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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  512 Forest Lake Drive

  Warner Robins, Georgia 31093

  Sex and Sexuality

  Copyright © 2007 by Willa Okati

  Cover by Anne Cain

  ISBN: 1-59998-176-9

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2007

  Sex and Sexuality

  Willa Okati

  Dedication

  To the fine folks at my local Starbucks, purveyors of fine mocha lattes that keep a writer going through the night.

  Chapter One

  “There, look at you. Aren’t you gorgeous?”

  With both eyes closed, Quinn tilted his chin up. “Am I ready?”

  “Almost.” The gentle fingers expertly applying his makeup danced across his cheek. “I think we should have some glitter, right across those nice bones. You’ll shine under the dance floor lights.”

  Quinn quivered in anticipation. “This club is everything you promised?”

  “Sugar, it’s beyond your wildest dreams.” A brush feathered over Quinn’s cheekbones, anointing him with what felt like the lightest dusting of powder. “Men stand in line for ages trying to get inside, but with these VIP passes they’ll lower the ropes for us faster than you can get your pants down. And we all know how quick that can happen.”

  Quinn giggled. “Only when I’m really motivated.” He snagged the wrist of the hand doing his makeup. “Your touch is just too much. How about we take the edge off right now?”

  “Oh, tempting, tempting. But that sweet mouth is perfectly done. Wouldn’t want you to spoil it before your big debut.”

  “Lipstick can always be fixed.” Quinn opened up to gaze at the pert, pretty boy poised in front of him. He licked at the tangerine-flavored gloss on his mouth. “Stand up. Unfasten your jeans.”

  “Aren’t you in a hurry?” The boy did as he was told despite his joking complaint.

  “Mmm. When it comes to loving, there’s no time like the present.” Quinn drew the boy’s cock out of his pants and licked a long stripe down one thick vein on his developing erection. “You taste wonderful.”

  * * * * *

  Quinn—no, Quentin—shifted in his uncomfortable plastic seat. The room he sat in was cold, no forced heat to warm his bones. But denying creature comforts was part of the Center’s program.

  “That’s all I remember,” he lied. “I guess what came afterwards was what always happened.”

  “And what was that?”

  Quentin squirmed. “I…I used my mouth on his… We had sex,” he confessed. “I couldn’t resist the urge.”

  “A chief trait of sinners is being unable to resist temptation.” The gray-bearded counselor Quentin was speaking to inclined his head as he imparted this wisdom.

  Quentin kept silent, accepting the blame for what he’d done. These men and women in the Sainted Lady Rehabilitation Center were showing him the way. And he needed to learn. He wanted it.

  His life had to change.

  He snuck a peek at the man he spoke to. The advisor in his morning session had proved to be a blessing, as such things went. This was Father Andrew, a man who’d shown kindness to Quentin in the past. Father Andrew wouldn’t order him to be dunked in a steel tub full of ice cubes or scrubbed with a stiff brush to rid his flesh of its taint. Quentin always felt a sense of relief when he was talking to Father Andrew.

  Although he knew better than to expect absolutely no punishment.

  Silver-headed at the age of about fifty, Father Andrew wore the collar of a priest and the demeanor of a confessor, listening patiently but calculating up how much penance a man would have to pay for his sins. And he would exact that absolution down to the last drop.

  “You realize now that you were in the wrong?” Father Andrew asked, patient as if they had all day. For all Quentin knew, they did. “The weakness of the flesh is common among our human race, but a man desiring the flesh of another man is both forbidden and contemptible.”

  “I do realize.” Quentin gripped the edges of his seat. He bowed his head. “I want to change.”

  “You’re here of your own free will,” Father Andrew conceded. “There may be hope for you, Quentin. We’ll get you back on the path of righteousness. You’ll see.”

  * * * * *

  “Quentin? Professor Whiteside?” A hand slapped Quentin’s shoulders. “Where were you?”

  “What?” Quentin blinked. “I’m sorry. Woolgathering.”

  “Well, back to the present with you. You were falling behind.”

  “Of course.” Quentin fell into step behind the two men taking him on a tour of Sweetwater College, the campus where he’d been lucky enough to secure a position.

  He had to keep this position, this chance to prove himself. He’d come so far that he couldn’t fail now. Time he refreshed his memory about the rules he’d learned at the Center and walked the straight and narrow again.

  And those rules said, very clearly, no ogling men’s asses. At the very least.

  God. Was he that weak? After all he’d been through…

  Quentin tried to distract himself by drinking in the scenery. Oh, but it was a gorgeous day. One could almost forget their problems here, in the foothills of Appalachia.

  One could start fresh, if one wanted to.

  “I’m glad you had the time to take a stroll,” the tall man walking in front of Quentin said. “Wonderful place, isn’t this?”

  Quentin glanced around himself, taking in the leafy green trees and artfully casual botanical gardens as if it were the first time he’d seen them. Not so far from the truth. Every time he came up into the Gardens, he felt a mild sense of shock, as if he’d suddenly been transplanted from a smoggy, population-choked metropolis into Eden.

