What It Takes Read online

  What It Takes

  Willa Okati

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2007 Willa Okati

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  ISBN: 978-1-59596-655-1

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  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1046

  Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Crystal Esau

  Cover Artist: Sahara Kelly

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  What It Takes

  Willa Okati

  What if you were drawn through space and time to watch someone else’s love affair unfold?

  What if you were the one who called the shots?

  What if you were their only way out?

  Donovan and Remy meet every few months in New Orleans for a little pain with their pleasure and sex hotter than Cajun sunshine. Donovan would like nothing better than to stay with Remy, but every time they get close he’s pulled away, turning from a man into a spray-painted piece of graffiti.

  Remy swears to find a way for them to stay together. But he’s not the one in charge of whether or not they have a happy ending.

  That would be up to the artist drawing their story as they live it.

  Will all three be able to do what it takes for the sake of love?

  Prologue

  Remy lifted his face to the warmth of the sunlight beaming down from his beloved New Orleans sky. Ah, how he loved his home! The city, she had seen so many difficult times, but she was a fighter, oui? No matter what the hands of God or men did to her, she stood strong and fought back.

  New Orleans, to Remy, was living proof that men could press on through hell and come out dancing.

  He took a moment to bask in the heat, breathing deep of the richly scented air. His ears filled with the hum of the city, the chatter of tourists and the bonhomie of the locals, sidewalk vendors hawking their wares and cars roaring past in clouds of exhaust and screeching tires.

  When he had drunk his fill with all the senses he had, it was time to move on. Taking his guide dog’s harness firmly in one hand, Remy used the other to swing his narrow white-tipped cane in wide, tapping arcs. “Come on, Bo,” he coaxed the dog. “We go for a walk, you and me, eh?”

  Remy got the feeling that Bo did not approve. Although not so old for a dog, Bo was set in his ways and not much for changes in routine. So far as he was concerned, random strolls without a specific errand in mind were asking for trouble. He’d been too well trained, though, to fight Remy’s command, and so with only a token grumble he began padding forward.

  “Good dog,” Remy crooned. “My only friend, eh? It is a sad thing for a man to have no human they can call on, but who else do I need so long as I have you?” A thought flashed through his mind. “Well, a lover, yes, that would be très bon. And who knows? One might be just around the next corner. I have had a dream, did I tell you? A good dream, where a man held me tight and we passed the night in unspeakable passion.” Remy hummed in appreciation. Bo whuffed. “Jealous.”

  The two walked on, Remy appreciative of the way most cleared a path for him on the pedestrian walkways. With nothing to distract him, his mind drifted away to the memories from his dreams the night before of a man. A big strong man, exactly the kind Remy liked best, who had held him so tightly they were almost one flesh. Who had kissed him and stroked his cock, and turned him light as a feather onto his stomach. He’d used his fingers, slippery with oil, to probe open a hole left untouched for far too long, dipping his tongue into Remy’s loosening pucker and licking him as if he were better than chocolat. They had whispered words of love and passion; they had groaned as they writhed together, thrusting against one another’s bodies in a frenzy of need. Even though it had only been a dream, Remy had seemed to feel the hot splash of that man’s seed on his stomach.

  Remy hummed to himself as he directed Bo to go in the various directions that tickled his fancy. He was beginning to sweat faintly, and could smell the musk of his skin underneath the spicy soap he’d washed with. His legs felt loose and limber, able to walk for miles.

  He would have gone on for hours if Bo had not suddenly drawn up short and refused to move. Remy cocked his head, puzzled. They were not at a crossroads nor could he hear construction up ahead. He knew the streets of New Orleans well and figured himself to be on a not so good road, the sort where graffiti artists plied their cans of spray paint against shabby walls, but safe enough in the daylight.

  “Eh, what’s ailing you?” he asked, puzzled, reaching down to scratch Bo’s bullet head. “Come on, Bo. Forward.”

  Bo refused to move. More, he began to growl low in his throat, hackles rising under Remy’s hand, genuinely confusing Remy. “What do you see?” he asked the dog, baffled. “Something bad up ahead?”

  “I… I think it’s me he doesn’t like,” a husky male voice responded, the tone tinged with amusement. “Dogs and I don’t get along.”

  Remy’s heart squeezed. He knew this voice -- he had heard it just the night before, fluent in the language of love in his dreams.

  That had just been a sleeping fantasy, though. Non?

  “Have we met, monsieur?” Remy gave Bo a sharp rap on the retriever’s tough noggin to warn him to behave. “I think I am remembering you from somewhere.”

  “Are you?” The man sounded interested. “We’ve never met in person as far as I know.” Though a joy to listen to, his voice had no trace of a Louisiana or even otherwise Southern accent. Not a local, then. Yet neither did he feel like a tourist. He had an easiness to him which spoke of long familiarity with the city. “Better late than never, I hope.” The man laid his hand, scorching and dry, on Remy’s bare forearm. “I’m… you can call me Donovan.”

