbed his lips with his napkin. Others at the table were standing as well. Everyone was preparing to scatter, but, according to the count most of them would be assembling again shortly to take launches across the bay in Naples.

“I believe I will stay on the ship and take a nap,” the count announced to those assembled. Then he turned to Parker and spoke in a more circumspect tone. “I have hotel rooms in the city, but Gabriella has been gracious enough to assign me Stateroom 3 for my needs. You know where that stateroom is, don’t you?”

“Yes, I believe it’s just below us here,” Parker answered. “I should find out what Gabby is doing this afternoon.”

“I believe she and Nita have final fittings at a fashion house for their wedding dresses. They’ll take Francois with them,” the count answered in a quiet voice. He had a slight smile on his face, enjoying Parker’s indecision.

“Do you think Gabby knows that—?”

“Of course Gabriella knows,” Fabbri said. “She loves this yacht. She knows she’s buying you. She has no objection to your doing a bit of open-legs work for me to accord her the means to buy you. Shall we say a half hour? Shower and prepare well, please.”

* * * *

When Parker entered Stateroom 3, he at first thought the cabin was empty, and the disappointment of that surprised him. His only thought had been to ensure that he and Gabby could maintain the lifestyle they had, which was tinged by irritation at the attention Gabby was giving Francois. Beyond that, the count was a hunk for his age. Having said he’d let the man fuck him and knowing Gabriella wanted that, Parker was ready for the man. Thinking that the count had not shown up for the assignation brought home to Parker that he, in fact, found the older man and his straightforward, bold approach sexually arousing.

Parker wanted to lie under the count. He was intrigued by the thought that the man could be both refined and as straightforward as his talk of sex was in performing as a top. Would he comment glibly and baldly on what they were doing as they did it? Parker found that arousing. That Gabby seemed to be accepting of the notion of her ex-husband laying her soon-to-be husband and would, in fact, benefit from it, gave Parker license to give in to his own desires.

The cabin was empty, but only because Count Fabbri was on the balcony beyond, leaning back against the rail, only in a silken robe loosely open to reveal the man’s still-hard, lean body, tumble of silver-gray hair, swirling around his pecs and then descending to a trimmed bush, and an extraordinarily long, cut cock in semierection. He was leisurely smoking a brown-papered cigarette and watching Parker slowly walk across the cabin toward him. The count held out the hand not holding a cigarette and commanded, “Stop and strip there, please.”

Parker did so, slowly, neatly folding his shorts, T-shirt, and bikini briefs and placing them on a nearby chair.

“Turn for me; slowly turn around.” Parker complied. “Face away from me; bend over; spread your cheeks. Show me the hole.” Parker did as bade. “Very nice. Now turn and stroke yourself.” After a few minutes, with Parker’s breathing thickening as he stood and masturbated himself, the count commanded. “Come here, kneel to me.”

The unusual preliminaries were driving Parker crazy. He was hard as steel.

When Parker reached him, the count flicked his cigarette over the rail, placed his hands on Parker’s shoulders, and forced the young man onto his knees, presenting his cock for sucking. Without further instruction, Parker sucked the mammoth cock. At length, the count roughly pulled Parker up to his feet and propelled him backward, making Parker fall back into a patio chair on the balcony. As Parker, briefly breathless, watched in shock at the sudden roughness and strength of the older man, Fabbri produced a condom packet from the pocket of his robe and crowned himself. This only took a few seconds, though, and the count was back on the physical assault, grabbing Parker’s legs and raising them and bending them over the patio chair arms on either side, pulling Parker down in the chair so that his rump was pulled to the edge of the seat and rolled up, crouching over him, and said, in a matter-of-fact voice, “Now we shall see how quickly and how much your ass can be stretched.”

Parker cried out in surprise and pain, as the count thrust inside him and took him swiftly and brutally in long, vigorous, deep strokes. While Fabbri trapped Parker in the chair and fucked him, he held Parker’s head to the chair back rim with a grip on the young man’s throat with one hand, and he stroked Parker off with the other hand.

“You open for me nicely,” he muttered. “Stretch, baby, stretch. Take it.”

Groaning, Parker stretched and took it, somehow managing to take the huge cock moving inside him.

After he’d come, the count pulled out of Parker and went into the cabin, leaving Parker there, moaning and breathing heavily. It hadn’t been the fuck that Parker had imagined the elegant, refined-demeanor, patrician count would have given him. There was no affection or cuddling or coddling, kissing or touching. The count had taken him swiftly and hard with a godawful long, hard, and vigorous cock. It had been brutal and had left Parker gasping and totally fucked.