  A new day, a new vista, a new life. Second chances. He wouldn’t tangle up the clean lines of his life again. No more mistakes, no more looking where he shouldn’t…

  Speaking of which, he turned his eyes to the side, deliberately facing away from the tempting backside walking just a few steps in front of him.

  He couldn’t think like that anymore. He wasn’t “that way”. He’d been through the training and come out with high honors. And to prove it, didn’t he have a serious girlfriend now, almost a fiancée?

  Quentin knew he could do this. All he had to do was try hard enough.

  “I think you’ll like it here.” Professor Ten Hawks, “call me Ben”, pronounced, then took in a deep breath and looked around himself. Even though he winced with guilt over the observation, Quentin couldn’t help thinking that while the view was spectacular, the man pointing it out made those rolling hills look dull. Ten Hawks was pure Cherokee, almost six feet four with cropped black hair and strongly muscled legs. For their outing, he’d dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans as if he wasn’t the Chancellor of an entire college.

  Quentin, in his button-down Oxford shirt with a mousy gray tie, felt somehow overdressed. He stole a glance at the other professor wandering with them, a young man from the Mathematics department. He couldn’t have been much older than Quentin himself, p
robably around thirty, although he appeared to be the kind who would never look his age. Andy seemed to have the same laid-back attitude as Ten Hawks, as if they could take all day on their walk in the Gardens.

  As if they didn’t have things to do.

  Quentin straightened his tie. A nervous habit, but it gave him something to do with his hands. “Yes, sir,” he responded dutifully. “I like it here already.”

  Could you sound more like a brown-noser? Work on your responses, Quentin.

  Ten Hawks didn’t seem to notice anything lame about Quentin’s reply, too busy focusing on the view and the nature surrounding them. He patted his chest. “You could hardly tell we’re only two miles away from the city. The world up here is a wonderful thing. There’s nothing like being in the foothills. It’s as close as you can get to nature unless you actually hike up into the mountains. Do you? Hike, that is?”

  Ten Hawks turned to Quentin as if he expected an affirmative answer. Quentin made an expression of apology. He hadn’t been on a mountain hike since the Center’s forced marches over rough terrain, and while he’d understood the need to punish the body, the memories were not pleasant.

  “Not really,” Quentin demurred, and then, because that didn’t seem like a suitable response, fibbed, “I’d enjoy going sometime. Does the faculty sponsor excursions into the hills?”

  Ben—Ten Hawks—laughed. The exact same kind of gently reprimanding chuckle the deprogrammers had used when Quentin was trying his best but still failing. “Not exactly. We’re what you might call ‘understaffed’ here. That would be, gentlemen, because we’re also what you would call ‘under-funded’. We can thank a grant for the new teaching positions that have opened up—but then again, you know that. Right, Professor Byrne—Andy?”

  Andy grinned behind Ten Hawks’ back. “You could say that,” he drawled in the sexiest—no. Quentin tried not to focus on him, with his elfin good looks, but to pay attention to the Chancellor. Not hard to do. No matter how handsome Andy might be—stop it, Quentin, stop it—Ten Hawks’ eyes were piercing enough to stop anyone in their tracks. Quentin felt as if he were being given a quiz. Oh, dear. Had Ten Hawks felt the weight of Quentin’s gaze on portions of his anatomy where no normal, well-trained eyes should go?

  “I’m grateful for the position,” he said in his most neutral voice. Not too enthusiastic, not too flat. “I was pleased to find something so soon after I’d graduated the Ph.D. program. And to be recruited, no less.”

  “Eyes and ears everywhere.” Ten Hawks tapped his temple. “We do have an excellent line into the grapevine. Your dissertation on Jane Austen was a thing of beauty. We’re lucky to have you, Professor Whiteside.”

  Quentin tried a tentative olive branch. “Please, call me Quentin.”

  “Quentin, then. Sorry. Foolish of me to forget. But it’s good that you’re informal. We like things a bit relaxed here. Work hard, but be true to yourself.” Ten Hawks paused for a moment. “I’d like for you to keep that in mind when you meet your new roommate.”

  Quentin tilted his head slightly to the side. “I’d meant to ask you about him. I’d thought we were to report in yesterday, but the professor I’m sharing housing with still wasn’t here this morning.”

  “Ah, yes.” Ten Hawks puffed his cheeks out thoughtfully. “Billy Jennings. Wonderful work in American Literature, but definitely best described as unorthodox. He phoned me last night to warn me that he was running late.”

  Quinn kept his expression politely interested out of long habit. Inside, though, he felt his stomach roll. He’d been thrilled at the thought of living on campus for a fraction of what he’d pay for an apartment, less excited about the idea of sharing rooms, and now downright dismayed with the notion of a man who wasn’t going to be…compatible.

  He liked things orderly. Had to have them that way. In a line, on time, reliable and dependable. “Unorthodox” didn’t fit in with his life as he’d planned it. “Unorthodox” would have his almost-fiancée Melissa in a snit when she came to visit.

  How bad could it be, though?

  “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine,” he said, keeping his voice pleasant. “When will I first need to meet with students? Do they begin arriving tomorrow?”

