In the Giant's Shadow

“Yes, I suppose you could add in a work semester, but—”

“And not lose too much of the time if I continue to take and turn in assignments?”

“Yes, but . . . this is hardly the time to . . . oh shit, oh fuck, do that again.”

Mark Carlson, who had stopped rising and falling on his professors’ cock in a cowboy ride to ask the questions, moved his hips from side to side and then forward and back, caressing every surface of Sydney’s buried cock. The twenty-three-year-old graduate architecture student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology was having an evening session with the famous modernist architect, Sydney Stone. They were trysting in the latter’s Boston pied-à-terre on the penthouse floor of the controversial almost-completely glass-walled high-rise building Stone had designed. Stone’s apartment, where he lived when he was giving lectures at MIT, was totally glass walled, giving the two men fucking on his platform bed the sense they were suspended in space over Boston Harbor.

“Oh, Christ, Mark, I can’t deal with these questions now. Take my cock; take it deep. Pull the cum out of me just like that.”

Mark did as the fifty-four-year-old famous architect at the peak of his profession bid, concentrating on giving his faculty adviser at MIT a good ride. They paused, both concentrating in being one, unified, fucking machine, and each lost in his own world of pleasure. Good rides for good grades. Stone laid back and surrendered to him, watching the young, perfectly formed, dark-haired, sultry young man palm his chest and rise and fall and revolve on his cock, the young man’s eyes slitted, both of them panting and moaning, suspended in time and space over Boston Harbor as Stone’s orgasm started and rolled on and on, the young man pulling every droplet of cum out of him.

Very few of Stone’s students could make the sap rise in him and drain from him as Mark Carlson could—and Stone had much experience in the comparisons of his male students’ sexiness. Stone was a possessive teacher. A student couldn’t become one of his favorites and enjoy being in his light if he wasn’t being fucked by Stone. His students knew and accepted that before they bid for his mentoring.

Later, when Mark was standing in the shower stall—visible from the rest of the apartment through glass walls—and Stone was standing in the doorway, already showered, clad in a robe that was open in front and pulling on his cock as it protruded from his gray thatch of pubic hair, they resumed the interrupted conversation.

“You want the time away because he’s down there, because Jemal Seljik is in Charlotte Amelie, working on a resort design, don’t you?” Stone tried not to let his jealousy show. He was at the pinnacle of success as a modern architect. Seljik was rising above that pinnacle and still soaring.

“He has sent for me. I have to go.”

Stone bridled at learning Seljik had sent for the young man. Seljik, like him, had to fully possess his students. Asking for Mark was encroaching on Stone’s territory. Mark wanting to go what be a loss on the sexual as well as professional plane for the architect.

“You still have work to do for this semester,” Stone said. “I could arrange a work sabbatical for next semester but not this soon.” He obviously didn’t want Mark to go.

“There’s just the paper on Frank Lloyd Wright’s Midway Gardens in Chicago to turn in, and I’ve about finished that and can turn it in before I go. I’ve started the earth house design project. I can send that to you from the Virgin Islands.”

“I can’t condone shoddy work just because you want to go panting after being a junior draftsman for Seljik on a hotel project.”

“When have you known me to do shoddy work?” Mark asked. “Was that shoddy work just now back on the bed?” He was smiling, but there were times when he had to remind Stone of everything Mark was doing for him to get this graduate degree. He had prostituted himself for this degree. This was one of those times.

“Is this perspective shoddy?” He turned to the far glass wall of the shower stall, palmed the wall and jutted his buttocks back at Stone. The older architect took in a heavy breath. He moved forward, grasped Mark’s hips between his hands, put himself in position, thrust his hard cock up into Mark’s ass, and “went downtown” with the young man for another round. No one could make him go hard multiple times as Mark could. No one could pull the cum out of him like the beautiful, young, sensual student could.

And, he would never admit it to Mark, but Stone had never had as gifted a student as Mark was. It would kill him to give him up to Jemal Seljik.

For several minutes the two were lost in the resumed fuck. Mark was giving Stone all the right sounds and exclamations to keep an older man engaged and going at it. After Mark had come, Stone continued fucking him, and Mark had a series of secondary orgasms, not producing the cum he first had, but going to a higher level of pleasure and explosion than with the first. That was his experience; if the man didn’t stop after his first ejaculation, there would be more, and more explosive orgasms. Few men had discovered that with Mark. Those that had could have him anytime they wanted him. After he had ejaculated again, Stone pulled back to the doorway into the bathroom, if a glass cage could be called a room, and Mark stood under the shower again.