When Parker could get control over himself and was breathing normally, he pulled his legs off the arms of the patio chair with a groan, painfully stood, and entered the cabin. Fabbri was sitting on the foot of the bed, fondling his cock. Parker reached for his clothes on the nearby chair, but Fabbri arrested the movement with a growled, “No. Leave them. We aren’t finished. Come here.”

Parker meekly went over to the bed. He was a total submissive, immediately responding to domination and command. The count pulled him down onto his lap, the young man’s torso going in one direction and his legs in the other. Fabbri’s hardening monster cock poked up into Parker’s belly. As the older man held Parker’s torso down with an arm pinning down his shoulder blades, he proceeded to spank Parker’s exposed butt cheeks with the other hand, pausing occasionally to stroke Parker’s hard cock and also to finger fuck Parker’s passage. Parker groaned and moaned, occasionally emitting an exclamation when a stroke of the hand was particularly stinging or the pad of a finger rubbed his prostate.

The count spanked Parker’s cheeks red until, with that, the sensation of the count’s hard cock throbbing against his belly, the periodic stroking of his cock, and the finger fucking contributed to Parker’s release of his cum. When the young man had ejaculated, the count rose and turned Parker belly down to the bed, his feet on the floor, and his arms flung out over his head, fists bunching up gobs of bedspread, and his mouth yawning open in an expression of passionate pleasure-agony. Fabbri mounted him closely from behind, pressed down on the small of the man’s back with one hand, and grabbed a handful of Parker’s hair with the other, arching the young man’s head back painfully. He thrust hard and deep inside Parker’s channel and vigorously rode him to the count’s second coming.

Fabbri left Parker there, in a puddle on the floor at the foot of the bed, moaning blowing bubbles. Before he left, he said, “Remember that nothing is taken from me without pain and hard work.” And then the count was gone.

Amidst loud, boisterous discussion, the rest of the crew returned to the Gabrielle near dusk, and Parker and the count, now both honestly being able to say they napped in the afternoon, joined them for drinks on the fantail to watch the effect of the sun setting over the sea to the west on the buildings of Naples, backed by Mount Vesuvius to the west. No one asked the two men how they had spent their afternoon, and Parker made sure there was a good distance between him and the count. For his part, the count was all elegance and patrician good manners, floating around and gracing all with his erudite and witty presence.

From time to time the count looked over at Parker, giving him a benevolent “I own you” look. There was no doubt in the young man’s mind that this was so. If this was a deal with the devil, Parker had taken the deal with open arms. The count was masterful and exciting.

The count left soon after dinner, and, for the first time since that afternoon when his touch had been controlling and brutal, he pulled Parker out onto the deck where the launch waited for him in the water below to take him into the Naples harbor. Roberto had already gone down the rope ladder to the launch.

“I had thought that would be enough of you for me,” he said to Parker. “But I found I was wrong. You are as sweet and compliant as I would wish.”

“You wish to redo the agreement on Gabby keeping the ship and the stipend for a while?” Parker asked.

“No. This has nothing to do with that. Here take this.”

“What’s this?” Parker asked.

“It’s spare key card to my suite at the Romeo Hotel on the Naples waterfront. I’ll not be coming to the wedding. If you won’t either, you can come to me there.”

“Why wouldn’t I be coming to the wedding?”

“Think about it,” the count said. “Gabriella invited me here, knowing what I likely would want to do. And she invited your former lover here too. She is obviously absorbed in Nita’s model, Francois. I know from watching you that you have second thoughts about this wedding. Have you not considered that Gabriella has second thoughts about it too? That contrasts with me. I know exactly what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” Parker asked.

“You,” the count answered in quick response. “I thought of you as something just to use as a toy and to enjoy in revenge. But I’ve found you are so much more than that. I want you with me, not with Gabriella—for however long she had planned to have you.”

And then he was gone, down the rope ladder, to the launch.

It was time to pay some attention to Gabby, and, trying not to give thought to what the count said, Parker went back to the fantail salon. Very few were there. Nita was holding court, with Philip at her side, and Steve was behind the bar, making himself a drink and looking a little thunderous. Gabby wasn’t there. Neither was Francois. Parker left the lounge, after his eyes met, first with Philip, and then with Steve. Parker avoided the needy look in Steve’s eyes. Kurt was there at the side and he gave Parker a knowing look, as if he knew what the count, who was a take-all dominator just as Kurt was, and Parker had been doing that afternoon. And he probably did know, Parker acknowledged to himself.

Parker went out to the ship’s foyer. Stairs went up to the executive staterooms on the fourth deck and down to other staterooms on the second deck. Parker went up. The master stateroom was to the left, at the stern. Two smaller, but still premium, staterooms were to the right, toward the bow. Nita and Philip were in one of those and the other had been reserved for the count and Roberto, but the count preferred to stay on land, in Naples. Parker turned left and took a step. But Philip was right behind him and put out at hand to stop him.