  “Some will. Right now, the best thing you can do is get settled. Didn’t you say the moving van was coming with your things around eleven?” Ten Hawks checked his watch. “You’ll have just enough time to get back to the housing before they arrive.”

  Quentin nodded. He fought back the urge to tuck his hands in his pockets or, equally tempting, cross his arms over his chest. “I didn’t want to run away before you were finished,” he offered up apologetically. Run away—oh, I shouldn’t have said that. “Should I leave?”

  “You’d better, if you want the movers to know they’re in the right place.” Ten Hawks chuckled. “Go on, now. I don’t need a chaperone. Been walking these gardens for ten years and counting. Just follow the trail until you see the sign for housing, and take a left. You’ll be back in no time.”

  Andy gave Quentin a small nudge. Quentin stiffened, but managed to avoid pulling away. It wasn’t a sensual touch. The mathematics professor didn’t mean any harm. “How about I walk you back?” Andy suggested. “It’s easier to get lost than Ben thinks. He knows this place like the back of his hand, but the rest of us? Not so much. Come on, it’s this way.”

  Quentin cast a dubious look at Ten Hawks, but the tall Native American had already turned away and was sauntering down the path just as if he didn’t have late professors, arriving students and a new semester almost ready to begin. “He’s an interesting man,” Quentin said carefully. “I have to wonder what he would call unorthodox.”

  “Ten Hawks? They’d have to go a ways for him to start throwing stones,” Andy finished up with a grin. “I’ve heard a few things about Billy Jennings. You’re gonna be in for a few speed bumps before you two settle in together, but I think it’ll work out. Things usually do.” He winked. “Let’s get started. I’m heading for breakfast once I’ve dropped you off. I could cook, sure, but I suck in the kitchen. The cafeteria’s not bad.” He paused. “Do you want to go with me? They make a mean waffle. Defrosted and everything.”

  Quentin felt the man’s gaze wandering over him, almost as if he were speculating on something. No, no. Don’t. His cheeks colored as he shook his head. “It’s all right,” he heard himself say. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I can find my way back just fine. I’m good at memorizing things. I should be all right getting back alone.”

  “You sure?” Andy seemed doubtful. “I mean, I don’t mind.”

  “It’s fine.” Quentin made himself smile. Andy was harmless. He had to be for Ten Hawks to trust him, and he couldn’t be offering anything more than a friendly hand. Probably. All the same, Quentin thought he’d feel better if he walked back alone. “Trust me.”

  Those two words usually had the desired effect. Andy’s frown broadened into an easy grin. “Your call. I’ll take a right when you take a left, then. See you around?”

  “Of course.” Quentin agreed cautiously. “We’ll run into each other sooner or later.”

  “That’s a fact. Sweetwater’s nice, but God, is it small. Eight hundred students and twenty professors. This place wouldn’t be running if Ten Hawks weren’t in charge.” Andy patted him on the back. “Later, friend.”

  Quentin watched as the mathematics professor started loping away down the right fork of the track. “See you around,” he said, wincing at the lameness of his reply. He watched as Andy threw up a hand in a backwards wave, and couldn’t help but look down the length of the man’s body—the straight line of his back, his long legs, his firm, round a—

  No. I’m not looking anymore. Not again. I have Melissa.

  I’m walking on the righteous road.

  Quentin straightened his tie once again and took the left fork of the path. Time to go back to his new home.

  What did he still have to do? Not too much, even with t
he moving truck that would be coming. The faculty housing came furnished with a bed, dresser, desk and so forth. The small den had nothing in it, but Quentin planned to leave that room mostly alone. If he had a place to study and prepare his lecture notes, he’d be fine. The desk would suit his needs.

  Dishes, though, he had some of those. A filing cabinet, secondhand but still good enough to use. One battered old recliner. A guilty pleasure, but Quentin did like to sit back and put his feet up for a few minutes after a long day’s work. No TV, though. He’d gotten out of the habit of watching during his own years as a student.

  And he definitely didn’t want to be distracted now that he had so much to focus on in his new position. Oh, dear. Would his roommate be the loud type, prone to playing music at all hours? Would he insist on an entertainment center blaring pictures and sounds? How would he ever get his work done, much less manage to keep up with the classes?

  Focus, Quentin, focus. Make this work. Anything is possible if you put your mind to it. You can do this. He ran the mantra of the Center through his mind, reassuring himself.

  Thinking with his head down, not really watching where he was going, Quentin ran over syllabi and lists in his mind. Planning for classes beat worrying over an “unorthodox” roommate any day.

  He didn’t notice anyone in his way until he literally ran into him, bouncing off what felt like a brick wall and reeling back, almost tripping, then steadying himself at the last moment against a tree. “Excuse me,” he said automatically, then looked up to see if the person he’d run into needed any help.

  Looked up, and felt his traitorous heart skip a beat.

  Dear God. If Andy and Ten Hawks were attractive, this man was something from out of a dream. Tall and lean-hipped with broad shoulders, he had the face of an angel and the wicked cast of a devil. Just the sort of man who…who…who could get Quentin into deep, deep trouble.