“If you can get those two projects in, I guess I can let you go.” Mark couldn’t possibly understand how painful it was for the professor to let him go, Stone was thinking. “But,” he added, “You do realize the real reason Seljik has removed himself down to the Caribbean, don’t you?”

Mark didn’t answer. He was turned away from Stone and soaping himself up again. But Stone knew the young man had heard and understood him. He could see the concerned expression on Mark’s face in the reflection of the glass wall.

“You know that he’s left his family—that he’s taken Philip Brandon down there with him—and not just as his assistant. Seljik has gone down there to escape the scandal. If he wants you down there just to—”

“He just wants me down there to be his draftsman,” Mark said, having rinsed off again. “As you yourself say, he has Philip Brandon with him down there.” He shut off the water, quickly ran a towel over his body, and brushed by Stone and into the living area. He hadn’t looked at Stone as he passed. The invitation had only mentioned the need for a draftsman. But, in fact, Mark was hoping for much more. The presence of Philip Brandon, of course, was a problem.

“You’ll finish both projects before you leave?” Stone asked?

“If I stay the night, can I send the earth house design in from the Virgin Islands before the end of the semester?”

“Can I tie you up and we play rape?” Stone asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I think I can arrange that.”

* * * *

As prestigious as MIT was for graduate-level architecture studies, it wasn’t as prestigious as the program of the nearby Harvard University was. That Sydney Stone taught classes at MIT and Jemal Seljik taught them at Harvard was probably what stuck in Stone’s craw in his sense of competition with Seljik for honors as a modernist architect. For that reason Mark hadn’t told Stone that he was working part time in Seljik’s Boston offices as a draftsman even while he was studying at MIT. Somehow Stone had heard this, though, and he’d heard about “the incident,” even though it was the only time it had happened.

“You are certainly staying late,” Seljik had said that snowy night when he was preparing to leave the office and found only Mark out on the drafting floor.

“My father once told me that a dedicated employee never leaves before the boss does,” Mark had answered. The architect had turned off most of the lights in the room before discovering that someone was still there. The only light was the one illuminating Mark’s work surface. It provided somewhat of a halo around the young man, accentuating his sultry sexiness. Mark knew he had a look that attracted men who sought out men, and he hadn’t been shy about using the attraction to his advantage. He already was being fucked by Sydney Stone, with favorable effect on his grades and on the opportunities that were accorded him in the MIT program.

He also was attracted to Seljik. He worshiped the man for his unique architectural talent, his specialty being floating pavilions with a delicate Oriental flare. Beyond that there was the man himself. He was a handsome, muscular Turk, with an aura of authority, drama, sexiness, and danger. Mark’s mother was Greek and had tried to instill in him a wariness of and animosity toward Turks, but, in the rebelliousness of his youth, finally encountering a Turk in the form of Seljik just imbued the man with mystery and attraction.

The first man who had fucked Mark had been of Turkish origin, and the illicitness of letting a Turk get his cock inside a Greek in Mark’s mother’s perspective had combined with Mark’s curiosity and blooming realization of what he wanted from sex and too much to drink into letting a stranger cover him and fuck him in his truck outside a road house the summer before Mark went to college. Mark hadn’t looked back in choosing to lay with men since.

Thus, Mark surrendered easily to Seljik’s seduction and to being fucked by him on his work table that snowy evening.

With a seductive smile—the first that the man had bestowed on the graduate student who was temporarily working there to cover Christmas leaves of some of the permanent draftsmen and to keep projects on schedule—Seljik had swept the room with an arm. “That work ethic doesn’t seem to have caught on with the others here,” he said. “And I thought I ran a dedicated shop.”

“It’s Christmas Eve and it’s snowing out,” Mark said. “And I’m only working here a few more days and want to finish this project. Besides, I don’t have to go as far as the others do in this snow. I can walk back.”

“To a dormitory?” Seljik asked.

“Yes,” Mark said.

“I’m just up the street at the Hilton,” Seljik provided. “It’s where I stay when I’m in Boston. So, the two of us alone on Christmas Eve in the snow. That doesn’t mean all that much to me. I’m a Moslem. But you—?”

“I’m Greek Orthodox or Anglican depending on which side of my family is present,” Mark said, with a laugh. “But I don’t really practice either,” he added.

“Ah, a Greek,” the architect said. He was standing close behind where Mark was sitting, facing the blueprint he was working on on his table. Seljik put his hands on Mark’s shoulders and leaned over him to look at the blueprint on the table. “Ah, the Parson’s building.”