“Gabby’s not alone,” he warned in a low voice. “She’s just doing some last-minute hurrah. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“She’s with Francois, of course,” Parker said. Philip didn’t answer. “She didn’t promise fidelity,” Parker continued.

“Or demand it of you either, did she?” The voice was that of Steve Talbot. He had followed them up the stairs. “You can’t stay there tonight. Come on downstairs to deck two. There are a couple of unoccupied staterooms down there.”

“Yeah, like Stateroom 3,” Parker said, a little bitterly.

Both of the other men gave him a questioning look, but Parker didn’t explain. He also didn’t balk when Steve guided him down two levels of stairs. Philip broke off on Deck 4 to return to Nita. Steve took Parker to his own cabin. Parker didn’t question that.

Parker didn’t question what was happening when they entered the cabin, either, and Steve began kissing him—or when Steve began to undress him, or when Steve knelt in front of him and took Parker’s cock in his mouth. Parker had no questions or objections when Steve guided him to the bed and gently pushed him down there on his back, and then proceeded to hover over him, moving his hands and lips down Parker’s body and making sensual, passionate love to him.

With a thought to what Gabby was doing in their stateroom, Parker gave no resistance—just moans and sighs—when Steve placed a pillow under the small of his back to elevate and roll his pelvis up and then knelt between Parker’s bent and spread legs, slowly entered him and began stroking inside him. Groaning and sobbing quietly, remembering how it had once been between them and what an attentive and loving lover Steve had been and still could be, Parker clung to the man crouched over him and set his pelvis into the motion of the gentle rolling, deep penetrating fuck.

“Oh, shit, yes. Fuck me. Take me!” Parker cried out, turning his thighs out, taking Steve deep, setting his channel wall muscles to undulate over the other virile, muscular young man’s hard, throbbing cock, as Steve did just that and the two fucked on and on and on.

Outside the cabin door, the German manager, Kurt, paused as he passed by to his own cabin. He smiled and continued on to his own cabin. One of the young staff members of the yacht crew was standing by the door to Kurt’s cabin, trembling and attempting a shy smile. Kurt smiled back as he unbuckled his belt, pulled it out of the loops, folded it over, and snapped it against his thigh. The young cabin attendant wouldn’t be smiling for long.

* * * *

Parker and Steve lay there in Steve’s bed the next morning, listening to the yacht come alive with activity and then quiet down again. They heard a launch leave and knew that the women were off again to Naples to pick up their dresses. They obviously had taken some of the men with them as well. When all was quiet, Parker rolled out of the bed, dressed, and padded back up to Deck 4 to the master stateroom to shower and change close.

When he came down to the fantail dining area, he found only Kurt present. A young waiter took his order and moved around gingerly in obvious pain, looking warily at Kurt as he passed by him. Still, there was a slight smile on the waiter’s face. There was a broader one on Kurt’s. The waiter yelped on his last pass when Kurt slapped him on the buttocks. The waiter scurried back to the galley, leaving Parker and Kurt alone.

“So, you are reverting again?” Kurt asked, giving Parker a smile.

“Excuse me? What does that mean?” Parker asked.

“The count yesterday afternoon and your old boyfriend last night. The countess couldn’t keep you away from men for long, could she?” And then, with Parker didn’t answer right away, Kurt said. “I can help you with that, as you well know, after you’ve come into the family. The countess won’t mind if I keep you purring when she’s not using you.”

“Purring? Is that the effect you think your sexual techniques have on men?” Parker asked, having found his voice. Kurt had moved toward him, but he’d moved away. It was all bravado, though. If Kurt persisted in moving toward him, Parker knew he’d give in eventually. As dangerous and taxing as Kurt was, Parker had melted to him at one time and couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t do so again if desperate for sex. Kurt fucked him differently from most men. He applied pain with leather. He completely dominated. Experiencing that in small doses was arousing to Parker.

“You enjoyed it with me before. I watched the video of the count spanking you. You enjoyed that.”

“The video?”

“Yes, I have the cabins under surveillance. Does that surprise you?”

Nothing surprised Parker about what the German would do.

“Being spanked arouses you, I clearly could see. As I remember, whipping you made you hard as a rock and screaming for it when I finally penetrated you. We could get started today. Now. The countess will be gone for hours. We could—”

“I’m afraid Paul”—Steve had refused to take on the Parker name change that had been given to Paul—“is booked for the day. A groomsman’s job is to keep the groom busy and out of trouble the day before the wedding. He and I are going to find a beach. Sorry, we’re taking the small runabout. It will only hold two.” Steve Talbot had shown up in the dining room.