  “I am Remy,” Remy responded, delicious tendrils of desire spiraling out from Donovan’s touch. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning suggestively forward. “I may be bold to say so, but I think we will be good friends, won’t we?”

  Remy couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but he felt their gaze scorching against him. “Very good friends,” Donovan said softly. “More than friends. You see, I’ve been waiting for you for a long, long time.”

  Pulses of desire made Remy’s stomach clench. “And now you have found me, am I worth the wait?”

  “Without a doubt.” Remy gasped as Donovan’s lips met his own, stealing a sizzling kiss full of teasing tongue-play and light nibbling of teeth. Donovan’s muscled body mass pressed against Remy’s, the solid length of his cock pushing into Remy’s stomach. “I’ve waited so long,” he breathed. “Watched you when you walked by. Wished. Wondered.”

  Remy sensed the truth in Donovan’s words; truth, and more. Donovan’s voice burned with desire for him, a blazing need which Remy felt rising inside him in equal measure. Yet he found himself puzzled. “If you know me, if you have seen me before, why did you never approach until now?”

  Donovan hesitated. “I… couldn’t. Don’t ask why. Not yet. Besides, I don’t want to waste any more time. Will your dog bite?”

  “What?” Remy fought for clarity amidst his growing arousal. “Bo? No, no, h
e will not bite. He may make a growl, but he does not attack.”

  “Good.” Donovan wrapped his arm around Remy and pulled him close. “Don’t slap me or sic him on me for this, but like I said I don’t want to waste any more time. I want you.” He cupped Remy’s chin; on impulse, Remy turned his face to the side and kissed Donovan’s palm. Donovan chuckled. “Maybe it’s mutual?”

  Remy grinned, feeling cheeky. “What do you think, eh?” He arched against this amazing stranger, letting Donovan feel the weight of his own waking, aching erection. “I have a house. Some distance away, oui, but we can walk quickly. If you wish to come?”

  “There’s nothing I want more.” Donovan’s mouth found Remy’s again, the kiss shorter but no less passionate. “You won’t regret trusting me. I’ll make this good for you, better than good.”

  Remy purred. “And they say dreams do not come true.”

  “Pardon?”

  “My own little joke. I think I have been waiting for you as long as you have been waiting for me, Donovan.” Remy spoke his mind without guile. “I think that we may belong together. Strange, oui? But so it is.”

  “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that.” Donovan laid his lips on the corner of Remy’s mouth. “How about you let the dog lead us back to your place?”

  Excitement surged in Remy’s groin. “Oui,” he said, moistening his lips. “Put your hand to the small of my back, so I can feel you there. Bo, home. Home!”

  This was, he felt, the beginning of the adventure of a lifetime.

  Chapter One

  Tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

  “Sullivan?”

  “Mmm?” Sully blinked out of his daydream to find he’d been staring at the blank page in front of him on his drawing table. Damn. Got to be careful. I almost let it take over.

  He drummed his pencil against the paper’s soft white emptiness. He couldn’t make himself look away. God knew why.

  A warm chin nuzzled into Sully’s shoulder. Soft brown hair that shone like autumn leaves in the work-light tickled his cheek as Jonathan, one of his lovers, cradled him from behind. Sully automatically reached up for Jonathan’s hand, giving the fingers a squeeze, but didn’t lay down the tool of his trade.

  “Melissa and I have a bet going,” Jonathan murmured, British accent crisp and rich. “You’ve been sitting here for hours now. You’re completely oblivious to the fact that we’re both naked and all but waving assorted stiff or perky parts in your face. She thinks you’ve lost your mind. I think you’re winding us up, trying to make me lose my mind. Who wins?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Sullivan,” Jonathan chided. “Enough is enough. You’ve put in a long, hard day’s work. Come to bed. If you’re not tired, we’ll be glad to stay awake and keep you… company.” He growled playfully as the heat of his bare chest burned Sully’s shoulders, easing sore muscles.

  Sully’s hand twitched, his pencil tapping out a staccato rhythm on that damned empty page. Sex. Sex would be good. Sex would be great. Two lovers, no waiting, who knocked his socks off along with the rest of his clothes, then blew his mind for good measure.

  Sex sounded fantastic.

  So why did he find himself saying: “Give me a few more minutes, okay?”

  “I think perhaps you’re the one who’s gone out of your mind. You said the same thing two hours ago. Is something wrong?” Jonathan tightened his arms around Sully’s chest. “You can’t fool me, you know. What’s weighing so heavily on your chest that you can’t call it a day?”

  Sully let go of Jonathan and dragged his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and tugging at a wayward lock. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

  And it was a problem. Like Jonathan said, Sully had put in his share of hours and then some. Unable to sleep, he’d wiggled out of the bed he and his lovers shared somewhere around one in the morning, leaving them to curl around one another. Tiptoeing to his drawing table, he’d started working because he couldn’t help himself.

  While the hours ticked by, project after project devoured Sully’s attention. His focus narrowed to the page, the words, the colors, the sketches, so intent on his creations he barely noticed when first Jonathan and then Melissa stirred out of bed. Their good-morning kisses, flavored with sugary orange tea and the scent of lavender body wash respectively, were returned absently before he kept on truckin’.