“Yes,” Mark whispered, the touch of the master on his shoulders and the man’s cheek next to his like an electric current running through his body. The atmosphere was permeated with sensuality—the dim filtered light across a sea of empty desks, the snow falling beyond the glass wall, their lowered voices into hushed tones despite them being the only ones in the vast drafting room. The touch of Seljik’s hands on Mark’s shoulders, one of them intimately sliding down Mark’s torso to palm the young man’s lower back. That alone was a mark of intended possession, Mark not moving away from it a signal of his surrender. Lest Mark not fully understand, the hand pulled Mark’s shirttail up to rest on the flesh just above the rise of his buttocks.

“Good job.”

“Thanks,” Mark murmured. “Mr. Seljik . . .” He had no idea what he intended to say. He knew his voice was shaking. In any event, he didn’t have to ask the architect anything.

Seljik took a breath in and whispered, “Your smile is nice. Young and vital. So sexy. I’ve never conquered a Greek before. I hear that you take cock. Would you go with a Turk?”

Ah, the bane of giving it at the office. One acceptance of an invitation from a supervisor to have a drink after work and then a shared bed in a hotel room, just a half hour of sexual calisthenics in bed, and the news rockets across the office floor. What will they be saying tomorrow morning? Mark gave a little smile.

“Yes,” Mark responded in a low, thick voice. He had thought being a Greek would be a disadvantage with Seljik, a Turk, but it seemed that a Turk conquering a Greek was a come-on for the man.

“You took Paul’s cock. You’ll take mine too.” The arrogance of not asking, just telling. But I couldn’t say I wouldn’t take it. I wanted to take it.”

“Yes.”

“You take it in your throat too.”

“Yes.”

“So, I do not need to romance you?”

“No. All you need do is tell me what you want, and I will give it to you.”

That was all Seljik needed. He leaned over and swept the blueprint off the side of the table and onto the floor. Mark was turned, and set down on the edge of the table, as Seljik unzipped himself, pulled out his cock, and brought Mark’s mouth down to take it in. After a few minutes, he laid Mark on his back on the table. Mark was panting hard and looking at Seljik with “I surrender” eyes.

“You will bare and raise your tail for me and I will fuck you—here, like this.”

“Yes,” Mark answered.

The Turk manipulated the young man’s body as he wished. Seljik pulled his trousers and briefs off, sat in the chair, and spread Mark’s legs with his hands as the man’s tongue and mouth went to the student’s cock, balls, and hole.

Crouching over Mark and holding the young man’s arms to the surface of the table over his head and looking commandingly down into Mark’s face with an expression of challenge and dominance that was met with a look of surrender, the man, who was some twenty-five years Mark’s senior but a commanding god in his profession, worked a thick, long cock inside the student’s channel and fucked him in long, deep, hard, prolonged strokes.

After they both had come, Mark first and then the Turk, they remained in position for several minutes, panting and cooling down.

“I wish to fuck you again, to take my time with you. My hotel room is nearby,” Seljik murmured.

“Yes,” Mark responded.

The Turk fucked the adoring graduate student into Christmas morning on his hotel room bed. In repeated takings, Seljik discovered the secret of the importance of Mark’s secondary orgasms, and as the night progressed, he took the young man higher and higher into the realm of sexual pleasure and willingness to take whatever the Turk wanted to pull from him. The next day, in the office, it was like nothing had ever happened.

The two were never alone together in the office through the next week of Mark’s temporary employment at Seljik’s Boston office and they didn’t speak again in that week, nor did Mark meet with the architect when his stay was up. By then he’d learned that Seljik had a family in Chicago and that he was spiking his assistant, Philip Brandon, a saucy blond not more than a year older than Mark but also finished with his masters in architecture. Philip’s family lived in Philadelphia, and he’d had Christmas Eve and Day off to see his family. Other than that, one of the draftsmen whispered to Mark, Philip was in Seljik’s bed when the master architect wasn’t in Chicago.

The next time Mark had any contact at all with Seljik’s firm was when he received the invitation to work for a semester on the hotel project in the Virgin Islands—and that invitation had come from Brandon, not Seljik.

But Mark was so smitten with Jemal Seljik that he gave no thought to turning the offer down. He would have pulled out of his MIT course if Sydney Stone had not agreed to the sabbatical. Somehow Stone probably had understood that and accommodated the young man with the hope of not losing him. He was one sweet fuck—and he showed more promise as an architect than any student Stone had had—or had fucked—before.

* * * *

Philip Brandon met Mark when his Virgin Airways flight landed at St. Thomas’s Cyril E. King airport. There was no reason why Mark would expect Jemal Seljik himself to meet the flight, but he was disappointed that hadn’t happened. He was even more disappointed on the drive in a Land Rover down to Magens Bay, where the resort hotel was being built and where the trailers were located that were being used for offices and housing for Seljik’s staff, when Brandon disabused him of the circumstances of his invitation.

