ARTHUR AND MAX
1
ARTHUR
While it wasn’tmy place to complain, a man such as myself had certain… needs. And I was sick and damned tired of watching Lior and his Felix all perfect and sex-drunk half the time when I, myself, was getting the sum total of zero love.
And by love, I meant sex.
And by sex, I meant hard fucking.
Because, as I said, a man had needs.
Standing at the Wilde wedding watching those two sweet old souls renew their lifelong commitment to each other was like something out of a dream. It was too good to be true, seeing them celebrate over forty years together as committed, loving life partners.
I spent the ceremony on the verge of inappropriate emotional leakage, but I successfully distracted myself with thoughts of the incredible wine Felix would sneak me at the reception later. He’d still not gotten used to having a manservant and treated me more like a bro than a valet. While most of the time I spurred his public attempts to be my bud, when it came to wine, I wasn’t proud. I’d accept whatever the hell he saw fit to give me. The day Lio had explained we were going to Napa for a wedding, it was the Napa part I’d latched onto with a thudding heart.
Screw the wedding nonsense. I wanted to get taste the good stuff.
By the time the Marians and Wildes were three sheets—okay make that five or more sheets—to the wind, I was also sporting a silent but seductive buzz. And I was…needful.
There should be a better word for it besides horny. That word was so inelegant.
But dear god, if I was going to be forced into a room with dozens of beautiful gay men, what else did I expect to happen? It was like taking James Bond to Monaco and not letting him gamble. Unfair and unnatural.
From the very beginning, I’d had my eye on a cutie with dimples who turned out to be one of Felix’s cousins. I would never in a million yearsacton my attraction to the man, of course, but I was definitely enjoying the view so long as he was around.
He was fairly short with slender muscles, and I only really knew about the muscles because I’d seen him in jogging tights and a fitted running top outside on a walking trail. Little white ear buds had stuck out bright against his inky black curls and half of his shirt had been rucked up, revealing one half of a luscious bottom that made my palms… alsoneedful.
Later, the group of Marians and Wildes had all gathered in the lodge lobby for an impromptu cocktail hour and I’d overheard someone call him Max. I’d been tempted to ask Felix about him, but in the end, I’d tamped down the urge. Poor Felix was so distracted and anxious about performing his grandfathers’ ceremony, I didn’t want to give him something else to stress over.
And the “help” drooling over his adorable cousin was silliness Felix didn’t need when two of the most important men in his life were getting ready to renew their vows.
So I asked Sassy Wilde. And got an ear full.
Apparently, sweet Max Wilde was unlucky in love like myself. In addition to being the victim of horrible bullying as a teen, he’d also had his heart smashed by his college boyfriend. Since then, at least according to his cousin Sassy, he’d scoffed at any attempt to set him up.
Which meant there was a slight possibility I could have no-strings sex with the adorable man without him wanting to dive into something more.
Because I was over forty and getting a little too old and set in my ways to consider anything serious. What kind of man would want to move into the royal palace with me anyway? No. I simply needed to scratch my itch.
And if I had one more glass of wine, maybe I’d be stupid enough to do it with a Wilde.
2
MAX
When I first saw Arthur,I thought he was a movie star. Maybe a friend of Aunt Jackie’s or a famous friend of the Marians. He was beautiful in a mature way with salt and pepper hair and laugh lines to the side of his eyes. Then I’d realized who he was. Felix had told me all about Arthur.
He was the king’s valet which was essentially the man who handled Felix’s husband’s personal affairs. Which meant the man lived in Europe—in a castle no less. Way, way out of my league.
But he was hot as hell.
And I was feeling so fucking sorry for myself at yet another Wilde wedding where I had absolutely zero chance of ever being the groom.
“Needs mores drinks,” I muttered to no one in particular.
“The plural stage of Max’s drunkenness has begun,” Hallie shouted in triumph. “I loves plurals Maxes.”