  He guessed they’d gone off to their jobs, Jonathan at the library and Melissa at the tattoo parlor where she apprenticed and booked appointments and occasionally smacked some common sense into the drunk, the underage, and the crybabies. He hadn’t registered them leaving, and time got hazy between when they left and when they got back home.

  Inspiration flew from brain via fingers to sketchpad and keyboard.

  He’d finished up another issue of his graphic novel, On Fire.

  He’d written a couple thousand words on the book his lovers insisted he write -- and fine, they’d known what they were talking about -- he liked the work more than he’d thought possible. He did have to doodle on a sheet of scratch paper before he could figure out how to describe the way a person looked or moved and he threw away more than he kept, but the story had started coming together.

  He’d even caught up on his mountain of e-mail.

  All of it done to avoid something that had been tugging at him since he’d first tried to sleep the night before.

  “I can’t explain it,” he evaded, rapping a short tune with his pencil. “Go to bed. I’ll be there soon, I swear.”

  Jonathan pressed his lips to Sully’s temple. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep or won’t remember. Are you sure you’re well? I’ve never seen you so driven.”

  Sully snorted. “Me either. I put the ‘slack’ into slacker. It’s weird. All day long, I’ve been pushing away the weirdest feeling, like I…” He paused. “Nah. Wouldn’t make any sense if I tried to explain.”

  “And since when, precisely, have you ever made sense?” Jonathan nipped Sully’s earlobe, a sharp pinch zooming straight to his cock. “Come to bed. I’d feel far better seeing you sprawled out naked on the sheets than hunched over this table,” he tempted. “I’ve dreamed all day about fucking you within an inch of your life. I’m in the mood to top. You like my dominant side. Come and enjoy me.”

  Tempting. Really tempting. But… “I can’t,” Sully said, helpless against the pull of the blank page. “Something wants to be drawn. Someone’s calling me to tell their story. Crazy, right?”

  Jonathan sighed. “Yes. And no, not at all, not to someone who knows you. Why haven’t you started yet? Why put this off all day?”

  Sully shook his head. “Bad vibes? I feel like once I start, I’ll get sucked in the way the people I draw get spit out. Like I’ll get lost in there. Stupid, huh?”

  “No.” Jonathan squeezed Sully. “Draw. Do what you need to do. I’ll keep watch, and if the table sucks you in I’ll damned well follow and drag you back out.”

  Sully chuckled. “Not how the magic works, babe. Humans can’t cross over.”

  “Then you have nothing to be afraid of, do you? Do what it takes.”

  “Go on, mock my fears. I’m a big boy.”

  “Yes. Very big. I’ve seen the evidence and been more than pleased.”

  “Ditto.” Sully narrowed his gaze. He stopped tapping his pencil and laid the sharpened lead tip to the empty page. “Okay. Ready or not, here I come.”

  He began to draw, lines flowing smooth as water, and lost himself immediately.

  He saw the story that had been tormenting him all day in snatches of visions and dreams unfolding before both physical and mind’s eye…

  * * *

  Donovan drew in a deep breath, savoring the richness of the air, redolent with spices and musk and old iron. No other city on earth smelled like New Orleans. No other place compared. Walking through these streets took a man back in time, drawing him through history brought to life.

  “Hey! Hey, friend,
where you been, eh?” A gray-haired man he semi-recognized shouted at Donovan, waving his skinny arm to catch Donovan’s attention. The man dropped a broom he’d been sweeping the sidewalk with and stepped forward, dragging one gimpy leg, to brace himself on the post of a wrought-iron streetlight. “You go away for so long, we never thought you would come back.”

  He had places to be, but Donovan knew better than to disrespect his elders, especially here. They were tough as boot leather, weathering the worst and coming back with joie de vivre fit to put any other people to shame.

  Politely, Donovan stopped and gave the old fellow a grin. “I always come back. Who could stay away from the Big Easy?”

  “Oui, or from your petit amour, eh?” The man cackled, seamed laugh lines crinkling up, white teeth startling against the rich brown of his skin. “He draws you back like bees to honey, non?”

  “You know me too well.”

  “Non, I don’t know you at all. You are a mystery. Come and go, sometimes months in between visits, and you never age a day so far as I see. Some folks think you are a voodoo man, some kind of spirit. Some even think you a devil and cross themselves when they see you come to town. Others, they call you ‘saint’ and light candles to your name. So, I ask myself, which one is right?”

  Donovan recognized the hidden challenge in the man’s question and rose to the occasion. “Neither.”

  “Good answer! I know things, I do, and I see where you come from, time to time. I saw you when you arrived, the way one minute there was spray paint on the wall, nothing but graffiti, then la! There you are. Popped out like a ghost, except you’re real. I don’t understand, no, but I reckon you mean no one harm, so no worry, I never tell.” The old man tapped the side of his head. “I see you open your eyes wide, all surprise, but you trust me. I carry this confidence for years now. Old Orillon, he can keep secrets.”