“I am honored that Mr. Seljik thought to hire me for this project,” Mark said.

Brandon’s response had been deflating. “I doubt Jemal knows. He has so much on his mind that he leaves staffing details to me. We needed another draftsman—he’s making sometimes major changes on a daily basis that have to be redrafted overnight—and we used you at Christmas time. I just went down the list of those who would be available and who were familiar with our routines.”

“Oh.” At least Brandon must not have known about Christmas Eve and morning in Seljik’s bed—or he was so confident in his hold over Seljik that he didn’t see Mark as competition. Maybe Seljik had said Mark hadn’t been satisfying, although he’d seemed satisfied enough that night to keep rolling over on top of Mark as soon as he could get it up again. And Mark had denied him nothing.

The young man must have caught the disappointment in Mark’s voice, because he quickly added, “Of course the list only includes those Jemal has found acceptable. It means something to be on his list.”

“Oh, yes, thanks,” Mark had said a bit more happily. “So, you say the plans are still being changed?”

“Yes, you’ll have plenty of night work to do. I’ve put you in with three others who are working as site supervisors. You’ll probably be getting most of your sleep during the day and they at night, so, although the trailers are tight on space, you shouldn’t get into each other’s way.”

“I guess if you’ve endured it—”

“Oh, I’m not staying in one of the trailers. Jemal and I are in hotels.”

“Hotels?” Not the same one? Mark wondered. He was quite aware that Seljik was bedding Brandon.

“Jemal’s at Frenchmen’s Cove and I’m at the Mafolie,” the young man said, his tone clipped. It was obvious that no more was going to be said about that, but it lifted Mark’s spirits a bit. And then they were there, at the resort construction site. The main structure was starting to go up, and there he was, the man god himself, Jemal Seljik, standing in a group of men, holding blueprints in his hands, and giving direction. The men were closely attentive to him, as Mark thought was justified. The man was truly a god to Mark in both talent and authority. And in bed. Throughout the night, he’d rolled over on top of Mark again and again. He’d been hard each time. He had worked Mark with great stamina and vigor each time. Mark had given him access to his soft core each time and had melted for him again and again.

“This way. The trailer you’ll bed down in is over here; then I’ll show you where your drafting table is.” Philip Brandon was pulling Mark away in the direction of a small collection of dusty construction trailers. Mark kept glancing back at Seljik as they walked toward the trailers, but the architect was focused on giving directions and didn’t look in his direction—as far as Mark could tell.

Four days later, Mark hadn’t spoken to Seljik yet, let alone been in his presence. There was no indication that the great man even knew Mark was there and on the job. Mark did have work to do most nights, though, but it was either Philip or a Virgin Islands native, a young black man named Terrence, who would bring him the instructions on how to amend the blueprints for the next day’s work. It would have been so much easier, Mark thought, if Seljik told Mark directly what he wanted, but Philip and Terrence must be understanding the architect’s intent well enough, as nothing came back to be redone for lack of understanding of what was wanted.

What Mark did gather, though, was that there was tension between Philip and Terrence. On the one evening that no changes came for him to redraft, Mark found out why. He was free for the first time in an evening. And he couldn’t take it any longer that he hadn’t connected with Seljik yet. The last time they had been together Jemal had been fucking him in his hotel bed half the night. There was no reason for Mark to believe that the great man had not been satisfied with him in bed. Surely it hadn’t been just for that night. If only Mark could establish with Jemal that he was here—and available. Seljik and Brandon weren’t at the same hotels, and Mark had checked—the hotels weren’t that near to each other. If they were sharing a bed, there was no reason to have separate hotels.

Mark went to the Frenchmen’s Cove resort. He had no plan other than somehow to run into Seljik “accidentally”—to at least establish with the man that Mark was here and available for anything the master wanted.

All that Mark established was the reason for the tension between Philip and Terrence. Seljik and Terrence had taken an after-dinner swim at the resort pool. Mark saw them, kissing as they sat, facing each other, on side-by-side lounge beds by the pool before rising and walking together to the bank of elevators.

So, Philip wasn’t staying in the same hotel room Jemal was because Terrence was being bedded by the Turk now. Dejected, Mark decided to walk the two miles back to the resort construction site on a path along the Magens Bay shoreline. On the outskirts of Charlotte Amalie along a somewhat seedy-looking dock area, he stopped in a dive named Almondo’s, which turned out to be a gay bar, and sucked on a beer bottle at the bar while watching young men, natives of St. Thomas—most of them black—dancing to noise from scratchy records.