Although there had been no such plans to the once-again Paul’s knowledge, he grabbed at them now, and swept out of the dining room behind Steve.

Kurt took another swig of his coffee and smiled. From his perspective he had all the time in the world. Once Paul and Gabrielle were married, there would be days at sea with Paul trapped on board with Kurt. Paul was a complete submissive. It would take much effort for Kurt to master him—just opportunity.

Steve took the runabout around the southern side of the Capri and the peninsula jutting out from the Bay of Naples toward the island. He putted into a small, deserted beach, protected by rocks and a cliff on all sides near the seaside village of Praiano. Other than the two of them, the beach was deserted. They took advantage of that to strip down to the buff and cavorted in the surf until they nearly were exhausted.

They lay on towels on the beach, Paul on his belly and Steve stretched out close to him on his side. As Paul dozed, Steve explored the young man’s body with his hand, bringing Paul to a purring arousal, signaled by Paul raising up slightly on his knees, presenting his bare buttocks to Steve and giving his old boyfriend a dreamy look. Steve moved his body over Paul’s, holding the other young man’s body close to his. Paul gave a groan and a long gasp as Steve slid inside him and began a long, slow, deep fuck, which Paul immediately melded to in rhythm. They were barebacking as they had always enjoyed doing when it was just the two of them in Steve’s New York City apartment on eveningd after Steve, the publisher’s book editor assigned to Paul, had gone over the chapter of a novel manuscript with Paul.

After they both had come, they continued lying there, Steve on top of Paul, both of them attuned to Steve going flaccid, both of them knowing they would fuck again after they’d rested.

“Come back to New York with me,” Steve whispered. “Let’s try again. That’s where you belong, not here as some old woman’s boy toy.”

“Gabby isn’t just some old woman, Steve. And I need support if I’m going to be free enough to write novels. I’m not sure my publisher—your employer—would prefer how I’ve been to the freedom to write that being married to Gabby will give me.”

“You’re possibly right, Paul. But none of that matters to me. I’m skipping the wedding. Philip knows I can’t stand there and see you do this, and he says he understands. I’ll be at the airport in Rome tomorrow at 3:00 p.m. with an extra ticket I won’t release until just before boarding. The plane is overbooked, so they’ll be delighted if I release the ticket. I hope I won’t have to. But for now, I think you can tell what I want.” They both could see that he was in erection again.

“Yes, I want that too. But maybe . . . maybe you could . . .”

“Maybe I could what?”

“Perhaps a little pain. Just to lift me a bit higher.”

Steve sighed. “I had forgotten that about you.” He reached over to his clothes, pulled his belt out of the loops of his shorts, looped the belt, and sat astride Paul’s calves, as the young man lay on his belly under him. He raised the belt and brought it down on Paul’s bare buttocks. Paul flinched and groaned. Again. Paul whimpered a “Yes, yes.” Again and then again.

Then Steve stopped striking, lowered his chest on Paul’s back, and started fucking again.

* * * *

2:00 p.m. on the terrace of the Villa Lysis on Capri, overlooking the Bay of Naples. This was a popular venue for intimate weddings among the superrich. And this a double wedding that was more intimate than any others that had been held here. In addition to only one well-wisher, Kurt, the Countess Gabrielle Fabbri’s manager, the wedding party itself was down to one groom, Philip Pettit, two brides, Nita Pelletier and Gabrielle Fabbri, and a last-minute walk on best man, Francois. Count Paulo Umberto Fabbri and his secretary, Roberto, were no shows. The designated groomsman, Steven Talbot, was missing. And, most important, the countess’s intended groom and Philip Pettit’s best man, Paul Parker Pettit, wasn’t there.

This didn’t seem to faze Nita Pelletier or Philip Pettit all that much. They had each other. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem to upset Gabrielle Fabbri all that much either. She had been having second and third thoughts about the need to marry anyone. Seeing Count Fabbri again had reminded her of all she was putting at risk by marrying and formally negating her previous divorce settlement. And, when a whole new fascinating young man, Francois, in her orbit now, she wasn’t sure about tying herself to her last fascinating young man.

The Countess Gabrielle Fabbri was a bit fickle that way. She didn’t even realize that she had been flipping other options to Paul Parker Pettit for a few weeks now. There wasn’t anyone here to make public waves about a marriage that hadn’t happened, she realized that her primary interest had been in the thrill of sharing an event with her good friend, Nita Pelletier, and she now had a nifty new white cocktail dress she could pull out next week when she reached Nice on the Gabrielle, a yacht that still was safely hers.