A couple of them were white, though, including a good-looking gray-haired guy who had chiseled features who looked younger than his gray hair suggested. He, was expensively dressed and was obviously putting the make on the young mixed-breed guy sitting at his table, but who also was giving Mark the eye from across the room.

Almondo himself, a big, strapping black in his forties, with a wide grin and no end of advice to everyone at the bar, was helping to attend bar.

An hour later, Mark was lying on his back on a bed in a room behind the bar, panting hard, moaning, and striving to keep his legs spread and raised, as Almondo crouched over him for a second time, all glistening ebony muscle and gleaming white teeth, and grinned down into the young man’s face. Mark clutched the black bull’s bulbous buttocks in his hands, as the black giant pumped him hard and deep with a thick, long, black cock and Mark went higher and higher into the world of orgiastic pleasure. In exchange, Mark’s bar bill was being wiped out whenever he came to the bar for the remainder of his time in the Virgin Islands—with the assumption that Almondo had free access to his ass during this time too.

It was exactly what Mark needed at that moment—an hour of getting it from a big-cocked man when he couldn’t be getting it from Jemal Seljik. Of course, all of the time Almondo was pumping him, Mark could pretend that it was the Turk who was on top of and inside him. Almondo had a technique for the first fuck that took Mark’s breath away. They lay stretched out beside each other on the man’s bed, Mark on his back and Almondo on his side, close into Mark, hovering over Mark, his torso propped up on one elbow, while his other hand moved over Mark’s body, slowly caressing me while he murmured endearments on how nice Mark’s body was. He worked the hand down to Mark’s thighs, running it between the thighs, coaxing Mark to spread his legs and then to bend them and raise his tailbone, levering off his feet, while Almondo slowly worked his hand under Mark’s balls, to his hole, and finger fucked him, until the young man was rocking on the fingers and begging for the cock. Then, in one swift move, Almondo was rolling on top of Mark, thrusting up inside him, with Mark open and prepared enough to take the deep thrust with a gasp and digging his fingernails into the black man’s bulging biceps, and fucking him hard and fast as Mark writhed and teeth-rattling bucked and moaned and cried out in passion underneath him.

* * * *

Late the next afternoon Mark came to his drafting table fairly humming. He’d been laid, and laid quite proficiently. It hadn’t been Seljik, granted, but Almondo had done a really good job on pinning him to the bed. His good mood only added to his confusion, though, when Jemal Seljik showed up at his desk, all smiles and conversation as if they’d talked earlier that day—and, added to that, had with him the handsome gray-haired man Mark had seen in Almondo’s the previous night.

“There you are, Mark,” Seljik said. “I’d heard you’d arrived and already were at work. I’m sorry I’ve been too busy to talk with you before. I’m glad we were able to get you to come down to help us out. I’d told Philip that you were just who we needed and to get you down here. I remember how you’d been willing to work under me on Christmas Eve when everyone else had deserted me.”

Mark nearly dropped his jaw. That stream of statements was so full of surprises that he hardly knew what to say: Seljik acting like he’d been looking for him when it seemed to Mark that Seljik had been avoiding him; that Seljik was saying it was his idea to hire Mark when Philip claimed that the decision had been Philip’s; that Seljik would refer to Christmas Eve night and in terms that Mark would know that Seljik had fucked him that night.

He was still formulating how to respond when the Turkish architect steamed right on to the other surprise Mark was being hit with.

“This is Chaz Winston, Mark,” Seljik said, gesturing to the handsome gray-haired guy at his side, who was smiling—maybe a bit knowingly and with familiarity—at Mark. “He’s the founder of the WorldTalk Internet social media network. He wants to build a house down here in the mountains overlooking the bay and is interested in me designing the house for him. If he hires us, you no doubt will be doing the drafting.”

“Mark, is it?” Winston said, taking Mark’s hand in his and flashing him a gorgeous smile. “And are you an architect too, Mark?”

“I’m a graduate student in architecture—at MIT,” Mark said shyly, barely able to look into the man’s face. Everything about him was gorgeous. He was a regular Paul Newman type.

“Any of these designs yours?” Winston asked. He picked up a scrolled design that was on Mark’s desk and opened it up. “This one’s interesting.”

“That’s just an assignment I’m doing for one of my courses and have to send it back.”

“Is this vegetation on the roof?”

“Yes. The assignment is for an earth house—set into a ridge line.”

“Very nice. Perhaps we’ll be working together. I’m an admirer of the signature pavilion-style homes of the Seljik designs. But the concept of earthy houses intrigues me as well.”

“Come back to my office and we’ll talk about your ideas of what you want in a house,” Seljik said, ushering Winston out of the trailer. As they were leaving, though, Seljik turned and said, “Would you be free for dinner tonight, Mark? We could eat at my hotel. I’m at Frenchmen’s Cove.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Mark answered in what was barely a squeak. It was the first time he’d had a chance to say anything to the architect he worshipped since he arrived in the Virgin Islands.

* * * *

Seljik pushed Mark down on all fours on the carpet of his hotel room just inside the door, jerked Mark’s trousers and briefs down to his knees, stripped off his own trousers, mounted Mark’s ass, and fucked him right there. Before finishing him, Seljik pulled the young man up, stripped him and himself down, and hustled him over to the sliding glass door out onto his balcony. Mark leaned against the glass, palms on the door, butt jutted back, and legs in a wide stance as the Turk took a time out to kneel behind him and eat his ass out, pull Mark’s cock between his legs and stroke it, and finger his ass. Then the Turk stood up, covered the young man from behind, thrust his thick, long cock up into Mark’s passage and fucked him some more.

Still, although Mark came, Seljik held off. He swung Mark over onto the bed, on his belly, covered him from above. He held Mark’s wrists captive, with the young man’s arms over his head, penetrated his channel again, and did pushups on Mark’s back, stretched the full length of him and covered him close until, this time, he finally shot his load. He preceded to go to sleep there, stretched out on top of Mark and covering him close.

This would be one night that neither Terrence nor Philip were in Seljik’s bed. And, yes, this was the Seljik Mark remembered from Christmas Eve.

The next afternoon, when Mark entered the trailer, expecting either Philip or Terrence to deliver him some work to do overnight, one of the other men brought the list of changes Seljik wanted to have worked into the plans for execution on the main resort building the next day.

“Where are Philip and Terrence?” he asked. “I haven’t seen them today.”

“Mr. Seljik sent Philip up to Boston for some paperwork and Terrence has gone to his village for a couple of days,” the man answered.

So, Mark thought, that’s why Jemal suddenly had time for him. His usual pokes weren’t here and Mark was. He wouldn’t complain, though. He would take the man any way he could get him.

His cellphone rang. He was surprised when he answered it to be talking to the gorgeous Chaz Winston.

“I keep thinking of your earth house design, Mark,” Winston said. “I want to take my yacht out late tomorrow morning and I thought you might like to go out with me. I’d like to talk to you about that concept.”

“Are you sure that’s why you want to take me sailing, Mr. Winston?” Mark asked.

“No, not really. You caught me. I saw you at Almondo’s the other night. And I saw that you went in the back with Almondo. Jemal tells me that men fuck you and I did see you at a gay bar. I asked Almondo about you and he tells me you are a sweet lay. Jemal said I could have you if we do business together. I will, of course, let you decide that for yourself. But what I’d like to do is to sail you out into international waters and work your body over good. Am I being too forward? I am honestly interested in your earth house concepts too.”

“No, I appreciate your honesty,” Mark said.

“Then, would—?”

“Yes,” Mark answered. Yes, he resented Seljik giving him to another man, like this. But, yes, going with Chaz Winston was just fine with Mark—and Seljik could jolly well sleep alone tomorrow.

* * * *

He had such a soft mouth and a tantalizing tongue and he knew just when to heighten the need and pleasure and then to back off in time for Mark to recover and to move to the next level of sexual ecstasy before Chaz started working on making him erupt. Chaz was an edger, taken Mark to the edge of ejaculation with his hands or his mouth and then backing off to give Mark time to come off that high only to work him again to take him to a new high, pushing the edge of his endurance higher.

For his part, Mark was trying to hold up his end of the sixty-nine position. They were lying on towels, stretched out in reverse on each other, Chaz on top, in control, on the roof of the cabin of Chaz Winston’s yacht hovering beyond the northern coast of St. Thomas Island.

“Oh, shit, I think I can’t hold out any longer. I’m going to come,” Mark hissed through the lips he’d just pulled off the hunky Chaz’s eight incher.

“Suck my balls. Bite the side of my cock. I want to come with you,” Chaz commanded.

There was nothing but heavy breathing and deep moans for the next fifteen seconds, and then they both tensed, jerked their bodies in spasms together, and pumped out cum. Chaz took Mark’s cum deep in his throat. Mark took Chaz’s on his face. Chaz quickly reversed on Mark’s body, taking the younger man in his arms and, after licking his own cum off Mark’s face, took his mouth in a deep kiss. Holding him close, Chaz’s hand went under Mark’s balls and he penetrated the younger man’s channel with a finger and worked Mark’s prostate until Mark gave him a secondary ejaculation.

That was one of Mark’s quirks—the capability to have a second orgasm quickly, although more weakly, albeit with a higher-level orgasm. The second one didn’t produce as much cum as the first but it took Mark to a higher level of everything else connected with an orgasm than the first one. The first one was a release of cum; the second, a rolling series of orgasms. Jemal knew that; Almondo knew that. There was no reason for Chaz to know that unless one of those two had told him.

Chaz held Mark close, two fingers up his ass, massaging the young man’s prostate as, with little yips and jerks, Mark exploded again and again and again. As the eruptions ended, he lay back in Chaz’s arms, exhausted and the older man took his lips in a deep kiss. He didn’t remove his fingers, though, and holding tight as Mark writhed against him, he worked the prostate to a third series of orgasms.

“How did you know that—?”

“Shush. Don’t intrude on the pleasure of coming down off the mountain.”

“Coming down from the mountain?”

“Yes. That’s what good sex is for me,” Winston murmured. “That’s why I’m building on top of the mountain here—the mountaintop experience. Building up to it is dancing on the mountaintop. The afterglow is a long glide down off the mountain. That’s as important to me as the dance. And it was really good for me this time—I hope for you too. I want to give it to you hard now. I’ve taken you to the mountaintop. Now it’s my turn.”

“Oh, god, yes,” Mark exclaimed. The blow job had been good—very good—for Chaz, but that’s as far as it had gone for him for over an hour out here off the St. Thomas coast. One blow job after the other. And he had such a nice cock, Chaz did. So long. Not overly thick, but long. Mark couldn’t wait until he got it inside him.

As if anticipating Mark’s anxiousness, Winston gave a low laugh and said, “Not for a while, though. I’m not a young man. We rest first.”

They both drifted off, but Mark woke up with Chaz having moved over his body. He already was buried a couple of inches inside the younger man.

“Oh, fuck, yes. Yes!” Mark exclaimed, spreading his legs further, rubbing the heels of his feet on Chaz’s bubble butt, and arching his head back and panting as running his fingers down the side of his cock to give it more girth, Chaz entered, entered, entered him and started to pump in earnest. Chaz fluttered his buried fingers between shaft and passage walls to give not only greater stretch but a rubbing feel Mark had never felt before. Mark lay there, gasping and moaning deeply at the expertise with which he was being taken.

Every fiber of Mark’s attention focused on that long, long cock working its way up inside him, caressing every inch of his channel as it invaded and then, with the added attention of the buried fingers, started to work him, slowly at first, but then faster, faster, and faster, until Mark was writhing under the older, gorgeous man, his cries of taking echoing across the water, and him dancing now on Chaz’s mountaintop—going to the mountaintop again with Chaz.

Chaz laid him good and proper, Mark begged for it again, and Chaz laid him out again. Afterward Mark sprawled there, limbs akimbo, blowing bubbles, and moaning in low tones, as Chaz propped himself up on an elbow and looked down, smiling, into the young man’s face.

“You seem to have enjoyed that. I know I did,” Chaz murmured.

“I’m such a slut,” Mark whimpered.

“Yes, you are. I like you that way, though.”

“Is that what all the talk was about concerning wanting to talk to me about my earth house design? Did you just want to get me out here and on my back?”

“That had priority, of course—getting you out here and under me—but, no, I do want to talk to you about your design.”

“So, talk,” Mark said, sitting up with a groan.

“I don’t want to build Seljik’s signature open pavilions on the top of the mountain. I want the mountaintop clear for dancing. I want to build one of your earth houses just below the peak, strung out along the ridge. I want it to be invisible from below. I want it to be part of the mountain.”

“I work for Jemal Seljik. It will have to be worked through him.”

“I don’t want to access you through Jemal. I want to possess you fully for myself. You can’t get from Seljik what you can get from me. He’s just using you when he isn’t getting it from others. I want you to come work for—and under—me.”

“I don’t know,” Mark answered.

“I’ve watched you. I have researched Seljik’s operations. With Seljik, it’s just him, the great man. Everyone around him is just there to serve him and his genius. Yes, it’s genius, but he’s not the only one who can think and create. You can live in his shadow as a draftsman, or you can come with me and be an architect—standing in no one’s shadow in your creation. My creativity is in other directions altogether. I won’t cover you with my shadow. You deserve to stand in the sunlight. Building this house for me will make your reputation. I can get it publicized.”

“I’m just a graduate student. Working under Jemal Seljik will make my reputation too—more safely,” Mark said.

“Mark my words. Working under Jemal Seljik with burnish his reputation, not yours. But just think about it for now. For now, I want—”

“I can see what you want,” Mark said, with a low laugh.

“What I want,” Winston said, as he reclined on his back, his long erection pointing to the sky, “is to lie back and for you to ride me.”

It was what Mark wanted to do too, so he did.

* * * *

Chest flat on bed, knees digging into the foot of the bed, tail in the air, Mark was concentrating on taking Almondo’s thick, long, black dick deep inside. He’d told himself that he’d come to the bar to look for Chaz Winston, not knowing where he was staying and not seeing his yacht in Magens Bay harbor, to tell him that he’d be his architect. But he hadn’t found Chaz here, and when he got here, he realized that he wasn’t really looking for the man or prepared to give himself to him—either as an employee or a lover. The only thing he could think of all the time he was searching the area for Winston was that he still had so much to learn—that he was lucky to be living in Jemal Seljik’s shadow.

When Almondo had tilted his head and smiled, Mark had gone with him willingly. It was the escape he needed from thinking about his options. But was Seljik even an option? The man hadn’t made any commitments to him—certainly nothing beyond the current project and even his status in that was uncertain. And he’d quite easily pimped him to Chaz Winston. Who had brought him here? Philip? Jemal? Who was to be believed? When did Jemal call for him? Only when Philip or Terrence wasn’t available?

But then Almondo was pumping him hard—and good—and he lost all thought of Jemal and Chaz and architecture, which is exactly what he came to Almondo’s to get.

When Mark got back to his trailer office, there was a telephone message from Jemal. He was to appear for dinner with Seljik at the Frenchmen’s Cove resort dining room in two hours.

“Chaz Winston tells me he doesn’t want to build a Seljik design for his house on the mountain,” Seljik said, when they were seated at the table.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mark said.

“He wants to build a design he saw on your worktable—a house built into the mountain just below the ridge, with vegetation-covered roofing that visually disappears into the mountain scape.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t show it to him. You were standing there when he saw it. He picked the design up from my desk. It’s an assignment I’m doing for my MIT courses. He just saw it and asked about it. I didn’t work on it on my office time, but certainly, if the firm wants to use that concept for Winston—”

“The firm doesn’t want to use any concept but a Seljik concept,” Jemal answered, his voice not actually a growl, but the inference was there, just below the surface. His tone became more relaxed then, though. “We won’t build that house for Winston, but you could, if you wanted. You could sign up with another firm, or you could start up your own firm with the Winston house. He’s worth a fortune in PR as a client.”

“I’m still a student,” Mark said. “I’m still learning.” And that was, in fact, the bottom line. It was only a school assignment that had caught Winston’s fancy. Mark wasn’t ready to go out on his own yet. And he didn’t want to anyway. He wanted to work under Seljik—and what Seljik wanted from him beyond that was also what Mark wanted from the Turkish genius in the world of architecture.

“I’m not going to build that house for Winston,” Seljik said. “I will give you a contract to work with me at the end of your graduate studies, but it will be on my designs. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Is there something else that you want, Mark?”

“What is important is whether there’s something else you want, Mr. Seljik. Some other reason why you asked me to your hotel for dinner. Are Philip and Terrence not here?”

“No, neither one is available tonight,” Seljik said. “Does it make a difference with you that I fuck them if I ask you to come up to my room now? I’m a man with daily needs. Does it make a difference to you that I fuck them and when they aren’t available, I fuck you?”

“No, it doesn’t matter at all,” Mark answered. And he was content that it didn’t matter. He felt privileged at this time of his life to be standing here in Jemal Seljik’s shadow. “Whenever you want me, for whatever reason you do, I’ll be there.”

Seljik laughed then. “I guess I should have believed you on Christmas Eve when you told me your loyalty was complete,” he said. “I can see that your loyalty would be complete. But it wouldn’t be fair to take full advantage of that, especially such a special young man as you are, and I’m not talking only about your architectural design talent. I did send both Philip and Terrence away—because of you, and I don’t need to fuck either one of them if I can have you. And my firm won’t build your design for Winston, but I’ll financially back a firm in your name to build anything you want for anyone, including Winston. So, here, I’m laying my cards on the table. Do you have any questions?”

“Just one,” Mark said. “Can we go up to your room now.”

The Turkish giant laughed, his eyes sparkling. “Is that what you want?”

“It’s always been what I wanted. But what makes difference is what you want.”

“I want to take you up to my room.”